It is fitting that I have been granted permission to post this story on the 234th birthday of the US Navy. CAPT Wellborn gave it a fine title. I’m adding it to the series of my own experiences of that operation.

Part I, Part II, Part III,Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX

I met a USNA Graduate via business networking a few months back. A few weeks ago, one of his fellow graduates was going through and I was invited to attend a seminar with the two men. The visitor and I, over late lunch, just as we were about to part, discovered we had both been deployed at the same time, to the same ocean, and to the same operation: El Dorado Canyon.

He is CAPT Buddy Wellborn, USN (RET) and he was the Commanding Officer of USS DETROIT (AOE-4), while I was there, on DESRON 32 Staff. Buddy has shared wit me his recollections of that specific raid, adding to the body of knowledge of the evnts leading to and after the joint USAF and USN strike on LIbya. Here is, extracted from the Word document he sent me via email, and has granted me permission to share it:

What Liberty Means to Me

CAPT Buddy Wellborn, USN (Ret), USNA ’59

The Provocation of an Unjust Act. Very early on Saturday morning, 5 April 1986, our National Security Adviser, Vice Admiral John Poindexter, US Navy, woke President Ronald Reagan. He had to inform him that a bomb had exploded in the La Belle, a discothèque in West Berlin, killing a US serviceman and seriously injuring several other Americans.
Two days later, at a meeting with his principal advisers at the White House, President Reagan reviewed the accumulated evidence implicating Libyan involvement in the bombing. He also received an intelligence brief revealing that Libya’s Muammar al-Qaddafi was planning a wave of terrorist attacks on American citizens and interests overseas. He was convinced of Qaddafi’s complicity in the West Berlin attack.

On Wednesday, 9 April 1986, President Reagan, after considering many options, approved “in principal” a military operation against Libya, and authorized the National Security Council to finalize the necessary military planning for a reprisal. Essentially, he had chosen the Clausewitzian option for the continuation of politics by other means. Such means would deliver a “message” that emphatically would inform those supporting or sponsoring terrorism that they could not do so without paying a price—a very heavy price.

Earlier, after the Rome and Vienna airport massacres in January of 1986, the collected intelligence revealed conspiratorial Libyan involvement. Accordingly, Defense Secretary Caspar Weinberger issued warning orders to the US European Command, particularly for SIXTH Fleet and Tactical Fighter Wing FORTY-EIGHT. Therefore, contingency planning for military operations against Libya had been in the works since then. Their planned operation was assigned the code name: EL DORADO CANYON.

The Marque—the License to Strike. For a twelve-minute air raid over Libya, the US plan generated the necessary US Air Force and US Navy assets to assure that at least eighteen Air Force F/B-111F fighter-bombers, and twelve Navy A-6E attack aircraft actually would strike specifically assigned targets in Libya. In a limited sense, with a selected measure of response for a reprisal, the US plan had strike aircraft collectively distributing some 200,000 pounds of high-explosives specifically to selected military/terrorist targets in Libya.
To strike such targets in the environs of Tripoli, US TACWING FORTY-EIGHT would launch F/B-111F fighter-bomber aircraft from Lakenheath and three other support bases in England. To strike selected targets in the environs of Benghazi, US SIXTH Fleet would launch A-6E, A-7, and F/A-18 fighter-attack aircraft from naval aircraft carriers at sea in the central Mediterranean, one in each of two Battle Groups (BGs), namely, one with USS AMERICA and one with USS CORAL SEA.

During the early morning darkness of 14 April 1986, after a dispersed, dark-of-the-night replenishment at sea for “Beans, Bullets, and Black Oil,” the warships of these two BGs rendezvoused northwest of Sicily just off Punta Raisi in Golfo di Castellammare.

Shortly after first light, Vice Admiral Frank Kelso, US Navy, Commander SIXTH Fleet, convened a meeting onboard AMERICA with all his subordinate commanders and commanding officers from these BG’s that formed TASK FORCE SIXTY—TF60. He read President Reagan’s execute order for OPERATION EL DORADO CANYON; and, then prompted discussion, and invited questions. Afterwards, all commanding officers returned to their ships and informed their officers and men of the strike-order for selected military/terrorists targets in Libya.

The warships in these BGs went dark and quiet as they commenced their high-speed runs to the Gulf of Sidra. TOT, Time-On-Target, was set for 0200 Libya-time, 15 April 1986, which coincided with the dark of the crescent moon. This made it 1900 EST, 14 April 1986, which coincided with the prelude to national TV-primetime in Washington, DC.

About six hours before the strike, Rear Admiral Hank Mauz, US Navy, sent the following message to his BG:
“TF 60 AND USAF F-111’S ARE ABOUT TO CONDUCT STRIKES AT A SERIES OF MILITARY TARGETS IN LIBYA IN REPRISAL FOR CLEAR AND CERTAIN LIBYAN RESPONSIBILITY IN RECENT ATTACKS OF TERRORISM. THESE STRIKES WILL REPRESENT A HISTORICAL MILESTONE IN DEALING WITH STATE-SPONSORED TERRORISM. THOSE WHO SPONSOR SUCH ACTS WILL, PERHAPS FOR THE FIRST TIME, UNDERSTAND THAT RETRIBUTION WILL BE SWIFT AND SURE AS THEY CONTEMPLATE THEIR FUTURE ACTIVITY.”

