USS Sacramento AOE-1

USS Sacramento AOE-1

Sacramento is considered a benchmark in West Coast shipbuilding. The ship and two of her sister ships, Seattle (AOE-3) and Detroit (AOE-4), are the largest ships ever built on the West Coast as of 2005. Only Iowa-class battleships and aircraft carriers have greater displacements than Sacramento.

The ship’s main engines came from the never-completed battleship Kentucky (BB-66) and delivered in excess of 100,000 shaft horsepower (75 MW) to two 23-foot (7 m) screws weighing 19.25 tons each, the largest on any ship in the Navy.

Sacramento was the fastest AOE (fast combat support ship) ever. The Sacramento routinely went head-to-head in speed runs and won against the west coast’s AOE’s, including the Camden (AOE-2) and the Rainier (AOE-7). Sacramento also beat the fastest of the east coast AOE’s, including the Detroit (AOE-4) and the Arctic (AOE-8) in head-to-head competition.

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A Sailor You Be-

A Sailor You Be

By Unknown

Have you felt the salt spray, upon your face?

Have you seen the porpoise at the bow, keeping pace?

Have you viewed sea birds, above the wake in flight?

Have you fixed on a star, at sunset burning bright?

Has there been a time, to save a shipmate?

Has the roll of the deck, ever kept you awake?

Has the vastness of the sea, left you feeling alone?

Has a foreign port, made you wish you were home?

If you have weighed anchor, from calm shelter.

If you have crossed the equator, at noon time swelter.

If you have stood your watch, on a pitching deck.

If you have made landfall, on the horizon a speck.

When you have secured the deck, for the night to turn in.

When you have mustered at sunrise, seen a new day begin.

When you have dogged down hatches, in a mountainous sea.

When you have known all these things, a sailor you be.

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Boy ‘Howdy’ and Girl Jenkins

Boy ‘Howdy’ and Girl Jenkins

By Garland Davis

Shortly after WWII ended a girl named Jenkins gave birth to twins, a boy and girl in one of those Southern states that only uses A’s for vowels. She died a couple of days afterward without naming the boy and girl nor indicating the name of the father. An overworked clerk in the County office issued birth certificates in the names of Boy Jenkins and Girl Jenkins.

A caseworker from the county placed the children in a short term foster home for babies. They were there until the age of two when a relative of the twin’s mother offered and became the guardian of the twins. Shortly afterward they were moved to the other state with A vowels and the boy was passed on to another relation and the girl to another and she was moved to a Southern state known for peanuts and peaches.

Boy

Boy Jenkin’s memory of his childhood was a montage of playing and the farm animals. It was a normal memory of the time leading up to starting school. Shortly before his sixth birthday, another relation came to take him to live on his farm and to make sure he got his schooling. This was the point where his boyhood changed.

As soon as his new “Uncle Rex” got him home, Boy was told that he would be expected to work before and after school and he would be expected to get good grades in school. Uncle Rex said as he took a belt from the top od a dresser, “If’n you don’t do your work or do as you are told, this’ll happen.” He grabbed Boy by one arm and beat him viciously with the belt.

“You understand me Boy? And stop that Goddam crying. Jest ta make sure.” He beat boy again. “Now git yer ass down ta tha barn. We got milkin’ ta do.”

After milking four cows and receiving another beating for takin too long, he was led into the kitchen where he was given a plate of beans and fried potatoes and a hunk of cornbread and a glass of milk by a girl who was probably a little older than Boy.

He asked her, “Who are y’all?” right before the woman who gave him the food slapped him on the side of the head, saying. “Keep yer Goddamn mouth shut, you are here to work not socialize.”

He and the girl were locked into a room for the night.

