This is my favorite memory of Navy boot camp.
Long before Melville wrote Billy Budd, the handsome sailor was the ubiquitous grace note of every fleet of sailors. In a field of neatness the handsome sailor is noticeably neat. He is trig, Not always, but frequently he is -- not small -- but compact. He packs a pound in a three-quarter pound tin. Where all are in uniform, he is the one remembered. But with all this incentive to arrogance, the handsome sailor is most noted for his open friendship to his mates and his enthusiastic cheerfulness.
Ray was the handsome sailor of my platoon in Navy boot camp. In his peacoat and boondockers he might have passed a hundred pounds. He was pure black sunshine from South Carolina. Everyone wanted him to succeed.
He did until we had our morning in the swimming pool. It is an oddity of humanity that landlocked Midwesterners join the Navy while coastal dwellers seem to prefer the Army. The Navy does not have time to teach swimming in boot camp. The brief morning in the pool is merely the needful step to create a record entry of each sailor's minimum qualification. One jumps in -- no diving as that would be suicidal from the decks of most ships. One moves a small distance however one can flail. One floats on the back for a minute. That's all.
Ray couldn't float.
He settled about six inches under the surface and had to break to the top when his breath ran out. He was ordered to spend his evenings, when everyone else could wash and polish, in the pool until he could pass the test. Otherwise he would be held over to graduate with a later company. As his platoon recruit petty officer I was ordered to accompany him to the pool and back.
The deadline approached with no change in Ray's flotation. There was no question of Ray's effort, he was as committed as anyone could be. So on the last chance the petty officer third class running the test called the Chief Petty Officer in charge of the pool over to watch.
"See," said the Third. "How can I pass him?"
After a brief look at Ray's submerged form the Chief took the clipboard and signed Ray as passed.
"He can float'" said the Chief. "He just has negative buoyancy."
-- ml
Technorati Tags: Navy boot camp, Handsome Sailor, Melville
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Post Jam
On this, the fourth attempt, I have at last written and uploaded and published the previous three posts centering on the Bed of Procrustes. The first three times I tried to make one long post. But the machine kept crashing for its or my reasons.
After a mobo transplant I am finally able to post my feeble effort to underscore that myths are important to understand our lives.
It may well be that the Bed of Procrustes has little relevance to your life. Be assured another myth will. Also you may not take the same meaning from the myth that I do. That too is fine.
But of what value is the unreflected life? Myths can be tools to find those reflections.
-- ml
nb, 2/18/2007: This is the final addendum to a three part series nominated for the 2006 Koufax best Series. To read the fine work of other nominees click here.
Technorati Tags: myths, Koufax Best Series
After a mobo transplant I am finally able to post my feeble effort to underscore that myths are important to understand our lives.
It may well be that the Bed of Procrustes has little relevance to your life. Be assured another myth will. Also you may not take the same meaning from the myth that I do. That too is fine.
But of what value is the unreflected life? Myths can be tools to find those reflections.
-- ml
nb, 2/18/2007: This is the final addendum to a three part series nominated for the 2006 Koufax best Series. To read the fine work of other nominees click here.
Technorati Tags: myths, Koufax Best Series
The Things of Fitness
Once there was a beautiful city by the shores of a big lake. The city was noted for the generous ferocity of its climate, the generous oner of its work, and the generous warmth of its people. Here the Navy had a boot camp.
All military camps are interested in physical fitness and their training camps are very rigorous. But the Navy adds a special twist to its rigor: emotional training. Young men brought up on the myths of rugged individualism and the wide open wild west spaces are crammed together in a confined space with no off time. Ships are like that. Naval regulations permit each seamen a bunk six feet long by 24" wide by 18" high. that was the space from the top of one bunk to the bottom of the next. On shipboard they might be stacked six high. We called them racks. All your personal belongings fit in a locker 2' wide, by 15" deep by 18" tall. Living in such confinement is a psychological challenge. To train young men to live in such close quarters as a team completely subservient to the Captain is the function of boot camp.
The process begins with stripping. All your civilian clothes -- even the ones you stand in -- are packed for shipment to your former home. You join an immense line of several hundred nude men shuffling around the perimeter of a drill hall. Think of a large football field inside a hangar. Doctors poke and prod. Corpsman inject. Audiologists check hearing, Oculists examine eyes, Dentists oversee group self teeth cleaning as we brush with pumice laden bristles. The trench sinks run with gore.
Finally we are measured and uniforms are issued.
What are clothes stops? Something only the Navy would have. Patience.
