On these 6th Fleet cruises; it wasn’t always Operational Drills, and inspections to insure you were battle ready. There were days when we’d get to watch other ships exhibit their Operational Drills, or have a picnic, and watch sailors beat the shit out of each other.
By the third month, that ship became a little small and personalities began to conflict. I never knew them personally, but they all got there the same way. Whenever two guys were written up for fighting, they could either go before the Captain, or volunteer for the Sunday smokers. On the fantail of the ship, we had a helocopter pad that would decend below decks, to a hanger area. We didn’t have one aboard, so they’d use it as a boxing ring. By the third month, they had accumulated enough voluntees to make for a pretty fair show, and add bbq’ed steak and maybe some dive bombing, it turned into a hellava day.
Instead of the cooks making dinner in the galley, they’d set up bbq grills on the Port side and grill steaks. If you’ve ever wondered what happened to old milked out cows, you can rest assured they’re still serving their country. But, they were steaks non the less and there wasn’t a restaurant within 500 miles to compete with ‘em. The ship had it’s own rock and roll band, and two or three members were from my division. One of them had his own wig and looked like hell in it, but hey, he played good. Around 1500, all that was put away and the main attraction was announced.
The contestents had volunteered to fight each other for three, three minute rounds and they wore 16oz gloves. That’s a half pound of padding and weight on the end of each arm and these guys weren’t trained for it. If the dispute between these guys was recent, or had survived in hatred since it’s inception, then it was a great one minute round. I’ve seen them last as long as 1 and 3/4 minutes, but nothing beyond that. They still had to fight though and the pissed off ones didn’t last nearly as long as the smart ones. Those guys would catch holy hell from the fans and the Master At Arms, who was reffing the match, when they started to slow down. The ones who’d paced themselves, or usually the ones who’d talked about it before hand, would slowly circle each other around the deck and throw slow, avoidable punch’s. Those guys caught even more shit until they started to fight. I don’t ever remember seeing any of them during the next smoker either.
I think the best show I’ve seen was when the F-4’s were holding gunnary practice on a sled we pulled. Several hundred feet behind us was a water sled that would cause a huge splash and the planes would use it as a target. They always approached with the sun behind them and off to our port quarter. Some of them came from almost straight up to just off the waves. On this particular occasion we were running through 20 to 25 foot breaking seas, and not a cloud in the sky. The sea and sky were the same deep blue with only the froth showing where one met the other. This thing was raising holy hell with the seas already rough and cannon explosions adding to the effect. The pilots with no balls would approach at a 45º angle and begin firing early and wild. The ones who’d been there either came in at a 90 or but a few yards off the waves. Those guys pounded that sled and the fantail roared with our approval.
I attended the National Cherry Festival, in Traverse City a couple years ago, along with my son Matt, and his friend and his dad. Jason, Matt’s buddy, was enlisting in the Navy and this was a bennie for doing so. It wasn’t for the main event but for the practice round and a small group of people were given the VIP treatment. As I watched those planes go through their practices, I remembered another day where the waves showed me the line.
To all of you who have been in a combat situation where this crap might be causing some ill effects, I salute you, and apologize for causing it. To the rest of us though, it was one hella show.
