by Bob 'Dex' Armstrong



In the old gravel-gut boat service, your only link with the civilized world was
via the radio shack. A cubby hole on Requin aft of the scope wells in the
control room... It was the home of the spark shufflers.

If you were in tight with a radioman, you could get ball scores. Sewer pipe
sailors lost touch with the teams they followed... A hazard common to submarine
sailors and people who take a moon walk and miss the ride home. Actually, we
lost touch with just about everything. In the war movies when they come across
some guy who claims to be an American, they ask him questions only an American
could answer. If they had picked me up and asked me anything but (A) The names
of Roy's and Gene's horses (B) Who won World War II and (C) Blaze Starr's bust
size, I would have been one 'up the creek' sonuvabitch. Hell, we didn't know
Jack Kennedy was the president until we snorkeled a day later.

Only a complete idiot would make a bet with a radioman. Chances were, the
radioman had the final score before you tossed your wampum on the mess table.

I remember one great night brought to us by the spark pushers in the radio
shack.

We had finished whatever nonsense they sent us out to do and were making turns
for home. The Old Man opened the showers... Guys were bumming razor blades and
rooting around in side lockers for something that would pass for a towel. Next
thing you know, the foo-foo juice came out. Now there's a myth that all smoke
boat sailors eventually bought into, sooner or later... Aqua Velva was never
meant to disguise poor personal hygene. No matter how much of the stuff you
poured on a dungaree shirt you had been inside of for two weeks, you were still
one disgustingly foul smelling sonuvabitch. You could spray French perfume on an
engineman with a fire hose and buzzards would still circle around the *******
when he went topside. But I digress...

A group of us were sitting around in the crew's mess drinking coffee and ragging
guys heading fore and aft. A radioman came in and told us we were in for one
helluva good laugh. He monkeyed around with the RBO and patched it into
something in the radio shack.

For those of you who never had the pleasure of riding diesel boats or other
seagoing steel-hulled garbage scows, I must explain something here.

You could make phone calls from a ship at sea. Here is how it worked. The
radioman would raise someone ashore called a 'marine operator'. Then the
radioman would give the marine operator the name and phone number of whoever the
bluejacket aboard ship wanted to call. The marine operator would then place a
collect call and when the party answered and accepted the charges, the marine
operator would form a radio link with the ship and 'Bill the Bluejacket' could
talk to his sweetie.

From sweetie to the marine operator was private and confidential... From the
marine operator to Barnicle Bill, it was up for grabs... Great evening
entertainment.

"Poopsie, is that you?"

"Yes ducky doo, it's me."

"You miss me, peach blossom?"

"Oh yes... YES, darling!"

"Miss me a lot?"

"Oh, I miss you soooo much I can't wait to hold you and..."

"Okay darling... Are you going to meet the ship?"

"No sweetheart, I parked the car in the pier head lot... Keys are under the
mat."

"Why aren't you meeting the boat, sweetheart?"

"Oh, it was supposed to be a suprise... If you must know, the kids are spending
the night with the Webbers. I bought a new nightie and I figured we'd break it
in tonight."

The animals would cheer,
"LET'S HEAR IT FOR MAMMA AND HER NEW NIGHTIE!!"

And so it went. Bluejackets phoning in after six months in the Med... Great
entertainment.

"Darlin' can't wait... Just you and me and a can of Crisco!"

We heard it all... It was great... Laugh after laugh. A very memorable
evening... Best and cheapest fun we ever had on Requin.

There were times... Moments that we took for granted and that passed with little
notice. It's funny how they come back late in life when you have the time to
reshuffle your memories... The collected moments that constitute your life.

Radiomen linked us with the world. Another thing we just took for granted and
that was so damned important looking back. Never thanked them... Should have.

Great guys, all of them.

"KØHB" wrote in message
ink.net...
by Bob 'Dex' Armstrong

In the old gravel-gut boat service, ////drivel flushed/////



Poor Hans. The guys down at the Legion Hall have forbidden Hans
from telling any more of his borrrrrrrrring sea tales.