At about 1730 London-time, on 14 April 1986, the assigned US Air Force tankers and strike aircraft launched from their respective bases in England, and proceeded southerly off the western European coast to Gibraltar, thence turned easterly to the central Mediterranean for the Tunisian coast, thence southerly to Libya—a precisely timed, grueling five-and-a-half-hour trek of some 2000+-nm.

Shortly after midnight Tripoli-time, on 15 April 1986, AMERICA and CORAL SEA began flight operations to launch their aircraft in the Gulf of Sidra. To their west, just before flying over the Tunisian coast, their Air Force brethren were making their fourth and final pre-attack, in-flight refueling from their tankers in a dark sky at 26,000 feet above the sea.

The Reprisal—the Application of Armed Force: SHOWTIME! The prelude for this one-act reprisal began as scheduled at about 0150. It featured pre-strike suppression attacks on Libyan air defenses by US Navy aircraft. They would be streaking inbound low and fast, skimming the wave tops to strike their assigned suppression targets.
Eight A-7’s from AMERICA literally would pop-up at Tripoli’s “front door,” and unleash a devastating barrage of HARM and SHRIKE missiles to suppress Libyan SAM sites there. Eight F/A-18’s from CORAL SEA would do the same at Benghazi.

Turning in from the desert to proceed northerly toward their assigned targets, right on their coordinated strike schedule, six F-111-F’s bore down on Tripoli Military Airfield, nine more bore down on Aziziyah, and the remaining three bore down on Murat Sidi Bilal. They were hugging the deck at less than five hundred feet, with some of them even attacking at just a couple of hundred feet above the ever threatening, protruding ground—unfriendly ground.

In the Libyan capital, at 0200, NBC correspondent Steve Delaney reported to Tom Brokaw, their anchorman in New York, that he was hearing the roar of jet engines outside the windows of his hotel room. Seconds later, at 1900 EST—7:00 PM US-time– millions of viewers of NBC Nightly News, my wife and sons among them, heard the explosions and the crackle of gunfire in the background as Delaney reported, “Tom, Tripoli is under attack!”

Meanwhile across the Gulf of Sidra, six of the eight A-6E attack aircraft off CORAL SEA were outbound bearing down on the Libyan fighter base at Benina, while six of the seven A-6E’s off AMERICA bore down on the military installations at Benghazi.

In regard to the element of surprise, and Libyan preparation for an imminent attack, US strike pilots reported as they approached their respective aim points that Tripoli’s streetlights were still on, as were the floodlights shining on the largest buildings and the minarets of the central mosque. At Benina, reportedly the “frigging” runway-lights were on— beacon-bright.

By 0213 in Tripoli, all strike-aircraft had reported “feet wet,” and were racing outbound over the sea—with Libya in their rearview mirror.
By 0810 in London, 15 April 1986, the last F/B-111F landed at Lakenheath, marking the longest fighter mission in US history—fourteen hours and thirty-five minutes.
First-to-last, the actual bombing had taken only twelve minutes for these intrepid US Air Force and US Navy airmen to deliver our “message.”

At sea in the Gulf of Sidra that morning, Vice Admiral Kelso called on the command-net to pass along the gist of a conversational communication he just had had with President Reagan. Synoptically, our Commander-in-Chief had sent a WELL DONE to all those he had put in harm’s way. In other words, he was commending those at the point of the sword that delivered the message for US All– the USA.

I read the message to my crew on the general announcing system, adding my own “positive” direction:
“Our Commander-in-Chief has commended us for a job ‘Well Done’ that we did during the dark this morning. You did good, and I am proud to stand in your company. But, it’s not over, ‘til it’s over. We now have to refuel/rearm our band of brothers out here. That’s our day-job. So, let’s not waste any more daylight. ROMEO is at the dip to starboard– turn-to!”

DD-963 SPRUANCE to port, DDG-51 BURKE to starboard and FFG-7 PERRY Class in waiting station, with USS DETROIT (AOE-4) providing fuel and stores

Liquid Energy– Distillate Fuel, Marine. Later that afternoon, I spoke with Rear Admiral Mauz while replenishing AMERICA alongside. We discussed DETROIT’s fuel status after topping off the BG’s warships. For the next three or more days, warships of both BG’s would maintain a defense-posture in the Gulf of Sidra, and stand ready to repulse any Libyan counter-attack. There were White House-directed contingencies in the event of that happening.

He too had seen the message passed to us by the US Department of State to inform us that the countries along the Mediterranean littoral perfunctorily, as expected, had revoked all their diplomatic clearances for port-visits by US warships because of the “ongoing hostilities.”

We discussed alternatives between here and there, whereas “there,” meant six days out and back to and from our naval facilities at Rota on the Atlantic littoral of southwestern Spain. And, in steaming from here to there, both of us knew that anything could happen, be it good or bad. Possibly, we could take-on fuel at the port of Cagliari on Sardinia’s southernmost tip, and thus cut the turnaround time in half. But, perhaps we could get into Sicily. The AGIP refinery at Augustà Bay on Sicily’s eastern coast was closer, like only a half-day’s steaming away. In any case, I was to do what I could [had to] do. DETROIT therefore steamed northward toward Sicily at 31+ knots—after all, DETROIT was a Fast Combat Support Ship, literally built on top of a battleship-propulsion plant.

