The Internet

By: Garland Davis

March 12, 2014, is the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Internet. I remember the time before the World Wide Web took over my life. I was busy working trying to build a business. I spent many hours keeping business records, maintenance records and financial accounts by hand. There were archaic computer (although they were state of the art at the time), rudimentary word processing and spreadsheet programs. I remember when my life became much easier. I bought a computer that would run a decent word processor and spreadsheet. I paid almost a thousand dollars for it and a monochrome monitor. It used the smaller floppy discs and had a clock speed of eight (whatever that means). And it was obsolete by the time I got it home.

Before I started my business I was doing business consulting and working on a Master’s degree, taking classes at night and on weekends and spending every spare moment in the library doing research for papers. I wrote numerous drafts of assignments in longhand or pecked them out on a Commodore 64, which would, if you didn’t save to a floppy disk frequently, suddenly go blank and lose all your work. This was printed out on a 9-pin dot matrix printer. My instructors didn’t like this, so I retyped in on a Selectric typewriter. Now with this wondrous machine, I have virtually every fact known to man at my fingertips. The magic is in knowing how to find it. Professors no longer want “Papers” submitted. They ask students to e-mail their work.

I had a telephone book, a Yellow Pages Book for phone numbers and a hard-wired telephone connected to the local telephone company. A call to my mother in North Carolina or my wife’s mother in Yokohama almost necessitated a second mortgage on the house. Now if I want a telephone number, I find it online and make the call on the phone I carry around in my pocket for no cost. They get you on the upfront charges.

There were fourteen TV stations and there wasn’t much to watch on TV. I can now get over seven hundred stations (that is not counting the porn) and there still isn’t a lot that interests me

Books were expensive which made it necessary to wait for the paperback version. In those days, I actually borrowed books from the library. Now I have this wondrous machine that lets me find a virtual bookstore (Amazon) from the comfort of my home. There are thousands of book available, many of them free, others at discounted prices that enable you to pre-purchase books before the publication date (I would advise waiting until the release date. The price is usually reduced as the date approaches.) This coupled with an electric book (Kindle) that the manufacture insists has enough memory for three thousand five hundred books. The books are instantly downloaded directly to the reader via the internet. No waiting or watching for the postman.

During my Navy career, friends left for other ships or stations or I left for a new station. It was always in my mind to stay in touch. Maybe a couple of letters were written or we bumped into each other in a club or waved at each other over the gunnels as our separate ships transferred stores. Soon we lost track of each other. We both retired and settled into a new life. I know, I had many service acquaintances here but only a couple that I considered real friends. Sometimes I would wonder whatever happened to one person or another, but had no way, short of hiring a private detective, to track them down.

The computer and the Internet have enabled me to reacquaint myself with literally hundreds of shipmates and to become friends with people I had never met. It has allowed me to meet, both in person and on-line, men who shared my experiences in the Asia Fleet. Though we didn’t know each other, we experienced the same hardships of war and the same liberty ports. Those experiences as young men melded us into the men we became. Those who weren’t there do not understand. Those who were there are described with one word “Shipmate.”

People who give thanks to a deity often thank him for health, long life, wealth, family and friends. I would give my thanks for this machine and the internet. It has allowed me to look back at a life I loved and to connect with old friends and new friends who lived it with me.

Soon will come the time to make the trek to Branson, MO for another reunion of a group of old men who were out there on the far Pacific Rim, who fought the Vietnam war and won the cold war.

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A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.

Western Sea

By: Garland Davis

Sailor, look at me, look at my life,

You’re a lot like I once was.

Sailor, look at me, look at my life

You’re somewhat like I once was.

Sailor, look at me, look at my life,

You’re twenty-four

and there is so much more.

You now sail in the Asian paradise

That once belonged to me.

Love lost, at such a cost

Reach for things

that don’t get lost.

Like a coin that won’t be tossed.

Rolling home to you.

Sailor, sailor take a look at my life

I’m a lot like you

I had someone to love me

The whole day through.

One look into my eyes

And you know that’s true.

Sailor, I see from the look in your eyes,

As you run around the old home town.

Doesn’t mean that much to you,

as Asia means that much to me.

I’ve been there first

And you will not be the last

Look at how the time goes past

Now, I’m alone at last

Looking across the Western Sea

To follow Tales of an Asia Sailor and get e-mail notifications of new posts, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above, then click on the follow button.

A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.

By:  Garland Davis

There was a post on the Asia Sailor Face Book page about farts a few days ago.  Brought back a memory of an incident that I thought was pretty funny at the time.

