scrapbook letters

Sailors have more fun

Reading some of my old letters my late mother kept in her scrapbook, I appreciate jogging memories of my initial service in the Navy forty years ago. At the time, I was stuck in limbo, waiting on orders, waiting on a medical evaluation, and bored. I had spent eighteen months training for a career as an electronics technician in San Diego, in Illinois, in Florida and again in San Diego. When I had received an opportunity to attend the Naval Academy, a medical evaluation accompanying the selection board was possibly going to prevent that. In the meantime, I was assigned to support a correctional unit on Naval Training Center San Diego, to guard and escort sailors confined and others pending transfer to the Naval Brig.

“January 13 1978

I was paid this morning and I have finally got some money in my pocket after being in the depths of poverty for the last week. I’ve been keeping a budget book to account for every penny. Setting aside a $120 to send to you to save for me, I spent most of my last paycheck on a stereo receiver and headphones. I got a great deal as the stereo store said it was a trade-in and not brand-new.

I have been chugging away at BE & E. My Learning Supervisor is better at getting the material across to me than reading the book. And I am frustrated at the computer based training – that I am taking remedial tests every time.

Next weekend I am thinking of the YMCA’s military special to Disneyland – everything including bus ride and ticket, for $14.75…. “

When I read these letters I recall that my focus was split between very difficult technical training, spending money slower than earning it, having a good time, and the things a sailor thinks about: cars, girls, staying out of trouble, and so on. And taking care of my mom.

“February 18, 1978

…it’s been a week since I was home for that short visit…. I’m expecting to finish BE and E School (Basic Electricity and Electronics) in seven working days and then ice and snow! (I was scheduled to transfer for further training at the Great Lakes NTC north of Chicago) I have been trying to spend money and save it at the same time….

I bought two books ” How to Buy Stocks” and “How to Build a Fortune Investing in Land””

“July 3 1978

Class 7825C, ET/A school Bldg 520, Great Lakes Training Center: Thunder and lightning this weekend. Thank you for the ever-increasing moral support. It helps this “screw-up” when I seem to be trying and trying over these multiple -choice tests and I miss the question because I don’t put down my first choice but over think them! Why can’t I learn! Some solace in that I got my PO3 raise today. A whole $10.

Congratulations on your new friend and you both seem to be on the same “astral plane”. And my little sister has a boyfriend! She is growing up fast. I ran into a friend who is very close to a bachelors degree having taking a lot of courses through the CLEP tests. He’s looking at Officer Candidate School and making some career-connections with several officers involved in the program. He’s shared with me several of the courses and tests to take should the Annapolis thing not get accepted. Studying electronics harder will give me a mental breakdown. I need some thing different.

I looked at that Naval Academy application. I think they want someone who is a cross between O.J. Simpson and Albert Einstein, not me!”

In the year between my initial training in San Diego, and returning back to San Diego, I had been undergoing technical training and screening for a government security clearance. Between the training, standing watches, and liberty in Chicago and Milwaukee, I was also trying to figure out if I could afford a TransAm like one in the movie Smokey and the Bandit. It was nearly eleven thousand dollars. I couldn’t. I did learn a lot about weather. Playing pool in the barracks. Guys who were playing some role-playing fantasy called Dungeons and Dragons. A summer music festival at the Navy Pier in Chicago. And working on cars. Being in the best physical shape of my life while in Pensacola, Florida. Running several miles a few times a week that started from a dare between roommates in the barracks while attending CT – school. A circuit of the base, inside the fence was about four miles. We would run it twice a night.

“Letter dated August 2 – 5, and 8, 1979

Dear Mother,

It’s the second day of August, and in one day following the most insane twenty-four hours I have yet spent at TPU (ed: Transient Personnel Unit), I think I shall be ready for the funny farm very soon. 

Let me tell you some of the the goings-on at our “Hotel California”.  Yesterday, we got a new boatload of lunies (sic) plus one who is trying to put one over on us that he’s nuts, and he is getting my goat.

