High Steppers
In 1948, two companies of WAVES from Recruit Training (W), USNTC, Great Lakes, Illinois, participated in an American Legion parade in Philadelphia. After it was over, the parade marshal complained bitterly to the officer in charge of the troops:
“Never have I seen such a performance. Your right guide, instead of maintaining a straight line of march, was left-flanking, right-flanking, side-stepping, and on occasion, even seemed to be doing a running broad jump!”
The OinC, an extremely sympathetic officer, looked the marshal sternly in the eye and said, “I can see, sir, that you have never paraded directly behind the cavalry!”
—Contributed by Capt. Viola B. Sanders, USN (August 1966)
One For You and One For Me
On an Atlantic Convoy, an accompanying destroyer cut across the bow of the USS Brooklyn closely enough to cause an emergency astern bell. Because the vessel was stopped expeditiously, Captain F. C. Denebrink relayed to the engine room a copy of the message he sent to the destroyer,
“I am now an advocate of a two-ocean Navy—you in one and me in the other.”
—Contributed by Lt. Cdr. Jack W. Campbell, USNR (September 1958)
Step Aside, Sir
In the first few hectic days following 7 December 1941, many of the formalities of the side were slighted. As quartermaster of the watch on board the USS San Francisco (CA-38) one morning, I spotted an admiral on the dock approaching our forward brow and I ran forward to clear sailors and yardworkmen from the immediate area. One well-dressed civilian was a little persistent, but I firmly moved him to one side saying, “Please stand clear, we have an admiral coming aboard.”
The admiral came aboard, was escorted forward by the OOD, and I returned to the after brow. A few minutes later, the OOD hastily summoned the boatswain’s mate and me.
“Okay,” he said tersely, “Who was it just pushed the Secretary of the Navy out of the way to make room for the admiral coming aboard?”
—Contributed by Lt. Cdr. M. W. Recknor, USN (August 1963)
Be My Guest
On one of those really dark nights at sea, USS Cambria was underway southbound off the coast of North Carolina. About 0200, lights on the horizon prompted a call to the captain’s cabin, and the skipper appeared on the bridge. A meeting with USS Lake Champlain was expected about this time, so the captain ordered the standard light signals sent out, along with the traditionally courteous “Request permission to continue on course.”
There was no immediate response from the other ship, so the signals were sent a second, and then a third time. Finally, a slow but steady reply came back.
“You are welcome to go anywhere you please. Courtesy of the United Fruit Company.”
And in the darkness, he watched the lights of a banana boat as she steamed slowly by on her way north.
—Contributed by Lt. (jg) J. A. Schmidt, USNR (May 1962)
A Member of the Institute in Good Standing
It was at the annual dinner of the Masters, Mates, and Pilots. The two old-timers were standing in the hotel lobby enjoying their after-dinner cigars. One man was tall and straight. In his time he had trod the bridge of some of the finest ships in the Navy. The other—older, more weatherbeaten, and with grizzled hair—spent his younger days in square-riggers.
The tall one wore a lapel button which he proudly displayed to his companion. On the button was inscribed, “U. S. Naval Institute—1873.”
The weatherbeaten one examined it closely, looked up, and said, “Kinda behind in your dues, ain’t ya, Bub?”
—Contributed by Larry R. Edwards (October 1962)
Shooting the Bull
A British destroyer once ran short of provisions and the Captain put in to a small Spanish port where he and the paymaster and a couple of bluejackets went off to forage. All they could find was a bull trained for bull fights, which they bought. The bull was led quietly on board the destroyer. The Captain then asked for volunteers to kill the animal. A man was chosen who said he had killed bulls in Glasgow for years.
A rope was passed through a ring on deck and the bull’s nose pulled down by two bluejackets. The executioner came along his sleeves rolled up, carrying a battle axe, and aimed a blow to stun the victim. The bull, however, saw the axe descending and swerved so that the axe cut the rope. Then the fun started.
All hands had assembled to see the performance—including the Captain and his officers on the bridge. The bull opened proceedings by tossing the would-be slayer over the ship’s side; next he went after the two bluejackets who had pulled him down. One got away without his pants, and then the bull took charge and started to “clear decks.”
Bluejackets jammed the hatchways and commenced to jump overboard until the harbor was full of swimming men and the wharf full of a cheering crowd of Spaniards who had come along to see how the English killed bulls.
The Captain began tearing his hair as he saw his crew jumping overboard, and yelled, “Will no one shoot the brute? Shoot him, shoot him!” The First Lieutenant replied, “I will shoot him. What gun will I use?” The Captain replied, “I don’t care, but shoot him!”