MS2 Tree was a six foot four-inch-tall gangly fellow from Arkansas.  He was my Jack of the Dust in one ship.  He oversaw three storerooms a freezer and two chill reefers. He made breakouts to the Galley and received and stowed food stores.  He was a conscientious sailor.  He could usually be found in one of the storerooms or reefers.  I always knew that his spaces were neatly stowed, clean and squared away.

Tree was crazy about hardboiled eggs.  I always offered them on the breakfast menu.  Tree would always take the leftovers and stuff them in his jacket pockets and snack on them throughout the morning.  I guess you can tell where I am going from the title of this article.  Tree could drop a series of protracted farts that would gag a dung beetle.

I was in the Food Service Office when the XO opened the door and said, “Chief, the port storeroom hatch is open.  There must be something spoiled.  There is a foul odor coming from the storeroom.  I don’t think I have ever smelled anything that that terrible before.  Could you check it out?  We don’t want anyone getting sick.”

I said, “Aye, Aye sir.” and went forward to the storeroom.  I dropped through the hatch into the storeroom.  Tree was there restowing some stacks that had shifted.  I told him what the XO had said.  He said, “Chief, there ain’t nuthin’ spoiled.  I cut a little old fart right under the hatch just before the XO stuck his head in through it.”

Later in the day the XO asked if I had discovered what was causing the smell.  I told him that the situation was under control and the source of the smell was no longer in the storeroom.

Another story about Tree:  I had a fourth storeroom aft that was used to store paper plates, charcoal, and etc.  Reeves was scheduled to go from Yoko to Subic.  The Chaplain asked if I had any extra storeroom space.  The Chaplains from Yoko had donated items they wanted to get to the Chaplains at Subic.  Between the SKC and I, we were able to load a considerable amount of the items.  It was mostly disposable diapers, feminine napkins, and tampons.  All had passed their expiration date and had been donated by the Exchange.  (who knew that stuff had expiration dates).

Tree came to me and said, “Chief, that is woman’s stuff.  I don’t want to touch them boxes.  They make me feel dirty.”

I just said, “Okay Tree.  If we have to get anything from that storeroom, we’ll have a mess cook do it.”

Another time Tree was Watch Captain on one of the Galley watches.  CS1 Destefano was the Division LPO and Galley Captain.  I made a tour of the Galley and gave Destafano a list of items that needed special attention.  I told him to give particular care to the two Galley garbage cans and to make sure they were scrubbed out when they were emptied.  A short time later, I overheard Destefano telling Tree to make sure the Mess cooks scrubbed the garbage cans and to make sure they did a good job.

Later that afternoon, I walked into the Mess Decks and heard Tree speaking in a loud voice from the Galley.  I walked around the drink line and saw Tree holding a mess cook by the ankles with his head in a shit can.  Tree was saying, “Now ya’ll take a closer look and tell me if that sunufabitch is clean.”

Tree, just one of the characters I ran across in thirty years as an Asia Sailor.

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A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.

General Hospital and the A-Team

by: Garland Davis

It was one of the FF’s I served in.  I don’t remember which one.  We had an extended availability in Yokosuka.  I had a relatively untrained Galley crew and was spending most of my time in the Galley training the cooks in proper procedures and trying to get them up to working without constant supervision.  I didn’t spend a lot of time in the CPO Mess.  I saw more of the CPO Mess through the window from the Galley than I did as a member. I usually had coffee in the Mess Deck at 0500 and then helped the cooks through preparation and serving of breakfast.  After quarters, I would get the cooks started on the noon meal and work on my paperwork in the Supply Office.

In addition to my Food Service duties, I was also tagged with overseeing and coordinating the SRF and contract worker’s efforts rehabilitating the forward and after crew’s heads.   If I wasn’t in the Galley, I was in the Supply Office or walking around with a sheaf of blue prints and work orders attempting to control the work in the heads.  Hard to believe, but I was mostly discouraging them from doing the work.  A major weapons department cable run had to be accomplished first.  The cables were to run through the heads.  If I had let the head rehab go forward, the contractor doing the cable run would have just ripped it out to do his work. At the same time, I inherited supervising the head cleaners.

During lunch, I was again in the Galley supervising the serving of the meal and the operation of the mess deck.  I was almost never in the CPO Mess during meals.  During the availability, some of the operations department Chiefs became hooked on the soap opera, General Hospital.  Didn’t make me no never mind, I didn’t watch it and wasn’t forced to sit through it during meals.  The snipe Chiefs were into getting their “nooners” and didn’t watch it either.  The most time I spent in the mess was during the evening movie.

