1. Liberty Launches We All Knew
2. Sailorisms
6. WWII Stories: ''I wasn’t going to let those little devils bury me''
11. Old Sailors
14. Petty Officer Rating "Crow"
15. The Hole
16. Dead H
orse17. Navy Bean Soup
18.
Let There Be No Moaning at
the Bar
by Bob 'Dex' Armstrong
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SAILORISMS
Me and Willy were lollygagging by the scuttlebutt after being aloft to
boy-butter up the antennas and were just perched on a bollard eyeballing
a couple of bilge rats and flangeheads using crescent hammers to pack
monkey shit around a fitting on a handybilly. All of a sudden the dicksmith
started hard-assing one of the deck apes
for lifting his pogey bait. The pecker-checker was a sewer pipe sailor
and the deckape was a gator. Maybe being blackshoes on a bird farm
surrounded by a gaggle of cans didn't set right with either of those
gobs. The deck ape ran through the nearest hatch and dogged it tight because
he knew the penis machinist was going to lay below, catch him between
decks and punch him in the snot locker. He'd probably wind up on the
binnacle list but Doc would find a way to gundeck the paper or give it
the deep six to keep himself above board. We heard the skivvywaver announce
over the bitch box that the
breadburners had creamed foreskins on toast and SOS ready on the mess
decks so we cut and run to avoid the clusterfuck when the twidgets and
cannon cockers knew chow was on. We were balls to the wall for the barn and
everyone was preparing to hit
the beach as soon as we doubled-up and threw the brow over. I had a
ditty bag full of fufu juice that I was gonna spread on thick for the
bar hogs with those sweet Bosnias. Sure beats the hell out of brown
bagging. Might even hit the acey-duecy club and try to hook up with a
Westpac widow. They were always leaving snail trails on the dance floor
on amateur night. If
you understand this, you're true blue and gold!
(UNKNOWN)
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Back in the bad old days, the DDG 42 had an all male crew. There was a urinal located on the signal bridge for bridge watchstanders who were called by Mother Nature for necessity's sake. It was an open air affair, with a small metal shield to prevent accidents due to wind gusts, and also for the sake of modesty. One bright sunny day, the drain became clogged. Because of the location, it was necessary to correct this problem quickly, so the Hull Maintenance Technicians were dispatched to take care of it. The quickest and most direct method was to remove the short rubber hose which ran from the bottom of the urinal to the drain pipe and connect a fire hose to the drain. When the 125 PSI from the firemain was applied it would make quick work of the clog.
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Some veterans bear visible signs of their service:
a missing limb, a jagged scar, a certain look in the eye.
Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding
a bone together, a piece of shrapnel in the leg -
or perhaps another sort of inner steel: the soul's
ally forged in the refinery of adversity.
Except in parades, however, the men and women who
have kept America safe wear no badge or emblem.
You can't tell a vet just by looking. What is a vet?
He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi
Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored
personnel carriers didn't run out of fuel.
He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks,
whose overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a
hundred times in the cosmic scales by four hours of
exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel.
She - or he - is the nurse who fought against futility
and went to sleep sobbing every night for
two solid years in Da Nang.
He is the POW who went away one person and came back another -
or didn't come back AT ALL.
He is the Quantico drill instructor who has never seen combat -
but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account
rednecks and gang members into Marines, and teaching them to
watch each other's backs.
He is the parade - riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons
and medals with a prosthetic hand.
He is the career quartermaster who watches the
ribbons and medals pass him by.
He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns,
whose presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever
preserve the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor
dies unrecognized with them on the battlefield
or in the ocean's sunless deep.
He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket -
palsied now and aggravatingly slow - who helped liberate a
Nazi death camp and who wishes all day long that his wife were
still alive to hold him when the nightmares come.
He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being -
a person who offered some of his life's most vital years in
the service of his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions
so others would not have to sacrifice theirs.
He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness,
and he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on
behalf of the finest, the greatest nation ever known.
So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country,
just lean over and say Thank You. That's all most people need,
and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could
have been awarded or were awarded. Two little words that mean a lot,
"THANK YOU."
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WWII Stories: ''I wasn’t going to let those little devils bury me''
Hugh Merritt paid to have a monument erected at Little Creek Naval Amphibious
Base in memory of those who served on Bataan and Corregidor in the Philippine
Islands.
BILL TIERNAN / THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
By ED MILLER, The Virginian-Pilot
© May 26, 2004
VIRGINIA BEACH — The white Mercedes pulled off the road and under an oak tree.
Hugh Merritt, 85, popped the trunk, pulled out a plastic shopping bag and walked
across a clearing toward a granite monument, 3½ feet high. He set
the bag on the grass and took out several miniature American flags, wrapped in
brown paper. Then he removed seven full-sized flags and a blue garrison cap with
a pin near its crown that read “Ex-POW.”
Traffic rolled by on Nider Boulevard on the Little Creek Naval Amphibious
Base.
The azaleas behind the monument were in full bloom. It was a Thursday morning,
May 6 – 62 years, to the day, that the island of Corregidor fell to the
Japanese. “They took the American flag down,” Merritt recalled. “They lined us
all up and sent word down to get rid of guns, destroy ’em.”
They were a ragged bunch. They had been living on half-rations for months, first
on Bataan and then during the 28-day siege of Corregidor .
The Japanese stripped them to their skivvies. American officers told anyone with
Japanese money to get rid of it; the Japanese would know it had come from their
soldiers. Some men tried to hide the money in their shoes.
“The Japs would find it, and shoot them right there. You’d hear a shot, down the
line a ways, and you’d know there was another guy gone.”
The men were loaded on barges and taken to Bilibid Prison in Manila. >From
there, they were jammed into boxcars for the ride to Cabanatuan No.1, a POW
camp.
“I don’t know how many guys died. You really didn’t know they were dead, because
they couldn’t fall. When they couldn’t get out the door, you knew the ones left
behind were dead.”
On the third day three officers escaped. They were quickly captured, made to dig
their own graves, and shot.
Prisoners were placed in squads of 10. If one escaped, the Japanese killed the
other nine.
“If you heard shots, you knew they had shot them. If you didn’t hear shots, you
knew they had beheaded them.”
In April of 1944, about 350 prisoners were loaded in the hold of a cargo ship
headed to Japan. There was no room to sit, and no water. A five-gallon can
served as the bathroom.
“At night time, for those that died during the day, they’d throw ropes down and
you’d tie them on it, and they’d haul them up and throw them over the side.
