In the years before there was a bridge from San Diego to Coronado, they were the glory days of the Coronado ferry and the small boats that shuttled sailors from the San Diego Broadway pier to North Island. The ferry transported cars across the bay and the boats (called nickel snatchers from back in the World War II days) transported sailors on foot from Broadway pier to North Island.
You might wonder why there were boats for pedestrians when there was a ferry, but in those days most sailors didn’t have cars. San Diego bay was a great deep water port, and it was big enough to have waves nearly always, not as big as the ocean rolled in, but enough to rock those little boats. The boats ran every few minutes during peak times and the fare was a quarter dollar I believe, the nickel part was long gone by the 1960’s.
I had my first Corvair, but I couldn’t drive it on base so I would park it in a lot (for so many cents a day) and then take the nickel snatcher to North Island where I would catch a cattle car out to the flight line for work. Those morning trips across the bay in the open boats were interesting. Sometimes the sailors on board were just returning from Tijuana where they had spent all night drinking and carousing. They were hung over, sick and the gentle rocking of the boats would disturb the delicate balance in their stomachs and even clash with the spinning in their heads, causing them to lean over the rail. At times the rail wasn’t enough to hold them in the boat and they would go over the rail along with the contents of their wretched stomachs. The boat master would get a tug at his arm and someone would tell him he just lost a passenger. He would then have to turn around and go back to pull in the sick and now soaked sailor. The boat masters didn’t like that because they were hustling to crisscross the bay and collect as many fares as possible during the rush hours. There are few sights in this world as pathetic as a sailor in his dress blues, soaked to the skin, shivering, hung over and trying not to fall overboard a second time in one trip.
One afternoon I crossed the bay on one of the nickel snatchers and went to the parking lot to get my car and when I opened the door to get in I saw someone had broken in my car and stolen my radio. I went over to the lot office to call the police and report the theft. A San Diego policeman rolled in the lot some time later and asked me if I was sure there was a radio in the car when I left it there. I was taken aback with that question, but answered "indeed there was a radio in the car."
I bought another car soon after that and registered it on base so I didn’t have to leave it in that lot any longer. That ended my travel on the nickel snatchers. I had to move up to the Coronado ferry. The lines waiting to cross on the ferry were longer and after the next cruise I bought a motorcycle to ride to work. That way I could slip right down the lines between cars and to the front of the line onto the ferry. It was first on, first off, a nice situation. Drivers in cars did not like having motorcycles go by and getting to the head of the line. One had to go slow because occasionally an annoyed driver would open his door and block the motorcycle. The motorcycle left me extra time before reporting to work on second shift at the flight line. There was a bar there right off of the ferry on the Coronado side. Those of us assigned to second shift would drop in there for an occasional beer before work and sometimes after work. There wasn’t much work done between cruises in those days, but we did have to be there.
I can’t remember the name of the bar there, but a lot of the Navy SEALS from the Coronado Amphibious Base hung out there. One night a friend stayed late by himself and in a moment of dubious distinction he became provoked and shouted out, “SEALS suck!” He showed up for work the next night wearing numerous bumps, lumps, bruises and a few stitches. He informed the rest of us that it was not a good idea to cast aspersions on navy SEALS in a bar full of SEALS, for they knew well how to defend their reputations and their reputations were well deserved.
We did have a few personnel inspections during our time ashore between cruises. That was an opportunity for the Commanding Officer to hand out promotions, awards, medals and give speeches. We didn’t mind them too much; Hal and I would have the rest of the day off after inspection and would stop off at Rosalie’s tavern over in near east San Diego. Daytime the bar was full of retired Navy Chiefs and when we would walk in our white uniforms the old salts would buy beer for us. I suppose the old salts were reminded of their younger days seeing us twenty one year-old sailors in uniforms.
Copyright Bill Weber 2006-2019 and beyond.
You might wonder why there were boats for pedestrians when there was a ferry, but in those days most sailors didn’t have cars. San Diego bay was a great deep water port, and it was big enough to have waves nearly always, not as big as the ocean rolled in, but enough to rock those little boats. The boats ran every few minutes during peak times and the fare was a quarter dollar I believe, the nickel part was long gone by the 1960’s.
I had my first Corvair, but I couldn’t drive it on base so I would park it in a lot (for so many cents a day) and then take the nickel snatcher to North Island where I would catch a cattle car out to the flight line for work. Those morning trips across the bay in the open boats were interesting. Sometimes the sailors on board were just returning from Tijuana where they had spent all night drinking and carousing. They were hung over, sick and the gentle rocking of the boats would disturb the delicate balance in their stomachs and even clash with the spinning in their heads, causing them to lean over the rail. At times the rail wasn’t enough to hold them in the boat and they would go over the rail along with the contents of their wretched stomachs. The boat master would get a tug at his arm and someone would tell him he just lost a passenger. He would then have to turn around and go back to pull in the sick and now soaked sailor. The boat masters didn’t like that because they were hustling to crisscross the bay and collect as many fares as possible during the rush hours. There are few sights in this world as pathetic as a sailor in his dress blues, soaked to the skin, shivering, hung over and trying not to fall overboard a second time in one trip.
One afternoon I crossed the bay on one of the nickel snatchers and went to the parking lot to get my car and when I opened the door to get in I saw someone had broken in my car and stolen my radio. I went over to the lot office to call the police and report the theft. A San Diego policeman rolled in the lot some time later and asked me if I was sure there was a radio in the car when I left it there. I was taken aback with that question, but answered "indeed there was a radio in the car."
I bought another car soon after that and registered it on base so I didn’t have to leave it in that lot any longer. That ended my travel on the nickel snatchers. I had to move up to the Coronado ferry. The lines waiting to cross on the ferry were longer and after the next cruise I bought a motorcycle to ride to work. That way I could slip right down the lines between cars and to the front of the line onto the ferry. It was first on, first off, a nice situation. Drivers in cars did not like having motorcycles go by and getting to the head of the line. One had to go slow because occasionally an annoyed driver would open his door and block the motorcycle. The motorcycle left me extra time before reporting to work on second shift at the flight line. There was a bar there right off of the ferry on the Coronado side. Those of us assigned to second shift would drop in there for an occasional beer before work and sometimes after work. There wasn’t much work done between cruises in those days, but we did have to be there.
I can’t remember the name of the bar there, but a lot of the Navy SEALS from the Coronado Amphibious Base hung out there. One night a friend stayed late by himself and in a moment of dubious distinction he became provoked and shouted out, “SEALS suck!” He showed up for work the next night wearing numerous bumps, lumps, bruises and a few stitches. He informed the rest of us that it was not a good idea to cast aspersions on navy SEALS in a bar full of SEALS, for they knew well how to defend their reputations and their reputations were well deserved.
We did have a few personnel inspections during our time ashore between cruises. That was an opportunity for the Commanding Officer to hand out promotions, awards, medals and give speeches. We didn’t mind them too much; Hal and I would have the rest of the day off after inspection and would stop off at Rosalie’s tavern over in near east San Diego. Daytime the bar was full of retired Navy Chiefs and when we would walk in our white uniforms the old salts would buy beer for us. I suppose the old salts were reminded of their younger days seeing us twenty one year-old sailors in uniforms.
Copyright Bill Weber 2006-2019 and beyond.
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