Wellington stowaway and big bugs

During Operation Deep Freeze, The USCGC Glacier landed for fuel and supplies at one of our ports-o- call, Wellington, New Zealand. I was, at that time a sport diver, and I brought my gear aboard. It was imperative for me to seek diving opportunities at the ports I visited and Wellington was no exception. I scoured the town looking for dive shops to no avail. I finally spotted a scuba tank in a sporting goods store and questioned the employee behind the cash register about possible dive shops where I might find a dive charter. I explained who I was, but it was fairly obvious with the Glacier pulling up in the harbor and a bunch of young men with American accents swarming the downtown area. He said there just were not any, but he gave me the phone number of the President of a local dive club. I contacted Ron and he was very friendly and curious about America and Americans. He arranged a dive, and I recruited another diver from the ship to go along, and Ron came and picked us up. We arrived at a boat ramp where a fleet of 10-12 16 ft ski-boats I would call them, was preparing to launch. The Armada made way several miles off shore, when the lead boat began throwing an anchor overboard, after they had lined up some landmarks, near and far in two directions. The old school way of finding a reef that was a desirable lobster spot. That was the mission we found out bagging spiny lobster, similar to the California species, no claws. After several attempts to find the reef, (the anchor line was marked at the depth of the known reef and if the anchor failed to catch at that depth, they would try again.) There was about a 3 knot current, so once the anchor caught, the remaining boats in the fleet just tied off to each other. The reef started at about 90 feet, so this was no joke, I got the feeling the Kiwis were trying to impress us with their macho dive, but after I finally pulled myself down to the bottom with the anchor line, I barely had enough air to look under a couple rocks, so I really was not very happy. Ron could see my displeasure and took us to a shallower easy spot which was cool. I will say one of the club members caught the biggest lobster I had ever seen before or since. Standing holding the tail, the antennae touched the ground, a dinosaur. After the day Ron invited us to his home where his wife and kids were getting ready for dinner, and we had lamb stew (of course) After Dinner he asked a lot of questions about the States and was proud of his record collection where the Rock-n-Roll he played was The New Christy Minstrels, I didn't have the heart to protest. Ron was very gracious and drove us back to the ship, without even charging us for the outing. My diving experience notwithstanding, I was preoccupied with the girls of Wellington. They seemed very attractive and very attracted to us. Being the conservative cultured girls they were, they resisted being blatantly obvious regarding the former. At least for the most part. Denise Sheehan more or less picked me. She would just sit with me at the various bars, clubs and restaurants we frequented, not saying too much, but always seemed quite content to be in my presence. She followed me everywhere, not that I objected, she was 17, of Lebanese decent and very attractive. She came from a traditional Catholic family, and had done some modeling and was pursuing a career as an airline stewardess. She still lived at home with her parents, so finding a private spot was a little challenging, but she managed to persuade her friend to allow us to use their bedroom. My experience in this area was limited, so when my attempts resulted in cries of pain, I withdrew, as I did not want to hurt her. When I relayed that experience to some of my shipmates, they laughed and ordered me to "close the deal" insisting that "size" could not possibly impede me from the task at hand. They threatened to leave me in Wellington unless I was successful. Not that that would be a bad thing, but I would have some "splaynin to do", when I was caught. Meanwhile when I was not spending my time with Denise, some of my buddies met these " less than savory" girls that were convinced that we were going to stow them away, in the ship for our 5 day voyage to Sydney Australia. I found it hard to believe these very attractive girls were going to sell us their bodies for passage to Sydney. However during the tour of the ship we were giving them, they made it clear that they were only going to "pay" just me and my two shipmates. I felt a little troubled that they got the impression that many more than us would be involved. We showed them after cargo which was about 5 levels down in the bowels of the ship, where they would be kept, hidden from the officers as they rarely ventured down there. We explained they would have to wear appropriate attire, as they were really, dressed up during the tour. Mainly jeans and some foul weather clothing. It was not my intention to actual carry out this ruse, at least not the part where we would actually have to follow thru with "our " end of the bargain. I cant really say if my shipmates were on the same page, regarding that serious violation of the Universal Code of Military Justice. I was only half halfheartedly part of the conspiracy, since Denise was "waiting in the wings " I suppose the girls had good reason to expect a successful voyage as, the previous year a girl actually made it all the way to Seattle aboard the Polar Star, before they were found out, and she was quiclkly deported. Scuttlebut never did reveal what the consequences were for the perpetrators. It just so happen this particular individual was identified, and her picture was posted aboard ship, with strict orders to avoid. Apparently she was not deterred in her efforts as she was seen (by me and others) strolling the dock. Ironically some 30+ years later I ran into a Coast Guard Veteran who happen to serve duty on the Polar Star.. When I relayed the story to him about the stowaway, he informed me that there is a plaque displayed aboard the Polar Star