Testing, Testing, 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... Testing, Testing

The RCA Indian-head test pattern (PD)

This is a test ...

So over the past week we, that is JB and I, presented you with a couple of old Lex posts. The story of Lazlo to be precise, in two parts.

I went out to the Wayback Machine and found both of the posts in their original format, still in the original packaging, as it were. So I presented them in that fashion. (Said packaging being admired, if not outright loved, by a number of you Chanters.)

Oddly enough, our own boron pronounced the "new format" to be a wondrous thing, easy on the eyes and all that. He could read it while sitting back in his chair and not have to press his nose to the glass, as it were.

Um, what?

To mine own aging eyes the only difference I could discern was that the letters were blue (well, technically Navy Blue, according to my grasp of the html, wherein "color: #000099;" - RGB: 0,0, 153 if you will, and I do - is listed as blue navy blue, of course it is and well done Lex, ya did that intentionally, dintcha?).

So as an experiment, I used the font color of blue, Navy blue for today's post. Same font type as I always use (it's sort of Georgia, I like it, think it's peachy, yes, a bad pun, but I do like the font, better than Times New Roman, which if pressed I would list as my second favorite, but it's really a "font-family" which is: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif, all combined, it looks a little different from Georgia, though not much), just the color has changed.

So boron, what say you? (If the rest of you have opinions as to font color, have at it.)

Or perhaps it was the comment style which eased the strain on your eyes? (Now I haven't figured that html out yet, not that I can't, I just haven't really looked at it yet. Now, no help from the audience please, I'll get to it shortly.)

Here's how the comments at Neptunus Lex looked back in 2005:

1. MCPO Airdale Says:
   December 15th, 2005 at 3:52 pm

   Lazlo was creamed chipped beef on toast! Serves him right for hangin with an enlisted honey!

   BTW: Nobody could bribe the QM on duty to tell the story???

Not sure I could reproduce that throughout the blog. Though apparently I can by changing the background color and setting the alignment to "justify." Obviously the font is also different in the comments ...

After playing with the font "family," I guess I can reproduce this Lex comment style throughout a post. Not sure if I should though. With great power comes great responsibility, or something ...

Not sure if it's worth the effort. But we'll see. (By the way, this is the normal font format and color. This is the one that I, your beloved humble scribe, prefer. And will probably stick with, because it's easy. And I am, as always, lazy.)

I breathlessly await your comments.

Comme Ci, Comme ça * (again)

So... There I was, headed into town, Monday, April 15th, a date that will live in infamy.  For, I am the Family Messenger enroute to the Postal Service Office to send the Family share of the National Debt to the Cesspool on the Potomac.

If you don't understand that nomenclature, well, we can't be friends.

Source (10:45 AM 16 Apr 2024)

I noted that the PO parking lot was a little fuller than usual, although it was noonish, so I assumed they were folks picking up mail for businesses or because it was lunchtime and they had time to do so.  

Silly me, No, virtually everyone there had an envelope of various sizes all addressed to the same Austin address.  Seems like Mrs. J and I weren't the only one's wanting to hang on to their money as long as legally possible.

Yes, short of Christmas Eve, April 15th is probably the busiest Post Office day of the year.  So...One clerk on duty.  By the time I got to the front of the line it extended out the door.  US Gummint at it's finest.

But, because I dislike driving through town, (18 wheelers, pedestrians, and out of town drivers makes a mix that borders on disaster.  Hence, I tend to avoid it when possible) I had, several years ago, discovered a back road that while two lanes, avoids most of the primary traffic ball ups.  It goes through some ranch land and follows a creek with trees, and little traffic! 

What's not to like?

This day, after the spike in BP at the post office, tranquility was high on the "wish for" list.  The Big Guy came through.

That, my Friends, is a Texas Longhorn and, No, I'm not referring to a college football team.

You may notice a few things about these pictures.  One (and the most important one) there is a fence in the picture between them and I.  Two, there are indications in a couple of the pictures, that the pictures were taken from inside the car.  Three, and you'll have to trust me on this, while my foot was on the brake pedal, the car was still running and in gear, just in case.

Magnificent animals, and smart.  They gave me a quick once over glance, determined the threat level was low both in likelihood of some poor action idea as well as low likelihood of my ability to cause harm.  So, they just returned to grazing.  

I'm pretty sure after I left and went around the corner, the herd pulled the vodka martini's and Guinness from camouflaged refrigerators and consumption was resumed.  But, I was happy, and they seemed to enjoy the attention.

Which brings us to the never ending project story.

Dangerously close.  If I knew how to measure, it would be done.  But, NOOOOooo.... I cut the left hand setting bolt about a 1/2" too short.  Ah well, another trip to Lowes.  In addition, LJW approved adding a slide to the project, so, the trip is not a waste.

 THE big event over this past week was the arrival of Little J with his successful escape from Sodom on the Potomac.  He and LJW decided to stay the night in Moscow on the Colorado for some reason or another.  I'm SURE it was to avoid rush hour traffic and had nothing whatsoever to do with not seeing each other for a very long time.

In any case, Mrs J and I had care of Miss B.  It was quite fun and the following morning was pretty interesting in itself.

Who IS this Hairy Guy?

Yep...Initial contact did not go real well,  But, someone came up with an ingenious plan..Give her her mom's phone and have Little J call it.

Because she'd been video chatting with him quite frequently, she recognized the face on the phone.

