A Day in the Life of a US Navy Plane Captain

Back in the mid-to-late Seventies, I was an Aviation Machinist's Mate in Attack Squadron VA-46, the Clansmen.

In 1976 and 1977, I was a Plane Captain in the US Navy, aboard the USS John F. Kennedy on a Mediterranean deployment. At sea, you worked 12 hours on, 12 hours off 7 days a week at sea (I believe this is still the standard for all deployed vessels)

Plane Captains were the entry level job for most Airmen in the Navy. You went to a training squadron (mine was the VA-174 Hellrazors at Cecil Field, FL) where they taught you to be a Plane Captain. My CO while I was there was, of all people CDR John McCain. (I know!) After that, they send you to a squadron, where after you do your time in the mess hall or anywhere else they decide to stick you, you are assigned to the Line Division in your assigned squadron. Mine was VA-46 known as The Clansmen. I came from a squadron that was commanded by CDR. John McCain, and sent to the squadron McCain was in when he was on the flight deck of the USS Forrestal when that deadly fire occurred back in 1967. I should have probably been worried at this point.

VA-46 was an attack squadron flying A-7 Corsairs, and while I was there, we transitioned from the A-7B model to the A-7E. They had a Scottish theme, we had the MacDougal Tartan and Clan crest painted on the planes, and the pilots had the plaid MacDougal tartan Glengarry hats for ceremonial purposes (Change of Command, etc) and even had kilts and spats which I saw them wear on at least one occasion. (When me made a port call to Scotland in 1976, we were treated very nicely)

So, when you get to a squadron, you become a Plane Captain. This makes a lot of sense, because you learn about the entire plane. I was an Aviation Machinist's Mate, so I worked on the engines and buddy stores (D-704 for those of you who might remember them) but as a Plane Captain, you were mixed in with Aviation Ordinancemen, Aviation Structural Mechanics, and so on.

Even though you were at sea, the compartment for the Line Division was universally called by everyone, everywhere, the "Line Shack". You made a lot of your friends here for the next several years, and some of your enemies too. If you had problems with people, they might go away when the person leaves the Line Division and goes to another shop, and you become friendly with them later. Some, you just avoid. But your friends, especially those who end up in your same shop (Mine was "Powerplants") they are the guys you would go out on liberty with to drink Peroni in Naples or out to the Los Caracoles in Barcelona.

This narrative consists of a single launch cycle, which defines your existence as a Plane Captain. You do this sequence over and over, every day. If your plane was in the hangar, you worked with Plane Captains for other planes.

You had to be available at all times during your shift to "ride brakes" and sit in the cockpit ready to jump on the brakes if the plane broke free from the tractor. This has been known to be hazardous, if I recall correctly, there was a Plane Captain lost on a Pacific carrier as he rode brakes when a wave washed the plane over the side as it was spotted on the lowered elevator. Don't remember which ship.

You didn't sit there waiting with the plane all the time, but if a move of the plane was planned, you had to be in the cockpit. Sometimes, the "move" happened as you ran up to the plane...sometimes...it took hours, or...might never happen, so you might sit in the cockpit for hours twiddling your thumbs or have someone yelling at you as you climb in wondering where the hell you have been! Before climbing in, you had to run over to the wheel well on the main mount, grab an iron pipe, stick it in a pump, and pump it so you knew there was pressure in the hydraulic system to activate the brakes if needed. (If there were chronic hydraulic leaks, you had to pump it all the time to be sure)

When the plane was scheduled for a launch, you would go on deck, and do an inspection. You would check the cockpit, check the ejection seat (ensuring the safety pins were in, and the "head-knocker" (the last safety mechanism on the seat behind the pilot's head) was "down) and the condition of the cockpit was clean with all the important switches in the default off positions.

You would take fuel samples, using your TL knife blade to insert into a spring-loaded thing that would spit fuel from the wings and fuselage tanks into a glass mason jar (IIRC) and you would examine the fuel for water. You were responsible for removing magnetic plugs and checking for metal shards, and checking oil and hydraulic filters for a "popped" indicator that would signal a clogged oil, fuel, or hydraulic filter which needed to be changed. All the while you would look for any damage to any hydraulic or fuel lines caused by rubbing or actual physical damage. You would examine the plane with a well-rehearsed and rigid walk-around similar to what the pilots do, but more in-depth.

You took the red Naugahyde covers off of all the pitot tubes (I think perhaps two of them, meant to keep out the rain or snow) and place them in the red canvas bag you would later stow in the avionics bay with the open door.

