50 Years Ago, Mux crosses the equator for the first time (6th July)!
(Excerpt from “The Last Gun Ship - History of USS Mullinnix DD-944” - A Historical Novel By Frank A. Wood)
Like scout camp the day the scoutmaster was sick. The inmates took over the asylum…for a day.
Day came on the port beam. The early sun was a burnt scarlet through the gap between MT53 and the aft bulkhead of the superstructure and a lone gull was shadowing the fantail. The Mullinnix lay uncharacteristically dead in the water.
The day started normally enough but quickly turned to lunacy as the traditional change-of-command was tossed aside. On this day, the most holly of navy days, the Mullinnix organizational chart was a very flat one indeed. Shellbacks in the top box, pollywogs in the bottom box – an org chart that corporation CEO’s could only dream about.
A pollywog headcount was taken with a noticeable few of the crew unaccounted for. Men over board? Unlikely. Pollywogs in hiding? You bet your sweet ass. A new man on board ship may think there are an unlimited number of places to hide if one doesn’t want to be found for midwatch, head-cleaning or mess-cooking. Today however, the Mullinnix crew might as well been encased inside a Cheerio.
The pollywog-muster was completed. The hard-to-fine ones, including a LTJG and two Ensigns, would be dealt with in short order.
The first order of the day was announcing the pollywog uniform-of-the-day. This required dressing ‘down’ for the occasion. Customary dungarees were replaced with skivvies – worn backwards, and T-shirts for the lucky ones. As covers were not authorized, pollywogs needed assistance with their hair-grooming. Shellbacks had just the correct tonic, ‘baby-shit’ – the machinist wonder-packing for anything with a rubber component.
Hair-grooming that is, for what hair was left. The 2nd order of the day was fresh haircuts for most pollywogs. And not from the ship’s barbers. These were haircuts performed by ‘barber-strikers’ – ie – shellbacks. A zip here, a swipe there, a crosshatch here and there as the barber shears hummed and the pile of hair on the deck grew to ankle-deep.
The sun was white and hot in the sky, and the humidity felt like damp wool on the skin. As the day wore on, yet unforeseen sights on board Mullinnix became common place. Pollywogs wearing baby bonnets, smeared in grease from their necks to belly buttons and lower for those that were late for muster. Many wore ripped and torn ladies dresses, bras, and panties. As each kissed the Royal Baby’s grease-glazed watermelon-sized belly there faces became like an over-filled zirk-fitting.
Shellbacks had applied zany-looking mascara to their eyes and other body parts, matching their pirate-like costumes. Make shift head gear of all shapes and colors. Arms and legs chopped out of dungarees. Sashes fashioned from torn strips of women’s dresses. Captain Jack Sparrow would have been mighty proud.
This entire zany tradition-laden scene had been duplicated simultaneously onboard the Ranger just few thousand yards away.
The sun retreated behind the edge of the water. The crew, all 287 shellbacks, watched the sun disappear completely, the ocean going from blue to black. All that was left of their view was the noise of the water kissing the bow as the Mullinnix slowly increased her speed. From that moment forward there wasn’t a ‘pollywog’ within the two visible horizons.
For a day, the Mullinnix crew’s organizational flow chart had shrunk to one box. First plankowners together and now shellbacks together. Parallel bonds never to be breached.
To be continued...
Cheers,
Woody
Like scout camp the day the scoutmaster was sick. The inmates took over the asylum…for a day.
Day came on the port beam. The early sun was a burnt scarlet through the gap between MT53 and the aft bulkhead of the superstructure and a lone gull was shadowing the fantail. The Mullinnix lay uncharacteristically dead in the water.
The day started normally enough but quickly turned to lunacy as the traditional change-of-command was tossed aside. On this day, the most holly of navy days, the Mullinnix organizational chart was a very flat one indeed. Shellbacks in the top box, pollywogs in the bottom box – an org chart that corporation CEO’s could only dream about.
A pollywog headcount was taken with a noticeable few of the crew unaccounted for. Men over board? Unlikely. Pollywogs in hiding? You bet your sweet ass. A new man on board ship may think there are an unlimited number of places to hide if one doesn’t want to be found for midwatch, head-cleaning or mess-cooking. Today however, the Mullinnix crew might as well been encased inside a Cheerio.
The pollywog-muster was completed. The hard-to-fine ones, including a LTJG and two Ensigns, would be dealt with in short order.
The first order of the day was announcing the pollywog uniform-of-the-day. This required dressing ‘down’ for the occasion. Customary dungarees were replaced with skivvies – worn backwards, and T-shirts for the lucky ones. As covers were not authorized, pollywogs needed assistance with their hair-grooming. Shellbacks had just the correct tonic, ‘baby-shit’ – the machinist wonder-packing for anything with a rubber component.
Hair-grooming that is, for what hair was left. The 2nd order of the day was fresh haircuts for most pollywogs. And not from the ship’s barbers. These were haircuts performed by ‘barber-strikers’ – ie – shellbacks. A zip here, a swipe there, a crosshatch here and there as the barber shears hummed and the pile of hair on the deck grew to ankle-deep.
The sun was white and hot in the sky, and the humidity felt like damp wool on the skin. As the day wore on, yet unforeseen sights on board Mullinnix became common place. Pollywogs wearing baby bonnets, smeared in grease from their necks to belly buttons and lower for those that were late for muster. Many wore ripped and torn ladies dresses, bras, and panties. As each kissed the Royal Baby’s grease-glazed watermelon-sized belly there faces became like an over-filled zirk-fitting.
Shellbacks had applied zany-looking mascara to their eyes and other body parts, matching their pirate-like costumes. Make shift head gear of all shapes and colors. Arms and legs chopped out of dungarees. Sashes fashioned from torn strips of women’s dresses. Captain Jack Sparrow would have been mighty proud.
This entire zany tradition-laden scene had been duplicated simultaneously onboard the Ranger just few thousand yards away.
The sun retreated behind the edge of the water. The crew, all 287 shellbacks, watched the sun disappear completely, the ocean going from blue to black. All that was left of their view was the noise of the water kissing the bow as the Mullinnix slowly increased her speed. From that moment forward there wasn’t a ‘pollywog’ within the two visible horizons.
For a day, the Mullinnix crew’s organizational flow chart had shrunk to one box. First plankowners together and now shellbacks together. Parallel bonds never to be breached.
To be continued...
Cheers,
Woody
posted by Frank A. Wood at 20:49
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