I wish I'd have been faster on the camera, when she looked up from the phone and saw the same guy on the phone in the same room as her.  A flood of recognition and understanding who was in the room with her.  Dada!

Yeah, a heart warming  moment!

But as you are reading this, he's en route to Honk Honk to finish up there.  He'll be back in the Great State early in June to pick up Wife and Daughter and move to Jolly Old England.  Thank You, Lord!

All is well...

Finally, this was discovered by LJW and sent to me, regarding my post from last Monday and the attitude of some immigrants from out of state and the reaction to that from current residents.  

I don't care who you are...That's funny right there!

* A little of this, a little of that.  Or a Song.  I'd used its title as the title of one of my previous posts, hence again.  This Tune is pretty catchy, among other things.  Might even add a little energy to Sarge's battery.  Hope you feel better soon.

In the Garden ...

OAFS Photo

The Missus Herself did decree, Friday evening, that the time for the annual cleaning of the pond at Chez Sarge was upon us. Though the forecast called for rain on Saturday, I was to hold myself in readiness to assist her, should the foul weather abate. Which it did, taking me rather by surprise. I had placed my money on "rain all day," the weather decided, "eff that, the fat bastard needs to get off his ass and get outside."

So I did. Discovering in the process, that once again, I'm not as young as I used to be.

After all, I'm within hailing distance of the 71st anniversary of my birth, in two and a half weeks I shall commence my 72nd orbit around the sun. For me, physical labor is a thing to be avoided, assiduously. I tire of discovering muscle groups I forgot I had.

A nice walk, at a leisurely pace, is what works for me ...

Doesn't work for The Missus Herself. Though she too doth age, and very well I might add, she has the willpower of some ancient hero. We don't stop until she stops, and she doesn't stop until the task at hand (which often includes many and sundry other tasks) is done. She is implacable and unstoppable.

The girls (LUSH and The Nuke) discovered that being in college, some sixty miles away, was not far enough to escape the demand of garden work. I do believe they both got such good grades in college by avoiding the family manse during gardening season.

I cannot avoid it as I live here. As I don't wish to be planted in said garden, I stand to and do what I'm told. Though I grumble, a lot, even though The Missus Herself does not appreciate said grumbling. I must have a nascent death wish.

Sigh ...

Anyhoo, the pond is clean, the waterfall flows yet again (it's shut down in the winter for fear the pump might freeze), and the fish seem happy. Those that survived the winter that is, far as I can tell, we lost one this year. I don't know why one or two die every year but the majority go dormant and wait for spring. They don't eat during that long period.

Hope everyone enjoyed the trip down memory lane the past two days, I know I did. Lex lives on as long as we remember him. I enjoy revisiting the old times.

One note, boron mentioned "liking the new format," uh, sorry, it was a straight copy of two old Lex posts from the Wayback Machine. It's an old format used by Lex, not sure what you liked about it boron, and I'm not sure I can (or want to) use that format going forward (first I'd have to figure out exactly what it is, also what you like about it).

So gomen nasai, no new formats for now.

In other news, it's been a week of old equipment crapping out. First the 20-something microwave decided that it had had enough. Then, the pump we use for various chores (primarily pumping out the pond each spring), also decided to retire from active duty after some 24-odd years. Also, the pump and filtration system we use on the pond is starting to get, shall we say cantankerous?

Water coming out in places it shouldn't, somehow an O-ring went missing last year when I replaced the infrared bulb (kills nasty stuff in the water) so water came blowing out the top of the machine. The Missus Herself, somehow having found the missing O-ring, in the garden mind you, asked if that might be the cause.

Why yes, yes it was. (How the hell it worked from July to November last year without gushing water remains a mystery to me.)

A number of other minor leaks were dealt with, and now it seems, for now, that this unit might last another year. I hope so, the things are bloody expensive!

Oh, one last thing, d'ya know how sometimes that last step at the bottom of the stairs can go missing? (For you young'uns maybe not, but for us old farts it does, with increasing frequency.) Anyhoo ...

Heading into the basement from the "garden work" I decided to shed my rather filthy attire there. So I headed through the bulkhead and down into the basement.

On the way, that last step vanished. I found myself falling, in what seemed like slow motion. I had one thought, "Oh dear, what now?" It seems that as I age I view my own demise with something approaching not caring, I mean I find it interesting, like last year's being on a plane which seemed determine to plunge to earth shortly after reaching altitude, a guy in the back was screaming about making fudge, or something.

I simply looked out the window, wondering what the pilot was up to, and viewed the approaching earth with something like reluctant fascination. "So this is how it ends?"

Anyhoo, my years in Korea studying a martial art did teach me something, how to fall.

Though my right elbow is sore, not the point mind you but the fleshy bit near the top of the forearm, I am in fine fettle.

But after an afternoon in the garden, everything else aches.

Tomorrow should be such fun ...

Cheers!

John Blackshoe Recommends ... (Part 2)

(Source)

“Why yes, Laz. You were missed. In fact the better part of 5000 people have been looking for you for the last two hours and…(muffled, aside:) Yes, sir it’s Lazlo. Just a minute, Laz - The Skipper would like to speak to you.”

All throughout Ready Room 8, Compartment 2-242-0-L aboard the USS Constellation, a warship then at sea in execution of national tasking in the Indian Ocean, junior officers lowered their faces thoughtfully into month-old magazines, staring with a fixed and terrible intensity on single words or even punctuation marks in the text while their associated ears nearly herniated themselves in straining to capture every rapturous moment of the tide about to burst upon the person of Lazlo, poor unfortunate Lazlo.

