BD, I think you've met some really screwed up Marine airdales. One of my younger brothers was a helicopter mechanic during the late unpleasantness in Viet Nam and a nephew the same during the Reagan administration (on the presidential helicopters); neither of them fits your description. It may be due to the time you were in, all the services had problems between Viet Nam and Desert Storm; the Army most of all. Other than relatives, I haven't had much contact with enlisted Marines since 1977, but the airdale officers I've met have seemed pretty sharp, if a bit crazier than their Naval counterparts. I believe your stories, I just wanted to point out that there are better sorts in the Corps.
Graybeard, MSGT, US Army (Ret)

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"I want to write about people I love, and put them into a fictional world spun out of my own mind, not the world we actually have, because the world we actually have does not meet my standards." Philip K. Dick
No matter how strong, or brave, or pure of heart you may be; sometimes the dragon wins!

Yeash!! BigD, the last one was horrid.
Drowning in human decay goo....man I am going to dream about this.

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This whole internet thing is probably not a passing fad.-Ronald Brak
While speech might be free, consequences cost.-Doodler

Sorry M!

I thought about him because I shared a berthing with him and his rack was next to the "tv lounge". I saw him come awake like that a couple of times. Heard it more. In the end they seemed to have fixed him.

Greybeard, I've long assumed it had to be different now.

(Has anybody seen Stuart V.O. around? I'm about ready to list him as missing.)

Guys, let me tell a better story then.

Why You Can't Tell Sea Stories Around People Who Were There

Now I'm sure a lot of you gentle souls may believe it's because said persons may point out exagerations and embelishments to your story. Deflate one's tales of grandiose deeds as it were.

Or they might do the opposite, like my kid brother who served with me, and fill in the parts you left out because you are talking to your kids. Sure they are near grown, but they think I'm Red Forman. An illusion I've worked hard to maintain.

I was telling my kids the wonders of being in the Philipines for their Independance Day celebrations.

These people have a lot of unique lines of civilian celebratory ordinance. Stuff that makes even people from Arkansas go, "Whoa!"

(for my friends in foriegn climes, if you live in one of the more insurance controled states of the US then you have to have a relative from Arkansas or make the drive yourself to get your more raucous 4th of July needs. Need a roll of firecrackers the size of a truck tire? Go to Arkansas. Eight inch mortar, the skyrocket kind? Go to Arkansas. Bathtub full of barrel bombs? You see the picture?)

Now I was trying to tell the kids of a very "Little Rascals" style war between the beach front "hotel/bar/restarant" my squadron was staying at in Subic City and the one directly across the street occupied by one of the attack squadrons. The fireworks come out in force several days prior to the exact date and just get spectacular on the day in question.

I was telling the kids all about how at the height of the three day "war" we had tables turned over for barracades in the front of both clubs, wearing makeshift helmets, firing bottle rockets, roman candles and after many early failures on both sides, some spectacularly bad, the firecracker catapult. Able to huck multiple packs of lit firecrackers across the street and behind the enemy fortifications.

A marked improvement over the earlier models which just cleared the second floor veranda, (the launching point) and depositing said firecrackers into the courtyard full of your friends below.

The winning design consisted of a gallon pot with five bungies attached to each handle and the opposite ends tied to two columns about ten feet apart. Was fairly uncontrollable until the addition of a hole in the bottom of the pot and a lanyard fastened with a nut and bolt. This allowed for better angle control and a clean release. Plus we picked our projectiles better.

The war did answer the question why all the older clubs were made of adobe though.

Now just when I'm getting on a roll and keeping the point of view all neutral my brother walks by and says, "And you know why they were mad at us don't you?" Then, looking at me, "Oh, you left all that out did you?" Then he walked away.

Now any man who has teenage daughters knows I didn't get a speck of peace until I related somewhat what "some people" might believe to be the spark to this incident.

