Yesterday, I had lunch with a few old Navy friends at McP’s Irish Pub in Coronado, CA. Of those remaining, a subset of whom made the pilgrimage to McP’s, about half are completely retired and the other half are doing something. The guys have the class of James Bond and the habits of a drunk mother at a family gathering.
None of them had anything good to say about Barack Obama (referred to as “that f-ing mulatto”) or Hillary Clinton (referred to as “that cupid stunt” – or something like that). Nobody had anything good to say about former Minnesota Governor Jessie (Jack-Off Jessie) Ventura, either.
The Navy brought us together in various permutations and combinations. Some of us trained together, others in our little coterie fought or deployed together. A couple still work for sundry government agencies, but are planning to leave in the near future. Getting together at McP’s is called, “going to church”. Some of the guys actually go to church, and others don’t bother. None of us stand out in a crowd, and looking at the band of aging warriors, a dozen or so sitting around a table in the pub, you’d think that we were just another bunch of patriotic Americans, which we are. About half are mustang officers. The other half left the navy as Senior Chiefs or Master Chiefs. Some are mean drunks, some are happy drunks, all are horny drunks. But most don’t drink much anymore.
The guys all looked OLD. I am ageless, like Dorian Gray with a picture somewhere that looks like a mummy…or so I tell myself. Three of the guys showed up on Harley Davidsons. I rode the Ducati Diavel. The first challenge brought my reply that I’d race anybody for pink slips who has the balls — right out the door and down the Silver Strand. A few snarls and they stood down –and smiled. Nobody took the bait.
We were all amazed to have lived this long (late 50’s and early 60’s). Why did we do it? The consensus: phobos, doxa & kerdos (Fear, fame and loot)…the universal motivation for all warriors. We figured out that there not equal parts – thin on the loot.
Ron’s Garage band played…as usual. We talked of being rowdy but most of us are past doing it in such a way that there are witnesses to tell the tale.
Sounds like a good time was had by all! I am always amazed by how fast time moves when I get together with other guys my age that served, only a SiFi movie moves time faster! We were at a wedding this past weekend and I had a great conversation with a niece's son – he's an AF Academy grad, got his wings in February and is flying AC130s with 105s mounted on board. He's finishing up his final training and will be assigned to the AFSOC group from Hurlbert. Man is he excited – as only a fresh 1stLT can be! I shared a few stories from "my day" with him and was trying to get a handle on his age. Turns out he was born 5 months after I retired . . . heavy sigh. Have I mentioned that man, time goes fast!
When they taught me here that 'if you want to walk faster, walk alone, but if you want to walk farther, walk together' I couldn't understand its true meaning, but being here, reading this makes me truly look at things, from a non-competitive perspective.
I wish for you many more of these.
xx
I love meeting up with my old shipmates each year somewhere across the country. To all the wives and people around us, all they see are a bunch of old, fat, kina hairless, old men. To us, we are talking to late teens and early twenty's guys. Sometimes, the illusion fades and there sits an old man where I was just talking to a kiddy man. But I'll sip a drink and there the kiddy man is again. Laughing at the stories (lies) and just feeling good again.
It's not fair, but there is a small (and insignificant) gift that comes with getting older. It's Cassandra's curse. You have the gift of prophecy — because you've seen it done before — and the curse that you won't be believed by the rising generation.
You're one of those guys who is passing it on through training and teaching and it's wonderful that you do that.
Thank you Ms. Assassin. There is comfort in fellowship, in shared experience and in the "context" that comes with having been there with others who can relate.
You laugh sometimes without even speaking. They look at you and do the same, relating the shared event. Just typing this makes me want to share fun stories with you all. But they're really only fun to the people who were there and who witnessed them.
Not me. I love old war stories, whether they be foreign or domestic (think bar fights). I think anyone who have served will relate in some way to your stories.
I've met with two (I think) of my former military associates. Had brief phone chats with another two or three. One of these had a bad case of "I make more money than you do and I'm better than you are." He told me (with pride in his voice) he'd been to three Arab countries and had worked for them, and asked how many countries I'd been to. I answered, "About 28 or so, I'd guess)," he said he had to go, and hung up. He's dead now. Booze, cigarettes and stupidity I'd guess. I forget who told me; it wasn't important enough to remember.
Those kinds of casual reunions are the most fun.
But you have me, and le prince noir!
No rowdiness involved?
Ah yes, they ARE fun, and the memories usually flow as freely as the booze… I haven't been to McP's in years…
Not nearly the sort of misconduct you'd have seen in past years. No strippers bathed in chemlight (cracked open and poured over them to make them "official frogs"), no breaking glasses by biting into the glass, no stealing police cars…nothing of note.
Trip down memory lane – even though McP's is a more recent arrival in Coronado than some of the guys with double-diget BUDS class numbers. It was worth going.
Yes. It's why I went. Casual pick-up parties are better than formal events.
Comments are closed.