Sweepers Sweepers Man Your Brooms

Every retiring Sailor must pursue a new direction in life and I found it appealing to either write a book or start a sports bar catering to fellow Pittsburgh Steeler fans. The idea of a bar is great when the Steelers win, but oh shit; what if they go 6-10? What if the Franchise, BenRoethlisburger smacks that windshield with the top of his head instead of his jaw? Speaking of jaw; “God forbid what if the Jaw retires?” With a book all you lose is ink, the time, and the humility of no one wanting to read your thoughts. But an empty sports bar; I shudder with the lugubrious fear of sheer financial catastrophe. If the Steelers were having a bad year, I could never be traitorous and start a Bengal’s bar. I would have to make it a gay bar. “Whoa tiger; Just kidding Cincinnati.” So its book, not bar, I have chose to pursue; a lucid decision in the end- the attempt is not to be random. This book is about the United States Navy. It’s not about fiery battles or the technology of the ships; although a little of that may enter. This book is an enlisted man’s trip through the ranks and the accompanying experiences of the 70’s, 80’s, and the 90’s. I know all lives have some moments of unhappiness. I conveniently skipped whatever personal unhappiness I lived through because this book was written to give you a lighthearted moment or two. Although it is primarily based on the author’s experiences, it could well be about anyone who ever wore the uniform.

Sailors in general are similar to mongrel dogs. They are faithful, lovable, playful, and smart. But at times they are very guilty of non-cerebral activity. On occasion, these faithful friends will commit underachievement as relational chaos, or to more nautically express that, “crap on the deck.” When that occurs you just may have what old mariners refer to as a sea story. Is this book primarily for that group of “Old Salts” gathering at the local VFW or the Fleet Reserve Association? Absolutely, but if you are truly interested in human behavior then this should give you a chuckle or two; regardless of personal acumen. In short, this story is about all of us who served in the three decades that completed the twentieth century. The sitcoms may star different characters, but in many ways this is a microcosm of all those wonderful men and women whom we call Sailors.

If you ever noticed, the most compelling talker around the bar or the hunting camp is quite often an ex -Sailor. So many extraordinary events take place in a Sailor’s tour that he is often compelled to share them. They are without doubt the world’s most accomplished bullshit artists. Of course this is especially true whenever beer is involved. A Sailor may go to extraordinary lengths to punctuate a good joke. As an example, a now deceased uncle, Bill, was a Navy veteran and a hunter. One hunting season he got lucky, taking down a large 12 point buck in the deep forests of northern Pennsylvania. When the old salt brought the deer into the local tavern dressed in a red plaid outdoorsman jacket, a ball cap on his head, a lit cigarette hanging in his mouth; all the while shielding his dead eyes from the bar lights, (courtesy of nifty dark sunglasses), all thought it amusing. When the dead buck laughed hysterically at the tipsy swab’s jokes it was a home run, and brought down the house. The factitious laughing device, surgically implanted in the antlered guest’s chest was brilliant, and executed in the highest traditions of naval service. There is nothing more entertaining and socially addicting than a 22 ounce frosted mug of an unadvertised local brew in a room full of “Old Farts” swapping sea stories in a cozy tavern, in a town called “(Insert name here).” Sailors are correctly stereotyped for having a learned ability to keep the conversation flowing in neighborhood taverns. They cause patrons to hang around for more beer, and they are directly linked to expanding waistlines in America.