Well, all I can say is if you partied like Hunter S. Thompson for three days you'ld come up with a few "brilliant" ideas as well. (The kids didn't hear that part.)

But it looks like I won't be able to finish this story in one sitting as it took hours just to type this and the day is getting late.

To be continued:

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Gimme a minute to read through Jay's latest observations...

I've seen Stuart V.O. posting, I think I saw one of his newest post dated this week.

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This whole internet thing is probably not a passing fad.-Ronald Brak
While speech might be free, consequences cost.-Doodler

Yeah, I'm still around! And still loving these stories. But I have a tummy-bug at the moment, as well as a heap of personal problems, both of which drain me of my will to post. So I'm a bit passive right now.

Well, I'm feeling a bit better so I'll take a stab at finishing this one. Had to stop taking the tranqs. The purpose of being alive isn't to merely exist.

Now the Seagull Club in Subic City, an exciting jitney ride up the coast from the city of Olongapo where the ships pull in. The main reason for the excitement is, when we went to party we usually filled two jitneys and invariably and inevitably somebody would wave the equivalent of two months pay under the nose of the jitney driver and say, "I'll give you this money if you get us to Subic City before THAT jitney (whose driver was getting the same deal) gets to Subic City.

Whew! Coastal cliff roads, turns taken so fast that you go up on one set of wheels, slow pedestrians used to the more sedate pace the jitneys usually went at. All the stuff a bunch of late teen and early twenty year old flight deck sailors need to start a long liberty in a foreign port. It go so that when we boarded a jitney the locals would get off unless we assured them we weren't going to race, which always disapointed the drivers.

Now the Seagull Club was an open and airy two story adobe and wood structure right on the beach. With a nice bamboo and wooden lanai in the back and veranda in the front. I remember finding the theme from "The Endless Summer" a surfing documentary on the juke box and listening to it while drinking rum drinks and watching evening fall.

I recall that local fishermen would have their banca boats pulled up on the beach to either side of the beach the club used and the lady in charge of the hostesses gave us a stern warning not to <bleep> with those boats and if we really liked them, don't let our drunken friends <bleep> with those boats. Didn't have to tell me twice. I saw the looks the fishermen gave me when I was watching them beach the boats and put their gear away for the evening.

Weren't exactly warm and friendly, and knowing sailors like I did, probably with good reason. Rumor was that even going down and falling asleep in one of those boats would get you a long swim back to shore, (if you made it) and any actual vandalism and folks back east would wonder, "Now, why don't he write?" But that's rumor for you. The swimming part was no rumor though. I knew a guy it happened to. He arrived late to the party and didn't get the word. Passed out in a boat and next thing he knew it was early morning and folks had him by the shoulders and ankles and were hucking him into the sea.

Wasn't that far out but he was upset. A bit shocked as it were.

Now as to the war. Okay, like I said, I'm not sure what possessed me on that fateful day. I remember the what's and the when's but not the why's. Mainly because I don't party like that anymore. Can't and stay handsome into my old age like I've done. W.C. Fields had to cultivate that nose of his you know.

Now I wake up in the main bar surrounded by sleeping fellow squadron mates, hostesses and houseboys. The bar tender was sitting on a stool behind the bar, sleeping with his head in his crossed arms. It was bright but still way early in the morning and I had that numb sensation in my head that heralds a truely awesome hang over in the making. The classic, "I woke up drunk". (It was the morning of day three of a five day liberty for me.) As first my shop and then my squadron adopted this place for the inport period we had depleted the bar's on-hand stock of alcohol.

I recall wandering like a zombie among all the sleeping people then wandering out the front door. A Phillipina housewife sweeping the sidewalk scoulded me for almost getting rundown by a jitney,(that or for being faced at 5 AM, I don't speak Tagalog) then I wandered across the street to where VA-147 had adopted the club there in a similar way we did. They had wanted the Seagull Club as well but we got there first, nyah!

