says while were waxing nostalgic about the military, allow me to reminisce about my 9 mos. in Norfolk. Between electronics and nuke schhols I was assigned to the U.S.S. Independence CVA-62. It was in dry-dock. B/c I was not a part of permanent ships company, they sent me to Shore Patrol,(SP). B/c I could type, SP put me on days to type reports of the previous nights escapades. Two memorable tales. My partner was a career black guy on his shore-duty rotation. He was a smart guy. His brother was a physics prof. His previous duty station had been Bermuda, where he met & married the most popular D.J. on the island, a bee-uuu-tee-vul black woman. In the Norfolk area its very hard for a sailor to meet a nice girl, so I took a night course at Old Dominion College (now Univ.) in hopes of meeting one to date. It worked. My partner (name escapes me) would loan me his 2nd car, an old VW, to take her out in. One Sunday AM we were returning a drunk to his command. When my partner & I opened the door to the paddy wagon, out stepped a buck-naked drunk sailor. The Officer-of-the-Day on the ships quarterdeck was frantically waving us back. Then the ships C.O., his wife & teen-aged daughters turned the corner onto the quarterdeck. Ive often wondered that sailors fate. On another occasion, my partner & I had transported an uncooperative drunk from Norfolk to our post in Portsmouth. While escorting him into a holding cell, he said to my partner, Get your f*#@g black hands off me! To which my cool-headed partner responded, My shoes are black, my skin is brown, now get your @$$ in the cell! Cool. Way cool. Guys like him would put Jackson & Sharpton out of business.
Posted on: Tue, 12 Nov 2013 06:11:15 +0000
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