Having caught some whiff of the reason for Lazlo’s unexcused absence from the ship, the CO’s towering rage, which had already been approvingly described as “pretty darned epic” in scale, somehow astonishingly re-doubled itself. The effect took place to such an alarming degree that those who cared for him grew concerned for his well-being, not to mention his state of mind and he was just getting up a good head of steam as he got to the phone, ripping it from the duty officer’s hand and quickly asking of Lazlo whether, in his studied professional opinion, it was really true that the naval service was little more than a transportation system for his wedding tackle? Because that was the way it might appear to the disinterested observer.

Without pausing for reply, the CO then offered Lazlo fairly detailed sartorial advice in preparation for a face-to-face meeting right there in the ready room, just as soon as he could change out of that ridiculous costume the entire ship had seen him wearing, disgrace that he was to his squadron in particular and the service in general. During this meeting it was plausibly forecast to Laz that the CO might frabbing kill him, cork-sticking gasper that he was, even going so far as to offer detailed anatomical descriptions of how the deed might be accomplished, complete with promises of sterner measures which would immediately follow.

All of this was put on hold however, as the squawk box beside the duty officer crackled to life with the stern salutation of, “Ready 8, Bridge!”

“Ready 8 aye!” responded the duty officer, just as he’d been taught, and with perhaps a somewhat greater mindfulness of his duty than usual given the current atmosphere in the ready room. In doing so he manfully forbore from the normally overwhelming temptation to make hilarious squawk box responses such as belches and even worse than belches in reply gentle reader, disgusting as they were and having only the slenderest thread of plausible deniability to go along with them. This would all have been in the time honored aviation tradition of biffing the blackshoe professional surface warfare officer, which although it was a simple sport, not unlike clubbing baby seals, was yet considered worth the effort, if only for the practice that was in it.

Something in the current mood made him pause, and a right good pause it was too, for the very next voice to come through the box itself was that of the Actual Captain of the Whole Frabbing Ship, who in no-nonsense verbiage studded with short, stout, Anglo-Saxon derivatives strongly desired and required of our CO that the sun of a beach piece of carp that had kept the Entire Goram Navy from getting about the nation’s business join him up on the bridge for a short but exciting conversation, adding that it would not be very much resented if the CO came along as well, if he wasn’t too busy?

Collar devices were mentally consulted for relative merit, and as events unfolded, our CO’s leisure suited the Captain’s pleasure. The two of them, Lazlo and The Man (who would in a matter of moments and a nine deck climb be just “a man” again) y-clad not in flight suits gentle reader but in khakis as befits a walk-of-shame, reported to the bridge no very long time later, sweat streaming down their faces, chests heaving and eyes bulging out of their heads. What followed after your humble scribe cannot reliably relay, lacking as he did the physical courage to attempt to follow, and not being able to wheedle it out either from Lazlo himself, nor any of the junior officers on watch up on the bridge, selfish bastiches that they were, and we’d have shared it with them maybe, had the roles been reversed. We are left with the strongest impression that the conversation could not be considered a dialogue really, unless your definition of “dialogue” is expansive enough to cover a discussion wherein the party of the first part is entirely in transmit, and the party of the second almost entirely in receive, apart from a few carefully timed “yessirs” and “nosirs” and the occasional, remorseful “no excuse sirs.”

What I can tell you is that a letter of reprimand is better than no mail at all, and that the next four weeks saw a great deal more of Lazlo at the duty desk and wearing khakis, with only someone to spot him at the desk every seven days or so for him to get a night trap and thereby maintain night currency, great store being set in night currency on the line. Of daylight flights there were few or none, which was all to the good for the rest of us, for we’d gladly take his day hop. When the time came for fitness reports, there were 10 of us in the top 1% category, which is the way things were done in those days, and one of us in the top 5% category, which was the kiss of professional doom. I do not know for a fact that Laz was our anchor man, but if he was not, then some one of the other of us must have been caught by Dad diddling livestock, and word of it never got down to our level.

Laz was with us the best part of year before leaving the service, that being the best thing all the way around, really, and joining a major airline, where I imagine he remains to this day. He has by now no doubt risen to the august rank of airline pilot captain-type guy, and if you’re traveling this Christmas gentle reader, who knows but that you may be placing your life in his hands?

And you know where they have been…

1. MCPO Airdale Says:
   December 15th, 2005 at 3:52 pm

   Lazlo was creamed chipped beef on toast! Serves him right for hangin with an enlisted honey!

   BTW: Nobody could bribe the QM on duty to tell the story???

2. SeabeeChief Says:
   December 15th, 2005 at 6:57 pm

   And once again, Captain, sir, (as I shamelessly attempt, poorly, to imitate your style)it’s not a bad tale in itself, but so much the better for your telling of it. Poor Laz!. I can empathize, having been sort of the young enlisted Marine version of him once or twice. After I became an actual Sailor, I heard frequently that a Captain’s Mast or two was almost a requirement to make Chief, a court-martial even better. Usually said, I think, as a kind of condolence for someone NOT making rate at a particualr point in time. It turned out to be true in my case, both the NJP and a summary Court in my far past at least not stalling me (long) at the E-6 level. Whether they have any effect on the star(s) over my anchors is yet to be seen.
   Lex, it’s good to see you back in the saddle. You do have a gift that we all enjoy. Daily you make me proud to be a small part of this great Navy. I’ve a good feeling you’re the knid of officer any Chief, or Sailor, would be honored to work for.

