GOD LOVES THE NAVY & AMERICA

                 I LOVE THE NAVY

I like standing on the bridge wing at sunrise with salt spray in my 
face and clean ocean winds whipping in from the four quarters of the globe, 
the ship beneath me feeling like a living thing as her engines drive her through the sea.
I like the sounds of the Navy: the piercing trill of the boatswain's pipe, the 
syncopated clangor of the ship's bell on the quarterdeck,
the harsh squawk of the 1MC and the strong language and laughter of sailors at work. 
I like vessels of the Navy, nervous darting destroyers, plodding Fleet 
auxiliaries, sleek submarines and steady solid carriers.
I like the proud sonorous names of Navy capital ships:
Midway, Lexington, Saratoga, and Coral Sea -- memorials of great battles won.
I like the lean angular names of Navy 'tin-cans':
Barney, Dahlgren, Mullinix, McCloy -- mementos of heroes who went before us.
I like the tempo of a Navy band blaring through the topside speakers
as we pull away from the oiler after refueling at sea.
I like liberty call and the spicy scent of a foreign port.
I even like all hands working parties as my ship fills herself
with the multitude of supplies both mundane and exotic
which she needs to cut her ties to the land and carry out her mission
anywhere on the globe where there is water to float her.
I like sailors, men from all parts of the land, farms of the Midwest,
small towns of New England, from the cities, the mountains and the prairies, 
from all walks of life.
I trust and depend on them as they trust and depend on me,
for professional competence, for comradeship, for courage.
In a word, they are shipmates.
I like the surge of adventure in my heart when the word is passed
"Now station the special sea and anchor detail;
all hands to quarters for leaving port,"
and I like the infectious thrill of sighting home again,
with the waving hands of welcome from family and friends waiting pier side.
The work is hard and dangerous, the going rough at times,
the parting from loved ones painful,
but the companionship of robust Navy laughter,
the 'all for one and one for all' philosophy of the sea is ever present. 
I like the serenity of the sea after a day of hard ship's work,
as flying fish flit across the wave tops and sunset gives way to night.
I like the feel of the Navy in darkness the masthead lights,
the red and green navigation lights and stern light,
the pulsating phosphorescence of radar repeaters
as they cut through the dusk and join with the mirror of stars overhead.

And I like drifting off to sleep lulled by the myriad noises large and small 
that tell me that my ship is alive and well, and that my shipmates on watch 
will keep me safe.
I like quiet mid-watches with the aroma of strong coffee,
the lifeblood of the Navy, permeating everywhere.
And I like hectic watches when the exacting minuet of haze-gray shapes
racing at flank speed keeps all hands on a razor edge of alertness.
I like the sudden electricity of "General quarters, general quarters, 
all hands man your battle stations,"
followed by the hurried clamor of running feet on ladders
and the resounding thumps of watertight doors
as the ship transforms herself in a few brief seconds
from a peaceful work place to a weapon of war ready for anything.
And I like the sight of space age equipment
manned by youngsters clad in dungarees and sound-powered phones 
that their grandfathers would still recognize.
I like the traditions of the Navy and the men and woman who made them.
I like the proud names of Navy heroes:
Halsey, Nimitz, Perry, Farragut, and John Paul Jones.
A sailor can find much in the Navy:
comrades-in-arms, pride in self and country, mastery of the seamen's trade.
An adolescent can find adulthood.
In years to come, when sailors are home from the sea,
they will still remember with fondness and respect
the ocean in all its moods -- the impossible shimmering mirror calm
and the storm-tossed green water surging over the bow.
And then there will come again a faint whiff of stack gas,
a faint echo of engine and rudder orders,
a vision of the bright bunting of signal flags snapping at the yardarm,
a refrain of hearty laughter in the wardroom and chief's quarters and mess decks.
Gone ashore for good they will grow wistful about their Navy days,
when the seas belonged to them and a new port of call was always over the horizon.
Remembering this, they will stand taller and say: 
"I WAS A SAILOR, I WAS PART OF THE NAVY 
& THE NAVY WILL ALWAYS BE PART OF ME"








THE OLD OUTFIT

Come gather around me lads and I'll tell you a thing or two 
about the way we ran the Navy in nineteen fifty two. 
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 old 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 never allowed.

Now when a ship puts out to sea, I'll tell you son it hurts! 
When suddenly you notice that half the crew is wearing skirts. 
And it's hard for me to imagine a female boatswain’s 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 the decks at night - cause you stirred old Bosn's wrath. 
We always had our gedunk stand and lots of pogey bait. 
And it took a hitch or two 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 SOS. 
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 Dave Jones, Shellbacks or Polliwogs, 
and you never splice the main brace 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 of 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 the UCMJ. 
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 someday 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-fifty two".
Author Unknown...