"KØHB" wrote in message
ink.net...
by Bob 'Dex' Armstrong



In the old gravel-gut boat service, your only link with the civilized
world was
via the radio shack. A cubby hole on Requin aft of the scope wells in the
control room... It was the home of the spark shufflers.

If you were in tight with a radioman, you could get ball scores. Sewer
pipe
sailors lost touch with the teams they followed... A hazard common to
submarine
sailors and people who take a moon walk and miss the ride home. Actually,
we
lost touch with just about everything. In the war movies when they come
across
some guy who claims to be an American, they ask him questions only an
American
could answer. If they had picked me up and asked me anything but (A) The
names
of Roy's and Gene's horses (B) Who won World War II and (C) Blaze Starr's
bust
size, I would have been one 'up the creek' sonuvabitch. Hell, we didn't
know
Jack Kennedy was the president until we snorkeled a day later.

Only a complete idiot would make a bet with a radioman. Chances were, the
radioman had the final score before you tossed your wampum on the mess
table.

I remember one great night brought to us by the spark pushers in the radio
shack.

We had finished whatever nonsense they sent us out to do and were making
turns
for home. The Old Man opened the showers... Guys were bumming razor blades
and
rooting around in side lockers for something that would pass for a towel.
Next
thing you know, the foo-foo juice came out. Now there's a myth that all
smoke
boat sailors eventually bought into, sooner or later... Aqua Velva was
never
meant to disguise poor personal hygene. No matter how much of the stuff
you
poured on a dungaree shirt you had been inside of for two weeks, you were
still
one disgustingly foul smelling sonuvabitch. You could spray French perfume
on an
engineman with a fire hose and buzzards would still circle around the
*******
when he went topside. But I digress...

A group of us were sitting around in the crew's mess drinking coffee and
ragging
guys heading fore and aft. A radioman came in and told us we were in for
one
helluva good laugh. He monkeyed around with the RBO and patched it into
something in the radio shack.

For those of you who never had the pleasure of riding diesel boats or
other
seagoing steel-hulled garbage scows, I must explain something here.

You could make phone calls from a ship at sea. Here is how it worked. The
radioman would raise someone ashore called a 'marine operator'. Then the
radioman would give the marine operator the name and phone number of
whoever the
bluejacket aboard ship wanted to call. The marine operator would then
place a
collect call and when the party answered and accepted the charges, the
marine
operator would form a radio link with the ship and 'Bill the Bluejacket'
could
talk to his sweetie.

From sweetie to the marine operator was private and confidential... From
the
marine operator to Barnicle Bill, it was up for grabs... Great evening
entertainment.

"Poopsie, is that you?"

"Yes ducky doo, it's me."

"You miss me, peach blossom?"

"Oh yes... YES, darling!"

"Miss me a lot?"

"Oh, I miss you soooo much I can't wait to hold you and..."

"Okay darling... Are you going to meet the ship?"

"No sweetheart, I parked the car in the pier head lot... Keys are under
the
mat."

"Why aren't you meeting the boat, sweetheart?"

"Oh, it was supposed to be a suprise... If you must know, the kids are
spending
the night with the Webbers. I bought a new nightie and I figured we'd
break it
in tonight."

The animals would cheer,
"LET'S HEAR IT FOR MAMMA AND HER NEW NIGHTIE!!"

And so it went. Bluejackets phoning in after six months in the Med...
Great
entertainment.

"Darlin' can't wait... Just you and me and a can of Crisco!"

We heard it all... It was great... Laugh after laugh. A very memorable
evening... Best and cheapest fun we ever had on Requin.

There were times... Moments that we took for granted and that passed with
little
notice. It's funny how they come back late in life when you have the time
to
reshuffle your memories... The collected moments that constitute your
life.

Radiomen linked us with the world. Another thing we just took for granted
and
that was so damned important looking back. Never thanked them... Should
have.

Great guys, all of them.


Hello, Hans

You should have seen the RM1s on Guam when they wanted to find out results
as to who made chief.