Another case is my boss Chief Heller.  His retiring soon and he continues to drop in on Bldg 23 if only to holler and cuss everyone.  It is just as if he’s giving out a daily dose of castor oil. 

Still another example was last night’s supposed-to-work-flawlessly relief of the day watch. A PO1(Petty Officer First Class) who knew he had duty never showed up, and despite all my efforts couldn’t be found anywhere on-base.  No one knew who I was looking for- even though he was supposedly assigned to the same working area!  So, as a result, an overworked PO2, a good friend of mine, was forced to stay all night as well as his morning workday.

In addition, I was forced to work late (a 13-hour day) which it turns out shall be my regular working hours.  It was either that or work 10 hours plus have an extra watch in TPU every three days.

August 3rd

Today was continued insanity when, in the early afternoon, one of our “mental” cases went berserk and smashed a wood-covered (barricaded) window with a chair. He demanded to go to the brig or he would do more damage! It’s a good thing I don’t sleep there- I don’t know if some night I might get my throat cut by one of these scumbags. 

Tonight I went to the PO Club with two friends, George, who works in the NTC Police/Decal Office, and June who also works there.  We all had a good time.  But what occurred later is interesting. Well, June got very drunk, I was sober and George nearly so. June had to be talked into being escorted to her barracks. George (who went with her) in her car and I followed behind in mine.  June wandered all over the road at speed and I sped up to catch her.  And out of the dark an NTC (Naval Training Center) police vehicle pulled ME over.  Luckily, he was a friend but since I was “rocketing along” at 20 or 30 MPH, he wouldn’t let me drive back to TPU. A quarter-mile walk later I was sober; June was the one all over the road – I’m sure the cop saw her.  That will be the last of my “good Samaritan” gestures.

August 5, 1979

Yesterday I finally bought the 10-speed bicycle I was [going to get you] shopping two weeks.   I’m sure you will love it, as a matter of fact I wanted to buy one for myself from the same people.  Now I have only one detail to work out and that is how to get it home.   Two possibilities are open to me, but I don’t know how much it will cost me to ship it, so if you don’t mind I am going to wait till I hand-deliver it.

 In other news I have been heartened by a lot of mail, especially yours and from Nana, but I’m going through a lot of ups and downs.  I’m almost at the end of my rope as far as this Restriction/ CC (Correctional Custody) “babysitter” job goes.  Today I got yelled at for these a@#$@#$ goofing off even as I have been trying to imitate Attila the Hun with them .

August 8th

I’m starting another entry in the ‘journal’ after putting the pen down for two days. I am just putting down thoughts as they come to mind. My mind is awfully screwed being run ragged.  I think I will drop this topic in favor of other topics to ramble on about.

Tomorrow I’ll begin packing a few things for the trip to San Francisco and I’m going to hopefully make a weekend out of it.  What is your reaction to the earthquake this week? It think it is about time for the city to fall into the sea?

It’s all a bit tedious.  I’ll hopefully be home sooner or later. “

Jerry Reed, Chicago Navy Pier; BEE barracks; Sears Tower, Chicago; New Orleans French Quarter; Gulf beach near Panama City, FL

These letters bring back some of the missing names – and the memory -recalling the faces of those Chiefs at TPU. These memories seem as fresh as having occurred yesterday. The more I recall of those months in school, in training, and time at the transient barracks, I am amused by the complaining, angst, self-righteousness, stubbornness, and shock of having to work long hours. In this particular letter, the reference to “Hotel California” my mother probably would have missed – her musical taste was stuck in the early 1960s and she never heard of the Eagles. But I was fortunate that my mother, who pursued a second career as a college English teacher around that time, and worked a full-time nursing job, never pointed out my ‘overworked’ complaints. As I look back after forty years of military and civilian jobs – on my youngest co-workers and their peers – their complaints about fairness, working conditions, and emotional safe-spaces are more their age than something “we” never did.

super Sunday bowl

There’s kind of a Zen aspect to bowling. The pins are either staying up or down before you even throw your arm back. It’s kind of a mind-set. You want to be in this perfect mind-set before you released the ball.  – Jeff Bridges

 

 

My church has started an outreach and special support ministry for Active and former military veterans and their families.  Supporting the deployed Sailors and Marines,  serving their families in the area,  and sharing the Word of God with others is a privilege.  Cutting up at the bowling alley on the Naval Base  is just pure family fun.