The next morning at sunrise, he was whipped out of his bed to find the girl already up and frying fatback to make gravy. He was drug off to the barn to milk the cows and then shovel the cow shit and soiled straw to a manure pile. He was told to wash up in the watering trough and get to the house for breakfast. He was whipped again for not moving fast enough. Breakfast was a biscuit a slice of fried fatback and a glop of lumpy gravy. The rest of that first day he shucked dried corn which he would feed to a mechanical sheller turned by the girl. He learned her name was Rachel and she had been there a little over a year

That night, he ran away to a house about three miles away to get help. The next morning, he was awakened by Uncle Rex who, with his belt beat him every step back to the farm. His life settled into hard labor and beatings. The only respite from the torture became school. He quickly learned that poor grades in school meant more whippings.

Aa he approached his seventeenth birthday, Boy determined to join the Navy. He cut school to talk to the recruiter in town. They got all the paperwork completed except for Rex’s signature which was needed unless he was eighteen. He knew the only way Rex would sign was if he was forced to. He determined to make it happen on his seventeenth birthday.

Boy was as tall as Rex and strong from the arduous labor of throwing hay bales, digging holes, and setting fence posts. When they reached the barn that morning, Boy said. “I’m seventeen years old today, I want you to sign for me to go to the Navy.”

Rex laughed and said, “I ain’t signing a Goddam thang, now got yer ass to work before I kick it.”

Boy hit him in the face and then in the stomach, knocking him down. He scrambled to rise, yelling, “You thank you man ‘nough to whup me?”

Boy kicked him in the ribs saying, “I am man enough to put your worthless ass in jail for the rest of your life when I tell the sheriff what you have been doing to Rachel. Now you are going to sign them papers or I’m going to take you to jail.”

“How in fuck da ya thank you gonna get me to town?”

As Rex said that Rachel came around the barn to gather eggs from the hen coop. She didn’t say anything. She kicked him in the ribs, saying. “I am going to kill you, you son of a bitch.” She then asked, “What are you doing Boy?”

” I’m seventeen today. I got all the paper done to go to the Navy. All I need is for him to sign. He will do it or I swear I’ll kill him. I got his pistol. I’ll shoot him full of holes and let his blood run out.”

Rachel kicked him again, yelling, “This is for fucking me and putting your dirty old dick in my mouth you son of a bitch.”

She picked up a stick, hit him in the head with it and said, I’m gonna beat Bertha because she let you do it and watched,” as she turned for the house.

“I’ll get the keys to the truck. I am going to get my stuff. I’m leaving here too.”

Boy showed Rex the pistol and told him to get up and walk to the truck. Rex said, “You ain’t gonna shoot me Boy, “You ain’t got tha balls.”

Boy fired the pistol into the dirt between his feet and told him, “One of two things is going to happen today, you are either going to sign that paper or I am going to jail for shooting you. It’s your choice.”

As they walked around the barn toward the truck parked beside the house, they could hear screaming from the house. Rachel came through the door carrying a carpetbag.

They could hear Bertha screaming, “You ungrateful bitch, we took you in and raised you.” Rachel dropped the bag and went back through the door and Bertha’s scream changed to, “No, don’t hit me no more. I’m sorry.”

Boy sat Rex in the bed of the truck, pulled himself in, and sat opposite him with the pistol in his hand. Rachel drove them into town and stopped at the post office. Boy raised and pointed it at Rex’s head and cocked the hammer and said, “Don’t believe, I won’t shoot you if you don’t sign.”

He uncocked the gun and placed it back in his pocket. They walked into the recruiter’s office and Rex signed the papers without a word, dropped the pen on the desk and walked out the door where he was met by Rachel and the Sheriff. “That’s him. He’s been fucking me since I was fourteen and making me suck his dick since I was eleven.”

Rex tried to run but a deputy was waiting and handcuffed him.

An hour later Boy was waiting with an envelope for a bus to Little Rock where he would fly to Dallas and then on to San Diego for Boot Camp. Rachel came to say goodbye. She told him that she would be living in a rooming house at state expense until after the investigation and trial.

They wished each other luck and said goodbye.

Girl

Shortly after two-year-old Girl Jenkins went to live with relatives of her mother she was given up for adoption and was chosen by a highway patrolman and his schoolteacher wife. She lived a normal life as an only child.