3. Fuzzilicious Thinking Says:
   December 15th, 2005 at 7:14 pm

   Highjinks in Diego Garcia

   If you have not yet had the pleasure of a Sea Story as told by Lex, you have my sympathies. But here’s your chance to rectify the deficiency!

4. ChiefT Says:
   December 15th, 2005 at 7:25 pm

   I’ve had a bad couple of days, fuming about work. This really put it all in perspective! Thanks so much.

5. bad cat robot Says:
   December 15th, 2005 at 8:14 pm

   An epic tale, masterfully told. All it needs is a chorus declaiming in the background to make the first Greek tragi-comedy. It is a pity that the actual reaming has been lost to posterity. Of course in the classic tradition any action that would *excessively* excite the fear and pity of the audience was always done offstage. (But I would have enjoyed it …)

6. Dan Says:
   December 15th, 2005 at 8:47 pm

   Capt Lex, this has got to be one of your best sea stories yet — the Rythyms are great, but noting beats your all-too-true sea stories. Keep em’ coming.

7. SGT Jeff (IRR) Says:
   December 16th, 2005 at 8:50 am

   That brought back some memories… not terribly fondly recalled ones, either!

8. SoCal Pir8 Says:
   December 16th, 2005 at 10:06 am

   Great Sea Story!! Came close to missing movement myself during a stop at Pearl. One of those “My wife, she” episodes as she had met the ship and was suffering during pregnancy and we were at the ER. As it turns out, the arrival of SecNav aboard saved my hide. Was able to get aboard but ran right into my Boss on the Q’Deck. He did allow me a two way conversation after we got underway.

9. badbob Says:
   December 16th, 2005 at 10:14 am

   Poor guy was rail-roaded Lex!

   The best GD sea-story I’ve ever seen or heard capured in writng! And I’ve read, heard, made up and lived a heck of a lot.

   Beauti-full!

   B2

10. Neptunus Lex » Emergency Sortie Says:
    December 16th, 2005 at 10:45 am

    […] “Anybody miss me?”   […]

11. SeniorD Says:
    December 16th, 2005 at 11:42 am

    Ouch! Bet that left a mark.

12. TGOO Says:
    December 16th, 2005 at 2:19 pm

    Good stuff. Sounds all too familiar from my deployment days on Saratoga. Several mornings in the Med were spent at quarters on the flight deck, standing in ranks downwind from a shipmate who had eaten garlic seasoned snails the previous evening ashore, while the 1MC blared out the name of some unfortunate man who had missed movement. Bad scene…. really bad scene. It felt good to be aboard, even with a monster hangover.

13. CPT J Says:
    December 16th, 2005 at 3:39 pm

    I’m still striking a brace, eyes boring into the bulkhead… “staring with a fixed and terrible intensity” at Haze Gray slapped on wiring and flanges. The memories of one-way conversations past…

14. Curt Says:
    December 16th, 2005 at 3:41 pm

    I think the best part of this story is even a civilian would get a good smile out of this, while missing 90% of “the rest of the story.”

    Ah, the jabs at the “professional” Naval Officers…the guys who heard you “complaining” that you’d already seen that movie several times, and found the mostly empty ice cream cartons in the wardroom fridge.

    I have to admit, this is a GREAT story, and makes my one about locking the HSL Det OIC out of his stateroom on random mornings on the frigate pale in comparison. It isn’t worthy.

    You needed to have written it a few days ago, just before the end of the weblog voting…would have pumped up your voting points for sure.

    Thanks! (and may we have another, sir?)

15. FbL Says:
    December 16th, 2005 at 4:43 pm

    I think the best part of this story is even a civilian would get a good smile out of this, while missing 90% of “the rest of the story.”

    This civilian got more than a “good smile” out of it, but as to how much of the rest of the story I got, ignorance by definition excludes me from an estimation.  Regardless, it’s great stuff. 

16. Sgt. B. Says:
    December 16th, 2005 at 7:58 pm

    I have seen the ultimate representation of this phemon when our Company Commander (which, regardless of what anyone would tell you, is the apex of a Marine Officer’s career, unless he makes Commandant) proved upon the body of my (soon to be “ex”) Platoon Commander that it is indeed possible to inlay a human form into the side of an AAV7 simply through the power of the human voice…

    In a word, magnificent…

17. FbL Says:
    December 16th, 2005 at 8:09 pm

    Sgt. B, you must share that story on your blog!

18. skippy-san Says:
    December 17th, 2005 at 3:32 am

    Guess the old adage, “If you are not in hack at least once a cruise, you are not carrying your sahre of the load!” no longer applies………

Editor's Note: This isn't exactly how I received it from our own John Blackshoe, I made a command decision to pull it directly from the Wayback Machine and present it pretty much as it would have appeared on the day it was published, along with the subsequent comments. The original can be read by following the link under the opening graphic. Note that many of the original links are no longer valid. Part I, Emergency Sortie was published yesterday.

John Blackshoe Recommends ... (Part 1)

(Source)

True story!

Once upon a time, in the summer of the Year of The Big Guy one thousand nine hundred and eighty-seven, your humble scribe and his band of merry brothers were in the bight at Diego Garcia, swinging on the hook on account of the fact that there wasn’t enough money to steam the great warship aboard which he had the honor to serve. Ronald Reagan was at that time Head Guy What was in Charge of Stuff, which may sort of help you put that whole “there’s never enough money to go around” thing into perspective, nearly 20 years on.