The availability ended and we left for paradise, Subic Bay to the uniniated, and then on to the I.O.  The first mail call after entering the I.O the Chief Signalman received a package from his wife containing a VHS cassette with five episodes of, you guessed it, General Hospital. The Command Senior Chief acceded to the request to show General Hospital instead of the movie.  It seemed as if every time I entered the mess someone was watching General Hospital. About the time everyone had seen it another cassette would arrive.

I wrote my wife and asked her to copy as many episodes of the A-Team as possible.  I had overheard some Chiefs saying that it was the silliest show on TV. The Chief BT and QM felt the same way I did about General Hospital.  I told them that I had an A-Team tape coming. I received a cassette with five episodes.  The BT, the QM, the MM, and the EN and I decided we would watch it one at a time.  Of course, there was a chorus of Chiefs complaining about having to watch the A-Team.  I appealed to the Command Senior Chief and he overruled them.  He told them that if they could hog the TV watching General Hospital then those of us who wanted to watch the A-Team could do so.

By the time the IO was over and we were back in Subic, there was no more General Hospital or A-Team.  Well, some of us were busy playing doctor with the girls in the Barrio.

BM1 Herman’s Class “A” School

By:  David “Mac” McAllister

BM1 Herman retired from the Navy in 1964 from Recruit Training Command San Diego, CA. One month later SR McAllister reported there for boot camp. I couldn’t help myself since boatswain Herman’s class A School had been at work in my life for a long time already.

Herman and his buddies, A.D., and Knifer, had been influencing me for as long as I could recall. They were always in for the holidays and other brief times over the course of my life and kept me amazed with sea stories of Japan, Hong Kong, Ceylon and other exotic places that would drive me afterward to the world atlas in order to keep up. Their uniforms held me in a trance like state, mesmerized by the white piping on blue, bright red rating chevrons and those multicolored rows of ribbons. Dragons on their rolled up cuffs as they drank beer smoked cigarettes and blew smoke up my butt. I couldn’t get enough.

When I was probably 12 years old, Herman was stationed on the USS Bausell DD845 out of San Diego. He had duty weekend and smuggled me aboard. I spent the entire weekend sweeping and swabbing while he supervised men over the side painting and preserving. Being the outer destroyer breasted out from the pier meant that if need be we would have been the one to sortie. As Herman explained this to me and his plan for me in that instance, I counter planned my stowaway strategy. By Monday, I was immersed and enthralled in shipboard life and ready to sell my soul and run off to sea.

Well after a very emotional venting of the spleen, I eventually settled into the mundane world of school work and looking forward to the guys showing up on unexpected occasions and rekindle my ever longing for the life of a sailor. Our relationship continued on until I finally was young and dumb enough to enlist.

I was at recruit training on the second day all decked out in my new four sizes too big dungarees, tennis shoes, ball cap and shaved head when Herman burst in the Barracks. Pointing his finger at me, he said “You, fuckin worm outside”.  Here he was retired, in uniform and pushing the envelope once again. Once outside he gave this sage advice: “Don’t volunteer for anything, keep your mouth shut, your eyes and ears open and stay out of 4013 because Choker Williams is a real mother fucker”. With that, he was gone and I never saw him again until graduation.

After graduation, while on leave, Herman showed up one day and held a sea bag inspection on me. He showed me what I should shit can and what I needed to get more of. Then we made it down to the Seven Seas Locker Club where he instructed me in the ordering of a new set of tailor made Gabs. From there we were off to Nasty City where he smuggled under age me into his favorite hangout and we drank beer.

Herman BM1 is gone now and serves in another Navy in another life; his ashes spread at sea in Naval Tradition by young sailors he never knew. Sailors that honored an old sailors request.  Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him for you see in addition to running a damn good A School Leo Herman was my uncle.

David “Mac” McAllister a native of California, now resides in the Ozark Mountains of Southwest Mo. Having served in Asia for the majority of his 24-year Navy career, he now divides his time as an over the road trucker, volunteer for local veteran repatriation events and as an Asia Sailor Westpac’rs Association board member and reunion coordinator. In his spare time, he enjoys writing about his experiences in Westpac and sharing them online with his Shipmates.

From

by: Garland Davis

I am from endless horizons, flying fish, sea spray; old worn out steel on foreign shores.

I am from days of monotony, water hours, moments of exhilaration; nights of troubled rest, long mid watches.

I am from where a friend is called shipmate; got your back, enough said.

I am from the dives and fleshpots of Asia; there we found lovers, sisters, mothers.