commemorating the event.. He also said that apparently this girl ended up being a very successful physician, after sowing her wild oats, that will forever be part of the Icebreaker lore. * As for our potential stowaways we conveniently gave the girls a later departure time that left them in Wellington. I felt a little guilt about the whole thing, but that went away when I was successful with Denise and I did not have to return to the ship a failure. She was very keen on marriage, but I was so young I was not sure, but I did tell her one day, that on my return trip the following year ( tour of duty was normally 2 trips south) if she still felt the same way, I would marry her. Oh my God! she started telling her parents all her friend, they were celebrating popping champagne bottles, congratulations, the works. I said to myself uh oh, what did I do? As it turned out, directly after our voyage completed the Glacier was due for Todd Shipyards in San Pedro for overhaul, dry dock....misery, if you happened to live on the ship which I did. If it was not for the fire watches, which consisted of crawling into a small hot space with little ventilation with a union welder, while he went about his welding task , I might have resigned myself to suffer the violation and indignity of having union welders and workers sleeping in the enlisted mans day room. Not to mention the noise smoke dust and overall torturous living conditions. But all those put together, I was looking for a way out. Divine intervention saved me, at least that was my go-to explanation for the events that were about to transpire. One day I was informed by the senior chief petty officer that Small Boat Station Channel Islands Harbor had an opening for a full Seaman. He announced the opportunity to the deck force and I thought to myself 'this is my way out' Looking back, in more ways than one, as that my "engagement" would be in jeopardy as well. One other seaman was interested as he was from the area, about 50 miles north of San Pedro, in Oxnard. The Chief decided the choice would be made with a coin flip. My destiny was sealed when I saw the head of George Washington on the quarter in his hand. *After submitting this story and posting it to my blog, I received an anonymous comment, revealing to me the name of the stowaway I mentioned above. Dr. Lauren Roche. Before I continue about the good Dr. I want to add that have no idea why the anonymous person that revealed the doctors identity to the comment section of this blog entry, would wish to remain anonymous. I replied with several theories, not to the identity of the individual, but where this person would come upon the information that only a small group of people could have known about (That turned out to be an erroneous assumption, as will become clear in a moment) I received no response and the person is still a mystery. I did a Google search and found the whereabouts of Dr Roche. I emailed her with my story and inquired if she indeed was the stowaway I wrote about. Her e mails follows www.laurenkimroche.com www.laurenkimroche.com Hello, Mike Yes. It’s me. I wrote my story in the book ‘Bent Not Broken’ and am just beginning to write the screenplay for a proposed movie of the same name. I always wore clothes under my coat J I’m an author now, have a novel with an agent and another with a mentor. Life is good. Lovely to hear from you. I’m happy for you to use my name. Bent Not Broken is out o0f print, though can be bought second hand on many Kiwi sites – Trademe is a good one. I’ll reprint if the movie goes ahead, Best wishes, Lauren PS There is a plaque on the Polar Star, will hunt out a pic of it when I’m home, am at work in my General Practice at the moment. Lauren RocheJune 17, 2019 at 2:39 PM Hello. I am Dr Lauren Roche and can confirm I am the woman you write about. I didn't go aboard any ship naked under a coat though :-) I can think of one or two of my acquaintances that might have done so. My story is told in my autobiographical book Bent Not Broken. If you can track down a copy you might enjoy the read, Laurem www.laurenkimroche.com :-) ReplyDelete Lauren RocheJune 17, 2019 at 2:41 PM also, I managed to hitchhike around the USA for 3 months before being caught, spending two nights sleeping on the Glacier as I passed through Long Beach. All those years ago. :-) I don't know how close Bushroad Co NZ is to the resort, but I'll recommend it to the Dr, and perhaps she will meet a fellow urchin diver for an appropriate ending to this bizarre tale. at June 15, 2017 Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest 5 comments: UnknownJune 13, 2019 at 3:56 AM Dr Lauren Roche is her name !!! ReplyDelete Replies Michael ThomasJune 13, 2019 at 5:44 AM Now how in hell could you know that??? If you dont want to reveal your identity, you could at least give me some kind of generic scenario that would explain how you would have that information. I suppose I could make a guess. You were probably stationed aboard the Polar Star, during that time, or were the spouse of a crew member. I am thinking you were an Officer,and fraternizing with enlisted personnel, is verboten, or were among the guilty crew members who pulled it off.Either way I am a little disappointed that we could not connect and compare notes Delete Reply Michael ThomasJune 13, 2019 at 5:40 PM I shared the story with a friend and she said only 1 person could have sent that comment......Thank You Doctor ReplyDelete Lauren RocheJune 17, 2019 at 2:39 PM Hello. I am Dr Lauren Roche and can confirm I am the woman you write about. I didn't go aboard any ship naked under a coat though :-) I can think of one or two of my acquaintances that might have done so. My story is told in my autobiographical book Bent Not Broken. If you can track down a copy you might enjoy the read, Laurem www.laurenkimroche.com :-) ReplyDelete Lauren RocheJune 17, 2019 at 2:41 PM also, I managed to hitchhike around the USA for 3 months before being caught, spending two nights sleeping on the Glacier as I passed through Long Beach. All those years ago. :-) ReplyDelete