HOW TO SIMULATE BEING A SAILOR:
1. Buy a steel dumpster, paint it gray inside and out, and live in it
for six months.
2. Run all the pipes and wires in your house exposed on the walls.
3. Repaint your entire house every month.
4. Renovate your bathroom. Build a wall across the middle of the
bathtub and move the shower head to chest level. When you take
showers, make sure you turn off the water while you soap down.
5. Put lube oil in your humidifier and set it on high.
6. Once a week, blow compressed air up your chimney, making sure the
wind carries the soot onto your neighbor's house. Ignore his
complaints.
7. Once a month, take all major appliances apart and then reassemble
them.
8. Raise the thresholds and lower the headers of your front and back
doors so that you either trip or bang your head every time you pass
through them.
9. Disassemble and inspect your lawnmower every week.
10. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, turn your water heater
temperature up to 200 degrees. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, turn the
water heater off. On Saturdays and Sundays tell your family they use
too much water during the week, so no bathing will be allowed.
11. Raise your bed to within 6 inches of the ceiling, so you can't
turn over without getting out and then getting back in.
12. Sleep on the shelf in your closet. Replace the closet door with a
curtain. Have your spouse whip open the curtain about 3 hours after
you go to sleep, shine a flashlight in your eyes, and say "Sorry,
wrong rack."
13. Make your family qualify to operate each appliance in your house
- dishwasher operator, blender technician, etc.
14. Have your neighbor come over each day at 5 am, blow a whistle so
loud Helen Keller could hear it, and shout "Reville, reville, all
hands heave out and trice up."
15. Have your mother-in-law write down everything she's going to do
the following day, then have her make you stand in your back yard at
6 am while she reads it to you.
16. Submit a request chit to your father-in-law requesting permission
to leave your house before 3 PM.
17. Empty all the garbage bins in your house and sweep the driveway
three times a day, whether it needs it or not. (Now sweepers,
sweepers, man your brooms, give the ship a clean sweep down fore and
aft, empty all trashcans over the fantail.)
18. Have your neighbor collect all your mail for a month, read your
magazines, and randomly lose every 5th item before delivering it to
you.
19. Watch no TV except for movies played in the middle of the night.
Have your family vote on which movie to watch, then show a different
one.
20. When your children are in bed, run into their room with a
megaphone shouting that your home is under attack and ordering them
to their battle stations. (Now general quarters, general quarters,
all hands man your battle stations.)
21. Make your family menu a week ahead of time without consulting the
pantry or refrigerator.
22. Post a menu on the kitchen door informing your family that they
are having steak for dinner. Then make them wait in line for an hour.
When they finally get to the kitchen, tell them you are out of steak,
but they can have dried ham or hot dogs. Repeat daily until they
ignore the menu and just ask for hot dogs.
23. Bake a cake. Prop up one side of the pan so the cake bakes
unevenly. Spread icing real thick to level it off.
24. Get up every night around midnight and have a peanut butter and
jelly sandwich on stale bread. (midrats)
25. Set your alarm clock to go off at random during the night. At the
alarm, jump up and dress as fast as you can, making sure to button
your top shirt button and tuck your pants into your socks. Run out
into the backyard and uncoil the garden hose.
26. Every week or so, throw your cat or dog in the pool and shout
"Man overboard port side!" Rate your family members on how fast they
respond.
27. Put the headphones from your stereo on your head, but don't plug
them in. Hang a paper cup around your neck on a string. Stand in
front of the stove, and speak into the paper cup "Stove manned and
ready." After an hour or so, speak into the cup again 'Stove
secured." Roll up the headphones and paper cup and stow them in a
shoebox.
28. Place a podium at the end of your driveway. Have your family
stand watches at the podium, rotating at 4 hour intervals. This is
best done when the weather is worst. January is a good time.

29. When there is a thunderstorm in your area, get a wobbly rocking
chair, sit in it and rock as hard as you can until you become
nauseous. Make sure to have a supply of stale crackers in your shirt
pocket.
30. For former engineers: bring your lawn mower into the living room,
and run it all day long.
31. Make coffee using eighteen scoops of budget priced coffee grounds
per pot, and allow the pot to simmer for 5 hours before drinking.
32. Have someone under the age of ten give you a haircut with sheep
shears.
33. Sew the back pockets of your jeans on the front.
34. Every couple of weeks, dress up in your best clothes and go to
the scummiest part of town. Find the most run down, trashiest bar,
and drink beer until you are hammered. Then walk all the way home.
35. Lock yourself and your family in the house for six weeks. Tell
them that at the end of the 6th week you are going to take them to
Disney World for "liberty." At the end of the 6th week, inform them
the trip to Disney World has been cancelled because they need to get
ready for an inspection, and it will be another week before they can
leave the house.