As the bull gave out a bellow, the First Lieutenant got his sights on and he let drive. Away went the bull, blown to bits, as a 4-inch shell got him in the stern. All they recovered were his horns, which are now a valued trophy in the wardroom mess.
The Captain had to report that he had been in action in order to account for a hole in his deck. To finish up, the polite Spaniards presented him with a laurel wreath and said that it was the best bull fight they had ever seen.
—Contributed by Capt. D. J. Munroe, RN (May 1948)
Less Than Human
One day her Majesty, the Queen Mother Maria Cristina, was visiting an old Spanish cruiser. Arriving at the midshipmen’s cabin in which four people could fit comfortably, the Captain informed her that thirty midshipmen were quartered there.
“It is not possible that thirty people will fit in so small a place,” claimed the astonished Queen.
“Not thirty people, Your Majesty,” the Captain hastened to explain, “Thirty midshipmen.”
—Contributed by Lt. Carlos Conejero, SC, Spanish Navy (September 1958)
Be More Specific
After roll call, the “hurry-up” sergeant prepared to assign cleanup details. He reached for his pencil. It wasn’t in his pocket.
“It’s behind your ear, Sarge,” a private volunteered from the tanks.
“Damn it, son, I’m a busy man,” the top-kick snapped. “Which ear?"
—Contributed by Jack Kytle (April 1958)
Friend or Foe?
One morning in 1942, after a particularly gruelling patrol off Savo Island, one of our PT skippers returned to base white-faced and grim-lipped. He reported that he had mistaken a New Zealand patrol vessel for a Japanese submarine and had fired four torpedoes at her. Fortunately the torpedoes were set for a deep run and all of them passed safely under the shallow-draft corvette.
Several days later the New Zealander stood into our harbor and came alongside a tender for fuel and fresh water. As she steamed cautiously up the harbor, we were all astounded to see a huge placard on the side of her wheel-house reading: “DON’T SHOOT—WE ARE ALLEGED ALLIES”
—Contributed by Cdr. J. A. O’Handley, USN (March 1953)
Not Scared at All
In the early part of the war, a U.S. submarine cruising inside a bay in the Japanese Empire waters was subjected to a fairly prolonged depth charge attack following the sinking of a Jap merchantman.
Finally, in an effort to relieve the tension, one young officer, of unquestioned personal bravery, said:
“If anyone thinks I am scared, they are crazy as hell. But, Lord, I’m homesick!”
—Contributed by Capt. W. L. Anderson, USN (December 1947)
Inside and Out
The old cruiser Baltimore was stationed at Honolulu just before the Spanish-American War.
Our wardroom caterer, the designation in those days for mess treasurer, seemed to be allergic to meat in the tropics, and fed us on brains, tongue, kidneys, liver, etc.
One day when the main course was tripe, one of my fellow officers cried out: “Don’t any of these animals out here have any outsides?”
The wardroom caterer impaled him with his one good eye but said nothing.
Next day we had ox-tail stew!
“I’m giving you the farthest outsides I can find,” explained the imperturbable wardroom caterer.
—Contributed by Capt. J. M. Ellicott, USN (Ret.) (May 1948)
All at Sea
Rear Admiral Stephen B. Luce, widely known as a sailor’s sailor, was a man who insisted that correct terminology be used.
Shortly after his retirement in 1889, the USS New York, flagship of the North Atlantic Squadron, anchored at Newport, R. I. The Admiral boarded a shore boat which made the side of the New York. In civilian clothing, he was not recognized by the gangway sentry who repeatedly shouted, “You can’t land here.”
The Admiral did not let the sentry’s remarks deter him. After mounting the accommodation ladder, he paused before the sentry and said emphatically, “If I wanted to land, I would go ashore.”
—Contributed by O. S. Roloff, JOC, USN (November 1955)
Those Inscrutable Occidentals
While on patrol in the Formosa Straits, the destroyer Walke received orders by radio to proceed several hundred miles north and stand by a grounded freighter. En route, the Walke passed a Chinese tug which blinked the friendly question, “WHERE YOU GO?” The CO simply replied, “NORTH.”
Several hours later the Walke received orders to return to port. Course was reversed and the little Chinese tug soon came into sight again on an opposite and parallel course. “WHERE YOU GO NOW?” she asked. To which the CO answered, “SOUTH.”
