So anyways, when SNO came back from Everett yesterday, one of the questions I asked him was what his running mate was like – a “running mate” is the enlisted Sailor who’s primarily responsible for making sure that his mid doesn’t hurl himself to his death going down the scuttle, knows where to muster, sleep and eat, etc. I still remember my running mate from youngster cruise in 1979 – STG2 Caz Rampey was his name. He still owes me money.
“Oh, he was a good guy,” replied SNO, adding, “kind of a joker, though.”
“Really, how so?”
“Oh, you know, the standard stuff. Always sending me of on bogus errands. ‘Bring me twenty feet of waterline’ for example.”
“And relative bearing grease?”
“Yeah, that too. Plus ‘the keys to the engine room.’”
“How’d you handle that?”
“Well,” he said, smiling slyly, “one time he sent me down to Damage Control Central to ask for an ‘HT punch.’ It was even plausible because he was working on a piece of gear that looked like he need an awl or a punch of some sort.”
“Ah, the old HT punch. Did it hurt?”
“No, actually – I went down there, but there weren’t any hull techs (ed. – “HT’s”) around. So when I got back to the shop, I told him that I couldn’t find any HT punches, but that the master chief had stopped me and asked me what I was looking for. And that the master chief wanted to see him. Right away. And that he looked pretty hot.”
“What’d he do, your running mate?”
“He sputtered for a bit – ‘You didn’t really tell the master chief, did you?’ – Yeah, IC2, I’m afraid that I did. Was that wrong?”
Oh, that face of exaggerated innocence. Trust me gentle reader, when you see that expression on the young man’s face, it’s time to put your hand on your wallet, count the silverware and lock up your daughters. But the IC2 didn’t know the scamp as well as I do. So he scurried down to beg forgiveness of the master chief.
Who was very surprised to hear about the whole thing.
Ah, the joys of the service.
I really did. I lauged out loud.
LOL
Ah, the time honored tradition of nug & newbie tricks…
… probably the next thing to be targeted by service CID/CIS and JAG.
I laughed at the newbie tricks even when they were played on me a loooooong time ago! Every service has their own versions. Please don’t let the fun police stop them!
Cap’n,
Oh, the memories. Once upon a time, back in the wayback, as fresh-scrubbed Middies were cycled through my bridge watch section, they were each, in turn, sent on an hours long quest for sound-powered-phone batteries. Fish in a barrel, I dare say.
But the topper was on USS Austin, LPD 4. In preparation for welldeck ops, one particularlly outspoken Mid was tasked with securing the “Stern Gate Key”. After burning an entire day on a wild goose chase of inqiries to most members of the Wardroom, the Chief’s Mess, and pretty much any sailor remotely resembling an engineer, Midn Knows-it-all finally tracked down his prize. A great and weighty monstrosity it was, complete with a very official looking log book and lanyard for safekeeping.
Speaking of priceless looks, our poor Midn’s countenance, upon arrival on the mess decks, resplendant with said key and log, to the howls and jeers of most of the ship’s company, was truly beyond purchase.
OMG… that is absolutely hilarious! SNO not only learned how to be a good man and officer from his Dad… he also learned how to play practical jokes on his fellow Sailors!
Kid needs to stand a mail-buoy watch. Tough duty.
On the USS CONE in the summer of ’73, one of our 6 3/c Middies (the rest of us knew, he didn’t) was sent to the foc’sle, resplendant in his kapok, sp phone talkers helmet, sp phones on the 1JS circuit, equipped with boat hook and binoculars in the hot, Carribean sun….
After several moments in the eyes of the ship, he realized…well, there was no such thing as a mail bouy, but was also smart enought to figure plenty of people were watching him. He took it like a man and reamined, tending to his assignment, until one of the Blue Force GEARING cans came over the horizon, sending “G,G,G” via flashing light our way. With the sounding of GQ (since we were Orange Forces), he repaired to the safety of his assigned Condition I space…
The bridge was packed out while he was up there.
Ahh, to be young again…
Reminds me of some juvenile games we played with the mids on cruise…..pretended that the bitchbox was broken, so I tasked the mid to go to central to request permission from the guy at the desk to blow the EOOW (this on a ship with whistling shitcans in the plant). Probably not the brightest thing to do, but humorous nonetheless….and entertaining for the lads in central on the midwatch.
A chip off the ole block I’d say.
“Was that wrong?” Priceless.
I wonder if they can still send them searching for fallopian tubes in the gender-integrated navy.
Surprised no one mentioned the infamous sea bat.
I had NO gouge when I came in. Never heard of the general orders of a sentry, etc. before starting AOCS. Our Gunny learned us fast. Everything the hard way.
As a newly repoted Ensign at my 1st squadron,I smelled out the mail bouy watch scam, but I was compelled to willingly call the wardroom two mess and order pizza delivery. I wanted to believe.
After that I became a hard jaded JO and nickname control officer.
B2
Don’t forget to get the “Padeye Wrench”.
A couple of years ago on GW (Ok, it was like TEN years ago now) one of the divisions sent one of their newbie junior enlisted fellas out to stand the mail bouy watch.
So the kid goes out there and, in upholding the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service, does the job as best he knows how. He failed to find the mail bouy, but did spot two fishermen hanging onto a piece of what was until a few hours before their boat. He called the bridge, they did the rescue, he got a medal.
One of my favorite Navy stories.
Nose
Shipmates,
In the P-3 community it was common to send the youg’n off to maintenance Control for a bucket of prop wash and some rags…..
Respects,
AW1 Tim
What! No lubber line?
bc