As I reviewed the day’s intelligence reports, I noted that the Libyan government was reporting thirty-seven Libyans killed and ninety-three injured by the US air strikes in Tripoli and Benghazi. US intelligence sources also reported that Qaddafi survived the US air strike in his underground bunker, apparently rattled, but unharmed. His fifteen-month old adopted daughter, however, had been killed, and his wife and two youngest sons, ages three and four, had been seriously injured.

Apparently, Qaddafi’s family had been asleep in their beds on the ground floor of the residence when the compound was attacked. I solemnly rationalized that a distinct moral distinction can be made between “collateral damage” accidentally resulting in the deaths of Libyan civilians and the deliberate murdering of civilians by acts of terrorism.

Lampadusa Island Map

Then, as I read on, apparently Qaddafi had had his army launch two Soviet-built SS-1 SCUD-B ballistic missiles at the US Coast Guard’s Long-Range Navigation– LORAN– station on < ahref="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lampedusa_Island">ISOLA DI LAMPEDUSA. LAMPEDUSA is an island in the central Mediterranean about 170 nm [nautical miles] north-northwest of Tripoli, and about 140 nm south of the western tip of Sicily.

The Libyan SCUD’s though had fallen short detonating harmlessly in the rocks offshore. Nevertheless, the resulting explosions caused two large columns of water to plume brusquely into the air, and the percussion wave shook the homes of some six thousand Lampedusan residents living there. I presumed that such action was more than likely in desperation to do something—anything– to retaliate against the US.

When I finished reading the reports, I simply shook my head thinking that such a “counter-attack” was ridiculous at best—and, at worst was stupid. I scuffed it off—re-fuel was on my mind.

During the early morning darkness of 16 April 1986, I slowed DETROIT’s speed-of-advance just before reaching the turn onto the approaches for the breakwater at the industrial oil-port city of Augustà, Sicily. My intent was to enter port and top-off with jet-propulsion fuel and distillate-fuel marine, about two million gallons– each.

For normal deployed tasking, this would have been just another routine, twice-a-month top-off. This, however, was neither normal nor routine, because it was in the early morning darkness of the day following a US air strike against Libya.

In that such mortally intrusive action was a unilateral projection of national power by the US, the somewhat surprised host countries in the central Mediterranean region had no other choice than to rescind all diplomatic clearances for port visits by US warships until such hostilities could be settled, diplomatically. To say the least, this would be an out-of-the-ordinary port-visit.

My operational plan was simple though. I would maneuver DETROIT for port entry under the cover of darkness—and, be rigged at darkened ship and in electronic silence. Unassisted, I then would moor DETROIT bow-out alongside the pier that housed the fuel-manifolds for AGIP’s refinery. In other words, we were sneaking in.
My crew then would scurry ashore to take-on fuel, just as they had done so many times before. Fuel was always available down at AGIP’s manifolds—24/7. It was there by gravity-feed from storage tanks at an elevation of some 100 feet up the hill.

And, since we were going to pay for what we took, their padlocked valves would not pose a problem—to my street-smart sailors. After all—I moralized– were we not good customers, with ways and means? Most assuredly, we would replace the padlocks with new ones, and I would direct DETROIT’s Supply Officer to leave the necessary paperwork for payment due in the post-box on the pier for business as usual—padlock keys and all.

All in all, it should take us only about four hours to top-up. Then having done so, we simply would slip our moorings to the pier and depart unassisted, and unobtrusively– before any locals came to work. I admit, it was somewhat of an audacious plan—to some extent or greater. But, I rationalized, was it not mission-essential—and, cost-effective too? Because, by the next morning, in less than forty-eight hours, we could be back on our replenishment circuit in the Gulf Sidra for refueling/re-arming the fuel-thirsty ships of our battle group still patrolling there.

After all, is it not easier to get forgiveness than it is to get permission?

Furthermore, could it not be rationalized—and, moralized– that politics are politics, whereas business is business—and, war is war? So, stop procrastinating.
Don’t Ask Why, Just Do It! Think action, and act with thought.

As expected, the port and the surrounding hills were dark. A passing thought of anxiety did wisp through the dark reaches in the back of my plotting mind in that strangely, there did not seem to be any lights on, except for surface navigational aids—on dim. But, I quickly re-focused to more lucid things right in front me, like the prudent ship-handling tasks ahead.

Weather-wise, I noticed that the morning land breeze was offsetting, and thus would be somewhat of a buffer for easing DETROIT alongside the pier, ever so gently. It was pleasantly cool, and even a little misty; but essentially the visibility was clear and unlimited even in the early morning darkness. Therefore, visual observations for navigational fixing would do prudently, thus electronic means for navigational fixing were not needed, and were off.

I had been in and out of Augustà Bay many times over the years, and thus was very familiar with the approaches to the breakwater-entrance as well as the restrictive waters for maneuvering deep-draft ships inside the breakwater. Furthermore, I also was an experienced ship-handler, having served in ships, at sea, for more than half of my naval career. So, an unassisted mooring would not be a problem, or result in any untoward happenings.

