Sea Stories with Chief Boats

Mostly True Tales from a Life at Sea

Once upon a time, I was a Chief Boatswain’s Mate in Uncle Sam’s Yacht Club which is another way of saying I swore a lot and made a living around anchors, lines, and men with broad shoulders, thick necks, and perhaps asocial behavior. Here are some of the stories from those years.

Let me tell you about the dumbest sailor I ever knew. I said what I said. The gold medalist in stupidity, the heavyweight champion, the best of the best, was the son of Marine. He’s from Georgia, and for his sake, I’ll give him a different name. I shall call him Dewey Idle.

The ship we served on, USS San Diego, an amphibious transport dock, had just wrapped an exhausting (but exciting) exercise off the Hawaiian coast. It’s called Rim of the Pacific, or RIMPAC. I know, I know… RIMPAC, is a terrible, terrible name, but the Navy just loves applying acronyms and abbreviations to damn near everything. 29 countries brought 40 ships for this particular iteration of the exercise.

Amphibious transport dock USS San Diego (LPD 22), known affectionately as War Pig 22.

After three weeks of exhaustive work, just a few hours of sleep each night, and burnt coffee it was time to go home to San Diego and Carne Asada burritos. The boys in the Deck Department were blowing off steam in the berthing area. Something here about young men: they’re monumentally stupid, but you already knew that. In large groups, they are record-breakingly idiotic. They were in the lounge area dabbing hand sanitizer on their hands and fingertips and lighting it on fire.

Enter Seaman Dewey Idle. He was relatively short, but probably had single-digit body fat and was stout. Another way to say that is he was thick, in a couple of ways. He was a powerful, handsome, moron. He often admired his physique in the berthing mirrors and would walk around in only his boxers and shower shoes. Ordinarily, that’s not a problem, but Idle couldn’t stop touching his pecs or his triceps, even when he was talking to other people. An ordinary conversation turned weird quickly with him.

Idle deeply enjoyed being the center of attention.

I pause here to ask a question. If someone had kidnapped all your family and was going to kill them unless you lit one body part of yours on fire for 30 seconds, what body part would you light on fire? Your pinky finger? A toe perhaps? You can extinguish the fire after 30 seconds if that helps your choice. Got it? Lock it into your mind.

Let us continue.

Idle dropped his boxers to his feet, poured a generous amount of hand sanitizer in the palm of his hand, and then coated his balls in it.

Yes, you’ve likely figured out where this is going.

At this juncture, the two senior men in the berthing, me and my friend - let’s call him Angel - moved respectively to the head door and the berthing entrance. We had to see this, but we didn’t want anyone else to see this.

And then, Idle took the lighter and lit his balls on fire. As you are all familiar with male anatomy, you also likely know where grows on the male body and how quickly hair burns. Once the first smell of burnt hair wafted its way to Idle’s nose, panic set in. OF COURSE, panic set in.

As you might gather, the kind of human being willing to suddenly light his nuts on fire doesn’t think things through. Idle had no extinguishing agent, no towel, no bottle of water handy. Now he was on the floor, boxers around his ankles, with his nuts, and now his taint and ass on fire, and he was panicking. Naturally. The other men in the berthing were roaring in laughter, and since this was a department filled with men with broad shoulders, thick necks, and asocial behavior, no one came to his rescue. To be fair, I did consider dumping a bucket of swab water on him but decided against it.

So, the young, powerful, decidedly dim young man did the only thing his low-watt mind could concoct in that panic-stricken moment: he decided to beat the fire out with his powerful hands. Here was a man, able to vote, drink, and procreate, bare-assed, on the deck of a warship with his testicles, taint, and ass on fire literally beating the fire out with his hands.

A trip to medical later, and Idle spent the trip home to San Diego walking rather gingerly. Burns to that area of the male anatomy tend to do that.

On board ships at sea, nearly everyone stands a watch of some kind. On the bridge at sea, the person in charge of good order and discipline is known as the Boatswain’s Mate of the Watch. It’s usually a non-commissioned officer, what the Navy calls a petty officer, but junior Sailors who perform well and exhibit good order and discipline often earn the qualification. Idle had completed all the line items on his qualification and came to me for my needed signature.

“No, Idle, I will not sign that and you will never stand that watch.”

“Why not, Boats? I did everything on the qual. I’m good to go.”

“No, no you absolutely are not. I’m nearly twice your age and have lived a testicular fire-free life. You don’t ever get to be in charge of anyone ever. You’re not even in charge of yourself half the time.”

If I’m not mistaken, Idle left the Navy two pay grades lower than when he came into it.

Now tell me, which body part did you decide to light on fire?