Columban

Jeff Luboff and the Columban

Jeff Luboff was the Jewish skipper of the f/v Columban. I only mention he is Jewish because in my experience it was rare, and it also helps explain some of the traits of his personality, positive and negative that somewhat fit the stereo typical tendencies one hears about. He made sure everyone knew he was also a distant relative of Larry of 3 Stooges fame. There was a resemblance, as I had ample opportunity to compare as Jeff would have the 3 stooges playing on his little 8 inch black and white TV between dives Moe, Larry and Curly would carry out there antics, and provide us with an amusing diversion. I never thought they were that funny, to tell tell the truth. More amusing, than anything. Jeff was a hard charger, and slightly temperamental, but he calmed down fairly quickly and he did have quite a sense of humor and did not take himself too seriously.

        The Columban was 40 something fishing boat that did not have divers in mind when it was built. It was used for trolling for salmon in northern waters of Washington and Oregon, It was equipped with flopper stoppers, which were deployed during rough weather, as it seemed the boat wanted to capsize every roll it would take. Full galley and full size bunks allowed were a plus, and a head was included which was a step up from a 5 gallon bucket or over the side, which most urchin boats provided. I liked working with Jeff because he did not mess around scratching local, he went right to the good picking and he knew where to find it.

         Jeff also swordfished during the summer months, so he installed a tower, to spot the swordfish from and a bow plank to harpoon them from. I had the privilege of making a swordfish trip when the tower was incomplete and there was just a metal bar to sit on while scouring the ocean with binoculars in search of a fin. I would yell out every sunfish shark, or any thing with a fin besides a swordfish, much to Jeffs derision. I was happy to climb down from that tower it was fairly miserable in the hot sun especially since nobody spotted a swordfish. 

      There were multiple different divers on the boat but Devin was the most consistent. Devin was a good natured sort, and took things in stride so I did not get too upset at him when he accidentally nearly drowned me.