A third radio message very shortly cancelled the Walke’s directive to return to port and required her once again to proceed north at a good speed. On overtaking the tug for the third time, the signalman received a visual message which he seemed reluctant to pass to the CO. Finally the Captain asked, “Well, what did he say this time?”
“Captain, he said ‘YOU NO NO WHERE YOU GO!’ ”
—Contributed by Cdr. Walter M. Ousey, USN (November 1959)
The Constant Bearing
My seagoing friend Dave was in the hospital as a result of an automobile wreck between the taxi in which he was riding and a truck. I decided to visit him and find out how he was doing.
I found him propped up in bed, covered with bandages, and his arm in a sling. He was highly indignant over taxicab drivers in general and his cab driver in particular.
“It isn’t as if I didn’t warn that driver!” Dave exclaimed bitterly.
“How was that, Dave?” I asked.
“Why,” he replied, “when I looked out the starboard port of the taxi and saw that truck roaring down on us, I saw in a flash that the bearing was constant, so I yelled out, ‘Bearing steady, sir!’—but that darn fool driver just kept on rolling!”
—Contributed by Capt. Colby G. Rucker, USN (June 1948)
One and One Equals Three
Some years ago the New York State Maritime College schoolship Empire State had a crusty old warrant boatswain on board whose use of the English language was often colorful as well as confusing. Particularly confusing to newcomers was an order given in the assignment of working parties: “Half of youse for’rd; half of youse aft; and the rest, come with me.”
—Contributed by Cdr. W. F. Heyer, USN (July 1958)
Target: Army
As a brand new seaman aboard my first ship, it never occurred to me that our Task Force Commander, a stern old admiral, had ever entertained a thought that wasn’t “in keeping with the highest traditions of the service,” but one day I overheard him tell this story.
During the early 1930s when he was a young lieutenant, he was flying over Texas and chanced to spot a group of Army bombers arrayed across a wide grass field. His radio picked up the admonitions of a very nervous squadron leader, who like an old mother hen herding her chicks, was trying to line the boys up for a precision formation take-off. The Navy lieutenant, circling overhead, correctly guessed that this demonstration, before a contingent of Very Important People, just had to be perfect.
One Army pilot, in particular, was catching it. “Now Charlie, you’re not in line!” "Charlie, don’t rev up so fast.” “Charlie, you’re spoiling the show!”
At last, the radio was silent. Everything was set. Picking up his microphone, the Navy pilot shouted, “Give her the gun, Charlie!”
Down below, a single Army bomber roared off in a cloud of dust.
—Contributed by Chief Warrant Officer Don Whelpley, USN (June 1958)
Caribbean Survey
A lover of the sea, President Franklin D. Roosevelt often recuperated from his strenuous duties by taking fishing trips. Summoning an aide, he would say, “Call the Hydrographic Office and find out where the fishing is good.” During the 1930s, funds for hydrographic survey work were scarcer than usual and Hydro was especially anxious to survey areas rarely entered by merchant or Navy ships, but considered strategically important. For several years, therefore, an inspired gentleman at Hydro would reply that the fishing was particularly good in the Caribbean.
While the President happily fished from the deck of a cruiser in areas remote from shipping traffic, Fathometers obtained the soundings Hydro needed to complete its bottom contour charts of the Caribbean.
—Contributed by Paolo E. Coletta (January 1960)
Just Messing Around
In a Franco-American Air Station somewhere in French Morocco in 1944, the American Naval Air forces present were busily engaged in turning the facilities over to the French, which included joint French and American operation of the Base messhall. At noon meal inspection, the CO was delayed by an American messcook who was paying no attention to his job of dishing up spuds, but much attention to the adjacent French messcook (Wave). The CO harumphed several times to draw the lad’s attention and found a most embarrassed boy when he saw whom he was delaying.
The CO asked, “Are you messcooking here, Son?” to which he received a stammered reply of, “Yes, Sir.”
“Well,” said the CO, “Stop messing and start cooking.”
—Contributed by Cdr. Peter Shumway, USN (July 1956)
You’ve Got It Wrong, Sailor
After seeing a performance of Hamlet in New York City, we came out onto a street jammed with people waiting for Elizabeth Taylor to emerge from the stage door. Amazed at the size of the crowd and the number of policemen required to keep order, I remarked to my buddy,
“Imagine. All these policemen just because Liz Taylor is here.”
A policeman near us turned and said wearily, “Sailor, I’m not here because she’s here. I’m here because you’re here.”
—Contributed by James R. Pittman (November 1966)