Laden with all the possessions we are permitted we stagger into the stenciling room and proceed -- under direction -- to stencil every article of clothing with our name and serial number. These daubs of white or black paint in specific places not ordinarily visible to the world, and our rank and rate (job) insignia, are the only differentiation allowed among garments.
At last we are permitted to pull on one set of dungarees. And the boondockers, or high top work boots. We clomp over to the Navy Exchange building, hoicking our seabags along as best we are clumsily able, to pass under the buzz clippers of the scalpers (putative barbers). We emerge as bald pated teens, old beyond our years and as uniform as possible in our appearance: Cowed, and ready.
In the barracks our company commander (actually a first class petty officer) informs us that our new clothes are filthy and all must be washed -- by hand -- and hung to dry in the yard. So we scrub and so we dub. Then we tie our clothes to the clothes line with the clothes stops which are short lengths (6-8") of 1/8" cotton line. The navy has a particular way to do this, of course. In the middle of the clothes stop tie an overhand knot around a corner of a shirt tail or belt loop. place this in proximity to the clothes line and wrap the ends, in a tight coil, around the line for 6 or 8 turns, then tie the ends together in a square knot. Neat and trig. Shipshape. Even.
And that was the first day.
The Navy is obsessed with cleanliness. Our company's ugly duckling was forced to suck his shorts in front of the company because the commander found shit stains on them.
After fire training -- in which we were locked in a closed space adjacent to an oil fire to emerge ready for a minstrel show (even the blacks among us) hacking and coughing. Those who pushed against the iron bars came away with stains. These did not wash out. In trepident trembling we faced the CC who informed us that "Those are clean stains and will not be noticed at inspection."
Twelve weeks more and the Navy considered us ready to train for our jobs.
We were stretched, or trimmed, to suit the requirements of the service.
-- ml
nb, 2/18/2007: This is the third part of a series nominated for a 2006 Koufax. A final explanatory part is here.
Technorati Tags: Myths, Bed of Procrustes, Navy boot camp, Koufax Best Series
All military camps are interested in physical fitness and their training camps are very rigorous. But the Navy adds a special twist to its rigor: emotional training. Young men brought up on the myths of rugged individualism and the wide open wild west spaces are crammed together in a confined space with no off time. Ships are like that. Naval regulations permit each seamen a bunk six feet long by 24" wide by 18" high. that was the space from the top of one bunk to the bottom of the next. On shipboard they might be stacked six high. We called them racks. All your personal belongings fit in a locker 2' wide, by 15" deep by 18" tall. Living in such confinement is a psychological challenge. To train young men to live in such close quarters as a team completely subservient to the Captain is the function of boot camp.
The process begins with stripping. All your civilian clothes -- even the ones you stand in -- are packed for shipment to your former home. You join an immense line of several hundred nude men shuffling around the perimeter of a drill hall. Think of a large football field inside a hangar. Doctors poke and prod. Corpsman inject. Audiologists check hearing, Oculists examine eyes, Dentists oversee group self teeth cleaning as we brush with pumice laden bristles. The trench sinks run with gore.
Finally we are measured and uniforms are issued.
One canvass sea bagBell bottom denim pants and long sleeved chambray shirts
Three sets dungarees
Three sets White Summer UniformsTwo undress short sleeve shirts, one dress middy blouse, and bell bottom pants.
Three sets Blue Winter UniformsTwo undress middy blouses, one dress middy blouse with piping, bell bottom trousers with the thirteen button flap. One button for each of the thirteen colonies. Take hold of the flap corners and tug smartly and it opens faster than a zipper at need. Tug lubberly and you get to resew the buttons.
One jacket.The traditional silly white thing sailors wear. it is useful, at need, to carry water.
One pea coat.
One rain coat.
One ball cap.
Two Dixie cups.
One pair oxfords, one pair boondockers.New words -- new jargon -- issued with the clothes.
One neckerchief.Think of the Boy Scout Manual expanded to include such items as removing blood stains from whites, how to use your neckerchief as a tourniquet or sling, etc.
One Blue Jackets Manual.
Various Smalls: Tees, shorts and socks.Of needful items from razors to wash powder.
A ditty bag
And clothes stops.But no little red wagon to carry them all, just your arms and shank's mare.
What are clothes stops? Something only the Navy would have. Patience.
Laden with all the possessions we are permitted we stagger into the stenciling room and proceed -- under direction -- to stencil every article of clothing with our name and serial number. These daubs of white or black paint in specific places not ordinarily visible to the world, and our rank and rate (job) insignia, are the only differentiation allowed among garments.
