“Jimmy Priestap, A Fallen Hero, What Else Can Be Said”

I’ve been writing these stories for some time now and I figured on Memorial Day I’d better pin something up that’s really worth writing about! Denise Blackburn (Carroll) brought an ol’ shipmate to mind and thought it only fitting that he be included in the memoires of good ol’ shipmates, so here goes!!!

If you look up “clean-cut American Boy” in the dictionary there is surely a picture of Jimmy D. Priestap. When every other dirty rotten scoundrel to include myself was wearing their cracker jacks out debauching the town and causing as much mayhem the mayor of any liberty port might not allow, carousing with women who made Pamela Anderson look like Mother Theresa and shutt’n down all the bars because there wasn’t enough liquor to keep us shipmates adequately supplied, Jimmy was out keeping the piece and doing volunteer work trying to make a good name for the Navy. The kinda thing responsible people do. Yep, he was the poster boy for the Navy’s Core Values, “Honor, Courage & Commitment!”

As a young lad I never understood the concept of good behavior and lived in a world where barbaric, degenerate and contemptible behavior was the norm. I knew the difference between right and wrong but chose to follow my nose and do what felt good at the time. That’s rarely gonna be what’s right! But Jimmy on the other hand was a different breed. While the rest of us scandalous cretins were out boozing and cavorting Jimmy was out getting his uniform pressed for inspection or doing the kind of things mature young men were expected to do. He was the kind of fella that would make any parent proud. The kinda guy you would want your daughter to bring home.

Jimmy was on the Rainier. He was a Damage Controlman and the best one I’d ever met. He always gave 110% in everything he did and was a true believer in whatever cause he chose to defend. He was the best that the best had to offer and anyone you ask will tell you the same. He was our go to guy and could always get you outta trouble when you needed his help. He was a great guy to be around who always had a smile on his face. Mediocrity was not his place and he made sure he gave everything his all.

I heard when he was in High School he was the Captain of his Football team. Sounds about right, he was always one of the best and everyone’s favorite. He was good in all things right as if I hadn't made that point already!

He only broke the rules once that I know of….

One afternoon in the Spring of 1994 Jimmy and I were out in Mission Beach to enjoy an early day off from the Precom Unit at NASCCO Shipyard. It was a busy & sunny day and there wasn’t a damn place to park, legally anyway. So we had to sit and wait for somebody to leave and open a spot. After dilly dallying around for a good while biding our time we were finally in luck. A couple was just getting in their van and pulling out so Jimmy crept up in his big ol’ pickup truck so we could pull right in.

Just as the couple had pulled out some chicken livered bastard pulled right up and took the spot right from under our noses in his little tin can convertible midget. He just happened to squeeze in before we had a chance to haul that big crate of a pickup into the spot. This about blew the lid of ol’ Jimmy’s top. He was so damn livid he was ready to pulverize that rotten lowlife sonuvabitch.

Jimmy rolled down his window and asked the fella, “What gives?”

He says to Jimmy, “To bad so sad, finders keepers loser weepers!”

I never seen Jimmy so fervently enraged. It took me a good five or ten minutes to calm’m down and keep’m from climbing outta the truck and beat’n the living day lights outta that panty waste. So I came up with an ingenious plan. We pulled his truck over at the end of the lot and waited for that insipid sonuvabitch to walk off. Just when the moment was right we pulled the stems outta not one, but all his flaccid little tires. We didn’t hang around to see that fella’s face when he got back, but that would have been priceless. It was enough to know he would’ve had to call a tow to pick his butt up. He-he!!!

But you know Jimmy would’ve never thought of that himself. He was too good a person and it took my devilish ways to talk’m into such nonsense. Oh, the webs we wove!!!

I didn’t get the opportunity to know Jimmy after he left the Rainier. He got out of the Navy and moved on. But he was sorely missed. I heard he went down to New Orleans to help clean the carnage that ensued from Hurricane Katrina. Just a typical day for that fella, always lending a helping hand where ever he could.

I would expect nothing less of him to join the Army so he could serve once again in honor of his countrymen after 9/11. That was in his character. While in Iraq, Sgt.1st Class James Priestap, was shot and killed by a terrorist sniper while working at his checkpoint near Baghdad. They say he wasn't even supposed to be at the checkpoint, but a generator blew out and since Jimmy was in charge of the platoon, he went out instead because he felt responsible for his men, a true leader. They also say that just moments before he was killed he was smiling and giving out candy to the kids in the area.

So I write this Sea Story out to Jimmy Priestap in honor of his service to God, Country, Family and all those who were fortunate to serve with him as well as friends who cherished his presents. Jimmy is a real American Hero and will always live in our hearts.

by Dennis Swing

'The Salute'

A young Ensign was passed by a Seaman, who failed to salute. The Ensign called him back, and said sternly:

"You did not salute me. For this you will immediately salute two hundred times."

At this moment the Captain came up.

"What's all this?"

…he exclaimed, seeing the poor Seaman about to begin. The Ensign explained…

"This ignoramus failed to salute me, and as a punishment, I am making him salute two hundred times."

"Quite right," replied the Captain, smiling. "But do not forget, sir, that upon each occasion you are to salute in return."

'Drunken Sailor'

The good ol’ Canoe Club can never get rid of that ‘Drunken Sailor’ image! It’s a part of who we are … and the fun that comes along with it!!!

(Click Image To Read)

Even The Chief has to take the LPO out to tie one on every once in a while!!!

'Advertisement In Uniform'

Advertisement in Uniform was popular, especially during World War II.  From Pennzoil to cigarettes to alcohol sales, the Navy Sailor has been there in the fore front! Enjoy this collection of Pepsi Cola Classics!!!