“Then after a while, you could sit down.”
They were taken to a copper mine near Hitachi, where they worked 2,500 feet
down, 12 hours a day, seven days a week.
Many men simply gave up.
“They said, 'Uncle Sam’s not coming to get us. They just forgot us.’ We knew
there was no one coming.
“When your buddy died, you stripped him. You took his clothes, because that was
the only way you had any clothes. There was never a man that I knew, when I was
on death detail, who was buried with his clothes on.
“I was determined. I wasn’t going to let those little devils bury me over
there.”
The Japanese gave the men two cigarettes a day. Merritt traded them for rice.
Dying men often craved a last smoke.
One day they came out of the mine and found no shift waiting to relieve them.
“They told us, 'No more work. No more work. The U.S. and Japan have signed a
peace treaty.’ ”
After a few days, fighter planes appeared in the distance. They swooped in low,
then turned around and left.
“Three or four hours later, they came back. They had these sea bags full of
candy, cigarettes and girly magazines. They dropped them daggone things down.
Some of them went right through the barracks. Man, I’ll tell you, we had a
ball.”
Eventually they boarded a train to Yokohama, where hospital ships awaited.
Merritt limped up the ramp to the ship using a rifle as a cane. He had taken the
rifle from a Japanese guard, and wrapped it in a blanket.
He weighed 86 pounds. At the start of the war, he had weighed 150.
“This corpsman said to me, 'What have you got there?’
“I said, 'None of your damn business.’ “He said: 'You’ve got to tell me what
you’ve got.’
“ 'A rifle.’ “ 'You can’t take a rifle on board.’
“I looked at him and I said, 'Are you going to take this rifle away from me?’
“He said: 'No, I don’t think I’m going to.’ “
The rifle leans in a corner of the guest room in Merritt’s Virginia Beach home,
along with other mementos of a 30-year Navy career.
Merritt enlisted in 1935, a month after his 17th birthday. He pedaled his bike
from his home in Lambert’s Point to the recruiting station in downtown Norfolk.
He became a torpedoman’s mate second class. It was only by a series of
coincidences and bad timing that he wound up shouldering a rifle in the
Philippine jungle, wearing Navy whites dyed yellow with coffee grounds.
Early in 1942, pinned down on Bataan, outnumbered and with little modern
weaponry, they waited for the help they’d been promised. It never came.
Merritt was awarded a Purple Heart in 1950 and the Bronze Star in 1992.
He reached into his own pocket to create the monument at Little Creek.
It is dedicated to the “Battling Bastards” of Bataan/Corregidor, Philippine
Islands, and was dedicated on April 10, 2000.
Merritt dug the post holes for the six flag poles that encircle the monument,
and planted the grass that surrounds it. He keeps the grounds tidy, spraying
weeds, trimming trees.
Each May 6, he visits, carrying his flags.
Merritt placed a miniature flag in the stones at the base of each flag pole.
Then he carefully unfolded each of seven different flags.
He raised the American flag first, directly in front of the monument. Then,
working clockwise around the monument, he raised a Navy flag, an Army and an
Army Air Corps flag together, a USS Bataan flag, a POW-MIA flag, and a Marine
Corps flag.
Merritt then put the garrison cap on his head and placed a single flag at the
foot of the monument.
Merritt is not sure who will maintain the monument when he’s gone.
While he’s still here, his mission is clear.
“I want people to remember,” he said.
Reach Ed Miller at 446-2372 or
ed.miller@pilotonline.com
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When wooden ships and iron men were barely out of sight, I am going to give you some facts just to set the record right.
We wore the ole bell bottoms, with a flat hat on our head, and we always hit the sack at night. We never "went to bed."
Our uniforms were worn ashore, and we were mighty proud. Never thought of wearing civvies, in fact they were not allowed.
Now when a ship puts out to sea. I'll tell you son it hurts! When suddenly you notice that half the crews wearing skirts.
And it's hard for me to imagine, a female boatswains mate, stopping on the Quarterdeck to make sure her stockings are straight.
What happened to the KiYi brush, and the old salt water bath? Holy stoning decks at night, cause you stirred old Bosn's wrath!
We always had our gedunk stand and lots of pogey bait. And it always took a hitch or two, just to make a rate.
In your seabag all your skivvies were neatly stopped and rolled. And the blankets on your sack had better have a three-inch fold.
Your little ditty bag . . it is hard to believe just how much it held, and you wouldn't go ashore with pants that hadn't been spiked and belled.
We had scullery maids and succotash and good old S.O.S. And when you felt like topping off you headed for the mess.
Oh we had our belly robbers, but there weren't too many gripes. For the deck apes were never hungry and there were no starving snipes.
Now you never hear of Davey Jones ,Shellbacks or Polliwogs, and you never splice the mainbrace to receive your daily grog.
Now you never have to dog a watch or stand the main event. You even tie your lines today- - back in my time they were bent.
We were all two-fisted drinkers and no one thought you sinned, if you staggered back aboard your ship, three sheets to the wind.
And with just a couple hours of sleep you regained your usual luster. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, you still made morning muster.
Rocks and shoals have long since gone, and now it's U.C.M.J. THEN the old man handled everything if you should go astray.
Now they steer the ships with dials, and I wouldn't be surprised, if some day they sailed the damned things from the beach computerized.
So when my earthly hitch is over, and the good Lord picks the best, I'LL walk right up to HIM and say, "Sir, I have but one request-
Let me sail the seas of Heaven in a coat of Navy blue. Like I did so long ago on earth, way back in nineteen-forty two."
Note:
Lt. J.G Don Ballard joined the U.S. Navy in 1935 when he received $21.00 per Month. What the author says in his words is true. In 1935 only 13 men joined the Navy (from Tennessee) and Don was one of them.
Proudly copied from Lt .Ballard USN Retired, April 13, 2002 , who loved the Navy and all the men he served with in all of World War Two.
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"Coffee and the Navy"
By Rear Admiral Frank J. Allston, SC, USNR (Ret.), and
Captain Kathleen Jensen, SC, USNR
Coffee, in its many forms, has been a mainstay of the Navy through the years.
Grande, skinny, light foam,latte, cappuccino, frappaccino, mocha.