Grab the orderwire to Hono. Ask for a patch to San Diego. Ask for a patch
to Washington ....

Had the results in 15 minutes LOL )


73 from Rochester, NY
Jim AA2QA

"Jim Hampton" wrote in message
...

"KØHB" wrote in message
ink.net...
by Bob 'Dex' Armstrong



In the old gravel-gut boat service, your only link with the civilized
world was
via the radio shack. A cubby hole on Requin aft of the scope wells in the
control room... It was the home of the spark shufflers.

If you were in tight with a radioman, you could get ball scores. Sewer
pipe
sailors lost touch with the teams they followed... A hazard common to
submarine
sailors and people who take a moon walk and miss the ride home. Actually,
we
lost touch with just about everything. In the war movies when they come
across
some guy who claims to be an American, they ask him questions only an
American
could answer. If they had picked me up and asked me anything but (A) The
names
of Roy's and Gene's horses (B) Who won World War II and (C) Blaze Starr's
bust
size, I would have been one 'up the creek' sonuvabitch. Hell, we didn't
know
Jack Kennedy was the president until we snorkeled a day later.

Only a complete idiot would make a bet with a radioman. Chances were, the
radioman had the final score before you tossed your wampum on the mess
table.

I remember one great night brought to us by the spark pushers in the
radio
shack.

We had finished whatever nonsense they sent us out to do and were making
turns
for home. The Old Man opened the showers... Guys were bumming razor
blades
and
rooting around in side lockers for something that would pass for a towel.
Next
thing you know, the foo-foo juice came out. Now there's a myth that all
smoke
boat sailors eventually bought into, sooner or later... Aqua Velva was
never
meant to disguise poor personal hygene. No matter how much of the stuff
you
poured on a dungaree shirt you had been inside of for two weeks, you were
still
one disgustingly foul smelling sonuvabitch. You could spray French
perfume
on an
engineman with a fire hose and buzzards would still circle around the
*******
when he went topside. But I digress...

A group of us were sitting around in the crew's mess drinking coffee and
ragging
guys heading fore and aft. A radioman came in and told us we were in for
one
helluva good laugh. He monkeyed around with the RBO and patched it into
something in the radio shack.

For those of you who never had the pleasure of riding diesel boats or
other
seagoing steel-hulled garbage scows, I must explain something here.

You could make phone calls from a ship at sea. Here is how it worked. The
radioman would raise someone ashore called a 'marine operator'. Then the
radioman would give the marine operator the name and phone number of
whoever the
bluejacket aboard ship wanted to call. The marine operator would then
place a
collect call and when the party answered and accepted the charges, the
marine
operator would form a radio link with the ship and 'Bill the Bluejacket'
could
talk to his sweetie.

From sweetie to the marine operator was private and confidential... From
the
marine operator to Barnicle Bill, it was up for grabs... Great evening
entertainment.

"Poopsie, is that you?"

"Yes ducky doo, it's me."

"You miss me, peach blossom?"

"Oh yes... YES, darling!"

"Miss me a lot?"

"Oh, I miss you soooo much I can't wait to hold you and..."

"Okay darling... Are you going to meet the ship?"

"No sweetheart, I parked the car in the pier head lot... Keys are under
the
mat."

"Why aren't you meeting the boat, sweetheart?"

"Oh, it was supposed to be a suprise... If you must know, the kids are
spending
the night with the Webbers. I bought a new nightie and I figured we'd
break it
in tonight."

The animals would cheer,
"LET'S HEAR IT FOR MAMMA AND HER NEW NIGHTIE!!"

And so it went. Bluejackets phoning in after six months in the Med...
Great
entertainment.

"Darlin' can't wait... Just you and me and a can of Crisco!"

We heard it all... It was great... Laugh after laugh. A very memorable
evening... Best and cheapest fun we ever had on Requin.

There were times... Moments that we took for granted and that passed with
little
notice. It's funny how they come back late in life when you have the time
to
reshuffle your memories... The collected moments that constitute your
life.

