The Irish In Me

                            The Irish In Me


    As I have gotten older my thoughts have often turned to the inevitable - some day I am going to pass from this world to the " here after " where ever that is I couldn't say, but everybody goes there. Some leave this life with lots of glorious fanfare, the shedding of many tears and in some cases not speaking ill of the dead is taken to new heights as the bullsh-t is spread like peanut butter on stale bread ( thick ).  It is sort of like my Grand Pa Wade said upon being elected as sheriff,  " Hell, I didn't know I had so many friends until I was elected sheriff " funerals tend to draw even your enemies to your side if for no other reason than to make sure you'r gone, they will tell the family how you will be missed but once the dirt starts fall into the hole all bets are off.
    Before I get to the nitty gritty let me preface my thoughts of passage to the next life with other more enlightening thoughts.
    First off - I have always had a light hearted outlook, although  I was dead serious about life, I tried to have fun even in the face of adversity.  One of my bosses once told me that the thing he hated most about me was that I was so laid back that nothing ever seemed to bother me and it pissed him off ( if  he thought I was laid back he should meet my brother Clint ). While I am happy to have pissed him off, nothing could be further from the truth lots of things bothered me it was just that I realized some things were out of my control so why worry about them. There has only been one time when I let things get to me and was broken  (if anybody runs into Terry M. tell him Mike said " f--- you ").
    In the Navy we had a saying ,"excuse me! you have obviously mistaken me for somebody who gives a s--t ".  This was quite often said by those who were considered short timers. I think that Linda can tell you that though I may have at times seemed unconcerned it would drive her crazy when I worried myself about a scratch on a project that only I could see. I care about things I am just more cautious about the battles I choose to fight.
    A few years ago I learned that I am half Irish and half English.  Truth be known, there probably are a few more nationalities mixed in.  At any rate I like to lean to the Irish side of my heritage.  An Irishman is historically known to be fun loving and full of merry making, always ready with a song and dance and I love their music.
    Getting back to the business of dying, Linda and I have talked about this issue and I have decided that I want to be cremated and my ashes scattered in the gulf stream.  Which part of the gulf stream is up to my sons - just enjoy the trip. While you boys are going to all the trouble to get to the gulf stream might as well take your fishing rod - all of those ashes may attract fish. Oh, and drink a cold one for the old man.
    I don't want a lot of ceremony.  I will leave that up to my family if it makes them happy to see me laid out so people can walk by and whisper about how good I look so be it - just do it on the cheap and use the money you save for a vacation. Besides looking at dead people is not one of the most pleasant things to do.
    What I do want is a wake.  A party to remember our life together ( good and bad ) , a celebration to move me out of this world so there will be room for the next generation.  Now I don't want just a wake - I want what I come to believe is an Irish wake - full of drinking, eating and story telling, laughter ( no tears ) and music.  Irish music  - and if anybody can figure out how to dance an Irish jig then have at it. There will be no bullsh-t at my wake, I know I have pissed off people in my time and if anybody wants to get something off their chest that's alright just don't confuse me with some one who cares ( I won't say a word ).  Invite whomever you choose, family, friends or strangers off of the street, every now and then look at my picture and have a drink for me.
    After all is said and done, the tears are dried and hang overs cured, get back to living the rest of your lives, my time will have come and gone as it should. In the days to come should a memory cause you to pause and reflect on the past, rather than dwell on it in a state of sadness go find a loved one, go for a walk, hug them, and tell them how much you love them, talk of tomorrow and things to come - be happy.
    Now don't go getting upset.  As far as I know I'm just getting old, not dying.  I am writing this before my senior moments  become too frequent to remember to say anything at all.  I hope you won't be to pissed off if that wake doesn't come about for another 20 yrs at least and should you decide not have a wake - well, that's all right too.
   

