As I sit here ruminating over how close my seventy some odd years have moved my life-clock toward relief, I find little vignettes of my years in "the boats" passing in front of my minds eye and thought I'd kick them down the line to maybe nudge your memory locker door open.

The very first time I went out on a school boat in New London and my first dive station was in the pump room and, unbeknownst to me I was hunkered right next to the muffler on negative tank inboard vent when they pulled the plug. "Green board", "Blow negative to the mark","Negative blown to the mark, permission to vent negative" PSSSSHHHHHH, at this point I nearly jumped out of my skin and damned near soiled my laundry!!

Relieved from the mid watch underway, waiting for the good ships baker to put out the oven-hot bread and sticky buns with a bowl of cold butter.(Before we knew how to spell arteriolosclerosis)

Having the duty on New Years Eve and in recompense the Old Man let us put number one air bank on line and blew the crap out of the ships whistle at midnight.

As a boot chief we were on a mine plant forward and aft and for reasons known only to God and the old man I was put in charge of the forward reload party, me, a Chief Engineman, and I'd never even seen a mine before. I can remember standing in the pits in water up to my knees and we were ramming home mines like clockwork, thank God for the TM1 who was coaching me, but, that was what it was all about, wasn't it, get the job done.

Remember when you were swinging throttles and nobody came to visit us in that auditory hell hole except in the North Atlantic in midwinter when the engines were covered with wet foul weather gear and near-frozen lookouts were caressing those thundering diesels.

It seems like every time we got to the best part of the after battery movie there was a battery charge in progress and the aux electrician would turn on the mess deck lights to take ICV's.

Remember your first hurricane at sea, standing high-scope watch, or, like me during Carol off the east coast in '53. I never left the aft engine room for 3 days, laying in that water-soaked deck mat with my head wedged between the walking deck and the engine liner-deck, trying to heave up the bottom of my stomach.

Now I hear chow call and like all good sailors I'm out of here for the mess deck....keep your feet dry!

 Bob Dwinell ENCS(SS) USN (Ret.) 1950-1976