At last we are permitted to pull on one set of dungarees. And the boondockers, or high top work boots. We clomp over to the Navy Exchange building, hoicking our seabags along as best we are clumsily able, to pass under the buzz clippers of the scalpers (putative barbers). We emerge as bald pated teens, old beyond our years and as uniform as possible in our appearance: Cowed, and ready.
In the barracks our company commander (actually a first class petty officer) informs us that our new clothes are filthy and all must be washed -- by hand -- and hung to dry in the yard. So we scrub and so we dub. Then we tie our clothes to the clothes line with the clothes stops which are short lengths (6-8") of 1/8" cotton line. The navy has a particular way to do this, of course. In the middle of the clothes stop tie an overhand knot around a corner of a shirt tail or belt loop. place this in proximity to the clothes line and wrap the ends, in a tight coil, around the line for 6 or 8 turns, then tie the ends together in a square knot. Neat and trig. Shipshape. Even.
And that was the first day.
The Navy is obsessed with cleanliness. Our company's ugly duckling was forced to suck his shorts in front of the company because the commander found shit stains on them.
After fire training -- in which we were locked in a closed space adjacent to an oil fire to emerge ready for a minstrel show (even the blacks among us) hacking and coughing. Those who pushed against the iron bars came away with stains. These did not wash out. In trepident trembling we faced the CC who informed us that "Those are clean stains and will not be noticed at inspection."
Twelve weeks more and the Navy considered us ready to train for our jobs.
We were stretched, or trimmed, to suit the requirements of the service.
-- ml
nb, 2/18/2007: This is the third part of a series nominated for a 2006 Koufax. A final explanatory part is here.
Technorati Tags: Myths, Bed of Procrustes, Navy boot camp, Koufax Best Series
The Fitness of Things
Once there was a beautiful city by a bay and the sea. The city was noted for generosity. Generous climate, generous opportunity and generous people. One of many, I came there to seek my fortune.
First I found a rooming house where the landlady offered me room and board in exchange for waiting tables at breakfast and dinner. "That will leave you plenty of time to look for work." The attic contained two or three cots and as many slaves. Breakfast began at 6:30 and lasted to nine when I was allowed to do up the pots in a sink in the basement. At ten I was about to sit and read the classifieds when the landlady arrived with a full cleaning kit and "just get the parlor picked up, dear, before lunch at eleven" By one I was ready to look at the paper but here she came again with dust mops and squeegees for me to clean the entry hall and stairs -- all four flights. At five thirty it was time to set the table for dinner. At 8:30 I hung the last towell to dry and placed the broom back on its hook and went off to my cot in the belief I had earned my rest.
Tomorrow proved to be much of a muchness. So on the third day I announced I was leaving for a job interview.
As indeed were several hundred others.
At the radio station that offered free training for both on and off air positions, I joined an ad hoc team of three. Our assignment was to develop a show concept and figure out how to sell ads for it. Then, if we sold enough ads, they would let us put it on air.
At The Red Hot Diner I asked to be their dish washer. "Ya gotta union card?" "Uhm, no." "Can't hire ya." So I went to the union office. "Please, I'd like to join the union." "Ya gotta job?" "Uhm, no." "Can't let ya in the union."
I went to an employment agency. The counselor was very generous with his time as he inventoried my various points. But at last he shook his head with a sigh. "I can't find you a job even if you pay the fee. Look, every employer will know that, come fall, you'll go back to college." " But I won't." "They won't believe you. Next, look, you don't fit in -- you don't even tie your tie right. Maybe a half Windsor is okay back East, here we only wear four-in-hand knots."
Everywhere I went I was either too long or too short for what they offered.
So I joined the Navy.
While waiting for orders I went to the library and borrowed "Three Soldiers" by John Dos Passos.
-- ml
nb, 2/18/2007 This is the second in a series nominated for a Koufax award. The third part is here.
Technorati Tags: Bed of Procrustes, myth, Koufax Best Series
First I found a rooming house where the landlady offered me room and board in exchange for waiting tables at breakfast and dinner. "That will leave you plenty of time to look for work." The attic contained two or three cots and as many slaves. Breakfast began at 6:30 and lasted to nine when I was allowed to do up the pots in a sink in the basement. At ten I was about to sit and read the classifieds when the landlady arrived with a full cleaning kit and "just get the parlor picked up, dear, before lunch at eleven" By one I was ready to look at the paper but here she came again with dust mops and squeegees for me to clean the entry hall and stairs -- all four flights. At five thirty it was time to set the table for dinner. At 8:30 I hung the last towell to dry and placed the broom back on its hook and went off to my cot in the belief I had earned my rest.