You would check for hydraulic and oil leaks. You would check the condition of the tailhook for damage, and look in the tailpipe for any cracks in the metal or visible damage, oil, or fuel. All the time, you look for Dzus fasteners that might not be fully in, and either screw them in with your speed handle or replace them before the pilot arrived. I cannot remember for sure if I carried a speed handle as a Plane Captain)

Open all the external doors to the avionics bay, check for any indications of damage, and leave it open, because on the A-7 Corsair, that was where you stored your wing-locks, main-mount locks and all the safety pins. You would need that door open to put those things in when the plane was ready to launch. They were secured firmly in there so they wouldn't move around in flight...I recall all the pins with flags went into a red canvas bag when you removed them.

Check the canopy for cracks, and using special liquid for the purpose, would polish the plastic canopy and clean anything on there, then leave the steps open and the ladder down for the pilot.

Check the gun ports for the gatling gun for damage, and coming to the front of the plane, view the radome for damage.

Before proceeding into the air intake for the jet engine, you would make sure everyone around you was aware you were diving the intake, you would take your tool belt off, ensure your pockets were empty (they should be anyway) and you would climb up and crawl into the engine intake.

On the A-7, it was a long, yet comfortable crawl to the front of the engine because it was a big intake. You would look for any foreign objects or damage, and when you got to the engine, you would examine the seal all around the front of the engine where it met the airframe, to ensure it was undamaged and in place. I recall that you had to rotate the compressor blades with your hand and look for any damage. Then, backing out feet first, you would be damn sure something didn't fall off your person as you exited. Didn't want that knife or wallet (that you weren't carrying!) going into the engine when it started.

Additionally, if there were ordinance or drop tanks on the wings, you checked all of them for security. If it was a fuel tank, you would pop the fuel cap and visually verify the fuel level in it. If it was ordinance on the pylons, you would check the ejection racks (MER-Multiple Ejection Racks) or (TER-Triple Ejection Racks) for security and safety pin placement (The lack of which was the root cause of the fire aboard the USS Forrestal) and if there was ordinance, you visually checked it for security by trying to wiggle it, and you would visually verify each piece of ordinance either had a safety pin in it, or in the case of iron bombs, a wire that went through the little propeller on the fuse and back to the ejection rack, which kept the bomb from arming until it was dropped. (When the bomb dropped, the wire was pulled from the propeller, enabling it to spin and arm after it left the plane.)

When the pilot arrived, they would do their walk-around. Some pilots were extremely thorough and did their inspection with almost as much thoroughness as you did, and you knew they were a good pilot from simply watching this. One of our pilots, a Lt. Leenhouts (The leading naval aviator with carrier traps for some time at the end of his career, in which he was a CAPT or CDR when he retired) was stellar. He was good. Some other pilots were seemingly quite lax, doing the equivalent of kicking the tires. They depended on you 100% to do your job, and I found that a little concerning. If I were a pilot, I would "trust but verify". They weren't allowed to dive the intake...:)

Then the pilot would climb into the cockpit, and you would climb up after them and help them strap in and get settled in any way they asked of you. You removed the safety pins for the seat, showed them to the pilot who would visibly nod in approval (but they would leave the "headknocker" down until you handed the plane over to the Yellow Shirts, who would direct them to the catapult) and you would climb down, closing the foot-steps and folding the ladder and snapping the door to the ladder shut.

Finally, if there is no deck well close enough to your plane to drag an air hose from, a "Huffer" (a vehicle with a large hose for air to start the engine connected to a small special gas turbine in the vehicle to blow bleed air (from its own little turbine) through the hose to the plane, and its stream of hot jet exhaust would exit the huffer from the top of the vehicle. They were very careful not to park the huffer so that this hot exhaust would be under any ordinance or aircraft part it could damage) would drive up, and you would drag the hose over from the cart and hook it up to the plane using the specialized quick-release coupling on the hose. You checked the connection, then walked up to the front of the plane just off the port side of the plane (not directly in front) so both the pilot and the "Huffer" operator would see you clearly at the same time.

You made sure everyone was ready, got the attention of the pilot, and put two fingers (peace sign) in the air above your head, and pointed at the pilot saying with that signal "Are you ready to start the engine?" The pilot would positively signal you with a thumbs up, and pointing not at the pilot but at the fuselage of the plane, you would vigorously waggle your two fingers above your head. The Huffer operator, seeing the signal, would start up the Huffer.

When they did, the big, fat, reinforced cloth tube would fill and turn from flaccid to solid, and compressed air would flow through the hose into the side of the plane. A special pipe would take that forced aire and blow it directly into the turbine blades on the turbine, causing them to turn, and since the turbine was connected to the compressor blades at the front of the engine, they would start compressing the air, forcing it into the combustion cans. The pilot, seeing the RPM reach a certain point, would put the throttle to a point that fuel would begin flowing into the combustion cans right just forward of the turbine, and as the fuel begins flowing he immediately shoves the throttle to an indent on the side of the throttle body, and that causes a gigantic spark plug (the length of my forearm and hand, if I recall correctly. I remember this clearly because I got the crap knocked out of me because I took a shock from one when removing it because I forgot to short it out first and discharge the pent-up charge stored in a capacitor. Didn't follow the instructions!) to begin firing repeatedly.