Her parents told her that she was adopted and asked if she wanted to change her name from Jenkins to Barnes. They told her she could keep the name Girl or change it to another name. She thought for a while and decided on the name Sara Lee Barnes. So, at four years of age, she became Sara Lee Barnes.

When Sara was seven, her father was hired as an Assistant Chief of Police for Memphis and her mother as an Assistant Principal in the local school system.

Sara grew up as a normal young girl/teenager with a teen’s interests like cheerleading and boys. She rarely dated because the boys were intimidated by the fact that her father was a cop and carried a gun.

In the fall of her eighteenth year, she enrolled in the NROTC program at the University of Memphis. After four years, with a degree in Liberal Arts she boarded a train for Newport News, and on to Newport, RI where she would attend Officer Candidates School and be commissioned an Ensign in the Navy.

Fourteen weeks later, Sara L. Barnes, Ensign, USNR left Newport for fifteen days leave with her family and then on to an assignment as Assistant Personnel Officer at Naval Base Charleston, SC.

After a pleasant visit with her parents and friends, she arrived in Charleston. A taxi from the airport to the base deposited her at the Administration building where the Personnel office was located. As she walked toward the entrance, a Second Class Petty Officer came through the doors walking toward her. He snapped a proper salute and said, “Good Morning Ma’am.” She returned the salute thinking there was something familiar about the sailor.

Boy

BM2 Boy ‘Howdy’ Jenkins had completed the two year shore tour in Charleston that the detailer had fucked him with. He had orders to a CLG out of San Diego which was headed for Westpac. He couldn’t wait to get back there.

He saw the female Ensign as he exited the building. He shifted the envelope to his left hand and snapped a salute while, saying, “Good Morning.” He thought for a minute that he knew her but shook his head and thought no way.

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Thieves

Thieves

By Garland Davis, CSC/MSC, USN(Ret)

A few days ago I posted an article honoring Navy Boiler technicians (BT). I posted the information in a number of Navy Groups on Facebook to bring attention to the Blog posting. I jokingly made a comment in my introduction that BTs were also accomplished thieves. Ninety percent of the FB remarks centered on that. From all the bragging one would think that BTs just emptied the reefers and storerooms and moved everything to the lower level of a fireroom at their whim. Of course, they extolled the epicurean delights that could be cooked on or in a steam drum.

I am sure they did purloin some items and of course, there was a consequence to their actions. Not only was there less food to be served to their shipmates because the cooks did not have the stolen items, but there was also even more that could not be served. The stolen items had to be paid for. Each ship receives a dollar amount per person per day and meals provided have to be within that total number. All food items missing from storerooms and reefers when inventoried must be charged against the Food Service Department food budget.

If an item costing $100 was stolen it meant a $200 cost to the Galley to pay for what was actually used by the cooks and that which was stolen.

You were not stealing from the Galley or the Supply Department, you were stealing from your shipmates.

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BT – Boiler Technician

BT – Boiler Technician

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Paul Reuter and Peter T Yeschenko

GMT!

Trivia: What was a US Navy Boiler Technician and what was the origin of that rate?!

ANSWER: The Boiler Technician aka BT rating traced its roots back to the 19th century and the ascent of steam-powered naval ships at the end of the Age of Sail.

The rating Boilermaker was established in 1869 and was changed to Machinist 2c in 1884, the same year the related Water Tender rating was established and Boilermaker was re-established.

In 1948, both Water Tender and Boilermaker were merged into a new Boilerman rating. This rating lasted for nearly 30 years before being changed to Boiler Technician in 1976.

Boiler Technicians were responsible for the inspection, maintenance, and repair of everything involved in a steam-propulsion system.

Water and fuel inventories had to be maintained at appropriate levels, and fuel required testing to ensure proper quality.

Machining skills were necessary to maintain and repair equipment; failure to do so could cost not only the life of the BT but also the ship’s crew.

Reflecting on the evolution of naval propulsion systems away from steam power, the Boiler Technician rating was disestablished in 1996 and converted to Machinist’s Mate.

