For
centuries the general population of this here Ol’ Canoe Club has contained a
wide spectrum of boys and girls from all over the country. It’s been a
cross-section of Middle America. In the middle of this seething caldron of raw,
untamed feral beasts, we’ve got those who are exceptionally bright to those of
the walking brain dead.
Yes,
you get the occasional screw-up, or last year’s senior class clown to “wait ‘til
they get a loud of this shit” kind of lunatic and the whole gambit of “Shut the
fuck up or I'll drop kick you in the brain-housing you weak pussy-ass-bitch”
kind of Billy Bad Ass with language worse than a parrot in a whorehouse!
On the ship
and in the shop you here shipmates saying …
“Hey, toss
me that fucking wrench.”
… or …
“Can you all
stop fucking swearing and arguing for one minute? We’ve been troubleshooting for
three fucking straight days!”
That was our
typical dialog amongst shipmates. We vented, we shit talked and it was all okay.
It was how we expressed ourselves, amongst ourselves. It builds camaraderie.
Nobody ever
accused Saltwater Navy Crackerjacks of having good manners. Hell, Eleanor
Roosevelt once even said sailors have the cleanest bodies but the dirtiest
mouths of all the services. There’s a reason they refer to it as “Cussing like
a Sailor.” It’s reminiscent of that age old image of a flipped back white hat sailor
with lucky strikes rolled up in his shirt sleeve and a zippo lighter imprinted
through the pocket of his dungaree pants! I was up to my waist in smoking
vulgarities, cuss words and spine warping language.
On my last
ship we had a Sonarman named Bierly known for sleeping butt nekkit with his
rack curtains open. He even had a sign he would hang on his rack …
“Fuck me but
leave a tip!"
Believe me
when I say, “I’m no angel!” I’ve been known to season my vernacular with a
four-letter word here and there myself, but I’ve usually tried to be self-conscious
of those around me … especially after the Thanksgiving dinner table incident my
first time home from Bootcamp.
Historically,
sailors were tough hard-working, hard-drinking men who worked in an all-male
environment, and didn’t need to worry about social etiquette or “offending the
ladies” so to speak. Sometimes while on liberty
we stand out amongst polite society due to our unruly behavior and foul
language.
It reminds
me of riding the San Diego Trolley through downtown San Dog. You’ve got four
stops to your destination and there’s always a group of young sailors that
start every sentence with “Fucking” and end the same sentence with “and Shit!”
It’s always in the presence of old grannies and families with little kids. You
sit there listening to this crap and the only thing that comes to mind is why
we get a bad name. It often made me wonder how many times these numbskulls
repeated the third grade.
I actually
remember once sitting on a bus across from some young Marines out of MCRD with
full-fledged gorilla armpit perspiration having an out loud discussion about
some young lady’s camel toe and speaking quite publicly about the details of
your average females bust development… I mean really??? How would your
grandmother feel sitting across from these fellas swearing like a whore in
church?!?
“Fuck me
man, it's hotter than two queer Wookies fucking in a fleece-insulated sleeping
bag in the middle of Kenya!”
“Do you know
who really gives a fuck? Hookers! Hookers give a fuck, but it’ll cost you!!!
“That chic
over there has a fine ass but no tits!”
“It’s okay
if she has no tits, I can still motorboat her butt cheeks!!!
To these
Marines, the word ‘Inappropriate’ was as ambiguous as Matt Lauer’s sexuality!
So as a Chief, I made a polite approach. I related to them as a fellow service member
and posed the question …
“Listen here
you ‘Devil Dogs,’ telling you not to cuss is a ridiculous notion. After all,
you didn’t fight your way to the top of the food chain to become vegetarians.
But as a Marine and a gentleman, it’s just not cool to be out in public screaming
obscenities all the time. It’s called common courtesy. As Marines, this is
your chance to adapt and overcome!”
To be
honest, these were some stout healthy young boys who could had easily cold
cocked me and rendered me horizontally inert! Maybe because they recognized me
as a Navy Chief or just realized I was right, I don’t know. But they were
respectful and took to what I said with a …
“Roger that
Chief. We got you. We understand.”
In front of
the boys, I could give two shits, but on the trolley, bus or Union Station in
front of priests, moms, kiddos and grannies of all sorts it’s just not cool at
all. In all those years I had many of these experiences. A young Sailor or Marine
full of testosterone could say …
“Your hair
is like corn silk under an August moon, your lips as rubies and her teeth,
pearls!”
Instead he’s
got to say …
“I'm so
horny me cock could cut diamonds right now!”
One of the
best comebacks I ever heard…
“Are these your eyeballs? I found them in my
cleavage.”
Later on
came the gentler, kinder more civilized service with house broken Boy Scout
types … no cussing, frowned on drinking, and no smoking except in super-secret
designated spaces. No more skin book swaps, naughty calendars and raunchy joke
marathons. It always amazes me how now sailors have to dance the “PC”
fandango over preferences of words onboard ships with today’s crew yet no one
seems to care how they talk out in the center of the universe.
I guess that’s
just the way the new ships rock-n-roll…