They were asleep all over the place like we were but they had the foresight to purchase some major party materials knowing they would suck up the local supply.

Now this is told with all the clarity of hindsight. At the time my brain was in tilt mode from alcohol poisoning so I can't justify my actions as to why I thought it was a good idea to gather up as much of VA-147's booze as I could carry and wander back across the street to my club. Much less the second or third time. Now folks at my end of the "supply train" were starting to wake up but where still in a very immobile state.

But it was some of them who suggested bringing the empties back with me. This was a lot of enterprise for a soused individual and I recall having to stop and find the jakes for the usual post debauch unpleasantries before continuing. It was at this time that VA-147's pig arrived.

I was on my fourth trip across the street, (the second with empties) when I walked into the now rousing club who was mostly just turning over and going back to sleep. Actually saw one of them shaking an empty vodka bottle and looking around frowning but as he was in worse shape than I was, he just went back to sleep. And this roast pig was on the table.

In life he was probably a happy pig. He was certainly well rounded. This wasn't any little suckling pig either. So I needed help. I went back across the street and shook Big Doug Molloy (Mugs) awake, when he gave me the What?!? of an red eyed, annoyed, hung over person, but mellowed out when I told him I needed help carrying a roast pig.

He fell in behind me and we shuffled off in the lock set of the monsterously hung over and it wasn't until we were crossing the street and he was blinking in the sunlight that he asked, "It's not our pig, is it?" "Nope, VA-147's" "Oh okay"

And yet none of this was the reason they were mad.

I have to rest again. But good Lord willing it won't be long before another post. Maybe even this evening.

To be continued:

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Gimme a minute to read through Jay's latest observations...

My wife is a Filipina. We met in college in the States. However, for years, whenever we met a new group of Filipinos, the question of where we met would invariably come up. It was a code question. If she'd answered Olangapo or the city outside of Clark AFB (Queson City?), they'd assume she was a hooker who married an American serviceman. We've been married 25 years but I've never been to the Philippines. She's afraid something bad will happen to me there.

Oh, Don. The Filipinos call them Jeepneys, not jitneys. Some of them are pretty elaborate.

Had me wondering. I've always thought they were jeepneys but I sure wasn't going to question The Big Don. I've never been west of LA.

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You're a coward and a liar and a thOOF - Bart Sibrel

I am glad to see you posting BigDon.
I can't wait for the end part of the story.

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This whole internet thing is probably not a passing fad.-Ronald Brak
While speech might be free, consequences cost.-Doodler

Mr. Jacks, you are quite correct about the jeepneys. Jitneys are the little tow-tractors mail handlers tow trains of mail containers about large facilities and airports.

I knew that. I guess I'm not quite ready to come back yet. Marbles don't all seem to be back in thier spots yet. I'm still waiting to "think like I used to". Hard to explain.


Oh and a jeepney isn't a jeepney UNLESS it's as elaborate as a Hindu temple during a high holiday!

Sorry guys, can't focus enough to post intelligently today, even taking long breaks. Couple of aftershocks tipped me back toward the negative. I'll try again tomorrow.

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Gimme a minute to read through Jay's latest observations...

Glad to know you're semi-better, B. D. Listen to the doctor, but do as the nurse says, They may not know as much about disease as doctors, but a lot more about people.

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"I want to write about people I love, and put them into a fictional world spun out of my own mind, not the world we actually have, because the world we actually have does not meet my standards." Philip K. Dick
No matter how strong, or brave, or pure of heart you may be; sometimes the dragon wins!

God darn it I will finish this today!

Oh! Even more embarrassment from the memory department. A memo from my hippocampus states that VA-147 was staying in the Seagull Club, WE were staying in the Sea Lord! If a man can't remember the location of a wild debauch held back in 1980 what good is he?

SO, Mugs and I go over and when Mugs sees the pig he says "Whoa!, that's a pig!" Mugs then wakes up two more sailors that were laying around and has them help us carry the pig across the street. I can only assume that they thought they were moving the party across the street. They both found seats and went back to sleep at our place.