And even anchored as we were, taken as a whole, our time in the bight was not a comprehensively horrible experience, chiefly because, through one of those “only in the Navy” vagaries, there was plenty of money with which to fly the pilots, which is one of the very few things pilots really care about, except for beer, which it turns out was also to be had in heroic quantities, our hosts at D-Gar being Brits, a stout race of men whose admiration of beverages made with malt, barley and hops has previously been remarked upon.

Work there was to do aboard ship, but being as we were young, and pilots, there was not so very much. We’d flown some jets off to the local airstrip and took turns at the flying of them over the deep cerulean sea, brawling amongst one another like playful puppies in $40 million cages and dropping the odd practice bomb while the joy of our laughter echoed across the open spaces. Meanwhile, back aboard the carrier the blackshoes professional surface warfare officers sullenly conducted their general quarters drills while swinging on the chain, no doubt wishing in their dark and secret hearts that we were all well clear of land what with all its nasty shallow water, and beer and fun.

We were required to be home before midnight and to sleep aboard the ship at night rather than a nice soft bed ashore because Dad Said, but apart from that when we were not working or flying or sleeping we were free to romp about on dry land in pursuit of whatever trouble we could get into that wouldn’t end up in our Permanent Records.

So of the three basic needs of man, we had two in ready supply between the flying and the beering, and the third was tantalizingly close at hand as well but, alas, forbidden to us. The problem was that, fetching as many of the subjects of our potential affections might have been (not to mention a few who were clearly willing) they were also in the naval service. Which would not in and of itself have been a barrier to that union most devoutly to be wished for those of us sentenced to the monastic existence of a sailor at sea in the prime of his life, except for the fact that their service was in the enlisted ranks, and so therefore any class of association between them and ourselves that did not scrupulously follow naval protocol was Severely Frowned Upon Indeed, the distinction being thought important, and noli me tangere was the order of the day.

Now some of us are oaks, and some are elms and none of us should judge lest we be judged, unless of course we are in a position of statutory authority as defined by Article 15 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, in which case, have at it, judge away. The fact that getting caught in such a dangerous liaison could get you frowned right out of the service was no obstacle to the hero of our tale, whom we shall call Lazlo, since that was in fact his name. He had somehow contrived to make a Special Friend while ashore, and spent evenings so late as to become early again in that friend’s company. This caused something of a scandal in his mess but while there might have been mutterings, grimaces and sideways glances between his junior officer brothers, none of this bubbled up to the point where it might reach the ears of Dad because he was The Man, and we, as yet, were not.

Day after day passed like this in something very near to pastoral bliss for our happy tribe, each morning comprised of breakfast and a hangover cure, paperwork ‘til lunch followed by a nap, a flight and dinner ashore, complete with ice cubes. Nothing lasts forever though, and finally it came to pass that something or other untoward occurred somewhere in the world, the President himself asked, “Where are the carriers?” as presidents are wont to do and orders came to get our own particular carrier underway, and that right quick, the money necessary to steam her being found between the cushions and we should have looked there to begin with, what we were thinking?

Being the juniorest pilot afloat, your humble scribe was sent ashore to fly one of the jets parked at the airstrip back aboard, the extra landing being thought positively accretive to my overall experience level. There I waited with three of my brothers from other mothers for the ship to get up and go (ships being inordinately slow things, being manned chiefly by surface guys) and dined on a breakfast guaranteed to turn a cardiologist’s hair white, safe in the knowledge that anyone who flies fighters off aircraft carriers at night and worries about heart disease is an irrepressible optimist. Thus engaged and suited up for instant action, g-suit harness and the rest, who might have walked into the greasy spoon wherein we dined but Lazlo and his Special Friend, himself dressed not in a flight suit nor even khakis gentle reader but rather in Bermuda shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, straw hat and flip flops, a get-up most unsuitable to the circumstances of either flying aboard or getting underway.

“What are you doing here?” we cried in unison and dismay, but Lazlo only laughed and made vague deprecatory motions with his hands while we tried to explain to him the story of the carrier’s emergency sortie from the bight. “Tell it to the Marines,” he replied, he was nobody’s fool and wouldn’t be rattled by transparent fictions of emergency sorties woven by shipmates jealous of his successes; what did we take him for?

Well, gentle reader, we took him for to see, and stepping outside we pointed out into the bight the evidence of a Kitty Hawk-class warship belching black smoke from her stacks while all about her decks Sailors swarmed, readying her for sea and leaving him to draw his own conclusions. At last seeing the truth in our tale, and beginning to suspect that this might End Badly (missing ship’s movement being considered a grievous offense), our hero quickly hired a small boat to take him out to sea in an attempt to come up the boarding ladder, as surreptitiously as ever he might. Quickly did they cast off and quickly race across the bounding waves in their brave attempt, but no: It would never do. The ship had already cast off the breasting barge to which the boarding ladder had only lately been secured; the anchor was a-trip, colors shifted and herself making way purposefully out to sea. Having motored around the ship once or twice, enough at least to startle into deep and thoughtful silence those Sailors walking the carrier’s weather decks, unaccustomed as they were to the sight of a young man in a power boat, wearing Bermuda shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, straw hat and flip flops circling the ship as it got underway, hollering and waving his arms at them, Laz and his driver headed back ashore. There things might have gone very badly indeed, had he not cajoled the plane guard helicopter crew on the beach into smuggling him aboard once the fighters had safely landed and been tucked away.