These are names of beverages that have crept into the English language recently
as various coffee-based drinks have brought a high degree of choice to consumers
in all walks of life. As these choices have expanded, Navy officers and enlisted
personnel have become more sophisticated in their beverage choices. This
still-growing range of coffee choices in the U.S. Navy has evolved slowly over
more than two centuries, as commercial coffee makers and purveyors developed
imaginative techniques that today whet the thirst of men and women throughout
the world.
When men first went to sea thousands of years ago, their solid
food and beverage needs were major concerns. In earliest recorded time, ships
rarely sailed beyond sight of land, where they could easily put in to shore to
obtain food and water.
Later, as ships became larger and voyages longer and more
hazardous, crews were sustained with substantial stores of food containers and
jugs of water, requiring development of procedures for stowing, issuing and
consuming them. Sanitary conditions at sea affected liquids and other foods
aboard ship, leading to boiling water or adding alcohol to make it palatable.
Before coffee came into use, water was supplemented by mead, a drink of
fermented honey and water, flavored with fruit or spices. The meager rations
were carefully doled out during each voyage.
Inevitable onboard shortages on long cruises frequently became
major issues among the crews, leading to occasional refusals to participate in
manning their stations and even mutinies. Exhausted supplies of liquids far at
sea could be replenished solely by capturing rainwater in sails, buckets or
whatever else was at hand.
The Old Testament indicates that wine was a popular beverage in
biblical times. Archaeologists have uncovered ancient hieroglyphics describing
how to brew beer and have located jugs that were used for containing beer more
than 5,000 years ago. Although there is strong evidence that a strong alcoholic
beverage was originally distilled from sugarcane in ancient Asia, it was not
until the 15th century that Europeans learned to convert sugarcane readily into
a thick, sweet liquor that became known as rum.
Rum was quickly adopted by Great Britain's Royal Navy. The
fledgling American Continental Navy was modeled along the lines of the RN and,
early in 1794, the Continental Congress enacted into law that a daily ration for
American sailors would be "one half pint of distilled spirits," or in lieu
thereof, "one quart of beer."
Royal Navy officials soon noticed that allowing enlisted ratings
to drink straight rum hampered their performance at sea and endangered the
safety of their ships. The Admiralty solved this problem by specifying that rum
be diluted with water, creating a beverage called grog, which satisfied Sailors'
need for a more thirst-quenching drink than water alone.
Influenced by their English heritage, some American Sailors
preferred drinking tea. Both coffee and tea could easily be brewed aboard ships.
As a result of King George III's instituting a tax on tea and retaliation by
colonists in the famous Boston Tea Party in 1773, the Continental Congress
declared coffee the national drink of the colonies and aboard U.S. Navy ships.
American Sailors promptly switched from tea to coffee.
Preserving coffee beans proved to be a daunting task aboard Navy
ships and in warehouses ashore. Wormholes in the beans roused considerable
concern because of the unknown effect upon the final brewed product from the
holes and the insects that caused them. Paymaster F.T. Arms addressed this
concern in the Navy Cook Book, published in 1902, which he authored and
distributed. Arms wrote, "The presence of wormholes in coffee should not
occasion its rejection unless it is of inferior quality and strength, since they
(the wormholes) generally indicate age, weigh nothing, and disappear when the
coffee is ground."
Coffee was served primarily for its satisfying taste and warming
characteristics, but necessity sometimes fostered other innovative uses. In the
spring of 1914, the Navy flotilla of destroyers was sen to Tampico on the
Caribbean coast of Mexico where Marines were landed to secure release of
arrested American seaman. The skipper of one destroyer, realizing that some of
his Sailors, who would accompany the Marines, had only blues and whites in their
sea bags to wear ashore in the semitropical climate, turned to his officers for
suggestions.
One unknown destroyer paymaster resolved the problem of providing
more comfortable tropical uniforms by dipping white uniforms into pots of
coffee, which effectively transformed them into khakis. A future flag officer
and chief of Supply Corps, then a yeoman, third class (later VADM), Charles W.
Fox, reported that there was "absolutely no comfort in wearing a uniform soaked
from having been dipped in a pot of coffee dregs."
Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels, scandalized by reports of
drunkenness aboard ship, issued an order 1919 banned the serving of wine in the
wardroom and any consumption of alcoholic aboardship. Daniels, a teetotaler,
decreed that only coffee or tea should be served. This was not a popular order
and Sailors promptly dubbed a cup of coffee as a "cup of joe."
Popularity of coffee continued to increase during the period
between two world wars as supply officers strove to assure that coffee of
suitable quality was available in sufficient quantity to sate the thirst of
officers and Sailors afloat and ashore.
The importance of coffee to officers and Sailors was driven home
on 7 December 1941, when supply officers of undamaged or lightly damaged
combatant ships following the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor prepared to board
supplies for immediate deployment no later than early the next morning. CAPT
(later RADM) John J. Gaffney, senior Supply Corps officer assigned to the Navy
Yard Pearl Harbor, issued a series of emergency orders to his staff. Among
officers he dispatched into action was LTJG J. B. Andrade, SC, USNR, one of five
Naval Reservists already serving on two weeks active duty in CAPT Gaffney's
Supply Department. He instructed Andrade to drive into Honolulu to make
emergency purchase of five tons of the popular Kona coffee for issue to fleet
units preparing to put to sea.
The young officer was unable to obtain the entire five tons as
hastily opened wholesale firms turned over their entire Kona coffee inventory to
him. Anticipating that it might not be possible for LTJG Andrade to purchase the
full five tons, Gaffney had authorized substitution of commercial brands.
Andrade purchased and delivered five tons of Kona and other acceptable coffee by
late evening that day.
As America went on a full wartime footing, soldiers were issued
instant coffee in their ration kits. Back at home, shortages of coffee
eventually led to rationing.
One frequent World War II saying boasted that Navy ships operated
on fuel oil and their crews operated on coffee. Many Sailors were convinced that
U.S. Navy combatant ships in World War II had more unofficial "coffee messes"
(or coffee pots) in place than crewmen aboard - about 2,000 in battleships. Most
of these unauthorized "messes" consisted of a single electric coffeemaker
plugged into the nearest electrical outlet in crew quarters, offices, workshops
and sometimes even at battle stations. The number of individual messes and the
frequent need to substitute lesser-known brands of coffee were among several
factors that raised questions about the quality of Navy coffee, particularly in
the fleet.
U.S. Navy officials, motivated by the belief that coffee is as
important to personnel in the fleet as ammunition is to its weapons systems,
were concerned early during wartime expansion in 1942 over the widely varying
quality of the roasted coffee being supplied to ships and shore stations. The
solution was to open Navy fresh coffee roasting plants on both the East and West
coasts and later in Hawaii.
