Close calls!

Lady Luck...ah, what a babe she is!

Wrapping up the last day of your enlistment with an honorable discharge paper in hand is the dream that most servicemen and women aspire to. I know that towards the end of my time in the fleet I thought of myself as a pretty squared away sailor and that most of my superiors thought of me that way as well. I know that I arrived at that good opinion of my betters pretty late in the game. I also know for a fact that I was a complete and total hell raiser for the first three to four years and it was only with the arrival of Z in  my life in late ’79 that things took a turn for the better. Thank god. I am sure that if things had continued the way they had that I might have ended up in the brig, busted down to seaman, or possibly worse. What the hell. It didn’t go that way but here’s a list of the times that I can remember where it just might of ended up badly for Senior Mota Man:

Room Raid, C School Naval Training Center, San Diego: I know that the cooks were all to blame. One good time with fabulous blotter acid from San Francisco and my big mouth just had to tell the world about it. Before I knew it my roommates were not only partaking but selling it as well. The Naval Investigative Service found nothing that early AM raid. They did wonder about the string incense I had in my desk drawer, though. Perplexed them completely. 

Downtown San Diego, off Broadway: San Diego Vice was always happy to set up a sting for ignorant. less than street smart squidies. One time they got close to bagging me but no cigar. A very raggedy looking guy showed off his wares to us in an alcove off the main drag. It was funny how the cops swooped in the moment that feller stepped away. It wasn't funny how they used all the downtown junkies as informants. Tough town in those days, not the tourist mecca it is today. No bust, just hassles. Enough to scare a lad, though, no doubt about it.

Balboa Park, NIS: another one of those interesting sting operations but this time it was the Naval Investigative Service instead of the local cops. Just a bunch of us sitting in the park one Sunday afternoon, fried out of our brains, when a "cool" kind of sailor walked up and asked if we were holding. Nope. Walked away after the bad vibe became a little bit too heavy. Saw a photo in the next day's newspaper of the same guy sitting with a bunch of sailors, headlines blaring about the big arrests they made that day. A real dragnet. This little fish got away.

Shipmate crashing the car, Santa Ana: Too much to drink, too loaded to drive. Thank goodness for friends, right? Nope, not when they've been drinking as much as you. Why I gave the wheel over to that guy is lost in the fog of time. All I know is that while I was leaning over loading up the bota bag he was leaning over and was punching the switch to the 8-track player. Ooops. Hitting a car driven by two seniors was not the thing to do when we were both loaded to the gills. One night in the pokey for me, three days away from the fleet for him. My car wasn't totaled but it cosmetically challenged. And it cost me big bucks to take care of the lawyer. My reputation in the shop was secured: madman.

Wallet, photo sleeve: Santa Ana: the night I checked out of my deluxe accommodations at the OC jail I was given back my wallet. The jailer went through my belongs and then handed them back to me. I had to walk home that night because the old man was out drinking with the boys. I ended up sleeping in a hammock under a tree in my mom's yard. The next day I went looking through my wallet to make sure everything was there. It was then that I discovered that I had a half dozen hits of four way window pane in my photo holder. It was already enough to deal with the hangover and to know that I had to not only get my beater out of the wrecking yard but that I had to contact the insurance and find a way back to the fleet, too. Sigh. All things were made better that night with psychedelics. Madman, indeed. 

Dogs in the shop, end of first WESTPAC: Nothing like drug dogs sniffing hard right above your stash to make your bowels loose. Moments after pulling into San Diego the customs folks came on board, replete with dogs,. They walked through the shop but there was possibly too much steel and rubber in the flooring to make their day. Made my day after they left. I distinctly remember hearing from folks how white I got when the dogs walked in. Missed an opportunity to see what the inside of the brig looked like that day. Pity.

Matchbox, Officer of the Watch, Acapulco: After a night of disco dancing at La Botella I hit the quarterdeck and was asked to empty my pockets. There was a bunch of us, it was late and who wants to stand in the half light and go through everyone's belongings, anyway? I got a cursory search, the end of my matchbox was pulled down, not out and I was sent on my way. Little did I know that when I was on the beach the ship's barber gave me his matches. In the matchbox was a sizeable amount of cannabis. Shit. Close call. Good dope, too. What matchbox?

Matrix Printer, DP shop, Manila: Liberty call, liberty call! But before I hit the gangplank a good toke was in order. Jumped up to the shop, stepped behind the matrix dot printer to the vent and sparked a Navy Pen bowl's worth of Thai stick and then took my leave. Heard the next day that no sooner than I left the shop the Chief Master at Arms came in, raiding. I was wondering why I was getting the hard eye from him as I walked away down the pier.

Computer Room, Vents, Underway: Boys like to have fun, especially during  mid-watch. Two of us, stoned to the bone, were visited by two Master at Arms that night. We had Cheap Trick blaring, acey ducey board by our sides. They looked hard at us but didn't have us empty our pockets. Too bad, the wisps of mota in the fluff of my pocket would have been enough to bust me.

Marine guard, 32^nd Street: Ah, Mom's garden weed! To the bunch of us coming off of liberty in the midst of a mota drought it was enough for a reasonable buzz. Could have been more than enough to send all six of us to the brig. Thank you, young Marine guard at the gate of 32nd Street! You were our age and a smoker, too, no doubt!

Driving in Yokosuka, Riot Police: Z and I liked our weed and we liked to watch movies out on the economy. Took our cool little Honda back to Yokosuka to catch a flick, eyes red as stop signs. Little did we know that there was a kinda riot thang going on. Street after street of heavily armed riot police were there to harsh our mellow. We didn't say that at the time, of course. It was more like "holy shit!" We got to the movies but, wow, did it straighten out our high!

Wow With all that it's a wonder I ever got to use that GI Bill of mine! I suppose that is what makes living here in a legalized state such a mind bending thing. Almost surreal in it's peacefulness. Nonetheless I am happy for it all. Happy for the adventures, happy to have them behind me.

Salud!