And what happened? Nothing! Those VA-147 smoes slept right through having all their stuff openly pilfered and for some reason this made me mad! If they had asked right, maybe with a ho ho ho you got us!, we would have given most of their stuff back. Not like they were a pack of Zoomies (Air Force) or anything.

Now the rest is a bunch of mental cut scenes as the last thing reasonable thing I recall from the pig heist after sitting it down was Mugs handing me an open bottle of Smirnoff. (Vodka, for those of you who need to be told)

Next thing I know...

I'm surrounded by jungle. Actually got a little sqeeze o' adrenilin from that realization. Which woke me up a bit more. Cobras are a very real threat here, including large king cobras.

A bit worrysome until I notice that three of my shopmates, all of whom were major instigators, are with me and I'm dressed oddly.

(At the time I was an E-4, the three guys with me were all E-5's. All told I PNA'ed 5 advancement exams. PNA = Passed, but Not Advanced. My rate was top heavy, meaning the higher ranks were full. Any ever time they were allowed to meritoriously advance somebody it was somebody more deserving, even from my point of veiw.)

The "Jungle" after a better look around was the brush right behind VA-147's club.

Now as to my new attire.

I'm in two sets of coveralls, a set of flightdeck goggles with the day filters in, a white skull cap with red and white checkers going down the middle, (my squadron's insignia) LOX boots (not mine) Grinning kids are handing my friends long tubular objects and people are stuffing them into my pockets and talking to me in conspiritory tones like we had something planned. Them not knowing that this was the first moment of lucidness I had in an hour or so.

According to my friends all I had to do after being lit was run through the back door of the Seagull club, out the front, cross the street and into the court yard of the Sea Lord where friends will be waiting to assist in extinguishing me. A straight shot all the way. I could see my friends waiting across the street waiting for me through the open back and front doors of the club. It seems we had talked about this in detail and I agreed to every step. Uh huh.

But much like that internet legend in World of Warcraft, I ad-libbed. Because I couldn't remember the plan.

So they lit me off. Roman candles, (the kind that actually shoot fire balls) and hand held versions of cones and fountains

I was jazzed and ready.

And that's when I deviated from the battle plan. Now having been raised in a place where some 40% of the population is from Northern Mexico, I learned at an early age to give that yipping howl that seems to scare the crap out of some folks. I do it well, but I need a least one drink in me to not feel self consious about it. The rebel yell is a variation of it. Could probably do that as well if I heard enough examples of it. (Oops, I digress.)

Here's what happened.

As I was charging the back door I saw that the back door opened into a kitchen area and for some reason decided the window to my right, which opened directly into the main louge, was a better choice. (Actually because I saw I was scaring the women cooking breakfast, even before I got there) The back yard was a higher elevation than the main floor of the club AND there was some sort of line hang from an upper floor balcony.

[RockytheSquirrelVoice] "But that trick never works!" [EndRockytheSquirrelVoice]

And it didn't this time either!

I grabbed that line at a full jump, which promptly snapped when my weight came on it and I went through that window in a spinning pyrotechnical tuck and landed on a table full of empty bottles.

I had their attention.

Now, let me state again, I don't party like this anymore, haven't for decades.

I somehow retained not only consiousness, but mobility as well. Again I alterred what I was to find out later was a very well planned "incident".

I grabbed a flaming fountain that had fallen out of my pockets in each hand and while flapping my arms like a bird did a lap around the inside of the club screaming at the top of my lungs, "Wake up you stupid <fornicators>! VF-211 stole all your <stuff>! And then ran across the street. I was pretty flamey by that time. (Some of the less wrecked among the Argonauts were actually stepping "out of character" and throwing pitchers of beer on me.)

