In 1966 our crew in San Diego had had some good times. I was the only one who lived off base, so we would gather at my apartment. Joyce never knew how many sailors she would have to feed on any given Friday after work. The crew had been together from training in Glynco, Georgia through Hawaii, Guam and finally in San Diego. We would gather, have Joyce's good cooking for supper and spend the evening and into the wee hours of the morning telling stories, listening to country music and drinking copious amounts of beer. Looking back I think I should have apologized to our other apartment dwellers, but no one ever complained about the noise.
As I remember, the night of this story was the night before Doug was due to fly back to Denver, Colorado. He was being transferred to a communications center in the Philippines so we were having a farewell party for him. He was going home on leave before his transfer. The flight was early in the morning, something like 7 am the next morning from the San Diego airport. We had supper and began drinking.
Ken had just re-enlisted and bought a brand new Pontiac GTO. It was a beauty so we decided to take a drive. Ken at the wheel, me, Doug and Drifty as passengers. Ken tromped the gas pedal and that thing took off like a bird, leaving a tire smoking cloud in the distance. It was amazing and while it was a short spin around a few blocks I was glad when it was over.
Back at the house, we celebrated with music and drinks. Before we knew it, the clock was pointing at 4 am. It was too late for them to leave and get some sleep before the flight and likely had we done any sleeping we would never wake up to get to the airport in time.
At 6 am we were ready to head to the airport. We shuffled out of the apartment, jumped into the car and headed to the airport. Back then we could drive right up to the front doors of the airport, no security, nothing. We plowed our way out of the car and while we were doing fine leaving the apartment and driving to the airport, when we hit that salt air from the bay, we were staggering. We had a cup of coffee and it was time to get Doug to the plane. Doug was barely awake and couldn't walk. The rest of us were struggling to stay upright as we walked out on the tarmac, dragging Doug. We managed to get him to the stair ramp where the stewardesses were welcoming passengers. We turned Doug over to them and they got him up onto the plane. I suppose they had a lot of experience getting drunk sailors on planes.
We went back into the airport and loaded up on coffee and egg omelets. We sat there for 2 hours as we recovered from our night of frivolity.
We never saw Doug again until 40 years later. We sat out on the covered porch of his mountain home, drinking beer and Barbecuing steaks. It was as though it had only been 2 weeks rather than 40 years. We swapped sea stories and had a great time. Sadly that was the last time we saw him. He ended up with throat cancer and died a few months later. Doug and I had a lot of history in a relatively short time, perhaps 2 years in all, but I will never forget the good times we had.
This link is to a tribute I wrote to my old friend Doug before he died
Copyright Bill Weber 2006-2019 and beyond.
As I remember, the night of this story was the night before Doug was due to fly back to Denver, Colorado. He was being transferred to a communications center in the Philippines so we were having a farewell party for him. He was going home on leave before his transfer. The flight was early in the morning, something like 7 am the next morning from the San Diego airport. We had supper and began drinking.
Ken had just re-enlisted and bought a brand new Pontiac GTO. It was a beauty so we decided to take a drive. Ken at the wheel, me, Doug and Drifty as passengers. Ken tromped the gas pedal and that thing took off like a bird, leaving a tire smoking cloud in the distance. It was amazing and while it was a short spin around a few blocks I was glad when it was over.
Back at the house, we celebrated with music and drinks. Before we knew it, the clock was pointing at 4 am. It was too late for them to leave and get some sleep before the flight and likely had we done any sleeping we would never wake up to get to the airport in time.
At 6 am we were ready to head to the airport. We shuffled out of the apartment, jumped into the car and headed to the airport. Back then we could drive right up to the front doors of the airport, no security, nothing. We plowed our way out of the car and while we were doing fine leaving the apartment and driving to the airport, when we hit that salt air from the bay, we were staggering. We had a cup of coffee and it was time to get Doug to the plane. Doug was barely awake and couldn't walk. The rest of us were struggling to stay upright as we walked out on the tarmac, dragging Doug. We managed to get him to the stair ramp where the stewardesses were welcoming passengers. We turned Doug over to them and they got him up onto the plane. I suppose they had a lot of experience getting drunk sailors on planes.
We went back into the airport and loaded up on coffee and egg omelets. We sat there for 2 hours as we recovered from our night of frivolity.
We never saw Doug again until 40 years later. We sat out on the covered porch of his mountain home, drinking beer and Barbecuing steaks. It was as though it had only been 2 weeks rather than 40 years. We swapped sea stories and had a great time. Sadly that was the last time we saw him. He ended up with throat cancer and died a few months later. Doug and I had a lot of history in a relatively short time, perhaps 2 years in all, but I will never forget the good times we had.
This link is to a tribute I wrote to my old friend Doug before he died
Copyright Bill Weber 2006-2019 and beyond.
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