Giant Steps

                             

    There are two times in one's life that are held in " awe " . The first is when they take their first steps into life and the next is when they step into the realm of adults and start to put their mark on the world .  For me these were the first of several awe inspiring moments of my life.
    I signed up for four years in the U.S.Navy from June 1965 - June 1969.  My first night in boot camp, my first night away from home, I said to myself,  " Riggan, you have really screwed up this time ". Thirteen weeks later and no worse for wear I was headed home for a short leave before going to my first duty station.  Arriving home in my uniform, I don't know if it was pride on the faces of Mom and Dad or the realization that for the next four years the house would be a little less crowded.
    My first two years in the Navy were spent at Patrick AFB, Cocoa Beach, FL.  I was assigned to NOTU ( Naval Ordinance Test Unit ).  All of the nuclear missile submarines in the Atlantic fleet had to come in every two years and test fire a missile down range, NOTU oversaw the planning, support, and tracking of the missile launch.
    My first job was as a VIP Duty Driver.  I chauffeured Captains, Admirals, Congressmen, Senators and once, the Commodore of the Marine Corps.  During slow times I would run a mail route to various places on Cape Kennedy.  Not an exciting job but there were ways to liven things up and I usually found a way, sometimes to my detriment.
    Cape Kennedy was a huge place and there were lots of things to see,.  One of the mail stops was way out on the beach.  One day when returning, I noticed a trek thru the brush and like my Grandfather I wondered where the trail went.  Off I went in my aged 1/2 ton pickup truck.  It had a six cylinder engine, stick shift and two wheel drive. Turns out the trail made a u-turn and came back out a little further down the road. While negotiating the path I buried the truck up to the axles in the soft sand about 50 yards from the road. There was nothing to do but hike to the nearest phone and call for a tow.
    The first tow truck they sent out was a standard wrecker - great for clearing wrecks but it didn't have enough cable to stretch from the road - had to bring out the big guns. The second tow truck was more of a portable crane.  This thing was a good 35ft long, had two front axles and four rear axles and all of them were drive axles - it was a monster. This thing plowed thru sand dunes and sugar sand like it was on hard pavement and once they attached a chain to my truck they hardly revved up the engine to pull me out.
     I don't know how much the bill was but I was told to stick to the road from then on.  After watching the wildlife while sitting on the hood of my truck I decided this was a good idea. There are huge snakes on Cape Kennedy - one black snake in particular was as thick as my thigh.
    Several weeks later while running the mail route in a 2 - ton work van I pulled off to side of the road to have lunch.  The driver side wheels were on pavement and the passenger side wheels were about a foot off the pavement but when I tried to leave the the rear wheels quickly dug a hole to the axle. Stuck again... call a tow truck. It wasn't long after this incident that I was transferred to the port as a Dock Master.  I wonder if the transfer was due to my driving?
    While working as a Dock Master at " the Cape " there was ample opportunity to fish. Saltwater fishing from the Navy pier was fun because you never knew what you might catch.  We caught everything from sheepshead to barracuda and king fish. During the night we would cast shiny silver lures into the dark waters and reel them back thru the light shinning from the pier.  We would catch what we called a needle fish. A needle fish is a throwback to the dinosaurs.  It was so thin that to look down on it all you could see was what appeared to be a thin thread laying on the water.  In reality,  the fish was 2 - 3 ft in length 3 in. wide and had a mouth full of long sharp teeth like a barracuda. When landing a needle fish you would reel it to within 10 - 12 in. of the rod tip and slam the fish hard on the concrete surface and quickly smash it's head with the ballpean hammer that you carried in the tackle box for just this purpose. Once the needle fish was determined to be dead it was cut into pieces for use as bait.  I forget the real name for the needle fish but I do remember delving deeper into it's existence and discovered that in the depths of the ocean it would grow to lengths of 35 ft or more.  Being young and fearless we still dove into the surf every chance we got.
     Daytime fishing was different,.  There was a cross tie connecting the pilings below the pier and during low tide we could walk the length of the pier gigging fish and lobster with the gigs we made from welding rods and pipe. Schools of mullet would swim close to the pier and we would try to gig them from above  but the fish were very skittish.  I brought my bow from home and put a three prong head on the fishing arrow - the mullet didn't stand a chance.
    Fishing wasn't just a pass time for us, it was a means to stay on the good side of Lt. Ross - the man loved fish and he seemed to forget our lapses of duty when presented with a mess of fish.
    Lt. Ross was a Mustanger meaning he started his Navy career as a lowly enlisted man and worked his way up to the officer ranks,.  In 1965 he had 27 years of service and this was his first shore duty, or so he told us. One of the first things he did was to purchase a fishing boat.  He bought a 21 ft. Cobia equipped with a 110 hp Mercury engine - the biggest Mercury made in 1965.