Jeff had spotted a huge old anchor that looked like it was from the 15^th century. Even tally all 3 of us were filling float balls we had hooked on it in an attempt to float it. Somehow my hose got tangled up in the hoist line and Devin yanked so hard on my hose that it pulled the regulator out of my mouth. That was the last time I went without a clip off on my regulator. We failed to salvage the anchor but I did find the anchor from the Columban when I was working on the Dusky though I did not know it at the time, when I retrieved it from the bottom at San Nicolas Island, though it did look slightly familiar. I was off Dusky not too long after and Jeff let me aboard and asked me if I found an anchor since he lost his the day the Dusky was working nearby. I was happy to say I had and he gave me $50 bucks for it.

       Jeff and I went back and forth he fired me then hired me back a couple times. The polypro line that had to be pulled to set the flopper stoppers back in place was like needles into hands, and with no gloves handy and Jeff impatient, I recall I was looking for another boat the next day.

         Jeff went on to buy a bigger newer Boat the Nikki J and I did my tour on that boat as well. Jeff then purchased a plane to be used to spot the swordfish with and at first hired pilots, then eventually received his pilots license and hired himself out to other sword fishermen. He has been very successful although he did have a little hiccup when he crashed in the ocean. I spoke with him shortly after and he probably was overloaded with fuel. Pushing the envelope again.

Vista Clara

Vista Clara

The Vista Clara or Clear View was named by the owner Greg Real in some part because his own eyesight was a little shaky. According to what he said anyway.

       I could understand the irony. Greg was giving me a sales pitch to come work on his brand new 27ft Anderson with twin 350s . It was a fast boat and he would beat the crap out us in choppy seas to drive home that fact. He was in need of a couple good divers, or any divers for that matter, to make the math work out for his bottom line. House payment and boat payment etc. It did not hurt that I had the 1 ton international dually pick-up, because the truck he owned did not have adequate horsepower to pull his boat out of the water.

        Greg was a smart guy, you would think he would have foreseen this problem. I suspect he did, but made a business decision to hold off, anticipating he would not need to pull the boat out of the water for a while. After all , I am thinking he thought, brand new boat, which should be working steadily that summer up in Northern California, and he could rent a guest slip at the marina during downtimes. Fair enough a reasonable forecast. Then when I came into the picture, plan B was hatched. It was a good thing because what Greg did not anticipate was the bugs. Experienced operators, know that a brand new commercial vessel, has to be “broken In so to say. It is refereed to as 'getting the bugs out.' This process is applicable to brand new commercial machine equipment in many fields. It turns out Greg had more bugs than the average. The annoying little things that would go wrong, seemed endless. Several of them were serious enough to haul the boat out of the water. This delayed or postponed diving operations, and frustrated the crew. Greg appeared apoplectic at times. All those lost days and the money he could have earned. Greg had all the numbers in his head. Eventually the bugs got worked out and I did not expect any compensation for providing my trucks services when the need arose as I had a vested interest in keeping the boat working. He eventually purchased one, but in the meantime I was more than happy to perform that service for him, if only to show off what my old truck could do.

      Greg's Dad was a WWII veteran and the Bataan death March. That was reflected in Greg's operation, especially in the food area. Greg was a wizard with money, and was always in the hunt for the next big money making scheme. Raising earth worms in his backyard was one I was talked into helping with. He was going to get rich raising earthworms. Sounded good at the time he had a good sales pitch, that im sure was used on him. Never quite mentioned how that turned out.

       Greg was high energy and he was really excited about his new boat and operation. He had been working on one of the Glen Huebner boats for a while. Rocky was running the Nu Venture for Glen. The NU Venture was a converted tidewater boat, that used to run supplies out to the oil rigs from Carpenteria and other places. Not very fast but sturdy, I worked on her for a trip when Glen was desperate for crew and offered me 70 percent, when I hesitated.

       Anyway I had seen Greg on the NU Venture many times. What he lacked in diving talent he made up for in the other areas I have mentioned. I had issue s with his method of payment. Well not really his method but the delay. When I complained, he offered to buy me a hamburger.