I smartly conned DETROIT to head-up the track indicated by the two lighted in-range navigational towers. Radios were tuned to receive, but transmissions were to be kept silent– in that, I did not intend to call in and get permission to enter port. In other words, I imagined us sneaking in slowly at the prudent speed of about 10 knots, and maneuvering in the harbor to make a landing– with a 900-foot, 50,000-ton, gray elephant-behemoth.

An Extraordinary Emotional Event—At Sicily’s Augustà Bay. All of a sudden, the pilothouse radio, tuned to Channel-16, crackled:
“USS DETROIT, this is COMANDANTÈ AUGUSTÀ, What are your intentions?”

What was just as surprising is that no bright searchlights came on, and no alarms were sounding. And, the query had been made in very clear, and correct, authoritative English instead of the usual pidgin English. I quickly assessed that a senior Italian officer must have transmitted it, perhaps even the Commander of Italian armed forces stationed there.

Trying to overcome the anxiety of the moment, that is, like when caught with your hand in the cookie-jar, my Executive Officer, instead of answering the radioed query, extended the radio microphone in his hand toward me with a look indicative of an unspoken question, “What are YOU going to say now?”

Well, when a smart-ass is caught red-handed, the reply is typically a flippant one. I took the radio in hand, and gathered my thoughts for some excusatory response. After all, we had been at sea for an extended period and deserved some R&R– Rest and Recreation—like, a sailor’s liberty.

I cleared my throat, to speak somewhat authoritatively, and responded without call-up in “Pidgin” Italian, vis-à-vis, Pidgin English, with a so typical asinine smile on my face:
“Mi parè– Libertà!”

The counter response absolutely was astonishing. No, it was astoundingly magnificent! Lights came on in the port, and on all the small boats just inside the breakwater. A hundred radios crackled at once: “Parè Libertà — Parè Libertà!”

The vibrancy of the words echoed off the steel bulkheads of the pilothouse, and seemingly off the hills of the surrounding countryside. The crescendo of freedom’s ring resounded all around us. Several searchlights then came on, but not directly on us. They were highlighting our battle flag—the Stars and Stripes—still flying so proudly at mast-top.

My mind raced to comprehend what was happening.

Then it hit me.

Apparently, Qaddafi had not heeded, nor perhaps even sought, the advice of geo-politicos to ascertain the sovereignty of ISOLA DI LAMPEDUSA.

My, my, Qaddafi had attacked Italy!

I quickly deduced that the Italian ministry in Rome must be in the throws of releasing an official response. Notwithstanding that bureaucratic action, the Sicilians already knew that the attack had been by a terminally ballistic, non-guided missile launched from Libya. Moreover, the Sicilians instinctively knew that the attack was not accidental, or some regrettable mistake in aim-point. To the people here in Sicily, this was an unprovoked, reprehensible attack by Libya onto Italy’s sovereign soil. Thus, Italian forces in Augusta Bay were in the defend mode—and, we were one of their fellow defenders!

Every now and then, you can catch old Murphy resting on his laurels. And, according to O’Toole’s corollary to Murphy’s Law, we were experiencing the Luck of the Irish—and, my Irish eyes were smiling.

The morning mist was cooling my flushed face, as I broke into a smile—a big smile. I had never heard nor seen a welcome like this before—or, since.

My flippancy dissipated. This was indeed an unforgettable–if not a historic– moment. I stood at attention on the starboard bridge wing as we entered Augustà Bay, and professionally saluted the glassed-in watchtower smartly as we passed abeam the breakwater. I even imagined COMANDANTÈ AUGUSTÀ mouthing the words: Mi venne in aiuto.

Without untoward incident, or further adieu, DETROIT was back on station in the Gulf of Sidra by dark-thirty that night. While in-transit that evening, I read the message reporting what President Reagan, pursuant to the terms of the War Powers Act, had forwarded by letter to Congress regarding OPERATION EL DORADO CANYON. His letter, in part, stated that,

“…[The air strikes on Libya] were conducted in the exercise of our right of self-defense under Article 51 of the United Nations Charter. This necessary and appropriate action was a preemptive strike directed at the Libyan terrorist infrastructure and designed to deter acts of terrorism, such as the Libyan-ordered bombing of a discotheque in West Berlin on April 5.”

As an anti-climatically parenthetical to highlight that business is business, a Libyan-flagged crude-oil tanker was moored across the pier. Her captain invited me over to have coffee, and I did–graciously.

Retrospectively, keep in mind listening to the news reporting strife and struggle among people that whenever, and wherever, freedom-loving people are threatened, they will rally to side with those who champion their cause, and welcome all who will stand beside them to keep the light of Freedom’s Torch burning bright.
That’s my lesson learned for what LIBERTY means to me.
– – – CLAUSULA – – –

How better to begin a day, than to be invited to a long standing group os mostly Naval Aviators, and some Marines, who span military history from 1942 to the mid-90s (I was the youngest one…and moved that goal post)?

Via business networking and meeting and doing business with told me to show up for breakfast. I didn’t get al the names right, I’m sure, but a Navy Cross winner, a retired Admiral who wnet “downtown.” The man with the most CUTLASS traps every. A P-3 pilot who was one of my CO’s roommates at USNA, and…we had met at the change of command, and figured out he and I had crossed paths in Dec 76 @ Comm School in Newport. And that’s not all the history I sat in the middle of, but, I was the lone “Shoe,” and non-USNA. They still welcomed me in and told me to come back…They do this every two weeks.

