Bob Hope Christmas Show

The story behind the poor photos above took place on Christmas Eve 1969. I received a call up in the Sound Power Phone shop, where I was working at the time, from second class GS Luskin. He told me my name had been drawn to be one of the guys sitting up front for the Bob Hope Christmas Special being done on the USS Ranger. We all knew the Christmas Special would be taking place on the ship, but with 5,000 sailors and marines, it would be a little tough getting a close look. I lucked out and ended up in the front, although my Kodak instamatic makes it look like I was a football field away. I knew when the cameras would pan around the front where I’d be, the folks back home might see me when they replayed the show on TV. Naturally while in my spot, I did all I could do to get my mug on TV for all the family without blocking out my shipmates around me, which would have resulted in my being stomped on camera. :) It worked, and my Mom and Dad caught a glimpse of me.

Bob Hope, Connie Stevens, Teresa Graves, The New Christie Minstrels, and the Les Brown band combined with all the assorted dancers to put on a great show. Neil Armstrong, Miss World – Eva Staier, and Romy Schneider were part of the troop too, although their names probably don’t mean much to anyone anymore. Connie Stevens closed the show with Silent Night. I’ll leave it at that.

Lone Ranger

Taking on supplies Gulf of Tonkin 1969

When I saw this picture of the Lone Ranger and Tonto, I started laughing. Whenever the Ranger would leave port, or pull away from a hook up with other ships after taking on supplies, the ship’s speaker system would blare out the theme song from the Lone Ranger TV show. Two guys, dressed as the Lone Ranger and Tonto would get up on a roll around white horse. I thought it was really slick upon seeing it for the first time. The guys who had been on the ship a lot longer thought I was nuts, and would grin knowingly. After three years, I still liked us steaming out of port in a cloud of dust, and a hearty ‘Hi ho, Silver, away’. My enthusiasm for this ceremonial leave taking usually elicited the phrase ‘Bernie, you are such a boot camp’ from my shipmates. What can I say, I was always easily entertained. :)

Sasebo, Japan

Sasebo, Japan street scenes above, 1969

Me, Flight Deck Parade Sasebo, Japan 1969

I snapped these pictures in Sasebo, Japan in 1969. The one directly above shows me as the Ranger ported in Sasebo, and leads into the funny story behind it. My buddy Bob Henshel and I drew flight deck parade duty for the Interior Communications Division. This normally would not have been a big deal. It usually only took a half hour to forty-five minutes standing at attention on the flight deck. On that particular flight deck duty day, it took two and a half hours, because the winds with sleet and snow delayed our entry into port. Adding to the duty was the fact I had a cold, and I only took one handkerchief up on deck with me, thinking we’d be below decks again in an hour. Again, I had my handy Kodak Instamatic with me to preserve posterity.

After an hour of freezing temperatures, sleet, and wind, my mustache felt like porcupine quills every time I blew my nose. My shipmate, Bob, watched me with a big grin as I put off blowing my nose until it was absolutely necessary. Then, I probably whined a bit, using some of the descriptive phrases I’d picked up since coming on board. Bob chuckled or laughed each time, taking entertainment where he could. We weren’t much on sympathy, and usually consoled each other with insults as I remember. This time was no exception. Trying to show support for an ailing friend, Bob said something like this.

“Bernie, you look pathetic. Quit whinin’, you big girl.”

Whereupon, I instructed my sympathetic buddy Bob to go do an anatomically impossible task.

Bob laughed, and took my camera to snap the above picture. When we did get below decks, I went straight to the nearest sink with my shaving gear, and cut off the porcupine quills. I then headed for Aft IC, my duty station at the time, and was roundly laughed at. Having seen my hairless baby-face only moments before in the mirror, I laughed along with them. The lead IC man said, “Shit, Bernie, you look like a teenager.”

I just shrugged and said, “Casey, I am a teenager.” :)

More On Hong Kong

USS Ranger taken from a motor launch taking us into Hong Kong.

Hong Kong Harbor 1969

Chinese Border Guard 1969

I snapped these pictures with my handy-dandy Kodak instamatic camera during my first cruise aboard the Ranger in 1969, while on a tour of Hong Kong. Sorry about the quality We had to take a launch from the Ranger, because the aircraft carrier was too big to port in Hong Kong. The Mainland China border guard saw us taking pictures, and stepped out in the middle of the road for us to take his picture. We were too chicken to go any closer to the Chinese border. The guard waved at us, and then posed. Since Hong Kong belongs to China now, these checkpoints probably don’t exist anymore. In some parts of Hong Kong, the people threw fish guts at us, and in other parts, they loved us, or at least our tourist status. Whenever a carrier like the Ranger dropped anchor outside Hong Kong harbor, we made fresh water for them from the salt water. We had distilling plants to make fresh water aboard ship. Hong Kong was always short on fresh water. Many people lived aboard the Sampans in the harbor, so tightly bunched together, it was tricky navigating to the shore.