After I blew up he explained that he had to run all the money thru a specific bank in SB. The Bank gave him his loans and that was one of the conditions. Since we were in Bodega Bay, paychecks took way longer than I was comfortable with.

I was more than relieved when the processors began cutting divers checks less the boat owners share. Even though this was an on going trend in the urchin business, some owners would still insist on getting the check and paying the crew through their account. Probably so the longer they took to pay, the more interest earned on money that was not technically theirs.

It happened that I was working on the Vista Clara right around the same time Andreas began buying urchins. Greg was all for it, as his prices were higher. I am sure he was paying more to gain market share,in competition with the established processors.

I was so happy to get 90 cents a pound for traditionally poor quality from San Nicolas Island. Big huge urchins, plenty of roe but dark. One day Greg was arguing with Andreas brother because the price came down from a buck. Greg would not listen to me about business decisions. I just wanted to get the check and get the hell out of there, with our 90 cents. I still felt like we were getting away with something. Greg was not to happy with me, and I ended up moving on shortly thereafter. Greg tried being a light boat for the squid fishery, for awhile. He ended up selling yachts to the rich and not-so-famous. Last time I saw him he wanted me to go down to Mexico and re-po a boat, though nothing ever came of it

Below the Antarctic Circle

Below the Antarctic Circle

Almost there...Mt Erebus                             USCGC Polar Star Dead in ther water awaiting

McMurdo Station USCGC Glacier              The Glaciers Triumphant takeover of the main

                                                                            break in.

Suddenly I felt something hitting the ship. I looked up at the Chiefs and 1^st class sailors I was playing poker with, and they just grinned and said “ we are here” Then they suggested I look out the porthole. I gazed at the chunks of ice called “floes” Not big enough to qualify as a “Berg” but numerous enough that there was no avoiding them completely, and staying on course at the same time. It was about midnight and the sun was still above the horizon.  I could see ahead where the ice became solid.  I assumed it was land and the continent we were heading for, but much to my surprise it was not, it was the “fast ice” we were about to break thru. Initially 26 miles of it, from 6 to 12 feet thick. It took us 3 weeks of backing and ramming, to cover that distance. I know because one of my duties was to climb over the side on a Jacobs ladder every hour during my watch. Equipped with a can of red spray paint and a fishing pole, which had markings every 3 feet or so that enabled us to record the distance we had progressed. One man would hold the fishing pole adjacent the bow of the ship. Paint a red X at his feet, and the other would take the end of the fishing line and run it back to the previously marked X. The distance was recorded in the log and back up the ladder. I was thinking I could cover 26 miles walking backwards in less time that I would take the aging Icebreaker backing and ramming.

That night as I stood watch freezing my ass off in the 1^st lieutenants office I started a poem using the rime of the Ancient Mariner as a template.