More later. Much more I’m sure….maybe an interview from a Cutlass pilot….

And he said, when the lines were singled: “You did everything I’d do, but 30 seconds later.”

It is a real statement made to me, after morring at Naval Weapons Station, Yorktown, VA for an offload of ordnance.

about 45 minutes earlier, Captain Maixner asked “Have you ever taken one (SPRUANCE Class DD) to the pier without tugs?”

What brought this stroy back from the memory banks is the current events…of how one can sit and listen to someone for 20+ years, then decide what is being said is depicable…

More later…work calls…but…it is a good story about life aboard a Navy vessel…

Found in an un-named SWO forum: Why it’s better to work at MacDonald’s than on a Sub:

1) No McORSE
2) If you have to take a piss, you can go take a piss. No questions asked.
3) You’ll never have to go port and starboard on the fryer.
4) Better pay.
5) The sun.
6) Air.
7) The boxes of food at McDonald’s aren’t stamped “Rejected by Hardee’s” or “Not fit for human consumption”.
8) Cool The ability to call in sick.
9) The ability to quit.
10) McDonald’s doesn’t get their uniforms from the same company as the state penitentiary.
11) McDonald’s doesn’t deploy.
12) They have actual janitors.
13) No McDrills.
14) The grill breaks, you CALL someone to fix it.
15) At least your boss accepts that he’s a clown.
16) No McResin Discharge.
17) No all night hydro on the fryer.
18) Cool One word: overtime.
19) Every day is slider day!
20) At McDonald’s, you will never, EVER, worry about being put in prison for ten years because you told your wife what the secret sauce is.
21) They pay you for training.
22) You’ll never die a horrible, excruciating death from the crush depth implosion of a McDonald’s.
23) No steam piping.
24) No time at McDonald’s will you hear your boss give a thirty minute dissertation over the P.A. on the importance of being at the register 15 minutes early.
25) They won’t ask you about Taco Bell operations on the advancement test.
26) You get to leave work EVERY day at the end.
27) McDonald’s will eventually fire the really stupid employees.
28) Cool Two words: Happy Meals.
29) McDonald’s doesn’t look like a big black turd.
30) Grimace doesn’t do Vulcan Death Watches.
31) McDonald’s has a slide out back.
32) To do something at McDonald’s, you look at the color coded chart, not OP umpty-squat, chapter whatever, reference 3, ACN B, rev 17.
33) If McDonald’s catches fire, you LEAVE.
34) No McSmall Valve Maintenance.
35) No McCOB.
36) Leaving McDonald’s in an emergency doesn’t require a steinke hood and a lot of praying.
37) The coffee’s better.
38) Cool Someone else makes the water.
39) You don’t have to live there to work there.
40) The only cones come from the ice cream machine.
41) McDonald’s doesn’t go into dry-dock. (again and again)
42) ALL the tests are multiple choice.
43) Their TV commercials are a lot cooler.
44) Three words: Sea Foam Green.
45) Stock in McDonald’s is worth something. The Navy is a part of an operation that is 6 trillion dollars in the hole.
46) Special sauce isn’t “hand made”.
47) No McBilges to clean.
48) Cool Opening for business doesn’t require a full day of preparations and everyone to show up for a brief at 0230.
49) Three words: Stupid ass hats.
50) Personnel inspection requirements are written on the door. (No shirt, no shoes, no service)
51) At McDonald’s, dislocating your shoulder is not considered getting the good deal.
52) McDonald’s never had an accident that cause a person to be stuck to the ceiling impaled on a french fry. (i.e.. No Mc-SL1)
53) Because you deserve a break today.
54) Even the little Hamburglar is cooler than a goat.
55) Mayor McCheese doesn’t wield a righteous thumb of indignation.
56) You can choose which McDonald’s you want to work at.
57) If you want to buy your boss a beer, that’s okay.
58) Cool If you want to tell your boss to screw off, that’s okay too.
59) There is no Uniform Code of McDonald’s Justice to deal with.
60) The news comes from USA Today, not Ric Crawford, GS-12.
61) No one will rack you out at 0200 in the morning to start the grill.
62) Chances of you getting called back after you get off work are pretty darn slim.
63) Putting the pickle on the hamburger doesn’t require an QA-34 and a signature to be used against you in a court of law, should they want you.
64) The only guy in a silly yellow suit is Ronald.
65) How many McDonald’s were sunk in W.W.II?
66) Fixing the register doesn’t require a rubber room and a rope man.
67) Nothing on the menu contains the phrases, “Horse cock” or “baboon ass”.
68) Cool At McDonald’s, the riders would have to leave at closing time.
69) $2.99 is a meal price, not a daily wage at McDonald’s.
70) You don’t have to go single register operations if someone spills a Coke.
71) McDonald’s doesn’t require a 24 hour Shutdown Register Operator and McRoving Watch.
72) McDonald’s doesn’t call your house at 0530 in the morning blaring some awful antiquated song about a bugler just to wake you up.
73) No McRadcon.
74) At McDonald’s, your boss will never make you drive him around for two and a half months so he can spy on Wendy’s.
75) You will never be locked in for 24 hours pretending to operate everything. (i.e. no McFastcruise)
75.5) You don’t have to come in to work at 0700 only to wait around for an hour waiting for your boss to tell you things you already know.
76) At McDonald’s you will never hear, “Shake machine troubleshooting team, and all off watch drink makers, lay aft.”
77) No McGMT.
78) Cool At McDonald’s you don’t have to route a 1250 for a new stack of cups.
79) If you burn a hamburger they won’t take away half a month’s pay for two months and restrict you to the playground.
80) Knowledge of the material of construction and variable operating characteristics of the grill are not prerequisites for operation.
81) You don’t have to take apart the shake machine once a quarter just because.
82) You don’t have to share your bed with two coworkers.
83) You don’t have to shave off your goatee when the district manager comes.
84) At McDonald’s, when the toilet clogs, you don’t rig pressurized air to the head.
85) You don’t have to shut everything off and call in the last shift to start the grill.
86) Early in the morning, you don’t cycle the drink machine on and off just for practice.
87) You scrub the floors because it’s dirty, not because it’s Wednesday.
88) Cool There is almost always plenty of parking. If not, drive through.
89) Don’t like what you got? Take it back.
90) You don’t have to take a turbidity prior to putting a new catsup dispenser on service.
91) Failure of the warming oven door to open is not a panic causing event. It will also not preclude you from starting another fryer or pulling the fries out of the vat due to interlock.
92) No Mc-HPACs.
93) No one hates it so bad they refer to it simply as “The Mac”.
94) No 16 hour days at McDonald’s prototype making burgers in the middle of the desert for no one.
95) If you wipe up a ketchup spill at McDonald’s, you don’t have to let it dry before you throw it away.
96) They won’t secure one of the register operators to keep track of the people going into Burger King.
97) You don’t have to have permission from the Manager, Assistant Manager, and Register Operator before going into the freezer.
98) Cool At McDonald’s, the toilet paper stays in the bathroom, not on the dinner table.
99) You don’t have to completely undress to pinch a loaf.
100) ALL of the articles of the Constitution apply to you at McDonald’s.