Radiomen linked us with the world. Another thing we just took for granted
and
that was so damned important looking back. Never thanked them... Should
have.

Great guys, all of them.


Hello, Hans

You should have seen the RM1s on Guam when they wanted to find out results
as to who made chief.

Grab the orderwire to Hono. Ask for a patch to San Diego. Ask for a
patch
to Washington ....

Had the results in 15 minutes LOL )


73 from Rochester, NY
Jim AA2QA



I knew two guys who were court martialed for doing exactly
what you say.

Tom

"Tom" wrote in message
...

"Jim Hampton" wrote in message
...

"KØHB" wrote in message
ink.net...
by Bob 'Dex' Armstrong



In the old gravel-gut boat service, your only link with the civilized
world was
via the radio shack. A cubby hole on Requin aft of the scope wells in
the
control room... It was the home of the spark shufflers.

If you were in tight with a radioman, you could get ball scores. Sewer
pipe
sailors lost touch with the teams they followed... A hazard common to
submarine
sailors and people who take a moon walk and miss the ride home.
Actually,
we
lost touch with just about everything. In the war movies when they come
across
some guy who claims to be an American, they ask him questions only an
American
could answer. If they had picked me up and asked me anything but (A) The
names
of Roy's and Gene's horses (B) Who won World War II and (C) Blaze
Starr's
bust
size, I would have been one 'up the creek' sonuvabitch. Hell, we didn't
know
Jack Kennedy was the president until we snorkeled a day later.

Only a complete idiot would make a bet with a radioman. Chances were,
the
radioman had the final score before you tossed your wampum on the mess
table.

I remember one great night brought to us by the spark pushers in the
radio
shack.

We had finished whatever nonsense they sent us out to do and were making
turns
for home. The Old Man opened the showers... Guys were bumming razor
blades
and
rooting around in side lockers for something that would pass for a
towel.
Next
thing you know, the foo-foo juice came out. Now there's a myth that all
smoke
boat sailors eventually bought into, sooner or later... Aqua Velva was
never
meant to disguise poor personal hygene. No matter how much of the stuff
you
poured on a dungaree shirt you had been inside of for two weeks, you
were
still
one disgustingly foul smelling sonuvabitch. You could spray French
perfume
on an
engineman with a fire hose and buzzards would still circle around the
*******
when he went topside. But I digress...

A group of us were sitting around in the crew's mess drinking coffee and
ragging
guys heading fore and aft. A radioman came in and told us we were in for
one
helluva good laugh. He monkeyed around with the RBO and patched it into
something in the radio shack.

For those of you who never had the pleasure of riding diesel boats or
other
seagoing steel-hulled garbage scows, I must explain something here.

You could make phone calls from a ship at sea. Here is how it worked.
The
radioman would raise someone ashore called a 'marine operator'. Then the
radioman would give the marine operator the name and phone number of
whoever the
bluejacket aboard ship wanted to call. The marine operator would then
place a
collect call and when the party answered and accepted the charges, the
marine
operator would form a radio link with the ship and 'Bill the Bluejacket'
could
talk to his sweetie.

From sweetie to the marine operator was private and confidential... From
the
marine operator to Barnicle Bill, it was up for grabs... Great evening
entertainment.

"Poopsie, is that you?"

"Yes ducky doo, it's me."

"You miss me, peach blossom?"

"Oh yes... YES, darling!"

"Miss me a lot?"

"Oh, I miss you soooo much I can't wait to hold you and..."

"Okay darling... Are you going to meet the ship?"

"No sweetheart, I parked the car in the pier head lot... Keys are under
the
mat."

"Why aren't you meeting the boat, sweetheart?"

"Oh, it was supposed to be a suprise... If you must know, the kids are
spending
the night with the Webbers. I bought a new nightie and I figured we'd
break it
in tonight."

The animals would cheer,
"LET'S HEAR IT FOR MAMMA AND HER NEW NIGHTIE!!"

And so it went. Bluejackets phoning in after six months in the Med...
Great
entertainment.

"Darlin' can't wait... Just you and me and a can of Crisco!"