White white everywhere

Back and Ram with crushing care

Thru the Ice we carve

So McMurdo doesn't starve

12 FEET THICK WE BREAK

WISH IT WAS A PIECE OF CAKE

Ensign Wood has the Con

Challenging this mighty Lawn

splashing red against the white

Glacier groans with all her might

penguins and seals cant out run

the metal beast against the sun

THE OFFICERS LIKE KEEPING SCORE

ADDING TO THIS ICY LORE

20 trips have been made

by this future razor blade

When were done well turn around

then back and ram another round

     As it turns out one of my duties aboard ship as a seaman apprentice, ( soon to be promoted to full Seaman) was to stand lookout watches.  Normally a lookout watch would station himself outside of the bridge, or sometimes during the fog up on the foc'sule ( Forecastle) which is the bow of the ship.  However, special circumstances aboard an icebreaker require the lookout standing watch in the Ross Sea  ascend to the Loft Con which in so many words is a glorified crows nest on steroids. It is enclosed with lights heat radar and a helm  and compass a miniature pilot house about 3/4 the way up the stack.  during actual ice breaking operations the officer of the watch stands duty in the loft con so he has a birds eye view of the ice and the best way to negotiate the solid fast ice that just looks like part of the land except frozen white.  Until that time the lookout watch stands duty in the loft con, which was my privilege to be instructed to climb up the inside of the stack in a near gale, to the aforementioned loft con. The pitch black darkness and the frozen metal inside the stack made this duty a little challenging.  I just kept climbing until I bumped my  head on a hatch with a handle, so I turned it pushed up climbed up on the platform that thankfully had a railing, and held on for dear life. The the wind was blowing about 30 knots in about a 20 foot sea, at night.  Then as the Glacier listed to one side. It seemed like an eternity before she rocked back the other,way. I was having the ride of my life, and I soon realized I was in the wrong place. I skedaddled back down into the stack and eventually located the hatch of the loft con, thankful to find it heated and lit. I suspected that the barely muffled chuckles of mirth I later heard from the bridge watch , probably gave away that they may have had something to do with the fact that the light that was supposed to indicate the loft con hatch, was suddenly not working at that convenient time. At least I did not go searching for the relative bearing grease or the sea chest, or the proverbial brass magnet. I considered the episode another unofficial initiation. 
    Back to the poker game. I must admit I had played a game of poker or two, when I was in high school, but I was about to get schooled in the art/science of gambling.  Made even more relevant, in the scheme of things, as I was sequestered with 300 men underway aboard ship.  Our salaries were payed in cash and we really had no where really to spend money, except in the tiny ships store which they opened up only occasionally. The Filipino cooks were my nemesis and my lesson in gambling was expensive, but I always agreed one has to pay for an education and pay for it I did. One very important lesson I learned, was how and why those Filipinos won so much money and more importantly how they won so much of my money. The answer was they cheated. Now they were good at it, and I did not actually catch them cheating, and I cant say that cheating was the only reason that they won, but it was revealed to me, by my supervisor who happen to be the Captains cook. 1st Class Shit Slinger ( I cant even remember what the S.S. really stands for) Filipino.  I think he decided to take me under his wing as he was counting my pay, along with his other winnings. Maybe because I was so determined and committed to losing. Even though I won some too, I was quite a spectacle as I was as hooked as a gutter heroin addict. Or maybe he was looking for a partner, as I found out, they work in teams sometimes, which makes their cheating even more effective.
        There were 3 separate poker games. 1 for E-5 and under. 1 for chiefs and 1st class, and 1 for the officers and I never saw that game.  The stakes of the games increased in relation to rank, and we played payday stakes which means there was no money on the table.  We played with chips and someone kept the books, who was called the "Banker"  and on payday the losers payed up, or were suppose to.  It could get very uncomfortable to those who avoided responsibility in this area. Now the 1st class sailors were wobblers they could and would play in either game, whether it was with the Chiefs or the e-5 and below. I started out in the lower stakes game, but I realized the Big Money was the Chiefs game usually held in a space that was not in the chiefs mess, so the 1st class sailors could play as chiefs only were allowed in the Chiefs mess.