Ropeyarn was not passed on the virtual 1MC until the working party got wrapped up….

“Sea Story?”

Not a very exciting one, but a slice of life for sea going sailors, nonetheless.

Parking. Yes, a mundane part of life, but, back in the day, when the giant Soviet Union commanded most of our professional focus, and that of the nation’s leaders, we were headed for a 600 ship Navy. So, figure 600 hundred ship have sailors, and chiefs and officers. And some of these actually drove to work while the ships were pierside, the plant secured and shore services providing the “hotel services” needed to keep operating.

At all of the naval stations I was stationed at, the parking “scheme” was: Officer (blue sticker) parking up front, with Chief Petty Officer parking next, and then the enlisted/general parking. The game rules were:

Park where your sticker allowed, or get a ticket from Base Security.

If you were an officer, you had two places to park, Officer and Enlisted.

If you were a CPO, you had two places to park, CPO and Enlisted.

If you had a red sticker of the enlisted ranks, or were a visitor or civil servant, you had one place to park.

Makes sense. The modification to the rule was officers couldn’t park in CPO parking. That wasn’t as big an issue on regular days, but, when special occasions arose, such as changes of command, or ship arrivals (from deployment), the up front, closest to the ships parking was usually roped off for those the special occasion was being held for. The closet parking was, with minor exception, the Officer lots.

Arriving at work, to find cones/barricades/tape up, and usually a roving enlisted watch preventing you from parking in the officer’s lot, then you couldn’t “fall back” to the CPO lots. You had to go sharking for a spot in the general/enlisted lot. Somehow, it just didn’t make much sense, but it was what it was, because a large percentage of the Base Security force happened to be retired chief petty officers. The “club members” took care of the current up and coming retirees, who had made it through the process of the CPO Initiations.

That was one bite in the butt, and I survived, but another situation seemed to be rather prevalent, and, in a conspiratorial sense, linked to the issue brought up in the paragraph above:

On normal days at the pier, you might arrive and find all of the officer spots taken, or darn few left. While transiting from the vehicle to the pier between the cars, it became apparent there was a number of cars sporting red base stickers, not blue. Now, when turning and glancing at the vicinity of the CPO lot, you’d most likely see a ticket or two under windshield wipers for those brazen E-6 and below who dared to venture onto the hallowed ground, yet a dearth of same on offenders taking spaces from the arriving officers. Something about the Base Security force being largely comprised of retired CPOs….

It was what it was, but on some days, when the work before Officer’s Call was a large task, the frustration sometimes emerged in a vocal sense.

I did, having arrived at a reasonable Oh, Dark Thirty, time, before sunrise one fine Navy day, find the spot in the front row of the Officer’s lot, that had had a portable sign at the head of the spot, in accordance with the NAVSTA SOPA regulations, saying “CHENG, DD979,” laying face down on the ground and a car with a red sticker occupying the spot I was allowed. I drove around and found a spot in the way away at the back end of the Enlisted lot, then hiked, before the sun rose, to the ship at the D&S piers. I let the XO know this was unsat, and he looked at me and said something like: “Well, my spot wasn’t taken.” Note: SOPA allowed the CO, XO and CMC parking signed to per placed on the pier we were moored at. Not only was it separated from the other parking lots (obviously), there were guards posted (from the ship’s companies of the ships at the pier) who controlled who came on and off the pier, in vehicles or on foot. The XO seemed to have not grasped that fact in the moment.