    The first fishing trip Lt. Ross made in his new boat took him 30 miles offshore.  I don't remember that he caught fish on this trip.  He probably didn't have time as the motor quit and he was more concerned about how he was going to get back before the gulf stream carried him to the outer banks of North Carolina.  Fortunately there was a boat further out than the Lt. and they gave him a tow.  The next day the Lt. took the boat back to the dealer.
    Now you have to picture Lt Ross - he was about 6'3" and all muscle.  He was 3/4 Cherokee Indian but had the looks of being full blooded, red skin and all.  Lt. Ross was not a man you wanted to meet in a dark alley and pissing him off was not a good idea either.
    So, the Lt gets the boat back to the dealer who profusely apologizes and promises prompt repairs under warranty. The Lt decided to take this opportunity to make a few upgrades for offshore fishing.  He told the dealer that once the motor was repaired he was to move it to the side and mount another just like it beside it ( I always thought the Lt was a ground breaker, look at all of the boats today that have two and three outboards ). In addition to more horsepower the Lt. added another 60 gal.fuel capacity to the 25 he had, ship to shore radio with a big whip antenna and an emergency kit complete with flare gun. I had my first offshore fishing trip in that boat.  We went so far offshore we couldn't see land and the launch gantries at the cape appeared to be about 1/2 in. high. That day I caught a 25 lb king fish and had my first blue water adventure.
    While stationed a Patrick AFB I was too young to drink off base but there was a place we called the " geedunk ".  It was like the base cafe / bar / hamburger joint and it was opened to all ranks but mostly catered to enlisted personnel.  They served burgers, roasted chicken and beer ( can or draft ). My two roommates were in their early twenties  and one night they decided I should have my first drink. Two other guys decided their young roommate should have his first drink, so let the games begin. It was easier to keep up with cans of beer and that night it was the best Milwaukee had to offer " Schlitz beer ".
    Bets were made as to which of us could drink the most beer and walk out under his own power,.  At first the quantities were set low on account of neither of us had drank before but as the empties mounted up the bets went higher and the beer flowed freely. I did my roommates proud that night.  I downed 18 cans of beer and two glasses of draft then I walked out under my own power with a glass of beer in my hand.
    My roommate Leo left with me and made sure I got back to the barracks and in bed. I stripped down and crawled into bed and was fast asleep and in no pain - God was in heaven and all was right with the world. Something was pulling and shaking me awake, I opened my eyes and there was Leo trying to get me to take 2 aspirin so I wouldn't have a severe hangover in the morning. All of a sudden the world started to turn and I had to grab hold of the floor to keep from falling off.  Now the aspirin and the beer mixed in my stomach and there was a churning sensation  that started to rise in my throat. Lucky for me I was able to run, crawl or walk my way blindly to the head ( bathroom ) where I proceeded to puke my guts out.  I have no idea how long it took, Leo said the commode flushed about four times, finally I was able to return to my room.  Fortunately the hallway was narrow enough that I could brace myself by putting a hand on each wall while I walked. I made it back to bed before the dry heaves started then I spent the next hour or more with my head hanging off the side of the bed over a trash can.
    There is a country song that goes something like " beer is good and people are crazy ".  The real meaning is that when people drink beer they tend to do crazy things. The start to my beer drinking days did lead to me doing some crazy things like dancing. I didn't dance at 18, I don't think I dance now but with more than a few beers in my gut anything was possible. My friends said that I moved like "Lurch" a TV character on the Adams Family - in other words, stiff and zombie like.
    Drinking made me bold and unafraid to approach the most beautiful girl at the E- Club dance, we danced the night away and by chance and happenstance we have been dancing through life together for 45 yrs. I gave up drinking years ago.  I figured out that doing crazy things were not going to keep Linda by my side.  Telling her that she was beautiful and that I love her seemed to impress her more.
    My first two years in the Navy while fun and exciting were somewhat uneventful.  After I met Linda, she changed me to a man with a mission and that was to entice her to marry me. Convincing her of the future was a lot harder than I thought but on June 17, 1967 we said our " I do's ".
   When Neil Armstrong stepped on to the moon surface he said, "one giant step for man and one giant leap for mankind ". My steps were not as far reaching as those on the moon but they were no less important to me.  Life in the grown up world is often a frightening place but never more so than the first few steps. I survived,  as did many before me and many more after, the world as I knew it was large and wondrous and was about to become even more so.