Long ago in Hong Kong

I found this picture when returning the many boxes of Christmas past into the garage attic. It was taken February, 1971 in Hong Kong, during my second cruise aboard the aircraft carrier USS Ranger. A neat little story goes along with it. The Interior Communications Division, of which I belonged, adopted an orphan from Hong Kong shortly after the start of my first cruise. We exchanged letters with her, and sent money collected amongst us. The authorities requested a tour for the girl, and our division commander agreed. Some of us took the girl (on the left of me in the picture) and her escort (on the right) for a tour of the ship with an official photographer. The escort spoke excellent English, and she used the tour to grill us on how long we would be in port, when we were scheduled to go back on line off the Vietnam coast, how many men were on board, etc. We all smiled, kept moving, and guided the two around according to our schedule. Apparently, this little scene repeated itself on other ships and divisions, where other Hong Kong orphans had been adopted. We reported the incident, because we thought the Chinese had slipped in one of their ringers; but it turned out the entire operation was a front for information gathering, and it was curtailed. It was our first experience with how deeply Hong Kong had been infiltrated by the Mainland Chinese government. I hope to scan some more of the early pictures I found from overseas if they have a story to go with them. :)

Doomed Resolution

Wow, anyone else think this picture is a little disturbing? :)

Every year I issue my annual New Year’s vow not to annoy my wife. Boy, yesterday my wife called me annoying, thereby making me 0 for 32 at successful New Year’s resolutions. I set a new record for breaking my resolution at six days into the New Year, and I wasn’t even trying. Out of nowhere yesterday afternoon, came my wife’s exasperated voice, “you are so annoying!”

Granted, I was doing a comedy routine, involving the penchant of some women (my wife included) for asking us guys what our opinion is on something, when they’ve already decided what they’re going to do. I’ve battled this over the years by studiously picking the option I know she only threw in to make it appear as if I had a choice. As I reasonably list the advantages of my option, the wife’s face becomes more irritated with each logical reason. She knows after all these years what I’m doing; but she still can’t resist keeping up the appearance of choice, by asking me my opinion. She starts laughing after a while, and then comes the infamous ‘you are so annoying’. There’s something to be said for consistency. :)

The Plunge

Okay, these two are cute, odd, but cute.

Flowery speech, whether in dialogue or info dump, pops up more and more in reading new novels lately. I’ll be reading along; and suddenly, the urge to get a watering can and do some gardening hits me out of no where. A fine line, like razor wire, exists between descriptive prose and plunging into the valley of gossamer wings and butterfly kisses. Falling into this cradle of cotton balls can lose a reader faster than repeating adverbs. :)

Leakage

Mother Nature turned me into Parka-man today. Thanks to a wind gusting rainstorm, and my neighbors who throw trash on my roof, the shop rain drain plugged, causing leakage into the right side of my shop. Donning my yellow rain-suit, I climbed up my sixteen foot ladder to the first roof tier, and then pulled myself up onto the second tier. As suspected, a plastic water bottle jutted neatly out of the right side drain while four inches of water all along the roof collected. I waded in, and pulled the plug, crouching to avoid the gale force wind. The climb down was uneventful, in that I did it without taking a header. For kicks, I went over and looked at myself dripping water in the medicine cabinet mirror, after pulling the hood over my forehead so it looked like a black hole where my face was. Having forgotten the air-ratchet to complete the ensemble, I quickly went to my tool box and returned to the mirror, fully equipped. Shaking the air-ratchet like Parka-man, I indeed looked scary. Yay, me. I think I'll go visit my rooftop trashing, drain plugging neighbors, and see what they think. :)

Parka-man

It’s raining in California finally, the first this New Year. As I scrabbled around under a 98 Toyota 4-Runner, my motion detector went off. Rolling to my left, I saw a huge figure standing in the middle of my front entrance. The grayish background of rain and fading light made an impressive contrast for his bright yellow parka. The parka hood flopped loosely over my visitor’s forehead, so his facial features were hidden. Immobile and dripping rain, all the guy needed was a chainsaw, and we had the start of a new horror series.

When I walked out to greet him, Parka-man didn’t say anything. He reached into the top of his grimy yellow slicker, and I started gauging how far I was from my nearest weapon. Parka pulled out an air-ratchet, waving it a little in his left hand.

“You have one of these… five bucks…” Parka-man offered, his voice a bit higher than I expected.

“I have all the air tools I need,” I answered.

“It ain’t stolen,” Parka tells me.

“I didn’t say it was.” I thought it, but I didn’t say it.

The yellow hood bobs slightly in acknowledgement, and the air-ratchet gets shoved back inside the parka.

“You need any help around here?” The yellow hood swings from side to side, looking around the inside of the shop.

“Sorry, this is a one man shop.”

“Pretty big shop for just one guy,” Parka remarks gloomily. (Warning! Disallowed Adverb) :)

“Yea, I have plenty of room,” I agree.

The hood bobs once again, and Parka-man turns to leave. I watch him till he rounds the shop door corner before returning to my Toyota job. The rain didn’t keep everyone inside.

Let's Kill A Character

I’m following a discussion on two different blogs, Tess Gerritsen, and Dear Author, about killing off main characters. It has happened so many times to me when reading books, since I was a child; I vowed never to kill off a major character in any book I wrote. Not being a fan of non-fiction, my reading is exclusively fiction. I never quite figured out why fiction authors assassinate a character or characters they’ve spent hundreds of pages, or many series books, building into a solid vision in their readers’ heads. I have read some authors’ reasoning, for this plot destruction, as their attempt at keeping it real. If you wish to keep it real, get a job in journalism. What the hell are you writing fiction for? :) I remember when my brother Paul, who read every manuscript I ever wrote, called me up after beginning Casserine. He said, ‘tell me right now you little prick, did you kill off any of your main characters? If you did, I ain’t reading the rest.’ I laughed, and asked him if he knew me at all. He said, ‘okay, just checking’.

Although fiction writers can do whatever they want with their work, I don’t get this infatuation with what I call the ‘Old Yeller’ syndrome; where you spend creative genius establishing a beloved character, only to snuff ‘em to keep it real. As a reader, if I want real, I’ll pick up the local newspaper. :)