The coffee roasting plant at the Naval Supply Corps Depot Oakland,
capable of roasting 13 million pounds an hour, went on line on Oct. 27, 1942.
The plant annually produced 13.5 million pounds of freshly ground coffee from
approximately 16 million pounds of green coffee beans obtained from Central and
South America, usually from Brazil and Colombia.
During the period from opening in October 1942 to June 1948, the
Oakland Coffee Roasting Plant blended, roasted and ground 115,830,896 pounds of
green coffee into a total of 98,456,264 pounds of freshly ground and roasted
coffee and packed them in 50-pound sacks of high-quality freshly roasted coffee
for the Pacific Fleet. Coffee was also shipped to other Navy, Marine Corps and
Army units throughout the Pacific, including bases in Western states.
A second coffee roasting plant, located at the Naval Clothing
Depot at Brooklyn, N.Y., provided a similar service to the Atlantic Fleet and to
other American military services in the North African and European theaters of
operations. Both plants were operated until disestablished in 1956. An older
Navy coffee roasting plant at Mare Island Shipyard in California was dismantled,
shipped to Pearl Harbor, and began operation in July 1943 to meet expanding
coffee needs of growing and rapidly advancing forces in the Central Pacific.
Anecdotes about coffee in the Navy abound. Attorney Harris Meyer,
son of the late CAPT Sam Meyer, USNR, shares one story that his father-in-law,
Bernie Eisenbach, told fondly with pride. Eisenbach, a trained and experienced
tool and die maker, enlisted in the Navy in 1942 and was designated a torpedoman,
second class. He was ordered to the destroyer escort, USS Richard W. Suesens (DE
342), deployed to the South Pacific that already had a full complement of
torpedomen. Eisenbach could type, so he was assigned as assistant to the ship's
cook.
The cook promptly gave Eisenbach the task of assuring that there
was ample coffee for all watches. Bernie soon noticed that large quantities of
coffee were left in the 20-quart containers in which it was brewed. The crewman
who had this task before him, simply filled large pots with water, threw in
large cheesecloth wrapped bags of coffee, turned on the heat and left them to
boil. Sailors strongly criticized the bitter taste and drank little of it.
Not being a coffee drinker, Eisenbach wrote to his father, a
professional baker, and asked for the exact formula and procedure for brewing
great coffee, which he subsequently received. His father stressed how much
coffee he should put in for each gallon of water, exactly how long to brew the
coffee and he emphasized that when the coffee was brewed, the grounds should be
removed immediately.
When the crew tasted the strong, well-brewed and improved coffee,
prepared according to instructions of Bernie's father, they enjoyed the change.
Thereafter, coffee usually disappeared by the middle of the watch, requiring
Bernie to prepare additional quantities. Bernie's successful improvement in
coffee definitely raised crew morale, but it had an unintended side effect that
doubled his workload. The seemingly miraculous improvement in the ship's coffee
formula soon spread throughout the squadron.
CAPT Len Sapera, SC, USN (Ret.), recalls a shipboard coffee
incident that had a less pleasant outcome. As a lieutenant, junior grade, in
1962, he was assigned as food services officer in USS Cavalier (APA 37) and
caught a seaman apprentice one day making the morning coffee for the mess decks,
using dirty dishwater. "I nailed him and took him to captain's mast where the CO
busted him down to seaman recruit and processed him out of the Navy. That was
the first time I put someone on report and nailed him at mast."
At special times, military families traditionally have taken their
holiday meals at base dining halls and dining facilities. CDR (later CAPT)
Thomas J. Ingram, SC, USN, believed that the food service staff should be
rewarded with a big holiday turnout, so he took his family to Thanksgiving
dinner at the Cheatham Annex, Va., General Mess in the late 1960s. As a
teenager, Alison Ingram (later CDR, CEC, USN, Ret.) accompanied her family for a
special turkey dinner. When a mess attendant took her dessert order, she asked
for pumpkin pie, but was served coffee, a beverage she never consumed. As the
attendant stood by to determine her satisfaction, Alison reluctantly drank the
coffee and found that it was delicious. CDR Ingram now says that she has been
drinking coffee ever since.
In 1974, as the U.S. Navy's communications station in Asmara,
Ethiopia, was closing, a warehouse filled with remaining excess stores, was
opened to the Ethiopian public for one visit per person to take whatever could
be carried. Although beer was the popular choice, many 20-pound square cans of
roasted and ground coffee departed on tops of heads or under arms. These square
20-lb. cans are still used today, primarily aboard American submarines, and DLA
sold $556,000 worth in fiscal year 2003.
Coffee has always been employed as a medium of exchange for
enterprising Navy Supply Corps officers afloat. Two former chiefs of Supply
Corps recall just how valuable coffee is around the world.
RADM Jim Miller, 37th Chief, reports, "When I was a young junior
supply officer, skippers of my ships would always warn me to have 5-pound tins
of coffee aboard when we visited Hong Kong. There, a sampan captained by 'Mary
Sue' with a crew of young girls, would pull alongside arriving U.S. Navy ships
and offer to paint our hulls in return for tins of coffee. We'd supply the paint
and rollers and the women would use them to paint our ships." RADM Ted Walker,
35th Chief, adds, "A 5?pound tin of coffee would get almost anything done at a
Navy shipyard."
Worldwide consumption of coffee expanded throughout the 20th
century and continues into the 21st century. One reporter's article, published
in a Chicago suburban newspaper in 2002, provided his perspective on coffee in
American society. Jake Herrle wrote:
"It (coffee) jump starts our mornings and fortifies us for
winter's freeze. It can summon the courage to face a particularly dreadful day
at the office.
"Coffee is a warm and inviting friend that greets us again after
dinner to smooth over a rough day or to help digest an ample meal. The day's
last cup of joe signals the mind to shift gears into the inky night and begin to
slow down.
"Not to slight our furry four-legged friends, but coffee is a
constant and reliable companion to most of our lives."
Much has been written in the popular press about the phenomenon of
coffee shops as popular gathering places for refreshment, fellowship and
conversation in other parts of the world. Coffee shops are becoming equally
popular as social institutions in the United States. Serving a wide variety of
coffee, tea and chocolate beverages, these occasions have tempted Americans from
middle school students to retirees, including the American military personnel.
As reporter Herrle put it, "Ever stopped in the floral shop of a strange town to
get the scoop on the local gossip?"