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Admiral of the Navy

Admiral of the Navy

insignia for Admiral of the Navy (1899–1917)

The Admiral of the Navy (abbreviated as AN) is the highest possible rank in the United States Navy. The rank is equated to that of a six-star admiral and is one of the two highest possible military ranks in the United States Armed Forces. It has only been awarded once, to George Dewey, in recognition of his victory at Manila Bay in 1898. On March 2, 1899, Congress approved the creation of the grade of Admiral of the Navy. On March 3, President McKinley transmitted to the Senate his nomination of Dewey for the new grade, which was approved the same day But McKinley’s nomination had used the term “Admiral in the Navy,” while the act creating the new grade had used “Admiral of the Navy.” On March 14, 1903, this discrepancy was addressed when President Roosevelt nominated and the Senate approved Dewey to the grade of “Admiral of the Navy,” retroactive to March 2, 1899. The Navy Register of 1904 listed Dewey for the first time as “Admiral of the Navy” instead of “Admiral.

A commensurate rand of General of the Armies was created in 1919 and General John J. Pershing became the only living person to hold that rank.  George Washington was posthumously promoted to the rank of General of the Armies during the bi-centennial year of 1976.

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Sailors, Ya Gotta Love Them

Sailors, Ya Gotta Love Them

By Garland Davis

We have all heard the story about the new sailor fresh out of Bootcamp at home on boot leave. Our hero is at the family reunion being held in his honor. He thought that this is a good thing. All was going good until while talking with the family pastor, his parents, and some aunts and uncles, he looked around and asked, “Hey, did anyone see where I left my fuckin’ beer?

We’ve heard that story a thousand times from a thousand different sailors. I don’t doubt it happened. Sailors will be sailors.

I know for sure that the next one is true.

He is a Chief on leave visiting his mother in an Eastern state. a great-aunt passed away the day he arrived. His mother insisted on going to the viewing at the funeral home. Since he didn’t have a suit and the only uniform he had with him was the Winter Working Blues (Johnny Cash), he wore that.

Once they arrived at the funeral home and extended condolences to the families, he moved away from his mother’s group. He had been gone for over twenty years and knew none of them. A very attractive young woman who had been with the uncle’s family came up to him and took his arm and said, “I’ve often wondered about you. I’ve heard a lot about you but I don’t think I ever met you before.”

They moved off to the side talking and doing some mild flirting. He was careful, after all, it was her grandmother in the coffin. After they had been talking for about thirty minutes, he asked her if she would like to meet the next day for coffee or a drink.

She replied, “Do you know where the Marriott Hotel is located?”

He nodded that he did and she said, looking him in the eye with a crooked grin, “They have a nice lounge, meet me there in about two hours. The airline I work for maintains a suite there for VIP’s. Part of my job is to schedule people into the suite. It’s empty right now. See you there?”

He left with his mom going home. After arriving and changing clothes he told her that he was going out to have a couple of beers with some old high school buddies.

As he opened the door to leave, his mom said, “Now, remember, she’s your cousin.

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Sexting

Sexting

By Garland Davis

Sexting is sending, receiving, or forwarding sexually explicit messages, photographs, or images, primarily between mobile phones, of oneself to others.

The first published use of the term sexting was in a 2005 article in the Australian Sunday Telegraph Magazine. The Pew Research Center commissioned a study on sexting, which divides the practice into three types:[5]

  1. Exchange of images solely between two romantic partners.
  2. Exchanges between partners that are shared with others outside the relationship.
  3. Exchanges between people who are not yet in a relationship, but where at least one person hopes to be.

Sexting has become more common with the rise in camera phones and smartphones with Internet access, that can be used to send explicit photographs as well as messages] While sexting is done by people of all ages] most media coverage fixates on negative aspects of adolescent usage. Young adults use the medium of the text message much more than any other new media to transmit messages of a sexual nature, and teenagers who have unlimited text messaging plans are more likely to receive sexually explicit texts.