      Well I eventually summoned up the courage to play in the Chiefs game, and that was not without the glares and the derisive comments that emanated from the players, but quickly subsided after I lost a couple of pay periods worth of cash, to that game, in fact I believe I was made to feel right at home, after a while, and it certainly wasn't because of my looks or magnetic personality.  I had the distinction of being the only E-5 or below crew member to be stupid enough (or as I would say "has the Balls enough") to play with the Chiefs.  That attitude soon backfired on me, when one day I found that the Chiefs had moved the game into the Chiefs mess. This was a problem for me, since I was in debt to that game and without an opportunity to alleviate that situation, by playing in it, I would be stuck with that debt.  I would have none of it, and being the naive rookie, in over his head, I waltzed right in to the Chiefs mess and sat done at the game.  This was like entering the Holy of Holies, where the Ark of the Covenant was on display.  I ignored the glares and stares and mutterings, only to be informed as politely as I could ever hope to expect I was not welcome there.  I expressed my concerns and the game was moved back out to a site where I would be allowed to participate. I guess I raised quite a stir and then a little respect as the Chiefs realized I was no going to be hornswaggled in that way without a fight.
       Now the crap game was new to me.  I quickly learned the rules as I observed my shipmates involved in what looked and sounded like, what Meyer Lansky may have observed while growing up in the lower east side of New York, before he tried to dominate the gambling rackets of that place.  Get paid and find a bulkhead in the same space you got paid.   Just Crazy, lose your whole check in minutes.
      So back and forth it went, until one day, while engaged in ice breaking operations in McMurdo sound I found myself in a head to head blackjack game with none other than Captains cook  1st class.  I was winning and he was pissed,  He would not let me leave with his money, so hand after hand it went, even after they announced liberty at McMurdo station, I felt obligated to at least, allow him to attempt to win his money back. And I wanted off that ship in a bad way.  I walked away with $400 of his money, which represented almost a months pay for me, in 1978. I thought he was going to kill me after searching his face on my way out.
      Well I was feeling pretty cocky as I scrambled up the iced over hill that was supposed to be a road towards McMurdo base proper. The base was not really a pretty sight. It resembled an old mining town only white. The road up was steep and hazardous, as the fatal casualty could attest. A fork lift rolled onto a crewmember who was assisting in loading ops, sad to say.   I learned there was 3 bars, enlisted mans bar, chiefs bar, and officers bar.  The enlisted mans bar was known as The Snake Pit. So into the Snake Pit I went, with a wad of cash in my pocket.  I noticed that one of the cooks had a fairly easy shot at the 8 ball, on one of the pool tables.  I slapped down a 20 and retorted that I bet that 20 that he would miss the shot.  Well some of the sailors told me that he had been running the table all night and that was a pretty stupid bet.  I did,nt care, I was flush with cash and I felt like  superman. So as he lined up his shot, I grabbed the 40 bucks."YES!!!!" Now some might say I was a little quick on the draw and that may have startled that cook and he may have missed because of that, but nobody challenged me so as far as I was concerned I was good to go.  James Bond, The Spy Who Loved Me... playing on the projector, I sallied up to the bar and bought drinks for all my friends.
      After I skidded on my ass all the way down the hill, back to the ship,  (I was trying to take a short cut and fell on my ass, and that's where I stayed all the way down the hill) I made my way to galley, frozen ass and all, because I was Hungry and it was about time for Mid Rats.  Midnight Rations, which was served for the watch standers underway because they may have missed evening chow.  Well I was disappointed to learn that since McMurdo was considered a port-o-call mid rats was cancelled.  Dejected and drunk I stumbled to the berthing area and collapsed on the couch. Well lo and be hold who should be coming down the ladder, none other than the cook who just lost 20 dollars on the pool table to some drunk loudmouth.  ( that would be me)  so I offered him a deal.  I said I would return his 20 dollars if he would make me a sandwich, since he had access to the galley.  I specified what I wanted on it and he agreed.  A few minutes later he came down with what was not even close to what I ordered.Well right behind him I then noticed a couple of my shipmates coming    down with plates of food.  I then asked what was going on?  I thought mid-rats was cancelled?            Apparently some rank higher up countermanded that order.  Well I refused to pay that cook his money back,under the circumstances and I did not get what I ordered anyway.  I went to go open my locker and CRACK I felt and heard on the back of my head.  I reach around with my hand a came away with a handful of blood.  I went completely berserk, as pummeled the cooks face, with my fists. I normally wont kick anybody when they are down, but with this case I made an exception and gave him a couple in the ribs,due to the fact it was such a grievous sneak attack.  We both ended up in sick bay, where the senior corpsman was a warrant officer, drunker than a skunk, began yelling at the cook what a pussy he was, after he found out what happen.  The next morning, I had my eggs served to me, by that cook with a sour look on his face and two shiners on both eyes.
       Somehow I was the bad guy since this cook was considered a weaker opponent, at least to some of deck force that let me know.  I was not feeling too guilty because ; number 1 he had a weapon, a coffee cup and number 2 he attacked me from behind with no warning.  No formal charges were filed, however and I considered the matter closed.