We heard it all... It was great... Laugh after laugh. A very memorable
evening... Best and cheapest fun we ever had on Requin.

There were times... Moments that we took for granted and that passed
with
little
notice. It's funny how they come back late in life when you have the
time
to
reshuffle your memories... The collected moments that constitute your
life.

Radiomen linked us with the world. Another thing we just took for
granted
and
that was so damned important looking back. Never thanked them... Should
have.

Great guys, all of them.


Hello, Hans

You should have seen the RM1s on Guam when they wanted to find out
results
as to who made chief.

Grab the orderwire to Hono. Ask for a patch to San Diego. Ask for a
patch
to Washington ....

Had the results in 15 minutes LOL )


73 from Rochester, NY
Jim AA2QA



I knew two guys who were court martialed for doing exactly
what you say.

Tom


Thats when you need to know the Company Clerk.... hi.

Dan/W4NTI

.... that almost makes me miss the ancient drums my
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-etc. ancestors used to
use to communicate with in the primordial jungles... I wonder if we
could bring those back to?

... perhaps require the new licensees to beat out a fancy tempo on one
of those turkeys before we gave 'em a license!
evil-grin

Warmest regards,
John

"Jim Hampton" wrote in message
...

"KØHB" wrote in message
ink.net...
by Bob 'Dex' Armstrong



In the old gravel-gut boat service, your only link with the civilized
world was
via the radio shack. A cubby hole on Requin aft of the scope wells in
the
control room... It was the home of the spark shufflers.

If you were in tight with a radioman, you could get ball scores.
Sewer
pipe
sailors lost touch with the teams they followed... A hazard common to
submarine
sailors and people who take a moon walk and miss the ride home.
Actually,
we
lost touch with just about everything. In the war movies when they
come
across
some guy who claims to be an American, they ask him questions only an
American
could answer. If they had picked me up and asked me anything but (A)
The
names
of Roy's and Gene's horses (B) Who won World War II and (C) Blaze
Starr's
bust
size, I would have been one 'up the creek' sonuvabitch. Hell, we
didn't
know
Jack Kennedy was the president until we snorkeled a day later.

Only a complete idiot would make a bet with a radioman. Chances were,
the
radioman had the final score before you tossed your wampum on the
mess
table.

I remember one great night brought to us by the spark pushers in the
radio
shack.

We had finished whatever nonsense they sent us out to do and were
making
turns
for home. The Old Man opened the showers... Guys were bumming razor
blades
and
rooting around in side lockers for something that would pass for a
towel.
Next
thing you know, the foo-foo juice came out. Now there's a myth that
all
smoke
boat sailors eventually bought into, sooner or later... Aqua Velva
was
never
meant to disguise poor personal hygene. No matter how much of the
stuff
you
poured on a dungaree shirt you had been inside of for two weeks, you
were
still
one disgustingly foul smelling sonuvabitch. You could spray French
perfume
on an
engineman with a fire hose and buzzards would still circle around the
*******
when he went topside. But I digress...

A group of us were sitting around in the crew's mess drinking coffee
and
ragging
guys heading fore and aft. A radioman came in and told us we were in
for
one
helluva good laugh. He monkeyed around with the RBO and patched it
into
something in the radio shack.

For those of you who never had the pleasure of riding diesel boats or
other
seagoing steel-hulled garbage scows, I must explain something here.

You could make phone calls from a ship at sea. Here is how it worked.
The
radioman would raise someone ashore called a 'marine operator'. Then
the
radioman would give the marine operator the name and phone number of
whoever the
bluejacket aboard ship wanted to call. The marine operator would then
place a
collect call and when the party answered and accepted the charges,
the
marine
operator would form a radio link with the ship and 'Bill the
Bluejacket'
could
talk to his sweetie.

From sweetie to the marine operator was private and confidential...
From
the
marine operator to Barnicle Bill, it was up for grabs... Great
evening
entertainment.

"Poopsie, is that you?"

"Yes ducky doo, it's me."

"You miss me, peach blossom?"

