I had money in my pocket for a relaxing weekend liberty. I got off to a late start, because I stuck around for morning chow on the Dixon. Once I hit the Quarter Deck, I was flying towards the enlisted parking lot towards my ride.
I had just bought this 1949 Ford mountain school bus and was converting it into a sort of R.V. party wagon. Today I was just going to cruise up HWY 1 and camp for the night along the beach then come back to the ship late Sunday night. I had my camping supplies and an ice chest full of beer, so I was all set for the weekend. That ol’ Ford had a lot of potential and it was the most fun vehicle I’d ever driven to date. It was on a very short chassis. The only accessories it had were an air horn and a drivers seat. It still had the old flathead six with a non-syncro four speed, soon to be replaced by a stump pullin’ 425 Riviera engine and trans. At one time I suppose it held twenty or so passengers. At this time, it was a real mess, and it only held tools and a collection greasy looking auto parts for the up and coming engine swap.
As I was puttin’ down the Rosecrans to get off of the sub base, a strange looking species of sailors were standing in the road waving me down. These dozen or so guys were dressed in their best whites and wore these flat, pancake, brimless hats. I just had to stop and give them a lift. They didn’t know what to think of me or my bus. At first they must have though I was the public transit service, but they didn’t care what it was as long as it rolled them off of the sub base. As I was loading these blokes, I looked to the waters edge and saw this tiny little 200' - 300' minty green oiler, sitting low in the water and sporting a New Zealand flag. I told them boys to press their hands against the ceiling, use their sea legs and try not to get too dirty. I asked them if they wanted to go to the tourist traps, or the sailor traps. I thought they said they wanted the sailor traps(I couldn’t understand a single word they’d said, except for the"MATEY" part,) so I drove them downtown to that sleazy square on Broadway. They were so darned happy. I refused the bus fare they’d offered me, and once again welcomed them to America. Down the road I went.
I had a relaxing camping trip up at Laguna Beach Saturday. Drank a lotta beer, laid in the sun and went to browse a few shops. Then I headed back south on the coastal route searching for a spot to camp for the night north of Oceanside and did more of the same tourist stuff the next day.
Sunday night I found myself back in San Diego, and took in a new movie called the EXORCIST. That ‘bout scared me half to death. Not wanting to go back to the ship, I went down to Ocean Beach to camp out for the night. I nodded off and start dreaming of that spooky devil girl and woke up to the sound of the wind rattling the bus windows. After the second time I woke up, I said to heck with this nonsense just fired up the bus and headed back to the sub base and the safety of the Dixon.
As I drove by the dinky oiler, I had to wonder what kind of adventure those New Zealand squids had in San Diego. It had to be an adventure just crossing the Pacific on board that little ship of theirs, then end up in beautiful downtown San Diego for liberty call.
By the time I got back to the ship and got showered up, it was about time for breakfast. The hot shower and clean clothes felt good. Chow was great as usual and I still had some time to kill before morning quarters, so I went down to crew berthing and watched the local news on T.V. and I read through a discarded Sunday paper.
The newscaster eventually started talking about these visiting New Zealand sailors that went from bar to bar downtown, till they’d made landfall in a gay bar just off of the square near Broadway. They threw everyone out of the bar, trashed the place, drank their fill of free beer and liquor until the cops came to put an end to their party. Several of San Diego’s finest were slightly injured in the melee that occurred, and the sailors had finally managed to barricade the doors to prevent their capture. Eventually the sailors were routed from the bar after tear gas was employed by the police. The T.V. showed footage of the well worn sailors being released from a night in jail and then being loaded onto a bus for transport back to their ship. What a happy, adventurous crew they were!
dz
I had just bought this 1949 Ford mountain school bus and was converting it into a sort of R.V. party wagon. Today I was just going to cruise up HWY 1 and camp for the night along the beach then come back to the ship late Sunday night. I had my camping supplies and an ice chest full of beer, so I was all set for the weekend. That ol’ Ford had a lot of potential and it was the most fun vehicle I’d ever driven to date. It was on a very short chassis. The only accessories it had were an air horn and a drivers seat. It still had the old flathead six with a non-syncro four speed, soon to be replaced by a stump pullin’ 425 Riviera engine and trans. At one time I suppose it held twenty or so passengers. At this time, it was a real mess, and it only held tools and a collection greasy looking auto parts for the up and coming engine swap.
As I was puttin’ down the Rosecrans to get off of the sub base, a strange looking species of sailors were standing in the road waving me down. These dozen or so guys were dressed in their best whites and wore these flat, pancake, brimless hats. I just had to stop and give them a lift. They didn’t know what to think of me or my bus. At first they must have though I was the public transit service, but they didn’t care what it was as long as it rolled them off of the sub base. As I was loading these blokes, I looked to the waters edge and saw this tiny little 200' - 300' minty green oiler, sitting low in the water and sporting a New Zealand flag. I told them boys to press their hands against the ceiling, use their sea legs and try not to get too dirty. I asked them if they wanted to go to the tourist traps, or the sailor traps. I thought they said they wanted the sailor traps(I couldn’t understand a single word they’d said, except for the"MATEY" part,) so I drove them downtown to that sleazy square on Broadway. They were so darned happy. I refused the bus fare they’d offered me, and once again welcomed them to America. Down the road I went.
I had a relaxing camping trip up at Laguna Beach Saturday. Drank a lotta beer, laid in the sun and went to browse a few shops. Then I headed back south on the coastal route searching for a spot to camp for the night north of Oceanside and did more of the same tourist stuff the next day.
Sunday night I found myself back in San Diego, and took in a new movie called the EXORCIST. That ‘bout scared me half to death. Not wanting to go back to the ship, I went down to Ocean Beach to camp out for the night. I nodded off and start dreaming of that spooky devil girl and woke up to the sound of the wind rattling the bus windows. After the second time I woke up, I said to heck with this nonsense just fired up the bus and headed back to the sub base and the safety of the Dixon.
As I drove by the dinky oiler, I had to wonder what kind of adventure those New Zealand squids had in San Diego. It had to be an adventure just crossing the Pacific on board that little ship of theirs, then end up in beautiful downtown San Diego for liberty call.
By the time I got back to the ship and got showered up, it was about time for breakfast. The hot shower and clean clothes felt good. Chow was great as usual and I still had some time to kill before morning quarters, so I went down to crew berthing and watched the local news on T.V. and I read through a discarded Sunday paper.
The newscaster eventually started talking about these visiting New Zealand sailors that went from bar to bar downtown, till they’d made landfall in a gay bar just off of the square near Broadway. They threw everyone out of the bar, trashed the place, drank their fill of free beer and liquor until the cops came to put an end to their party. Several of San Diego’s finest were slightly injured in the melee that occurred, and the sailors had finally managed to barricade the doors to prevent their capture. Eventually the sailors were routed from the bar after tear gas was employed by the police. The T.V. showed footage of the well worn sailors being released from a night in jail and then being loaded onto a bus for transport back to their ship. What a happy, adventurous crew they were!
dz
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