So things were looking up, but not all the way up: Once a Navy warship gets underway, whether it be from homeport or foreign anchorages, it is considered a Right and Proper Thing to hold a man overboard drill. You see, it’s not that anyone is actually concerned that someone might be having fallen into the sea after such a routine evolution, but that a man overboard drill requires a full and complete muster of all hands, and a report to Higher Authority. Because this is the Navy, there is a premium attached to doing the muster quickly, and it’s considered very bad form and something of a disgrace to not be able to report your squadron mustered in less than five minutes, it being written there somewhere in the leadership position description that you ought to be able to count your people, in a pinch. But our squadron could not report a full and complete muster gentle reader, because, while I and my other fly-on pilots were accounted for, Lazlo as you are aware, most certainly was not. And soon the whole ship knew as well, since our hero’s name was repeatedly called on the ship’s announcing system in censorious tones, obliging him to report immediately to the Big XO on the bridge with his ID card in hand. This occurred every five minutes for over two hours, and by the time Lazlo made it aboard, our squadron commanding officer and executive officer were in an exceptionally high state of lather, with the XO offering to personally drown Lazlo once his whereabouts were established. Those of my brothers remaining aboard the ship showed all due mournful deference if The Heavies looked around, but made antic gestures and comical faces at each other once they looked away because few things are as truly delicious to contemplate as someone else’s pending evisceration.

Well, we trapped aboard, and the plane guard helo followed, landing right aft on centerline. Down in our squadron ready room, the CO and XO morosely stared at the pilot’s landing aid television set in the ready room, having nothing better to do between biting their nails and silently fuming. Thus boiling, they were gratified by the sight of the helo’s starboard side door opening up, and a certain FA-18 pilot by the name of Lazlo, dressed as he was in Bermuda shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, straw hat and flip flops jumping out of the helicopter, down to the gray and greasy flight deck and into our hearts forever.

The PLAT camera zoomed in for a deeply incriminatory moment and dwelled lovingly on Lazlo’s features before he could duck around the left side of the helo and into the port catwalk. The heavies were poleaxed into immobility by this almost incomprehensible display, exceeding as it did so dramatically the previously understood limits of universal possibility. Well before either of them could move from their chairs, Laz found his way to a phone so as to call down to the squadron duty officer, asking hopefully,

“Anybody miss me?”

1. Dan Says:
   December 14th, 2005 at 5:18 pm

   That is a priceless sea story! What ended up happening? How much dog-poop did he get in to?

2. sid Says:
   December 14th, 2005 at 6:20 pm

   Jeez Cap! You’re keeping me from getting any work done!!!! Besides my ribs hurt now.

3. Sgt. B. Says:
   December 14th, 2005 at 6:31 pm

   *snort*

   Been to Diego Garcia…

   I can see this happening…

4. Greg Says:
   December 14th, 2005 at 6:52 pm

   Abso-tively outstanding Sea Story Cap’n…

   Bravo Zulu.

5. FbL Says:
   December 14th, 2005 at 6:56 pm

   LMAO! That was great!

   It’s been awhile since we had one of your own Sea Stories… thanks for sharing that one. And do give us a follow-up post on what happened to Lazlo, please. 

6. badbob Says:
   December 14th, 2005 at 8:40 pm

   Good ‘un. Had to wait till someone retired to tell this story or was it the statute of “limitations”? 

   DGAR- lousy place to do that stuff. Offload into Cubi for a couple weeks is a better proposition. Pure VFR flying and a mite scary in the olden days!

   During a Vinson cruise we stopped for 3 days in DGAR. After a mid-afternoon “follies” and a pickup truck full of only beer (no water,soda or chow) all 250 or so stalwart participants went to the only two “resturants” on the atoll. Suffice it to say, the lines were long and they ran out of chow! Subsequent to that, some alleged (Island P-3 folks?) a “mini-riot” broke out and part of the O’Club was damaged (deck railing?). Verdict-many, many in a ’sort of hack’….my last visit there. Ask the boss, he’ll know, I think I may have seen him leaning on it. This of course was after the earlier “Marg-Aruda” Incident IHO a wayward Prowler (Garuda)squadron…

   B2

7. FbL Says:
   December 14th, 2005 at 8:51 pm

   Hmmm, B2… that sounds an awful lot like something Lex has alluded to in this space before, but refusees to truly describe. Did this happen more than once, or did the two of you cross paths “way back when?”

8. Al Says:
   December 15th, 2005 at 3:00 am

   Lex, just what I needed to start my day. Thanks!

9. SeniorD Says:
   December 15th, 2005 at 4:46 am

   All that this story needs is Edward Everret Horton to read this Fractured Fairy Tale!

   I’d love to hear The Rest of the Story, suitably titled ‘How Lazlo spent his Remaining Days On Deployment While His Friends Played Outside’

10. Ernie Says:
    December 15th, 2005 at 7:09 am

    Cap’n,

    The story itself is great, but add in your way with words, and it becomes waaaayyyyy more better. Outstanding job. And poor Lazlo…???

11. Brian Says:
    December 15th, 2005 at 8:00 am

    Lex,

    Write a book, please! Even if the stories are not all your own. You really have a gift with words and that story is a showcase.

