Frankly Speaking- Deadly Don Walton
Don was the physical incarnation of Alfred E Newman. He matched the mold so well they could have been identical twins (even though Alfred E Newman was a ficticious comic book character). However when Don spoke his Carolina drawl was distinctly his own. The pattern was slow and the words were elongated. “HIIIIIII, I’mmmmm Dawwwwwwwn Wallllllllllltoooooooon frum Buffffforddddddd Nooooooth Caaaaarelina.” That is as close as I can get to translating his speech pattern to the written word.
As our tour of duty off the coast of North Vietnam neared its end; flight operations became intense and seemingly endless. As a result two things happened onboard the ship. First, the smoking lamp was out; all that jet fuel, open flames….. Yes, I know lighting jet petroleum inadvertently is a stretch, but remember it was the Navy (Three ways of doing something; a right way, a wrong way and the Navy way). Hence, no smoking during flight ops. Second, trash could not be dumped overboard because there was a chance some debris could be ingested by a jet aircraft as it approached the ship; and standing on the fantail of the ship was suicidal if an aircraft came in short of the flight deck. So, “the smoking lamp is out and the fantail is closed”.
Our Division Chief was a crusty old Master Chief Petty Officer that had washed out of pilot training during world war II. It seemed his major task was to roam through the division’s work spaces and find miniscule indications that the troops had not kept the area in, “ship shape” condition. On this particular day he found our 50 galloon trash can ½ full. He immediately began berating everyone present about our sloppy house keeping (it didn‘t matter that the fantail had been closed all day).
Don, in his typical, “I’m jest a dumb ole country boy” fashion addressed the matter directly with the Master Chief. “Welllllll Chiiiiieeeeef, looking in that there sheeet can, I see it’s only half full!” The Master Chief acknowledged that observation to be true, but insisted that the trash should have been dumped. Without missing a beat Don responded. “Welllllll Chiiiiiieeeeeef, rekon we can paiiiiinnnnnntt a line inssyyyyde that there sheeeeeet can so’s we’re sure we know what’s an atceptable level of sheeeeet in the sheeeeeeeet can!”
The Master Chief simply turned and left our shop.
Several weeks later we were sailing back to the United States. The transit time was about 3 weeks. Don was nearing the end of his enlistment and was therefore obligated to endure the prescribed reenlistment “talk”. The Master Chief assigned himself the task of counseling Don in the matter. Don silently and passively listened to the Master Chief’s sales pitch. As was the normal final point the interviewer always seemed to raise was the question, “So what do you think you’re going to do with your life if you get out of the Navy”.
Don responded without hesitation, “Wellllll Chiiieeeeefff, I’m gonnnnnna git outta this man’s Navy. I’m gonna go back to my daddy’s chick’n farm in Buuuuuufffford, Nooooooth Carelina and shovel chicken sheet jest to get may priiiiiiide an self-steam back.
End of exit interview!
As our tour of duty off the coast of North Vietnam neared its end; flight operations became intense and seemingly endless. As a result two things happened onboard the ship. First, the smoking lamp was out; all that jet fuel, open flames….. Yes, I know lighting jet petroleum inadvertently is a stretch, but remember it was the Navy (Three ways of doing something; a right way, a wrong way and the Navy way). Hence, no smoking during flight ops. Second, trash could not be dumped overboard because there was a chance some debris could be ingested by a jet aircraft as it approached the ship; and standing on the fantail of the ship was suicidal if an aircraft came in short of the flight deck. So, “the smoking lamp is out and the fantail is closed”.
Our Division Chief was a crusty old Master Chief Petty Officer that had washed out of pilot training during world war II. It seemed his major task was to roam through the division’s work spaces and find miniscule indications that the troops had not kept the area in, “ship shape” condition. On this particular day he found our 50 galloon trash can ½ full. He immediately began berating everyone present about our sloppy house keeping (it didn‘t matter that the fantail had been closed all day).
Don, in his typical, “I’m jest a dumb ole country boy” fashion addressed the matter directly with the Master Chief. “Welllllll Chiiiiieeeeef, looking in that there sheeet can, I see it’s only half full!” The Master Chief acknowledged that observation to be true, but insisted that the trash should have been dumped. Without missing a beat Don responded. “Welllllll Chiiiiiieeeeeef, rekon we can paiiiiinnnnnntt a line inssyyyyde that there sheeeeeet can so’s we’re sure we know what’s an atceptable level of sheeeeet in the sheeeeeeeet can!”
The Master Chief simply turned and left our shop.
Several weeks later we were sailing back to the United States. The transit time was about 3 weeks. Don was nearing the end of his enlistment and was therefore obligated to endure the prescribed reenlistment “talk”. The Master Chief assigned himself the task of counseling Don in the matter. Don silently and passively listened to the Master Chief’s sales pitch. As was the normal final point the interviewer always seemed to raise was the question, “So what do you think you’re going to do with your life if you get out of the Navy”.
Don responded without hesitation, “Wellllll Chiiieeeeefff, I’m gonnnnnna git outta this man’s Navy. I’m gonna go back to my daddy’s chick’n farm in Buuuuuufffford, Nooooooth Carelina and shovel chicken sheet jest to get may priiiiiiide an self-steam back.
End of exit interview!
posted by Frank at 9:30 PM
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