Historically, individual military services were responsible for
procuring, storing and distributing all commodities, including food. Beginning
in October 1961 with formation of the Defense Supply Agency, now the Defense
Logistics Agency (DLA), within the Defense Department, methods of supplying
subsistence items changed drastically. The mission of the Defense Supply Center
Philadelphia (DSCP) includes providing subsistence for United States military
personnel worldwide.
CAPT Jeffrey Bradley, SC, USN, Director of Subsistence, DSCP,
reports that from World War II until the early 1990s, roast and ground coffee
was centrally purchased under a military specification, placed in military
depots and issued. In 1993, the Department of Defense replaced the military
depot system for garrison feeding with the Subsistence Prime Vendor Program,
utilizing commercial distributors.
"Today's warfighters don't select coffee with the same regularity
as their predecessors and tend to choose sports drinks, sodas or other popular
fountain lines. The familiar coffee urn in the dining halls that are full 24
hours a day, have in many instances, been replaced by fountain dispensers using
reconstituted liquid coffee at a cost of $800,000 a year," Bradley explains.
Despite the changing trends in beverage consumption by members of
U.S. military services, use of roasted and ground coffee is still substantial
with reported purchases of approximately $3 million a year. Bradley reports,
"Initiatives are underway by DLA Defense Supply Center Philadelphia, in
cooperation with the National Institute for the Severely Handicapped, the
government of Puerto Rico and the State of Hawaii to develop a domestic source
of roast and ground coffee that could be made available to the U.S. military."
Navy Exchange Service Command operated direct-run retail fast-food
outlets on Navy facilities in the early 1970s, but sales were lackluster.
Recognizing the success of name-brand fast-food stores near Navy installations,
NEXCOM executed a local contract that Burger King won through competitive
bidding and, in 1974, was awarded the right to operate at four Navy waterfront
sites - Norfolk, Pearl Harbor, Long Beach and New London - where Sailors could
purchase coffee. NEXCOM Commander RADM William Maguire, SC, USN, explains,
"Revenues were terrific and so we decided at the term of the existing contract,
we would resolicit."
In 1984, McDonald's Corporation was awarded a contract to operate
at multiple sites, now totaling 52 systemwide. Under separate contracts, Wendy's
operates a store in Iceland and Burger King operates two in Europe. These
contract locations do a lively business in coffee sales. Eurest, operating as 5
Star Cafe, was awarded a contract in 2002 to provide food service at The
Pentagon, including brewing and selling Starbuck's coffee under license.
Even with constantly changing public tastes, coffee remains one of
the most popular beverages sold and consumed in the United States, trailing only
soft drinks, milk and bottled water in annual volume of consumption. Suppliers
can be anticipated to continue their quest for innovative new techniques for
packaging and presenting coffee worldwide to the public, including military
personnel.
Much has been written in the past about the alleged negative
effect that caffeine in coffee causes to individual health, but reports of
recent studies have resulted in a reassessment of the health effects of coffee
drinking. A recent article in the Wall Street Journal reported that
"Researchers at the Harvard School of Public Health have found that men who
drink four to five cups of coffee a day cut their risk of developing Parkinson's
disease nearly in half." The Journal article further reported that
"German researchers have also identified a compound in coffee that may offer
protection against colon cancer."
Obviously, additional research will continue as the pros and cons
of drinking coffee remain under constant scrutiny by health authorities and the
providers of coffee products, as well as consumers. In the meantime, it is safe
to conclude that coffee will continue to be a significant part of Navy life
aboard ship and ashore and that consumers will welcome the newer choices as they
come on the market.
RADM Frank Allston had 34 years of active and Reserve duty when he retired in
1985. He was commissioned an ensign in the Naval Reserve Supply Corps in 1952
and served on active duty during the Korean War. He was presented the Department
of the Navy Distinguished Public Service Award in 1998 for his 10-year effort in
researching and writing Ready for Sea, an extensive history of the first 200
years of the U.S. Navy Supply Corps. RADM Allston has been selected as the 2004
Navy Supply Corps School Distinguished Alumnus. He now serves on the Newsletter
Editorial Board.
CAPT Kathleen Jensen is currently Project Manager/Virtual SYSCOM Support at
Naval Supply Systems Command Headquarters. Her recent Reserve assignments
include Commanding Officer, AIRPAC Supply 0189 and Executive Officer, NR Defense
Distribution Center Detachment B120.
--------------------------------------
Contributed,
YNCS Don Harribine, USN(Ret)
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THE SEA BAG........
There was a time when everything you owned had to fit in your sea bag. Remember
those nasty rascals? Fully packed, one of the suckers weighed more than the poor
devil hauling it.
The damn things weighed a ton and some idiot with an off-center sense of humor
sewed a carry handle on it to help you haul it. Hell, you could bolt a
handle on a Greyhound bus but it wouldn't make the damn thing portable.
The Army, Marines and Air Force got footlockers and we got a big ole' canvas
bag.
After you warped your spine jackassing the goofy thing through a bus or train
station, sat on it waiting for connecting
transportation and made folks mad because it was too damn big to fit in any
overhead rack on any bus, train and airplane ever made, the contents looked like
hell. All your gear appeared to have come from bums who slept on park benches.
Traveling with a sea bag was something left over from the "Yo-ho-ho and a bottle
of rum" sailing ship days. Sailors used to sleep in hammocks. So you stowed your
issue in a big canvas bag and lashed your hammock to it, hoisted it on your
shoulder and in effect moved your entire home and complete inventory of earthly
possessions from ship
to ship. I wouldn't say you traveled light because with one strap it was a
one-shoulder load that could torque your skeletal frame and bust your ankles. It
was like hauling a dead linebacker.
They wasted a lot of time in boot camp telling you how to pack one of the
suckers. There was an officially sanctioned method of organization that you
forgot after ten minutes on the other side of the gate at Great Lakes or San
Diego. You got rid of a lot of issue gear when you went to the SHIP.
Did you ever know a tin-can sailor who had a raincoat? A flat hat? One of those
nut hugger knit swimsuits? How bout those roll your own neckerchiefs... The
ones the girls in a good Naval tailor shop would cut down and sew into a 'greasy
snake' for two bucks?
Within six months, every fleet sailor was down to one set of dress blues, port
and starboard undress blues and whites, a couple of white hats, boots, shoes,
assorted skivvies a pea coat and three sets of bleached out dungarees. The rest
of your original issue was either in the pea coat locker, lucky bag or had been
reduced to wipe down
rags in the engine room. Underway ships were not ships that allowed vast
accumulation of private gear.