Anyhow, later that day, I re-expressed my issue, pointing out the Base Security sure had time to ticket non-CPO vehicles, but couldn’t move their donut munching bodies a few tens of yards closer to the water’s edge to police the officer’s lot. I point out it was a matter of laziness, not the inability to patrol, because they had been making sure the CPOs had their lots protected from intrusion, and, on top of that, I got aboard about 20 minutes later, which cut my work time. He made a call.

It wasn’t like I needed the exercise, it’s more I always managed to make a long day longer, but getting there early enough to get a few “hours” of work done (I found out a Navy work hour was really about 10 minutes long, when the crew was aboard and it was “working hours” – when it was not work and not a duty day, I could get an “hours” worth of work done in about 10 minutes).

Now that we have fewer ships, and even with the base consolidations, I know (and saw last year), such turf wars are not as big of an issue, because on a “work day” around the D&S piers on Norfolk, the enlisted lot was only half full. Plenty of parking to go around. I guess I’m only left to wonder if the same retired CPOs are still patrolling the lots….

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LCDR Hobbs, at the end of last week, had just finished shredding one overly full of himself Fleet LT, and a fine job she did, merely by directing his attention at the time honored (and higher authority directed) manner in which qualifications were to be documented.

Lunch happened and then the crew of the WAINWRIGHT mustered the Combat Systems Training Team (CSTT) to brief the drills they would run on two sections of the crew. For you readers who might not have had the pleasure of a Combat Systems Assessment (CSA), the drills were run just like the Engineering Casualty Control Training Teams (ECCTT) did in days gone by. My team listened to the setup for the scenarios, the safety checks, and the training objectives. We took notes now, and wouldn’t say anything until the drills were all over and debriefed. Kathy sat in with us, as we listened carefully to all that was said. She tagged along behind me, as I went with the CSTT Leader and found a fairly unobtrusive place near the Tactical Action Officer in the Combat Information Center (CIC). The afternoon drill set was run and copious notes taken, by my team and the CSTT. Evening meal was quickly eaten and the Wardroom set up for the next briefing. We did it all over again, ending the second drill set near 2200. At this point, my team and I split off to have our discussion on how the crews performed, and early comments on the CSTT’s performance.

About an hour later, we and the CSTT, the CO and XO all met in the Wardroom to hear the evaluation of the two drills. CAPT Fahey offered LCDR Hobbs a tour of the Main Spaces (Main engineering spaces) and she accepted, with one of the Engineering Department Officers leading her below to the hot places where the Snipes lived and worked. We went on with the debriefs.

I can’t recall the exact issue, but something hadn’t gone well and “Iron Mike” made it clear he wasn’t going to consider it acceptable. Pretty striking, yet dead on target one way commentary flew for a few minutes, then it was back to work. Kathy returned about an hour later. We were still at it.

Sometime around 0100, she leaned over and whispered “I had no idea this took so long.” IN the grand scheme of things, that had been my point, for her to understand a little extra long smoke break at the office was already comped by the time put in at sea for those who did the CSAs and many of the training evolutions of the rest of the command.

Sometime around 0200, we headed off to get a few hours rack time, with an on the deckplates for the Detect to Engage runs at 0630. She was there, ready to observe on time later that morning. She didn’t just watch, she hung over in “Tracker Ally” with OSCM(SW) Roddy, asking some questions. While she didn’t have all the terminology down, the questions were all thought provoking and more detailed than we ever might have expected.

To wrap this several week “sea story” up, we got to the piers in Norfolk and picked up to head back to the office at NAB Little Creek late in the day. Arriving there about sunset, we had put in about 38 hours from the time we arrived for our boat the prior morning. To my team, it was normal. To LCDR Hobbs, it was an appreciation for the effort of the guys on “shore duty.”

For me: I came to look at the women around me very differently. From then on, I realized hard workers come in all shapes, sizes and genders. So did whiners and complainers. No longer did I just act polite to LCDR Hobbs in the building, I treated her as a professional, like she always had been, before I had managed to accept that premise.

Continued from last week…

The Combat Systems Assessment (CSA) on the USS WAINWRIGHT (CG-28) was going to be different. Since the ship needed some work done in Norfolk, she was sailing a few days early from her homeport of Charleston, SC to conduct her CSA off the coast of Virginia. The plan was for us to ride a small boat out of Naval Amphibious Base, Little Creek, and meet her near one of the main buoys in the approach lane to Hampton Roads.

We met at the pier at Little Creek, on the appointed day, before the sun rose, LCDR Kathy Hobbs included. Our ride into the entrance of Chesapeake Bay that morning was one of the Special Boat Unit boats, so the team of about 15 had plenty of room. Off we went, into the sunrise, across a choppy bay. We (the guys) were keeping an eye on our XO for signs of discomfort, at the least, or plain old sea sickness. None noticed.

We pulled alongside the WAINWRIGHT and they had rigged a Jacob’s Ladder for us to board. It was about a 15 foot climb up the side of the cruiser to the weather deck. Once more, Kathy kept right up with us, not a sign of disapproval for the unusual arrival method, even for us.