There are things I thought about when we first talked about going bowling as a first “activity” for our growing group. An odd cult movie I watched twenty years ago, “the Big Lebowski”,  which starred Jeff Bridges and among many inappropriate themes in that film was a lot of bowling.  Just thinking about it,  I have to repent again!

But bowling or pool or darts were a few of the activities that I could join and never get overly concerned about my lack of skill and just enjoy the friendship.   Probably a couple dozen times over forty years I’ve been to bowling alleys, half of the time while in the Navy and the other half,  as a teen,  or as a post-forty year old adult family man with other families in our church fellowship.   However, this was the first time we gathered to bowl as part of a “military ministry”.

Most, well all,  of us absolutely stunk as bowlers.  But  we know from scripture, where two or more followers of Jesus are gathered,  He is with us.  So I have some hope that Jesus will help us with our game.  Whether knocking down pins or gaining new friends and saving a few souls in the process.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Labor freedom

As a retired military man I am grateful that I am not deployed to far away seas these days.  In San Diego,  this holiday weekend has been an opportunity to meet with friends.  Saturday with an outdoor concert by the San Diego Symphony at the downtown waterfront ending with Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture (with cannons!),  Sunday with a gathering at Mission Bay,  and today for breakfast at a restaurant our friends have enjoyed since the husband was a child.

Hob Knob Hill, San Diego

Dana Landing, Mission Bay

music lovers, San Diego waterfront

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Old Sea Dawg and his CINC

 

Quest for non-Fire, Ice Tea and a Paleo-donut

In the late summer in the American West, life has challenges including “excessive heat” warnings, brush and forest fires, snarled traffic, and where to go for a getaway that is  not “tourist pricey”.     Living in a region that everyone heads toward:  beaches, nearby islands, amusement parks, and mountain retreats, I want to avoid all these in summer.   Of course,  getting out away from the crowds of people for the weekend leaves the desert  and the deep sea.   Without a boat of my own, the sea is out of the question and the desert – only a few foolhardy migrants and the Border Patrol are out there in August.

Last weekend, in a spur-of-the-moment outing to celebrate my birthday,  my spouse and I thought we would go to Catalina Island off the coast southeast of  Los Angeles.  With no ferry seats on a return trip that day,  we looked elsewhere.  The popular amusement parks like Disneyland were off-limits, not because of the crowds, but because our annual Pass does not permit entry during the popular summer months for tourists.  And Nature was also causing chaos.   Brush fires along destinations we alternately considered were, like the Spirit blocking the Apostle Paul’s travel to Asia, directing me to go north up the I-15 freeway.  And so we went to Temecula, about sixty miles north of San Diego.

Yet no road trip with my wife is properly prepared unless she has a large cup of  fresh – or at least, recently-brewed UNSWEETENED ice tea at launch and part-way through the adventure.  I could write reviews on scores of places , “convenience” stores and “fast food” drive-in windows, who must not sell a lot of unsweetened, fresh tea.  When you no longer tolerate sugary soft drinks, water is about the only other choice. Even the dozen brands of bottled iced tea are a last resort.   Does anyone really like a passion-fruit-flavored Iced Tea beverage?  (For my European and British-tradition tea drinking readers,  while you have no idea whatsoever about “iced” tea as a beverage,  it is consumed by the millions of gallons annually in the United States. I have had Britons and Irishmen in those respective countries look at me as completely mad when I described brewed tea, refrigerated and poured over ice.)