Hobos who lived in discarded refrigerator crates could amass greater loads of
pack rat crap than fleet sailors. The confines of a canvas back rack, side
locker and a couple of bunk bags did not allow one to live a Donald Trump
existence. Space and the going pay scale combined to make us envy the lifestyle
of a mud hut Ethiopian. We
were the global equivalents of nomadic Monguls without ponies to haul our stuff.
And after the rigid routine of boot camp we learned the skill of random
compression packing... Known by mother's world-wide as 'cramming'. It is amazing
what you can jam into a space no bigger than a breadbox if you pull a watch cap
over a boot and push it in with your foot. Of course it looks kinda weird when
you pull it out but they never hold
fashion shows at sea and wrinkles added character to a salty appearance. There
was a four-hundred mile gap between the images on recruiting posters and the
actual appearance of sailors at sea. It was not without justifiable reason that
we were called the tin-can Navy.
We operated on the premise that if 'Cleanliness was next to Godliness', we must
be next to the other end of that
spectrum... We looked like our clothing had been pressed with a waffle iron and
packed by a bulldozer.
But what in the hell did they expect from a bunch of jerks that lived in the
crews hole of a 2250 Gearing/Fletcher
can. After a while you got used to it... You got used to everything you owned
picking up and retaining that
distinctive aroma... You got used to old ladies on busses taking a couple of
wrinkled nose sniffs of your pea coat then getting up and finding another
seat...
Do they still issue seabags? Can you still make five bucks sitting up half the
night drawing a ships picture on the side
of one of the damn things with black and white marking pens that drive old
master-at-arms into a 'rig for heart attack' frenzy? Make their faces red... The
veins on their neck bulge out... And yell, "Jeezus H. Christ! What in god's name
is that all over your seabag?" "Artwork, Chief... It's like the work of
Michelangelo... My ship... Great huh?" "Looks like some damn comic book..."
Here was a man with cobras tattooed on his arms... A skull with a dagger through
one eye and a ribbon reading 'DEATH BEFORE SHORE DUTY' on his shoulder...
Crossed anchors with 'Subic Bay 1945' on the other shoulder... An eagle on his
chest and a full blown Chinese dragon peeking out between the cheeks of his
butt. If anyone was an
authority on stuff that looked like a comic book, it had to be this E-7 sucker.
Sometimes I look at all the crap stacked in my garage, close my eyes and smile,
remembering a time when everything I owned could be crammed into a canvas bag.
Maturity is hell.
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OLD SAILORS SIT AND CHEW THE FAT
ABOUT THINGS THAT USED TO BE,
OF THE THINGS THEY'VE SEEN,
THE PLACES THEY'VE BEEN,
WHEN THEY VENTURED OUT TO SEA.
THEY REMEMBERED FRIENDS FROM LONG AGO,
THE TIMES THEY HAD BACK THEN.
THE MONEY THEY SPENT,
THE BEER THEY DRANK,
IN THEIR DAYS AS SAILING MEN.
THEIR LIVES ARE LIVED IN DAYS GONE BY,
WITH THOUGHTS THAT FOREVER LAST.
OF BELL BOTTOM BLUES,
WINGED WHITE HATS,
AND GOOD TIMES IN THEIR PAST.
THEY RECALL LONG NIGHTS WITH A MOON SO BRIGHT
FAR OUT ON A LONELY SEA.
THE THOUGHTS THEY HAD
AS YOUTHFUL LADS,
WHEN THEIR LIVES WERE WILD AND FREE.
THEY KNEW SO WELL HOW THEIR HEARTS WOULD SWELL
WHEN OLD GLORY FLUTTERED PROUD AND FREE.
THE UNDERWAY PENNANT
SUCH A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT
AS THEY PLOWED THROUGH AN ANGRY SEA.
THEY TALKED OF THE CHOW OL' COOKIE WOULD MAKE
AND THE SHRILL OF THE BOSUN'S PIPE.
HOW SALT SPRAY WOULD FALL
LIKE SPARKS FROM HELL
WHEN A STORM STRUCK IN THE NIGHT.
THEY REMEMBER OLD SHIPMATES ALREADY GONE
WHO FOREVER HOLD A SPOT IN THEIR HEART,
WHEN SAILORS WERE BOLD,
AND FRIENDSHIPS WOULD HOLD,
UNTIL DEATH RIPPED THEM APART.
THEIR SAILING DAYS ARE GONE AWAY,
NEVER AGAIN WILL THEY CROSS THE BROW.
THEY HAVE NO REGRETS,
THEY KNOW THEY ARE BLESSED,
FOR HONORING A SACRED VOW.
THEIR NUMBERS GROW LESS WITH EACH PASSING DAY
AS THE FINAL MUSTER BEGINS,
THERE'S NOTHING TO LOSE,
ALL HAVE PAID DUES,
AND THEY'LL SAIL WITH SHIPMATES AGAIN.
I'VE HEARD THEM SAY BEFORE GETTING UNDERWAY
THAT THERE'S STILL SOME SAILING TO DO,
THEY'LL SAY WITH A GRIN
THAT THEIR SHIP HAS COME IN
AND THE LORD IS COMMANDING THE CREW.
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I like the Navy. I like standing on deck during a long voyage with sea spray in my face and ocean winds whipping in from everywhere - The feel of the giant steel ship beneath me, it's engines driving against the sea is almost beyond understanding - It’s immense power makes the Navyman feel so insignificant but yet proud to be a small part of this ship - A small part of Her mission.
I like the Navy. I like the sound of taps over the ships announcing system, the ringing of the ships bell, the foghorns and strong laughter of Navy men at work. I like the ships of the Navy - nervous darting destroyers, sleek proud cruisers, majestic battle ships, steady solid carriers and silent hidden submarines. I like the workhorse tugboats with their proud Indian names: Iroquois, Apache, Kiawah and Sioux - each stealthy powerful tug safely guiding the warships to safe deep waters from all harbors.