"Typical Enlisted Sailor"

What happens if you confine a “Typical Enlisted Sailor” to quarters with a two-foot diameter ball bearing?  

He will either break it, or get it pregnant!!!

"Ma Agnew's"

So this Ol’ Salt went into Ma Agnew's whorehouse and said…

"Listen, Ma, I want a girl with gonorrhea."

The madam nodded and sent him upstairs to a room. Then she called one of her favorites for him. The girl came into the room and started to undress when he asked…

"Do you have gonorrhea?"

"Gonorrhea? I should say not!"

… She said.

The old man sent her back. The madam summoned another girl and said…

"Shirley, you go upstairs and tell this old sailor that you have the clap. Okay? Let's do what we have to make him happy."

The girl agreed and went upstairs, and when the old man asked…

"Do you have gonorrhea?"

… She smiled and said…

"Of course I do!"

"Good!"

… He said …

"Let's get it on."

They got into bed and fucked for about ten minutes. When it was over and they lay side by side, Shirley said…

"Listen, you old bastard, I've got a confession to make. I don't really have gonorrhea."

The Ol’ Salt smiled…

"Now you do!"

“Bat-a-Rat”

Sometimes Bubblehead Submariners can come up with some of the juiciest Sea Stories out there.  This one is from a fella by the name of Roger "RamJet" Burleigh. I hope you all enjoy …

The Mediterranean was a wonderful place of myth and legend to have as your first overseas cruise and that is how it was for me in 1967. To visit Greece and see all the wonderful and ancient sights, to pass the island of Stromboli and know it was an active volcano. To see the smoke at its peak and to find small floating pumice stones on deck after surfacing. Passing through the Straits of Messina that separates Sicily from Italy and see your first hydrofoil ship was an awesome sight.

I remember tracking something on the radar that was moving so fast that I asked permission to look through the scope to see it. Later I made my way to the bridge to watch these fast passenger vessels.

Power cables crossed the straits overhead in those days and may today for all I know, but I was dumbfounded that wire could run so far and not break. These are some of the wondrous sites available to a youngster on their first Med. cruise but by no means, ALL the sights!!

We Med. moored in Palermo, in a protected dock, which was shaped like the inside of the letter "U". We were about mid-way between the arms and dropped the anchor as we backed into position. We then carefully let out the chain eventually taking it up until we were suspended between lines ashore astern and our anchor rode forward.

The brow was positioned from the turtle back to the pier itself, which was no simple feat as the Cobbler was a PUFFS boat and the aft dome presented a problem. Now any sailor who has sailed the Med and visited these ports is familiar with "rat guards" and the rigging of same. A rat-guard is a conical shaped metal funnel sans spout. It needs not be water proof so is slit up one side which allows the seaman gang to slip it over the shore lines and then lash it close again. It is positioned as to impede the progress of rope climbing rats.

Now I wouldn't say that Palermo's or Sicily's rats were smarter rats, but they damn sure were bold bastards!! They never even tried to cross the lines and contend with rat-guards. Why bother??? There is a fine gangway laid shore to ship…let's board!!! Therefore we found it necessary to arm the after deck watch with a broom: we had two deck watches everywhere in the Med. one forward and the other aft.

Now one of the sailors aboard Cobbler was an EM3 named Springer. Springer is a story all by himself, but today we will only tell the part of it that applies to the here and now. Our first night ashore, Springer was making his way through some alley when he happened upon a bicycle leaning against a wall. The bicycle had a box mounted over the rear tire which was loaded with bottles of wine. As the evening was young and Springer hadn't taken on a snoot full of some other alcoholic beverage he recognized the value of what the Mediterranean Gods had presented him with and saddled up.

Later he would come riding down the street to the pier proud as punch and in true submarine spirit, willing to share his find with the boys aboard, one of which happened to be me. We untied the box from the bike and brought it aboard. It was a wonderful spring evening and we sat around the deck drinking what turned out to be a rather horrid red wine with a body like a dump truck and a flavor to match. (Neither attribute deterred us in the least as far as consumption was concerned.)

As the evening's shadows lengthened the infamous Sicilian rats came from their daytime hiding places and the after deck watch took up a defensive position near the bow, broom in hand. The first boarder took it hard as the watch wanted his shipmates to note his prowess at driving the vermin from our boat. Unfortunately, not only was the rat fired ashore like from a cannon, but so was the end of the broom which had come up against one of the brow's stanchions, snapping it from the handle like a toothpick.

This much smaller weapon made accuracy much more important while at the same time made success much more satisfying. A solid body hit would now knock the average rat a hundred feet or more. Now this was FUN!! (I might have to point out at this juncture, that there was no shortage of rats in Palermo then and may not be now, although we certainly did our collective best to reduce the herd.) Soon there wasn't a broom or mop to be found aboard or ashore with its business end still attached.

Guys were stalking the pier in search of rats and found that firing them out to sea was even greater FUN as you got to hear them splash when they hit, plus survivors (rats ARE tough) might try to regain the shore via the tank tops, allowing the poor deck watch some of the sport they had invented, but were now cut out of, as all rats were intercepted while still on the beach.

The peaceful Sicilian nights were the scene of sailors stalking the pier front, sticks in hand, then the cry of “BAT-a-RAT-Tat” would rend the silence, followed by a soft "thwack" sometimes a squeal and then a resounding splash. A cheer would erupt and the hunting would resume. So that is how the Mediterranean game Bat-a-Rat began. All thanks to Springer, a few bottles of wine and a broken broom. 

Remember, this was only the first evening and we were in for at least another weekend!!!