Diego Garcia: Arrival

So we pulled into Diego Garcia one bright sunny day.

Part one here

Diegogarcia

The night before, we were subjected to a ‘briefing.’ (and a pecker check–you don’t wanna know)

Briefly this briefing consisted of a shit-load of ‘don’ts’:

Don’t do this; don’t do that. “This is a working port, and don’t get excited about liberty here.”

We had been at-sea for (to us) longer than Odysseus, and we really did not wanna hear this shit but, being ‘good sailors’ and desperate to get ‘on the beach’, we just nodded.

The main thing was this: “You cannot, under any circumstance, go to the British side of this Island.”

No worries, I thought, (for at that time the only Brits I had known had come across as rather ‘stuffy’.

Our captor went further:

“This, as I did say, is a working port: Three day duty.”

“Ah shit.”

Yep, fully two thirds of the Ship’s company had to be on-board at any given time. Not to mention, as this was a working port, we could not leave the ship until the Work Day was done: i.e., sixteen hundred hours.

Nevertheless…

Diego Garcia was beautiful! Right out of ‘South Pacific’ the movie. I was jazzed by all of it. I hit the beach! Went to explore the Naval Base there. Found it wanting (Not my idea of Hemingway). I then swerved onto the Merchant Marine obscure dock and here is where I found my home for the next thirty days.

It was untouched by modern anything.

There was a small bar/restaurant and A beach. Some serving wenches, and palm trees.

I settled in.

Part Three Here

I Did Promise Music and Laughter: I Kind of Lied

I actually gave this some serious thought earlier today.

And truthfully I was inspired by a post I read over yonder at

http://sharoncummings.wordpress.com/2014/03/28/p-r-o-b-l-e-m-s/

We were talking about optimism.

Well Sharon was but it got me to thinking.

(Scary, yeah.)

Anyhow, I had this post develop in my head. A post about good and bad. A post about optimism and pessimism. A post about Human Decency.

Then I promised me: I Promised me I would not post it because it might sound too preachy, but when we fall away from stating the obvious, because “it has been said too many times before,” well then we forget. And dammit! Some of us need reminding from time to time.

So, here it is:

I have spoken on ‘racism’ before.

Nothing Like a Dame

No Preacher: me.

Just a schmuck.

But I love this movie.

Here are some links, if ya wanna read some scholarly shit:

Continue reading

For you film scholars out there:

I understand the point behind the Musical “South Pacific.”

Yes, I do.

It was about the idiocy that is racism.

I used the video clip (see below)  for humor and to point out a point.

Sailors were innocent (for the most part). Times were heady. Facing death, which I know, can make feminists of us all:

“Mommy! Please don’t let me die here!”

Nuff said.

End of rant.

P.S. If we ban the word, ‘Bossy’ what follows when we can seriously consider banning any word?

Or Book?

Hunger Games?

As much as I admire Jennifer Lawrence, I do not wish to go there.

*******

“You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JjiaRJqKIU)

(sometimes “You’ve Got to Be Taught” or “Carefully Taught”) is a show tune from the 1949 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical South Pacific.

South Pacific received scrutiny for its commentary regarding relationships between different races and ethnic groups. In particular, “You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught” was subject to widespread criticism, judged by some to be too controversial or downright inappropriate for the musical stage.[1] Sung by the character Lieutenant Cable, the song is preceded by a lyric saying racism is “not born in you! It happens after you’re born…”

Rodgers and Hammerstein risked the entire South Pacific venture in light of legislative challenges to its decency or supposed Communist agenda. While the show was on a tour of the Southern United States, lawmakers in Georgia introduced a bill outlawing entertainment containing “an underlying philosophy inspired by Moscow.”[2] One legislator said that “a song justifying interracial marriage was implicitly a threat to the American way of life.”[2] Rodgers and Hammerstein defended their work strongly. James Michener, upon whose stories South Pacific was based, recalled, “The authors replied stubbornly that this number represented why they had wanted to do this play, and that even if it meant the failure of the production, it was going to stay in.”[2]

–From Wikipedia

Part Three of a Sailor’s Scholarly Series on U.S. Naval History in The South Pacific

You may discover Part One here.

Part Two here.

The Thunder Bolt:

“You can’t hide the thunderbolt. When it hits you, everybody can see it. Christ Man! Don’t be ashamed of it, some men pray for the thunderbolt. You’re a very lucky fellow.”

 – Calo (‘The Godfather’)

****************

So… Matt, Rogers, and I settled into the bar (After I had paid my respects to Mama-San).

Since it was still relatively early and the joint pretty much dead, Rog and I decided to shoot some pool. Now I must tell you, gentle readers, I am a pool hustler, and Rog was a gambler. Good for me. Bad for him. After about an hour of pool, Rog owned me all the beer in Olongapo and his First Born. Wasn’t really interested in the First Born (I had seen the baby pictures and the baby dipped snuff just like his daddy), So I told him to keep the First Born, but get busy with the beers. We sat back down at the bar next to Matt who was in some kind of serious philosophical discussion with a young bar girl who appeared to have a glass eye. Matt is a gentleman and this girl seemed to have warmed up to him. Rog and I were not gentlemen so we interrupted their conversation.

“Hey Matt! Rog here is buyin’ the beer for the next ten years. Name your poison.”

“I’d like a glass of wine,” Matt said softly.

“What?!” Rog and I both exclaimed in unison.

(Matt was an artist. So I suppose this was to be expected: This Un-Naval-Like Bullshit Talk he could come up with out the side of his neck from time to time)

“Mama-San!” I yelled over my shoulder. “Ya got any Pinto Greegee-oh?”

“Goddamn chew!” she yelled back. “Go to fuck you!”
I turned to Matt, “Sorry Buddy. Fresh out. How ‘bout a beer? On Rogers here. He buyin’”.

“Sure,” he said, not even looking at us.

“Oh shit Rog,” I said. “Matt here done gone off into ‘That Place’ again.”

“Doan worry none,” Rog replied. “He’ll snap outta it.”

I glanced over at Matt, now busily drawing on a cocktail napkin what appeared to be a rather flattering portrait of the bar girl.

“Yeah, Rog. I suppose yer right.”

Rogers and I traded wolf tickets for an hour or so, and then aimed our affections at some Marines who had recently shown up. Things were about to grow unpleasant when the regular shift of girls came strolling in. This stopped the war between the Navy and the Marine Corps as the music got loud and the girls took to the runway.

I knew all the girls on the shift. They were all my friends. But I spotted a girl I did not know. ‘Spotted’ is probably not the right word. ‘Witnessed’ (Think ‘Baptist Revival’ here) might be more appropriate. She was the image of my high school sweetheart. (No, I wasn’t really that drunk).

OK, not exactly the spitting image but let us say the Ornamental Version of a spitting image.

Thunderbolt. Bam!

I just had to have some chat with her.

And By God, I would.

Or die.

I would become useless for the rest of the evening.

I spent far too much time in the Far East.

This will be continued…