From the Story Corner – Military Memory

Subject: From the Story Corner – Military Memory
From: Sailor Jim Johnston
Date: 1999/12/01
Newsgroups: alt.callahans

The light outside is failing as Sailor Jim moves into the story
corner. He sits and, looking into his glass, starts to speak.

“My first ship was the Coast Guard Cutter Red Birch, a buoy tender out
of Yerba Buena Island, California. I had been tossed out of Class A
school (for reasons best left unmentioned) and was reporting aboard as
a Seaman. She was my first working command, my entire military career
having consisted of boot camp and Class A school at that point, and I
studied my seamanship very hard. I was determined to make a good
impression, be a good sailor, and – with a little luck – make Petty
Officer damn quick.

(“It is a fine thing to believe in the fairness of the advancement
ladder, but quite another thing entirely when one is on the bottom
rung. Granted, someone must clean the toilets and cleaning toilets is
an honorable and honest profession . . . I just didn’t want to be the
one doing the actual cleaning, you see.)

“Within a week, we set sail up coast and I quickly impressed my First
Class with my ability and dedication. I put one hundred percent into
everything I did, including when the crew went out drinking in the
small towns we moored in. I guarded my shipmate’s backs in bar brawls
against lumberjacks and laughed with them afterwards, as we all
staggered back to the ship, puking as we went. I studied the sextant
and all of the emergency positions that I could possibly find myself
in; I put my back into buoy ops and displayed calm leadership during
drills.

“Finally, we were pulling back in to our home port and Whitey (BM1
Arthur White, a man I’ll never forget) told me to man number three
mooring line. My first time on mooring party, I snapped to, quickly
reviewing the various commands and responses in my mind.

“It’s really not all that easy, y’know. First, one must tie the hawser
to the heaving line (a light weight rope with a weighted end) and throw
the heaving line to shore, a feat requiring both skill and strength.
(Years later, I saw the line handlers at the Panama Canal display their
skill with heaving lines and was humbled.) Anyway, then one must play
the hawser out, giving slack until the shore handler has secured it to
a huge iron cleat on dock. Then one lies down on the deck, braces
one’s feet against the hull, and hauls in the slack, as the captain
requires. He relays his commands from the bridge, over the sound-
powered phones, to the various talkers fore and aft. Whitey was the
fantail talker and relayed all commands to lines three and four.

“Well, my heaving line throw got a smile from Whitey (a rare thing,
indeed!) and the speed in which I played out the heavy hawser actually
earned a ‘well done.’ When the mooring line had been secured, I all
but threw myself onto the deck and proceeded to pull the ship to the
pier. (Well, two other seamen were also pulling . . . as well as the
for and aft capstans, so I suppose this really wasn’t all that
impressive.)

“As we came closer to the pier, the commands came faster and
thicker. ‘Four! Take a turn and hold! Three! Abate and draw! All
lines take a strain! Ease Three! Ease Four!’ Whitey bellowed the
nautical commands at the top of his lungs and I made sure to bellow my
acknowledgements promptly right back, ‘Abate and draw, Aye! Ease, Aye!’

“I was congratulating myself on boning up on my basic seamanship when
Whitey called out ‘Check Three!’ I quickly took a double turn,
secured, and leapt to my feet. Leaning out over the side, I checked
the entire length of the line, from pier to cleat and found it was not
fouled, strained, or pinched. Within a second or two, I had thrown
myself back onto the deck, released all turns and bellowed out my
report in my best military tones, ‘Looks okay to me, Whitey!’

“I glanced back at Whitey, who was standing there, staring at me. I
figured that he was impressed with my speed of response and gave him a
thumb up. He slowly triggered his sound-powered phone and
said, ‘Bridge, Fantail . . . Seaman Johnston says three looks okay to
him.’”

SJ takes a drink of his soda and sighs. “I suppose, at this point, I
should mention that the nautical command of ‘check’ means to tie off
the line and wait for further commands, not a request for the lowest
ranking seaman to offer his opinion as to the condition of the line.

“Needless to say, I was a bit surprised when the laughter started. It
swept from the bridge to the fo’c'sle and back to the fantail. I could
even hear laughter from within the ship, echoing through the vents.
All usefull activity ceased as they all enjoyed a joke that nobody
bothered letting me in on, which meant – naturally – that I looked
about and kept saying ‘What? What’s so funny?’

“By night, the entire district had heard the story and when the next
issue of our official publication, ‘Commandant’s Bulletin’ reported it
in cartoon form. The phrase ‘Looks Okay to Me, Whitey!’ was repeated
everywhere one went for the next few years and I actually saw it
printed on sweatshirts. The story became a part of CG history and,
unfortunately, sorta set the stage for the remainder of my career. I
was destined to become a legendary figure in the service, whether or
not I wanted.”

Sailor Jim’s takes another sip of his drink and, looking back at the
darkening sky in the window, mutters, “Thankfully, I’ve rather enjoyed
it all.”

SJ