Once aboard and when the ship was safely returning to sea, the Captain, CAPT “Iron Mike” Fahey, joined us in the Wardroom to do the obligatory “We’re glad you’re here” speech and introductions. Then it was off to work. My usual first check was to inspect the Personnel Qualification System (PQS). Off I went to the Embarked Commander’s Lounge area, accompanied by a second tour division officer who would present the Ship’s program to me. LCDR Hobbs came along.

I start down the checklist, one which was distributed to the Fleet, carefully researched and referenced to actual published requirements, having done this many, many, and many more times than I could count by now. The young, dedicated LT sitting across the table from me exuded confidence, as he explained the things “seemingly” amiss int he records. He was, well…wrong, but he had figured if he took a “forward leaning” stance in the discussion, it would pass. After a few minutes of questioning and looking over watchbills and service records, LCDR Hobbs asked if she might ask a question. I, thinking this would be greatly entertaining for a shore based officer to get into a program pretty well identified with only the Surface Navy, said something like, “go ahead.”

Right out of the starting blocks, she commenced rapid fire questioning of this LT, quickly reducing him to admitting the bad administration and lack of compliance with the standards set by the various levels of the chain of command. My jaw was on the deck, aghast, not because she had the LT figuratively groveling and begging for mercy, but moreso because she had it all right, which, in my over two years of doing this inspecting job, found it was a rare case that someone had that level of understanding of such a foundational program.

I dismissed the sliced and diced LT after some follow up questions, and then looked at Kathy and asked: “Where did you learn that?” “The PQS Management Guide.” Wow…someone had actually read and understood the process, and, more amazing than that, someone who had almost no requirement to work with that program in a shore duty status.

Her stock went way, way up…

Next week: The grind of Combat Systems Training Team (CSTT) drills.

Evidence here.

In the ‘Shoe Navy, we say “back in battery.”

Good to have the master tale spinner back at it…

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I have to admit, I spent most of my time in the Navy insulated from serving with women at sea. Ashore, they were still “GURLS” (General UnRestricted Line officerS), I didn’t look upon them as even Staff Corps types, since we took Supply Officers and docters to sea with us.

As the “economies” of the mid-90s were settling in, my command, the Combat Systems Mobile Training Team was directed to figure out the merge of ourselves and the Fleet Training Unit that essentially did the same thing we did. It made sense and it wasn’t too much of putting round pegs in square holes.

Off we went, us not the top leadership types, to draw and erase on the dry erase board, until we cobbled together the new organization, which would fulfill the missions of the two units.

At CSMTT, we had a few female sailors, both Yeomen, so they handled admin tasks. FTU, on the other hand, hand a number of females, to include, as I recall, two officers…one listed as the XO, the other in charge of the computer stuff.

LCDR Kathy Hobbs was a “mustang” and the XO. Looked good on her GURL record, being the #1 and all, but we had 5 O-5s as department heads, and a 6th as the Assistant OIC. The discussion went to how to put Kathy in a billet title that wouldn’t appear like she got some demotion. We finally decided, in the Combat Systems Training Group organization to put her into the XO job, recognizing she would be the one to handle the macro and micro administration, which, for the massive travelling we did, not small task, yet we would also know, she wasn’t our “Second in Command” in any sense.

The merge happened, the FTU personnel moved into our building and we shuffled about, grudgingly, but because it was the order of the day, we smiled somehow.

I will also admit, I was tersely polite to Kathy when I had to talk to her, but much of my time was spent on the the road/aboard ship, so the interaction didn’t occur often.

Then one day, OSCM(SW) Dave Roddy came to me to tell me he had been out having a cigarette, and LCDR Hobbs had, during her transit between buildings, commented “So this is how my tax dollars are spent!” Dave was, a little miffed. Dave was one of those E-9s you had to tell to go home, and sometimes drag off the ship we were working so we could catch our lift back to home plate. The taxpayer way underpaid Dave Roddy in any case, but Kathy didn’t know that.

Maybe a week of so later, as a few of us were “brainstorming” (no, really, we did it all the time!) in LT Russ Wyckoff’s office (he had a couch his wife told him to get rid of), three of us on the sofa, feet on the edge of Russ’ navy issue metal office desk, were greeted by LCDR Hobbs stopping n the door and saying (you guessed it): “So this is how my tax dollars are being spent!”

I, moving only my head to look her direction said: “LCDR Hobbs, you’re new here. It might be good if you went out on a CSA (Combat Systems Assessment) with us sometime, so you could see what we do. It would help you a lot when you have to answer the questions on the phone when we’re on the road.”

Yes, I was baiting her. The response, without her missing a beat,,,,that will come next Wednesday! Come back then for another installment in this series…

Put your links to your best (or…well…anything you have) here…The sights at sea are amazing, and some one a few will witness, unless they look for them.

So, you call yourself a sailor, and you don’t believe in “the Green Flash?” Do you consider your fellow mariners who boast of such siting as more (maybe a lot more) or less on the wrong side of sanity for a moment or a lifetime?

Well, I have seen the phenomena, and now, you can know I’m quite sane, if you are an unbeliever, but at least I saw it in person a few times…

The “why/how” is here.

More real sitings captured here.

Facts and fiction about same…

Do you believe me now, shipmates?