Once her tea is secured, and the approximate travel time between consumption and the need for the first bathroom stop is calculated in my driving computer ( my head) we set off.  As anyone in Mid-Life, who travels frequently with their spouse, that is, fifty-ish,  the climate control in the vehicle is a frequent issue.  I generally like the air conditioning ON in the car anytime the outside temperature is above 75F.    Normally we are at opposite extremes -when she is cold I am hot.   When I am comfortable, she pulls out a sweatshirt or a jacket.  If roll a window down, she wants it up.  And so on.

At least now with our lifestyle that can at times be confused with the “Atkins diet”, the “Keto diet”, “Paleo diet” or “vegetarian”-ish, we do not bother with correcting folks.  I can eat anything, though I choose more often to eat healthy food and in smaller portions.  So what is the meaning of “Paleo donuts”?

The Paleo diet seems to be at odds with any encounter with donuts.  However, as some may be aware,  I have been focusing on a better diet and exercise for much of the last eight or nine months.  I do not subscribe to fads, particularly ones identified with the eating habits of extinct people.  But on our travels into Temecula, we found a farmers’ market I talked about in an earlier post .   I spotted a vendor offering samples of donuts and like a smart aleck, opined that that they would have to be gluten-free or Paleo -diet friendly for me to accept.   Those were.

When someone has the opportunity to eat his own words, and if they are in a donut,  I will.  Without regret or “cheating”.  A sliver at a time.

 

dog days at work

It's a Dog's Life

One of the best examples of community is how we give of our time, and of our money to the less fortunate.  While most recognize that members of our own species needs aid,  love and compassion, there are others that we can help.  I was introduced to a few examples of this today.   Sometimes, it is noteworthy to recognize those who help rescue canines in need.

Labs and More,  San Diego

Several times a year, at the main campus in Carlsbad, my company hosts expos for charitable organizations in San Diego – supporting a children’s hospital, or fighting cancer,  or health and wellness,  or disaster preparedness.  Or like today,  when a few San Diego animal rescue groups came with their furry ambassadors to raise awareness in the community.   The volunteers who organize and man these outreach programs wear their hearts on their sleeve.  These all-volunteer groups raise funds to support…

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party animal

The first thing I noticed about my wife’s choice of venue for her former nursing student-graduates  gathering, was how loud and crowded it got after 6:30PM on Friday.  First, it was surprising to me that “loud” was something I would be annoyed with.   And second, I am also annoyed at thinking it a “crowded” venue which the over-forty crowd seemed to enjoy.  While I have been in Navy CPO clubs and Navy aviator officer’s clubs in San Diego,  this was my first time in the  94th Aero Squadron,  a public restaurant with an a military and aviation theme.

Friday evening commutes in San Diego are typically one that I will stop to have a cigar at a favorite lounge on the way home from work.  However, this past Friday, my wife invited me to join her while she waited for a couple nurses to join her at the restaurant and bar that borders Montgomery Field municipal airport.   With the tri-winged red airplane out front,  reminiscent of the Red Baron, I would not be mocked too much if I asked where was Snoopy in his Sopwith Camel doghouse.

While they reminisced about their time at the school (my wife’s employer) and chatted about kids,  medicine and the training, I drifted off.   And then I needed a second glass of something to ward off the chill.   While San Diego rarely gets weather  that has anyone scurrying for jackets, wool caps or gloves,   this was one of those cool weeks.   Part of this restaurant was open air, looking out on the airfield, which on any other week of the year, would have been very pleasant.  The cool evening also spurred me to risk ( my Keto diet regimen) two glasses of merlot.

I thought it was a great place for a happy hour.  The service and the appetizers were – on my carefully chosen sampling – quite good.  But as the happy hour crowd left and the evening crowd of forty-somethings started partying, the loud music,  the cool, and the 8 o’clock hour on Friday night is about all the partying my wife and I can handle.

If a sloth is the new image of cool,  then I am still a “party animal”