I like the historic names of other proud Navy Ships: Midway, Hornet, Princeton, Sea Wolf and Saratoga. The Ozark, Hunley, William R. Rush and Turner, the Missouri, Wichita, Iowa, Arizona and Manchester, as well as The Sullivan’s, Enterprise, Tecumseh, Cole and Nautilus too- all majestic ships of the line - Each ship commanding the respect of all Navymen that have known Her - or were privileged to be a part of Her crew
I like the bounce of Navy music and the tempo of a Navy Band, "Liberty Whites", “13 Button Blues”, the rare 72 hour liberty and the spice scent of a foreign port - I like shipmates I've sailed with, worked with, served with or have known: The Gunners Mate from the Iowa cornfields; a Sonarman from the Colorado mountain country; a pal from Cairo, Alabama; an Italian from near Boston; some boogie boarders of California; and of course, a drawling friendly Oklahoma lad that hailed from Muskogee; and a very congenial Engineman from the Tennessee hills.
From all parts of the land they came - farms of the Midwest, small towns of New England - the red clay area and small towns of the South - the mountain and high prairie towns of the West - the beachfront towns of the Atlantic, the Pacific and the Gulf - All are American; all are comrades in arms - All are men of the sea and all are men of honor.
I like the adventure in my heart when the ship puts out to sea, and I like the electric thrill of sailing home again, with the waving hands of welcome from family and friends, waiting on shore - The extended time at sea drags; the going is rough on occasion. But there's the companionship of robust Navy laughter, the devil-may-care philosophy of the sea. This helps the Navyman - The remembrances of past shipmates fill the mind and restore the memory with images of other ships, other ports, and other cruises long past. Some memories are good, some are not so good, but all are etched in the mind of the Navyman - and most will be there forever.
I like the sea, and after a day of work, there is the serenity of the sea at dusk. As white caps dance on the ocean waves, the sunset creates flaming clouds that float in folds over the horizon - as if painted there by a master. The darkness follows soon and is mysterious. The ship’s wake in darkness has a hypnotic effect, with foamy white froth and luminescence that forms never ending patterns in the turbulent waters - I like the lights of the ship in darkness - the masthead lights, the red and green sidelights and stern lights. They cut through the night and appear as a mirror of stars in darkness - There are rough stormy nights, and calm, quiet, still nights where the quiet of the mid-watch allows the ghosts of all the Sailors of the world to stand with you. They are abundant and unreachable, but ever apparent - And there is always the aroma of fresh coffee from the galley.
I like the legends of the Navy and the Navymen that created those legends. I like the proud names of Navy Heroes: Halsey, Nimitz, Beach, Farragut, John McCain, Rickover and John Paul Jones. A man can find much in the Navy - comrades in arms, pride in his country - A man can find himself and can revel in this experience.
In years to come, when the Sailor is home from the sea, he will still recall with fondness the ocean spray on his face when the sea is angry - There will come a faint aroma of fresh paint in his nostrils, the echo of hearty laughter of the seafaring men who once were close companions - Now landlocked, he will grow wistful of his Navy days, when the seas were the largest part of him and a new port of call was always just over the horizon.
Recalling those days and times, he will stand taller and say: "ONCE I WAS A NAVYMAN !”
E. A. Hughes, FTCM (SS), USN (Retired)
Copyright, 1958, 1978
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Hear my voice, America! Though I speak through the mist of 200 years, my shout for freedom will echo through liberty's halls for many centuries to come. Hear me speak, for my words are of truth and justice, and the rights of man. For those ideals I have spilled my blood upon the world's troubled waters. Listen well, for my time is eternal - yours is but a moment. I am the spirit of heroes past and future. I am the American Sailor. I was born upon the icy shores at Plymouth, rocked upon the waves of the Atlantic, and nursed in the wilderness of Virginia. I cut my teeth on New England codfish, and I was clothed in southern cotton. I built muscle at the halyards of New Bedford whalers, and I gained my sea legs high atop mizzen of Yankee clipper ships. Yes, I am the American Sailor, one of the greatest seamen the world has ever known. The sea is my home and my words are tempered by the sound of paddle wheels on the Mississippi and the song of whales off Greenland's barren shore. My eyes have grown dim from the glare of sunshine on blue water, and my heart is full of star-strewn nights under the Southern Cross. My hands are raw from winter storms while sailing down round the Horn, and they are blistered from the heat of cannon broadside while defending our nation. I am the American Sailor, and I have seen the sunset of a thousand distant, lonely lands. I am the American Sailor. It was I who stood tall beside John Paul Jones as he shouted, "I have not yet begun to fight!" I fought upon the Lake Erie with Perry, and I rode with Stephen Decatur into Tripoli harbor to burn Philadelphia. I met Guerriere aboard Constitution, and I was lashed to the mast with Admiral Farragut at Mobile Bay. I have heard the clang of Confederate shot against the sides of Monitor. I have suffered the cold with Peary at the North Pole, and I responded when Dewey said, "You may fire when ready Gridley," at Manila Bay. It was I who transported supplies through submarine infested waters when our soldier's were called "over there." I was there as Admiral Byrd crossed the South Pole. It was I who went down with the Arizona at Pearl Harbor, who supported our troops at Inchon, and patrolled dark deadly waters of the Mekong Delta. I am the American Sailor and I wear many faces. I am a pilot soaring across God's blue canopy and I am a Seabee atop a dusty bulldozer in the South Pacific. I am a corpsman nursing the wounded in the jungle, and I am a torpedoman in the Nautilus deep beneath the North Pole. I am hard and I am strong. But it was my eyes that filled with tears when my brother went down with the Thresher, and it was my heart that rejoiced when Commander Shepherd rocketed into orbit above the earth. It was I who languished in a Viet Cong prison camp, and it was I who walked upon the moon. It was I who saved the Stark and the Samuel B. Roberts in the mine infested waters of the Persian Gulf. It was I who pulled my brothers from the smoke filled compartments of the Bonefish and wept when my shipmates died on the Iowa and White Plains. When called again, I was there, on the tip of the spear for Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm. I am the American Sailor. I am woman, I am man, I am white and black, yellow, red and brown. I am Jew, Muslim, Christian and Buddhist. I am Irish, Filipino, African, French, Chinese, and Indian. And my standard is the outstretched hand of Liberty. Today, I serve around the world, on land, in air, on and under the sea. I serve proudly, at peace once again, but with the fervent prayer that I need not be called again. Tell your children of me. Tell them of my sacrifice, and how my spirit soars above their country. I have spread the mantle of my nation over the ocean and I will guard her forever. I am her heritage and yours.
I AM THE AMERICAN SAILOR
Author unknown.