    As for hearing one’s name over the 1MC for a man-overboard…back in the days of my first cruise I was bunking in one of those infamous “JO bunkrooms” - this one being on the Midway. This particular bunkroom happened to have a head located in an area that (I was to discover) was not well covered by the 1MC. As I was not scheduled to escape the boat for several hours yet, I had heeded nature’s call and decided to multitask by getting a little studying in (reading NATOPS, of course). After a while I noticed that it seemed rather quiet (a relative term aboard carriers, but I’m sure you know what I mean), except for regular unintelligible squawks from the 1MC. Curiosity finally got the better of me and as I was getting the circulation back in my legs I heard the regular squawk again from the 1MC – this time clearly intelligible and clearly calling my name. The Midway was originally a battleship and (just my luck) the route from the bunkroom to the ready room was an obstacle course that easily bettered the one in Pensacola. Needless to say the following mad dash included several bruises from knee-knockers, etc. Not that it garnered any sympathy from the XO or anyone else. And this was after I’d broken the ready room coffee pot during late-night SDO ops a few days prior. Took a while to get back on the XO’s good side…

    Brian

12. Buck Pennington Says:
    December 15th, 2005 at 8:40 am

    A great story well told!

    But then there’s this:

    …except for the fact that their service was in the enlisted ranks, and so therefore any class of association between them and ourselves that did not scrupulously follow naval protocol was Severely Frowned Upon Indeed

    Frowned upon, but certainly not unknown. I did a quick mental count (aided by fingers, but not toes) and came up with six cases of fraternization known to me during my career, three of which resulted in marriages. My experience (emphasis on “my”, YMMV) indicates female officers are more likely to stray off the straight and narrow than males. All three mixed-marriages I know of were cases of females marrying “down.”

    Just sayin’…

13. The Owner's Manual Says:
    December 15th, 2005 at 10:19 am

    Great story, Lex, and made all the more harrowing by the experience of an underage teen with my DNA who was dumped on the front lawn of his house laden with Sunday company, waking up in bed still drunk wondering if anyone knew.

14. badbob Says:
    December 15th, 2005 at 12:01 pm

    Fbl-

    That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

    From reading Lex’s great stuff I’ve pretty much figured that when Lex was in DGAR I was in Pax as a LCDR. I was in Westpac ‘90 when that story took place I think Lex must have been in Key West being “glamorous”. Me? I was a working man, almost a “truck driver” in Naval Aviation, sort of. Lex would tell ya I was “flyin’ fat”. But I could tell the story of why I was on the last boat from HongKong once but I don’t want y’all to think I really am a BadBob!

    In the olden days we had a lot of characters. Some fell on their swords, some are in charge of the Navy now, like Lex. Today a lot of this stuff could never take place because they don’t go into port as much, it seems, and the “zero defect mentality policy” is in place. Also, as you know there weren’t any of the fairer sex aboard. Which, in retrospect, made things a lot simpler.

    Are you a shrink? 

    Who broke that coffee pot? An egregious crime!

    B2

15. Brian Says:
    December 15th, 2005 at 1:05 pm

    B2 - I broke the coffee pot and paid dearly for it. Was able to get it repaired by the airframers (paid them too).

    Brian

16. Rich Cook Says:
    December 15th, 2005 at 1:49 pm

    C’mon Sir, the Chief’s Mess want to know; WHAT HAPPENED TO LAZLO AT MAST?

17. lex Says:
    December 15th, 2005 at 6:19 pm

    Turns out that the O’Club at D-Gar was victimized on more than one occasion. One of our Tomcat squadrons took the place apart in detail back in ‘89 I think it was. Left it for the rest of us to pay for, bastiches.

18. Fuzzilicious Thinking Says:
    December 15th, 2005 at 7:14 pm

    Highjinks in Diego Garcia

    If you have not yet had the pleasure of a Sea Story as told by Lex, you have my sympathies. But here’s your chance to rectify the deficiency!

19. Flatlander- Says:
    December 15th, 2005 at 8:41 pm

    Two years previous a near identical emergency sortie went down. Saratoga was pierside in Dodge when Gaddafi claimed (again) the Gulf of Sidra as his own, precipitating the first ever carrier night transit of the ditch. A few weeks later the Libyan fleet of Osa patrol boats met with a quick ending as they sortied against the Yankee “pirates.”

    As I recall, there were three females in Dodge at the time, and one of them was an officer. She was among the most pursued women in the world, with a ratio of at least 1,000:1. Favorite sport: night skinny-dipping. Said she liked my hat, but was just a tease.

20. skippy-san Says:
    December 16th, 2005 at 6:14 am

    I guess this was before the DG-21 contract kicked in and there were hordes of young lovely Filipinas available ( not really, they were off limits too…but then again if one knew where to look…..;-) ).

    You guys should see the place now since the USAF is there in force. Was at the DGAR O’club couple years back listening to some guys at the next table describe the escapdes of trying slice off a piece before the girl’s tentmate came back……..

    Ah, wars and lechery. Nothing else holds the fashion. What a great story.

21. 74 Says:
    December 16th, 2005 at 7:16 am

    Geez, I use to THINK I was old, now I know it. Apparently, LEX was a nugget on the Connie when I was pulling my twilight tour on the Ranger (no shore duty for this black shoe!) When Ranger was in the IO escorting tankers through the Straits of Hormuz during the Iran-Iraq war, I was sent to DGAR for a week to straighten out some issues with the COMMSTA. Everything is relative–compared to being aboard Ranger, the island was heaven. Especially without all those fun-loving stovepipe jockeys trashing the club. I will, however, admit to similar hi-jinks back in my less dignified enlisted days (but that’s MY Sea Story.) 