I am from a life others misunderstand; from a place that says let’s all do it again.

I am from a ship called she, a lady sway backed and gray; hated, loved, don’t speak ill of her.

I am from black coffee mornings; SOS breakfasts, roast beef suppers, horse cock midnights.

I am from sea stories that end with Mac-out and DBF Doc, tales of life in a world once called Siam; shared in the ether and at a place called Branson.

I am from a world, a life that existed for a few decades; lived it, loved it, miss it every goddamned minute of my existence.

To follow Tales of an Asia Sailor and get e-mail notifications of new posts, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above, then click on the follow button.

A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.

Daddy

By:  John Petersen

This is my Daddy’s picture, holding me close, his love in that big smile,

giving me all of his free time, wasn’t a lot, he took an inch and went a mile.

Simple things like playing catch and building living room forts so scary,

flashlights with a dying battery made all things incredibly hairy!

The Sunday off, no matter how tired Daddy would be,

Up at the break of dawn to whip up waffles for Mommy and me!

We’d squeeze everything we needed into the old car we had,

for a trip to the beach or park or even up to visit Grand Mom and Dad.

This picture stays by my nightlight, as I’m afraid of the dark,

knowing Daddy is there lets me sleep through even the dog’s bark.

This is my Daddy’s picture, so big in the living room,

Tall and proud he stands, full uniform, no hint of gloom.

His smile so big, no doubt meant for Mommy and me,

I know from what Mom told me he’s in a place not so friendly.

A place where what she calls the ‘enemy’ desires to, for their beliefs, kill,

to keep in place their ancient beliefs and preserve their will.

Daddy is there to ensure freedom for all, this I’m old enough to know,

And I know he’ll continue to do this, for all the years coming as I continue to grow.

There comes a knock at the door…

The days of crying, remembrances, what memories I will never let go,

the picture by my nightlight, in the living room he defends all foe.

I know my endless tears will never call Daddy back to comfort Mommy and me,

I know that my Daddy stood up for what is right for everyone, you see.

From what I was told, Daddy never even thought of backing away,

he protected his fellow mates as he would Mommy and I any day.

This is my Daddies flag… Above the fireplace mantle, surrounded by other items and such,

yet perfectly centered, lightly dusted yet otherwise untouched.

Of all things also on the mantle, just to the right, for all to see,

is the catcher’s mitt my Dad gave to me.

I refuse to move it, forbid anyone to try and do so,

I caught my first ball with this mitt from my Dad’s mighty throw.

He will always be here for Mommy and I, my prayers have told me so,

Our Guardian Angle, in the living room so big, smiling, and bold.

A native of Nebraska, I have lived in Southern California since 1970. I graduated high school in ’81 and went straight into the Navy, Machinist Mate being my trade, all commands I served on were Pacific theater. After 12 years active and 22 years inactive reserve, I now manage a dry ice plant for Airgas.

Pictures In My Skin

By Garland Davis

it was a sailor thing, pictures in the skin

i never went there, tho my shipmates did

thought about it, couldn’t bring myself to it

they plied me with booze, fooled them didn’t go

never saw the benefit, pictures in my skin

now an everybody thing, pictures in the skin

young and foolish, pictures bright and bold

sailors not so much now, to girls a mark of cool

flowers and butterflies, skulls and bones

today i will be cool, with pictures in my skin

To follow Tales of an Asia Sailor and get e-mail notifications of new posts, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above, then click on the follow button.

A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.

Makin’ Wine

By:  David ‘Mac’ McAllister

I was an MM2 and the LPO of the after engine room aboard this DLG that was once again drilling holes in the sea on PIRAZ station off the coast of North Vietnam when an idea engaged my alcohol deprived brain. I was going to make some wine.

I had been known to dabble as a vintner with a decent reputation and recipe which was well known for its clarity and alcohol content. My past ventures on other ships had been small, confined to a gallon or so here and there on the sly. However, since espying that 20 gal poly bottle in the shaft alley, used for lube oil storage for the spring bearings, my mind had been going full tilt. Containers and the hiding of same had always presented a problem to the makers of shipboard Hooch; I had that problem under advisement.

As I stepped onto the upper-level deck plates and commenced my walk around prior to relieving the 2000-2400 watch for the mid this night, my eye was caught and held by the canvas bag covered chain falls swinging in rhythm with the rolls of the ship above the LP turbine; perfect for the clandestine concealment of a winery operation. Ingredients in the quantity required for the volume I had in mind would be an added concern. What with mess cooks supplied to the mess deck Master at Arms, this rarely was a problem for small quantities; however, I was going to have to collaborate on some level to pull this off.