Tomorrow proved to be much of a muchness. So on the third day I announced I was leaving for a job interview.
As indeed were several hundred others.
At the radio station that offered free training for both on and off air positions, I joined an ad hoc team of three. Our assignment was to develop a show concept and figure out how to sell ads for it. Then, if we sold enough ads, they would let us put it on air.
At The Red Hot Diner I asked to be their dish washer. "Ya gotta union card?" "Uhm, no." "Can't hire ya." So I went to the union office. "Please, I'd like to join the union." "Ya gotta job?" "Uhm, no." "Can't let ya in the union."
I went to an employment agency. The counselor was very generous with his time as he inventoried my various points. But at last he shook his head with a sigh. "I can't find you a job even if you pay the fee. Look, every employer will know that, come fall, you'll go back to college." " But I won't." "They won't believe you. Next, look, you don't fit in -- you don't even tie your tie right. Maybe a half Windsor is okay back East, here we only wear four-in-hand knots."
Everywhere I went I was either too long or too short for what they offered.
So I joined the Navy.
While waiting for orders I went to the library and borrowed "Three Soldiers" by John Dos Passos.
-- ml
nb, 2/18/2007 This is the second in a series nominated for a Koufax award. The third part is here.
Technorati Tags: Bed of Procrustes, myth, Koufax Best Series
The Fitness of Kings
Once there was a beautiful city on a bay by the sea. It was ruled by the most generous of Kings. At the close of every day he would stand in the traveler's road where it joined the way to his city in search of journeyer's.
"Well met far comers!" he would greet them. "You must be weary from your long travels. Pray be my guest for the night that I may send you forth in the morning refreshed. The baths are heated and await. By the time you are clean and dressed in the robes that are prepared for you the new killed lamb will be grilled to a turn. The summer's first fruits were picked today. Come. Stand on no ceremony, time enough for civilities when the day's cares accept amendment."
So he would cajole them, giving them no chance to demur, until they found ease in the bath and content in the sumptuous gowns -- far richer then their own travel stained cloaks -- in which the King arrayed them. The scent of the roasting lamb drew the travelers forth to the hall where all the King's people greeted them and made much of them. Here they all set to meat. Here great ruby drafts of the past year's grape gushed without stint. The City folk knew many drolleries to entertain their guests. With jokes and tumbling calling for hearty slaps of the stick and tender songs of valiant deeds fit for telling in such a wondrous gold adorned hall.
At length, satiety stayed, fatigue commanded and the King knowing their needs better then themselves commanded the revels cease and the folk escort the guests to the bed chambers prepared for them. "There you shall find an exact duplicate of the very bed in my chamber, for I have decreed that every guest shall be treated as though he were myself. That includes a night's rest as like my own as may be made."
The King and his folk escorted each guest to a bed chamber and made him lie down. Most often the traveler fit the bed very well and the King would wish them a good night.
Yet some there were who found the bed excessive in length. These the King had seized and pulled, by means of levers if needful, until they stretched the full length of the bed just as the Kiing did. Others found the bed too short. Some part -- usually the feet and legs -- dangled past the end unsupported. These the King had lopped off so that the guest fit the bed just so as he, King Procrustes, did.
--ml
nb, 2/18/2007: First in a series nominated for a koufax award. The second piece is here.
Technorati Tags: Bed of Procrustes, myth, Koufax Best Series
"Well met far comers!" he would greet them. "You must be weary from your long travels. Pray be my guest for the night that I may send you forth in the morning refreshed. The baths are heated and await. By the time you are clean and dressed in the robes that are prepared for you the new killed lamb will be grilled to a turn. The summer's first fruits were picked today. Come. Stand on no ceremony, time enough for civilities when the day's cares accept amendment."
So he would cajole them, giving them no chance to demur, until they found ease in the bath and content in the sumptuous gowns -- far richer then their own travel stained cloaks -- in which the King arrayed them. The scent of the roasting lamb drew the travelers forth to the hall where all the King's people greeted them and made much of them. Here they all set to meat. Here great ruby drafts of the past year's grape gushed without stint. The City folk knew many drolleries to entertain their guests. With jokes and tumbling calling for hearty slaps of the stick and tender songs of valiant deeds fit for telling in such a wondrous gold adorned hall.
At length, satiety stayed, fatigue commanded and the King knowing their needs better then themselves commanded the revels cease and the folk escort the guests to the bed chambers prepared for them. "There you shall find an exact duplicate of the very bed in my chamber, for I have decreed that every guest shall be treated as though he were myself. That includes a night's rest as like my own as may be made."