22. badbob Says:
    December 16th, 2005 at 9:49 am

    Lex says- “…took the place apart in detail back in ‘89 I think it was.”

    Ahhh, no wonder the management was so “sensitive” a year later over that railing….

    Going into DAGAR with a BG is a bad idea. Not enough, er, infrastructure. If you think it was undersourced in the late ’80’s or even now, you should have seen the place in the late ’70’s. We stayed in “hooches” ala, Mchale’s Navy. There were basically 3 critters on the island: cats, donkeys and chickens, all wild. Don’t ask me how they got there. In the lagoon there were big, really big, sharks. One could get qualed on a 13′ Boston Whaler, rent fishing tackle and fish out to the reef. It was the only really interesting thing to do there. Cyrstal clear down to 150′. All the tuna, grouper, and snapper you could catch. A lot was turned over to the contract Phillipino workers there who made the base SAC capable. Besides that there was an outside movie theater tennis and BB courts. Booze was available. To come off the ship and Gonzo for a few days there was “heaven”. Now the USAF probably call it arduous. For the dozen or so enlisted and officer women there it must have been great. Mainly, when I wasn’t doing the above I was trying to get autovohn (remember that) to get orders for myself and others. And as I remember it I wasn’t too good at that. LOL!

    Lex- did any of your airwings ever det off the ship in the PI for a week or 2 inport? Man, that used to be something. Daily VFR fying, “jungle waterpolo, Cubi Specials (health drink), Nora, carrier landing at the club and of course Alongapo for two weeks, all made for an interesting time. Remember those vicious monkeys they had running around there near the dumpsters?

    B2

23. Neptunus Lex » Po’ Lazlorus Says:
    December 16th, 2005 at 10:41 am

    […] “Why yes, Laz. You were missed. In fact the better part of 5000 people have been looking for you for the last two hours and…(muffled, aside:) Yes, sir it’s Lazlo. Just a minute, Laz - The Skipper would like to speak to you.” […]

24. DC Says:
    December 20th, 2005 at 9:56 am

    “Those of my brothers remaining aboard the ship showed all due mournful deference if The Heavies looked around, but made antic gestures and comical faces at each other once they looked away because few things are as truly delicious to contemplate as someone else’s pending evisceration.”

    All Shoe’s know the first law of thermodynamics; “Flame on you, is flame off me”..

    I once swam fully clothed, a mile and a half back to my anchored ship in Jamaica. I missed the last boat ferry, and did not want to be missed.

    Won’t do that, again.

25. blackeagle 603 Says:
    December 20th, 2005 at 1:02 pm

    Bull’s Brigade, Springbreak ‘87: been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

    Bad beer
    Hank Jr on the E-club big screen
    chickens
    chickens
    chickens
    first light launches
    last light recoveries
    fresh water, lots of fresh water
    midnight plane washes knee deep in the P-3 wash rack
    living on 5 hours of sleep and one meal a day. one meal a day of green beans and pancakes
    green beans and pancakes aka midrats
    holiday routine for ship’s company.

    That’s “holiday” for blackshoes and “routine” for the airdales.

    … and then the Stark was hit and Connie bustered north for Earnest Will. God rest their souls and remember to stand and salute when the flag passes next time.

    The older I get, the better I was.

    Airwings: THE reason for carriers,
    dw

26. lex Says:
    December 20th, 2005 at 1:09 pm

    A “Hack” Eagle? Graced by your visit. Did DCAG Smoke ever get his flight jacket back?

    ROFL!

27. blackeagle 603 Says:
    December 20th, 2005 at 11:42 pm

    Memory of all the pranks fades with time. I recollect a particular hat tho’.

    Being a VAW we had a special relationship w/ Alpha Whiskey on the Fox. The way I remember it, a few JO’s from 113’s boys town got past the Fox’s quarterdeck in Subic on the way home. They made it to the Skippers room and swiped his ball cap and took it back to our ready room on Connie. When they were found out there was the obligatory chewing out by our squadron CO followed by apologies on board the Fox.

    Of course, once underway again there was a bunch of unofficial backslapping and praise in the ready room for their demonstration of such an aggressive “tactical mindset.” Bravo Zulu, Sierra Hotel and all that from the CO, XO et al.

    The same bunch of JO’s pulled another especially noteworthy stunt back at Miramar. The F-14 boresighting range was in a long low building beside the runway. Along the runway side painted in gi-normus letters was FIGHTERTOWN. The JO’s from 113 snuck out and repainted it to spell HUMMERTOWN. Next morning they made sure to get a pic of our birds on a taxiway with the “improved” spelling as a backdrop.

    I think the common denominator in the pranks an otherwise nameless NFO (callsign “Snuggles”). That would be the same CICO who’d sometimes play “Ride of the Valkyries” over the UHF when releasing a strike group to go feet dry.

    Another of those JO’s later got slammed in the Topgun kangaroo court (damn shame of a panty raid — Rep. Pat Schroder should have been so lucky to get that kind of attention from officers and gentlemen).

    sic ‘em baby,
    dw

Editor's Note: This isn't exactly how I received it from our own John Blackshoe, I made a command decision to pull it directly from the Wayback Machine and present it pretty much as it would have appeared on the day it was published, along with the subsequent comments. The original can be read by following the link under the opening graphic. Note that many of the original links are no longer valid. Part II, Po' Lazlorus will be published tomorrow.