Next morning, I approached my shipmate, the LPO of the after fire room. A Texan and no new comer in the finer points of tipping a jug, BT2 was very receptive to my notion and plan for pulling it off. Between our combined efforts and the sticky-fingered behaviors of our mess cooks (one of which was assigned to the Jack of the Dust), the ingredients were soon materializing. Grape juice by the case, sugar by the bag and yeast were finding their way into the after engine house with remarkable regularity.

An operation of this magnitude would require the efforts of all hands, so I solicited and won the support of the MM2 and MM3 that I had placed in charge of the upper and lower levels respectfully. Soon we had the entire after engine room on board with the idea and all hands sworn to secrecy upon pain of death or worse.

Next step was to abduct the 20-gallon poly bottle of lube oil from the shaft alley. Since it was my space that presented a problem; should the Senior Chief note that it was missing, I would have some explaining to do. Luckily, the other shaft ally belonging to the forward engine room had a similar bottle. Easy, I just sent some of my torpedoes to steal it. This served a dual purpose, in addition to filling our purposes the missing bottle diverted attention away from us in the after engine room, noted for our past misdeeds, and threw attention upon the so-called stellar performer in charge of Main Control – brilliant.

Once we had liberated the oil from the bottle and turned to with a steam hose upon the inside it was ready for the mixture. Since my recipe has a current patient pending, I will not divulge it; let it suffice to say that grape juice, sugar, and yeast in appropriate proportions were combined. Next, one of the chain falls above the LP turbine was lowered, stowed and the poly bottle hoisted in its place and covered with the protective canvas bag – perfect concealment. I stood there watching as the bottle swayed in unison with the other chain falls as the ship rolled from side to side; knowing that the heat in the overhead above the turbine would accelerate the fermentation process. I estimated 10 days until sampling. This was going to go down in Hooch maker’s history. As I turned to leave and in passing I mentioned to upper-level MM2, “You did make sure that bottle cap was loose, right?”  “Oh yeah, right!” was his reply

With each passing day, each watch kept an ever mindful eye on the LP turbine and the treasure stowed in the overhead above it. All was well as it swayed to and fro up there cooking away, all the while the forward engine room LPO searched frantically for his missing bottle under the ever securitizing surveillance of the Senior Chief. I was enjoying this on many levels; in fact, I volunteered to provide help with the investigation but was told to mind my own fucking business, which I did with an enthusiasm only I could understand.

In my rack one night, I was awakened quite abruptly by the messenger of the watch saying “Mac you better come down to the engine room.”  Knowing that something was amiss, I jumped out of my tree and into my dungarees. As I slid down the ladder, I was greeted by upper-level MM2. If there is such a thing, a sheepish look of pallid horror was upon his face as he led me over to the purplest LP turbine I had ever seen. Additionally, the overhead and steam piping above it were purple. The most intelligent thing I could say was “What the fuck?” Seems the cap on the bottle was not as loose as we had thought and the well-accelerated fermentation process had exceeded the capacity of it to contain its contents. Now wine is a lot like lube oil, once on the loose a little can look like a lot. Lucky for us, we had been doing some painting the day before and had kept some unauthorized paint in the hole. All hands were assembled on the deck plates that night and as they painted out the overhead, piping and LP turbine, upper-level MM2 and I lowered the culprit bottle. Finding it still ¾ full, we removed the cap to be on the safe side and returned it to its place of honor. Turning the steam hose on the canvas bag and installing it inside out put the sneak back on the operation. By the time the aroma of morning chow started wafting down through the ventilation dissipating the stench of rioting grape juice, all was well with our world. With the entire after engine room crew horsing down morning chow at the same table, Senior Chief on his way to the log room from the CPO mess stopped, scowled at us and said “What? Are you guys all queer now?”

In the end, the wine finished up nicely and was enjoyed by the entire after engine house, the two mess cooks, BT2 and myself. Main Controls LPO never fully recovered and remained perplexed from the loss of his poly bottle, and what’s more, its sudden reappearance. Although he could never prove anything, the Senior Chief remained convinced that the entire after engine room crew was a bunch of criminals – probably all queer.

David “Mac” McAllister a native of California, now resides in the Ozark Mountains of Southwest Mo. Having served in Asia for the majority of his 24-year Navy career, he now divides his time as an over the road trucker, volunteer for local veteran repatriation events and as an Asia Sailor Westpac’rs Association board member and reunion coordinator. In his spare time, he enjoys writing about his experiences in Westpac and sharing them online with his Shipmates.