This happened in October 1966, or should I say a long, long time ago? I was an Aviation Electronics Technician Third Class on our squadron’s first trip out on carrier qualifications off of San Diego. It was also my first time aboard ship. Most of us were new to shipboard life, somewhat scared of the unknown and yet excited at the same time. I reported to the squadron Avionics shop, up on the 03 deck, on my first day out, wondering what thrills I might encounter with launching aircraft and maintenance work on the flight deck above.
It was early in the morning and the Chief wasn’t yet there, so his second in command, an Aviation Electronics Technician First Class, whose name I can’t remember, was in charge. His first official act that morning was to check the coffee pot. We had procured a 20-pound tin of fresh coffee from the mess hall and he was anxious to begin drawing down on that huge supply of the wonderful black liquid. The coffee urn was empty so his head began to swivel around the room and stopped when he saw me. “Hey Weber, make us a pot of coffee.”
“Where do I get the water?”
“Down the passageway, you’ll find it” he replied.
I was not too thrilled with my first assignment on board this 84,000-ton weapon of war, but I had no choice but to comply with my given task. Down the passageway I went, looking for water. I hadn’t traveled too far when I came upon an open hatch with a deep sink inside. Perfect, I thought, I’d use the sink to draw a full pot of water; after all, a deep sink or a kitchen sink has the same water. I filled the urn to the brim and went back to the shop to put the coffee in and thought I’d have a cup or two for myself. I was a coffee fanatic too. I plugged in the coffee and waited for it to finish. Of course the shop filled with more senior people by the time the coffee was done and there were enough people there I was afraid they’d drain the pot before I got a cup of my own brew, or someone would send me off on some other task and the coffee would be gone before I returned.
That First Class seemed to know the exact instant the coffee would be done, (no doubt all those 20 years at sea paid off for him); he grabbed his cup and bolted for the still steaming urn. He put his cup under the spigot and pulled down the lever to fill up, then turned with a big smile on his face, put the hot black liquid to his lips and took a big gulp. “Ah! Damn that coffee’s made with salt water! Damn, Weber where’d you get the water for this?”
“A… at the deep sink down the passageway.”
“That deep sink is salt water for cleaning, not coffee.”
“Well, where do I get the water from?” I asked.
“From the shower, dumb ass. Pour this out and get some fresh water to make some more coffee. Wait a minute,” he said as he turned back and topped off his cup. “Now you can dump this crap in the deep sink and refill it with fresh water with fresh water from the shower for more coffee.”
So went my first official act aboard the mighty U.S.S. Kitty Hawk.
Copyright Bill Weber 2006-2019 and beyond.
It was early in the morning and the Chief wasn’t yet there, so his second in command, an Aviation Electronics Technician First Class, whose name I can’t remember, was in charge. His first official act that morning was to check the coffee pot. We had procured a 20-pound tin of fresh coffee from the mess hall and he was anxious to begin drawing down on that huge supply of the wonderful black liquid. The coffee urn was empty so his head began to swivel around the room and stopped when he saw me. “Hey Weber, make us a pot of coffee.”
“Where do I get the water?”
“Down the passageway, you’ll find it” he replied.
I was not too thrilled with my first assignment on board this 84,000-ton weapon of war, but I had no choice but to comply with my given task. Down the passageway I went, looking for water. I hadn’t traveled too far when I came upon an open hatch with a deep sink inside. Perfect, I thought, I’d use the sink to draw a full pot of water; after all, a deep sink or a kitchen sink has the same water. I filled the urn to the brim and went back to the shop to put the coffee in and thought I’d have a cup or two for myself. I was a coffee fanatic too. I plugged in the coffee and waited for it to finish. Of course the shop filled with more senior people by the time the coffee was done and there were enough people there I was afraid they’d drain the pot before I got a cup of my own brew, or someone would send me off on some other task and the coffee would be gone before I returned.
That First Class seemed to know the exact instant the coffee would be done, (no doubt all those 20 years at sea paid off for him); he grabbed his cup and bolted for the still steaming urn. He put his cup under the spigot and pulled down the lever to fill up, then turned with a big smile on his face, put the hot black liquid to his lips and took a big gulp. “Ah! Damn that coffee’s made with salt water! Damn, Weber where’d you get the water for this?”
“A… at the deep sink down the passageway.”
“That deep sink is salt water for cleaning, not coffee.”
“Well, where do I get the water from?” I asked.
“From the shower, dumb ass. Pour this out and get some fresh water to make some more coffee. Wait a minute,” he said as he turned back and topped off his cup. “Now you can dump this crap in the deep sink and refill it with fresh water with fresh water from the shower for more coffee.”
So went my first official act aboard the mighty U.S.S. Kitty Hawk.
Copyright Bill Weber 2006-2019 and beyond.
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