Now some friends who had gotten off the 4 to 8 watch, this being about 9 AM, who were pulling up in a jeepney (insert blush symbol here) said it looked like I was a giant bantam rooster made of fire. I made it to the other courtyard where more than enough stuff was on hand to promptly render me safe.

Okay, now the debrief goes like this.

The difference between this and your average Darwin Award candidate activities is this was planned by members of the upper 5% instead of the lower 5%. Seems the inner set of "coveralls" I was wearing was the inner lining of one of those major firefighting suits (one of those parts of the plan I didn't remember) hence also the goggles and skull cap. Even had leather gloves on. I was only supposed to run straight though, but then again that's how sea stories are made.

Only real damage was I had to shave and regrow my beard. I only wore one because I could. Always made some of the Air Force guys and Marines jealous. One of those jawline beard/goatee combos I could wear an OBA over.

Had some cuts from landing on the table full of bottles but we also had our favorite corpsman with us. You could see him for dings resulting from stupid stuff like this and he wouldn't report it if you asked him not to. One of those "authorized for remote duty" types of corpsman who could do an successful apendectomy if he had to. (He had done so twice in other assignments) More about him later.

My three friends behind the club were utterly flabbergasted. As was vehicular traffic and pedestrians on the sidewalk. The PC's showed up to see if anybody was hurt. This was so touching we bought them lunch and a couple of rounds, in good cheer no less. They left in a good mood.

Then the shore patrol showed up.

Both of them.

They had sticks you know!

One realized they were looking at a squardron party and the other just thought it was a couple of rowdies in a bar full of strangers. Started talking long "stuff" to a couple of us when one of our E-6's said, "Hey! Aren't you guys off the Coral Sea? Didn't some of you guys get busted for hanging a couple of SP's naked and upside down outside of the 100% Rock?"

Since everybody was looking anyway all he did then was stand and shout, "211!" (spoken as "two-eleven") all of us in earshot rose and shouted it back. Made the building shake. We did this whenever we were abroad be it Nellis Airforce Base in Nevada or Mombasa, Kenya and there was trouble in a club. (Though oddly enough, at the time I was in this was considered "not done" in your own base or Enlisted Man's Club, only aboard.)

They found pressing business elsewhere.

Now there was some cross traffic discussion amongst the staff of the two clubs. Seems the staff of the other club was looking forward to a portion of that pig. We couldn't blame them a bit. So we cut off one of the hindquarters and gave it to them on condition they didn't let the Argonauts in on it, which they did and that eased all the tensions from the civilian side of the equation. After that the civvies were spectators cheering the two sides on and keeping us supplied with ammo.

Okay that's about it for now guys. I didn't quite finish it all but I think I tied up the looser threads.

Anybody thinks they've spotted something amiss, PLEASE feel free to speak up.

BD

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Gimme a minute to read through Jay's latest observations...

Nothing amiss in my mind (okay, one could sucessfully argue that everything in my mind is amiss, but that's not the point).

I'm just wondering when Big Don: The Movie! is slated for production.

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I'm like one of those idiot savants...well, except for the savant part.

Oh, a note about the "windows". In more temperate climes these would have been plate glass windows common to clubs, pubs and bars world-wide. These windows weren't glazed though, so didn't present a decapitation hazard and were easy to pass through even while spinning out of control, wildly shooting flames out of one's backside.

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Gimme a minute to read through Jay's latest observations...

A smile on my face guaranteed.
That is why I keep coming back for more, thank BigDon.

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This whole internet thing is probably not a passing fad.-Ronald Brak
While speech might be free, consequences cost.-Doodler

I damn well hope decent treatment of vets becomes an election issue.

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More average than moderate.

Curses. I was about to make a blistering post agreeing with pzkpfw, until I realised that it would break the "no politics" law six ways till Sunday.

Instead, let me just say that, being neither a vet nor even an American, I nevertheless wholeheartedly agree. I think the current treatment of war veterans is quite shameful, and should be addressed forthwith.