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The uniform
regulations of 19 February 1841 introduced a sleeve mark for the
uniforms of petty officers consisting of an eagle facing left (from the
wearer's perspective) with wings pointed down, while perched on a fouled
anchor. It was to be worn half way between the elbow and shoulder on the
front of the sleeve. Boatswain's Mates, Gunner's Mates, Carpenter's Mates,
Masters at Arms, Ship's Stewards and Ship's Cooks wore it on the right
sleeve while Quarter Masters, Quarter Gunners, Captains of the Forecastle,
Captains of Tops, Captains of the Afterguard, Armorers, Coopers, Ship's
Corporals and Captains of the Hold wore it on the left sleeve. It was
difficult to distinguish between different ratings using this system.
The uniform regulations of 1 December 1866 introduced a system of rating
badges, with eight specialty marks. Depending on design and where these
badges were worn, thirteen ratings could be identified.
A petty officer rating badge incorporating an eagle, specialty mark and
chevrons with points down was introduced in the uniform regulations of 1886.
The eagle faced left with its wings pointed horizontally to the sides. The
regulations specified that petty officers of the starboard watch were to
wear rating badges on their right sleeves. The left sleeve was to be used
for those on the port watch.
General Order 431, dated 24 September 1894, changed the eagle's wings to
point upward, though the eagle continued to face to the left.
The uniform regulations of 25 January 1913 changed the location of rating
badges so that ratings badges were no longer worn on the sleeves
corresponding to assigned watches. Right arm rates were to signify men of
the Seamen Branch; left arm rates were to be used by personnel of the
Artificer Branch, Engine Room Force, and all other petty officers. The eagle
continued to face left on all rating badges.
The uniform regulations of 31 May 1941 specified that the eagle was to face
to the left in the rates comprising the Seaman Branch: Boatswain Mate,
Turret Captain, Signalman, Gunner's Mate, Fire Controlman, Quartermaster,
Mineman and Torpedoman's Mate. All other rating badges were to have an eagle
facing to the right.
Right arm rates were disestablished 2 April 1949, after having been
eliminated by Change #1, dated 24 February 1948, to the 1947 uniform
regulations. All rating badges were to be worn on the left sleeve with the
eagle facing to the right.
Now each of us
from time to time has gazed upon the sea
and watched the mighty warships pulling out to keep this country free.
And most of us have read a book or heard a lusty tale,
about these men who sail these ships through lightning, wind and hail.
But there's a place within each ship that legend's fail to teach.
It's down below the water-line and it takes a living toll
- - a hot metal living hell, that sailors call the "Hole."
It houses engines run with steam that makes the shafts go round.
A place of fire, noise, and heat that beats your spirits down.
Where boilers like a hellish heart, with blood of angry steam,
are molded gods without remorse, are nightmares in a dream.
Whose threat from the fires roar, is like a living doubt,
that at any moment with such scorn, might escape and crush you out.
Where turbines scream like tortured souls, alone and lost in Hell,
are ordered from above somewhere, they answer every bell.
The men who keep the fires lit and make the engines run,
are strangers to the light and rarely see the sun.
They have no time for man or God, no tolerance for fear,
their aspect pays no living thing a tribute of a tear.
For there's not much that men can do that these men haven't done,
beneath the decks, deep in the hole, to make the engines run.
And every hour of every day they keep the watch in Hell,
for if the fires ever fail their ship's a useless shell.
When ships converge to have a war upon an angry sea,
the men below just grimly smile at what their fate will be.
They're locked below like men fore-doomed, who hear no battle cry,
it's well assumed that if they're hit men below will die.
For every day's a war down there when gauges all read red,
twelve-hundred pounds of heated steam can kill you mighty dead.
So if you ever write their songs or try to tell their tale,
the very words would make you hear a fired furnace's wail.
And people as a general rule don't hear of these men of steel,
so little heard about this place that sailors call the "Hole."
But I can sing about this place and try to make you see,
the hardened life of the men down there, 'cause one of them is me.
I've seen these sweat-soaked heroes fight in superheated air,
to keep their ship alive and right, though no one knows they're there.
And thus they'll fight for ages on till warships sail no more,
amid the boiler's mighty heat and the turbine's hellish roar.
So when you see a ship pull out to meet a war-like foe,
remember faintly if you can, "The Men Who Sail Below."
-Anonymous
|
YIELD: 6 1/4 Gallons or 100 portions, each portion: 1 cup |
||||
INGREDIENTS |
WEIGHTS |
MEASURES |
PORTIONS |
METHOD |
|
Beans, white, dry |
6 lbs. |
3 1/2 qt. |
-- |
1. Pick over and wash beans. |
|
Ham stock |
|
7 gal. |
-- |
2. Add ham stock and ham bones. Heat to boiling
point; cover and simmer 2-3 hours or until beans are tender. If
necessary, add hot water. |
|
Carrots, shredded |
1 lb. |
2 3/4 cups |
-- |
4. Add carrots, onions, and pepper. Simmer for 30 minutes. |
|
Flour, hard wheat, sifted |
1/2 lb. |
2 cups |
-- |
5. Blend flour and water to a smooth paste. Stir into soup, and cook 10 minutes longer. |
NOTE:
1. If beans are old, soak 3 to 4 hours prior to cooking.
2. Add salt and additional pepper if desired.
VARIATION:
Old Fashioned Navy Bean Soup: Add one No. 10 can of tomatoes in Step 4.
Let There Be No Moaning at the Bar
Old sailors sit
And chew the fat
About things that used to be,
Of the things they've seen'
The places they've been,
When they ventured out to sea.
They remembered friends
From long ago,
The times they had back then,
The money they spent,
The beer they drank,
In their days as sailing men.
Their lives are lived
In the days gone by
With the thoughts that forever last.
Of the bell bottom blues,
Winged white hats,
And good times in their past.
They recall long nights
With the moon so bright
Far out into the lonely sea.
The thoughts they had
As youthful lads,
When their lives were wild and free.
They know so well
How their hearts would swell
When old glory fluttered proud and free.
The underway pennant
Such a beautiful sight
As they plowed through an angry sea.
They talked of the chow
Ol' cookie would make
And the shrill of the bos'n pipe.
How salt spray would fall
Like sparks from hell
When a storm struck in the night.
They remember old shipmates
Already gone
Who forever hold a spot in their heart,
When sailors were bold,
And friendships would hold,
Until death ripped them apart.
They speak of nights
Spent in bawdy houses
On many foreign shore,
Of the beer they'd down
As gathering around,
Telling jokes with a busty whore.
Their sailing days
Are gone away,
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