"Oh yes... YES, darling!"

"Miss me a lot?"

"Oh, I miss you soooo much I can't wait to hold you and..."

"Okay darling... Are you going to meet the ship?"

"No sweetheart, I parked the car in the pier head lot... Keys are
under
the
mat."

"Why aren't you meeting the boat, sweetheart?"

"Oh, it was supposed to be a suprise... If you must know, the kids
are
spending
the night with the Webbers. I bought a new nightie and I figured we'd
break it
in tonight."

The animals would cheer,
"LET'S HEAR IT FOR MAMMA AND HER NEW NIGHTIE!!"

And so it went. Bluejackets phoning in after six months in the Med...
Great
entertainment.

"Darlin' can't wait... Just you and me and a can of Crisco!"

We heard it all... It was great... Laugh after laugh. A very
memorable
evening... Best and cheapest fun we ever had on Requin.

There were times... Moments that we took for granted and that passed
with
little
notice. It's funny how they come back late in life when you have the
time
to
reshuffle your memories... The collected moments that constitute your
life.

Radiomen linked us with the world. Another thing we just took for
granted
and
that was so damned important looking back. Never thanked them...
Should
have.

Great guys, all of them.


Hello, Hans

You should have seen the RM1s on Guam when they wanted to find out
results
as to who made chief.

Grab the orderwire to Hono. Ask for a patch to San Diego. Ask for a
patch
to Washington ....

Had the results in 15 minutes LOL )


73 from Rochester, NY
Jim AA2QA

John Smith wrote:

... that almost makes me miss the ancient drums my
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-etc. ancestors used to
use to communicate with in the primordial jungles... I wonder if we
could bring those back to?

... perhaps require the new licensees to beat out a fancy tempo on one
of those turkeys before we gave 'em a license!
evil-grin


Imagine the drum DX contests those people in the
jungle used to have. :-) Though everyone had
only one air "channel" to share. Must have been
some bad QRM at times....

Robert:

You paint a good visual picture--good humor... grin

Warmest regards,
John

"robert casey" wrote in message
nk.net...
John Smith wrote:

... that almost makes me miss the ancient drums my
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-etc. ancestors used
to use to communicate with in the primordial jungles... I wonder if
we could bring those back to?

... perhaps require the new licensees to beat out a fancy tempo on
one of those turkeys before we gave 'em a license!
evil-grin


Imagine the drum DX contests those people in the
jungle used to have. :-) Though everyone had
only one air "channel" to share. Must have been
some bad QRM at times....

"robert casey" wrote in message
nk.net...
John Smith wrote:

... that almost makes me miss the ancient drums my
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-etc. ancestors used to
use to communicate with in the primordial jungles... I wonder if we could
bring those back to?

... perhaps require the new licensees to beat out a fancy tempo on one
of those turkeys before we gave 'em a license!
evil-grin


Imagine the drum DX contests those people in the
jungle used to have. :-) Though everyone had
only one air "channel" to share. Must have been
some bad QRM at times....

Similar to "spark" and coher detectors, eh?

Dan/W4NTI

"John Smith" wrote in message
...
... that almost makes me miss the ancient drums my
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-etc. ancestors used to
use to communicate with in the primordial jungles... I wonder if we
could bring those back to?

... perhaps require the new licensees to beat out a fancy tempo on one
of those turkeys before we gave 'em a license!
evil-grin

Warmest regards,
John


Perhaps, John


But consider that some of us can send and receive cw faster than most folks
can type.

I know you may be good at "cut and paste", but that doesn't necessarily cut
it LOL.

Sure, voice appears faster, but when you get names and addresses that are
hard to pronounce ....

Not saying that CW is the best, but some folks better come up with something
superior to AM and FM. There are a number of modes, but most folks want to
"talk". That won't cut it for 85 watt moonbounce on 24 GHz.




73 from Rochester, NY
Jim AA2QA
ps - when I talk send and receive cw faster than some folks type, I'm not
talking a nice, leisurely chat at 30 or 35 words per minute ...