The King and his folk escorted each guest to a bed chamber and made him lie down. Most often the traveler fit the bed very well and the King would wish them a good night.
Yet some there were who found the bed excessive in length. These the King had seized and pulled, by means of levers if needful, until they stretched the full length of the bed just as the Kiing did. Others found the bed too short. Some part -- usually the feet and legs -- dangled past the end unsupported. These the King had lopped off so that the guest fit the bed just so as he, King Procrustes, did.
--ml
nb, 2/18/2007: First in a series nominated for a koufax award. The second piece is here.
Technorati Tags: Bed of Procrustes, myth, Koufax Best Series
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Plus Ca Change
From O to $3,387 in only 9 months:
That looks like I can pay the rent and eat maybe two months out of the year.
Oh. Wait.
That's asset not income.
Damn.
-- ml
My blog is worth $3,387.24.
How much is your blog worth?
That looks like I can pay the rent and eat maybe two months out of the year.
Oh. Wait.
That's asset not income.
Damn.
-- ml
Friday, July 21, 2006
Bleg 07/21/06
Ann writes to ask if it is fashionable to name brand names in contemporary writing. She notes that I do so and that a young friend she mentors also does. Comments, opinions and -- if you must -- facts will be gratefully entertained. Please.
As for myself, any one who gives a cursory reading to this blog knows that fashion and I are unacquainted to state it as neutrally as possible. I do name brands when I think it will increase the reader's appreciation for what I am saying. For instance a "White Mountain ice cream maker" is the classic statement of a particular design. It is as informative to the reader as saying "unlike the Beatles" in a music review. I don't think I name brands otherwise. (Pray correct me if I am wrong oh august reader.)
--ml
Technorati Tags: Brand names, bleg, criticism
As for myself, any one who gives a cursory reading to this blog knows that fashion and I are unacquainted to state it as neutrally as possible. I do name brands when I think it will increase the reader's appreciation for what I am saying. For instance a "White Mountain ice cream maker" is the classic statement of a particular design. It is as informative to the reader as saying "unlike the Beatles" in a music review. I don't think I name brands otherwise. (Pray correct me if I am wrong oh august reader.)
--ml
Technorati Tags: Brand names, bleg, criticism
Saturday, July 15, 2006
A Superb Post
Brad Delong describes our dilema:
Pater: I might.
Go read a perfect post.
--ml
Technorati Tags: economics in the real world, Brad Delong
Filia: Why did you buy this book?
Pater: I didn't. They just sent it to me.Filia: Why?
Pater: In the hope that I'll read it, and talk about it,
and write about it, and influence people to buy it, and then they'll sell more copies.
Pater: I might.
Go read a perfect post.
--ml
Technorati Tags: economics in the real world, Brad Delong
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Summer Ought Six
In time of great danger when dangerous persons hold power everywhere:
If I could speak of politics with honesty and probity -- but others do that.
If I could exhort -- but others shout, already, louder than I.
All that remains is to testify: This is my life. This is my experience. This is my thought. This is my dream.
Let that be the substance of my "hear ye" for restraint.
For Peace.
--ml
If I could speak of politics with honesty and probity -- but others do that.
If I could exhort -- but others shout, already, louder than I.
All that remains is to testify: This is my life. This is my experience. This is my thought. This is my dream.
Let that be the substance of my "hear ye" for restraint.
For Peace.
--ml
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
The Rain Gods Laugh
Some part of my computer began failing intermittently about a month ago. On Sunday it turned in its notice -- without signing its name -- so that I was left as ignorant as before.
On Monday It went in to the local shop for a "We'll See" for a mere $59 bucks. Actually sounds reasonable in this inflated age.
But not until well into next week.
So the rest of Monday and today went in to combining two AMD K6II boxes into one that might work given a trip down memory lane with SuSE 9.3.
As of 7:30 PM I can receive mail but not send it. Book marks are not yet installed. Firefox is back to 1 point oh something. Passwords? I wrote them down so I wouldn't have to remember them as Dr Jones memorably said.
I must face up to it:
I cast my swine before pearls.
--ml
On Monday It went in to the local shop for a "We'll See" for a mere $59 bucks. Actually sounds reasonable in this inflated age.
But not until well into next week.
So the rest of Monday and today went in to combining two AMD K6II boxes into one that might work given a trip down memory lane with SuSE 9.3.
As of 7:30 PM I can receive mail but not send it. Book marks are not yet installed. Firefox is back to 1 point oh something. Passwords? I wrote them down so I wouldn't have to remember them as Dr Jones memorably said.
I must face up to it:
I cast my swine before pearls.
--ml
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