Back in the day, you know in ancient times like my youth, sexting involved Ladies Drinks, Barfines, and air-conditioned Hondas.

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Cabbage Rolls and Navy Bean Soup

Cabbage Rolls and Navy Bean Soup

By Garland Davis

The events that I describe here happened, maybe not in the timeframe or order Bud tells them. I am telling this story from his point of view. Bud and I were Chiefs, well he was a senior Chief when I made it, together on a Tincan out of Pearl. I went to a two-year shore tour in San Diego and then was ordered to an Oiler in Pearl. I reported aboard to find my old shipmate Bud as a Warrant Officer and the ship’s Bosun. This was back in the day when Warrant ranks were temporary and each Warrant held a permanent enlisted rank. Bud was a permanent Master Chief Boatswains Mate. Well hell, I’ll just let Bud tell the story…

“There I was walking across the Well Deck and who do I see reporting aboard but my old running mate Dave, undoubtedly one of the best Stewburners to ever shit between a pair of regulation shower shoes. Other than to shake hands and say hellos, I didn’t have time to talk, the XO must be pissed at me again. He had sent the Messenger of the Watch to tell me he wanted to see me on the Quarterdeck. He wanders around the ship looking for discrepancies to point out to the junior officers. He calls it training.

I was mostly doing well with the officer stuff until that fucking Stewburner showed up. Put the two of us together and we could stir up enough shit to keep the XO pissed. Now the XO loved meetings, especially planning meetings and especially meetings where he got to do all the talking. It was one such meeting where the problem arose like gas over a swamp.

The meeting was an Officer and Chief’s meeting to make preliminary plans for an upcoming yard overhaul. The meeting was scheduled for 1400. Before lunch, I stuck my head in the Wardroom pantry to see what we were having for lunch. Stuffed Cabbage Rolls, one of the XO’s favorites. The Steward let me have a sample. Later I had two at lunch.

After going to the fantail to check the condition of a mooring line, I cut through the Crew’s Mess on the way forward. I saw they had had Navy Bean Soup for lunch. On that can Dave’s Bean Soup was one of my favorites. I swung by the CPO Mess and Dave was there. I asked if it would be possible to get a bowl of that soup. He sent the mess cook for a bowl. It was as good as I remembered. It was so good, I had two more bowls.

I went to my stateroom and worked on my list of Wants and Must-Haves in preparation for the XO’s meeting. I got to the Wardroom to find all the chairs taken so I sat down on the deck beside Stewburner Dave. I was in a position where the XO couldn’t see me and there was a Playboy magazine within reach on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. While the XO was prattling on about the number one priorities, I looked at centerfolds.

About thirty minutes after the XO started talking, I could feel the pressure building in my gut. The combination of cabbage rolls and bean soup was leading up to a gas attack of mammoth proportions. It was actually painful. I whispered to the Stewburner, ‘I hope he ends this shit soon, my gut is rumbling, I feel like I have to either fart or shit my pants.’

The XO asked, in preparation for ending the meeting, if anyone had any questions. That fucking Stewburner pops up with a question about prioritizing the six number one priorities the XO had identified. The way the Asshole grinned at me told me the Son-of-a-Bitch did it, to start the XO off. Everyone knew not to ask questions if you wanted to shorten the XO’s meetings from interminable to just long.

The pressure in my gut was unbearable and extremely painful. I had to have relief. I decided to slip out a little silent one to relieve the pressure. That is where it went wrong. What started as silent and controlled, quickly became foghorn loud and uncontrolled. It started out as deep resonating bass and progressed to an almost falsetto. It went on and on. I could pipe chow in less time than it did for that fart to come to an end.

That fucking Stewburner says, ‘Damn, Bosn, if that was mine, I would be so proud, I would stencil my name on it.’

The stench was horrible. While everyone was bailing out of the Wardroom, the XO said, ‘Bosun, go see the Corpsman to make an appointment to have your digestive system checked.’

I said, ‘There’s no need for that sir, it’s them cabbage rolls of yours. They do it to me every time.’”

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