Like a gas stove being lit by a match, the first combustion can lights off, and each adjacent combustion can lights off in sequence until they are all lit off. The pilot watches (and you watch as well) for indications of a wet start (clouds of raw fuel coming out the tailpipe because the fuel didn't ignite for some reason) that might turn into a hot start (giant ball of flame if that plume of raw fuel lights off) and you communicate with the pilot on this, giving special hand signals (as if he needs them, because he can see the instruments that you cannot) to inform him of what you see.

When the engine lights off and is self-sustaining, the pilot signals you to disconnect the Huffer hose, and you do so. The Huffer drives off to the next plane to start it up.

You position yourself and wait. The pilot is organizing himself, checking all his gauges, oil pressure, hydraulic pressure, etc. so you wait. As you wait, you look at the area around you, being aware of launches, your place in the launch, orienting yourself to the time and place, making sure you know where you and your plane are IN that process.

But you also closely monitor the aircraft at this time. As the pilot is settling in and you wait for his out of cockpit attention, you examine the plane looking for smoke, hydraulic fluid, oil, or fuel. If you see anything, you immediately summon a "White Shirt" (Troubleshooter) over to examine the issue, or if it is dramatic enough (like the proverbial "cow pissing on a flat rock") you issue the universal and urgent CUT signal to the pilot by repeatedly drawing the fingers of the hand across the throat. The faster and more vigorous the gesture conveys the urgency)

If there are no problems, you signal the pilot you are removing the safety pins and locks (using, if I recall correctly the universal hand motion guys use to convey sexual intercourse, but you simply make the OK sign with one hand, insert the forefinger from the other hand into the OK sign, then retract it once...not in and out as is usually done!) and you proceed to remove the main mount locks (two large pipe shaped iron-hinged clamps with a red flagged pin that goes through the side opposite the hinge to secure them, the wing locks (for the folding wings) and any non-ordinance red flags, you show them to the pilot, he gives you a thumbs up, and you place the flags with pins in the red canvas bag and there were special storage mounts for the main mount locks where you would wrap the lock around them, close the lock, and insert the pin to keep it in place. (I recall this was done at this time because now there was full hydraulic pressure. You didn't want to remove things like the wing locks, where if there was a pressure failure, they would just fold up, hitting the plane parked next to them. At least that is how I remember it 45 years later...:) Honestly, I don't remember if we put the wing locks in the avionics bay, or if we took them below with us. They were very big, awkward, and heavy. Can't remember!)

Once all the locks and pins were stored securely in the avionics bay, you closed the door, and with your TL knife, would insert the flat end of the blade into the notch on the rectangular fastener (there were, I think eight of the fasteners for that access door) and slam the palm of your hand against the handle of the TL knife to snap it closed.

Walking back to the front of the port side off the plane just to the side of the nose, you began your checks with the pilot.

You get their attention by holding up your hand, palm out, straight above your head, patiently signaling that you are requesting the pilot's attention. When he sees you, the first thing you would do is called the "wipeout" sign. This involved making sure nobody was standing next to the plane where they shouldn't be, then putting your fisted hand fully extended straight out in front of you, and make three or four wide cirlces as if you were stirring a caldron of bubbling hot soup. The pilot would mimic your motion by cycling his control stick in several big circles as you watched the control surfaces. The ailerons on the wings would go up and down, the UHTs (Elevators) would up and down, and you give the pilot a thumbs up signifying "Your control surfaces are all functional."

Then for the first of three signals delivered in quick succession, after making sure nobody was standing in the way, you would extend your hands in front of you together with your palms together and horizontal to the ground, and open them with a "V" sign, joined at the ball of your hand signaling "Open your flaps." as you watched the flaps open fully.

For the second signal, which had something to do with initializing some kind of gyroscope, you held your hands above your head as if you were holding a softball, then made a quick three stroke motion as if you were wiping it off or polishing it with both hands. They would turn on some component, check it, and then give you a thumbs up.

Third, there was one other signal in that sequence to lower the Ram Air Turbine (RAT). I don't remember exactly, but I think it was putting your fingers on the right side of your helmet, then extending that arm straight out to the side. The pilot would extend the RAT, you would give a thumbs up, and you would reverse the signal, bringing your fingers back to the side of your head after making sure nobody was standing near it. (I am having trouble remembering this, but I do remember the RAT was on the starboard side of the plane, so I suspect that I might have walked around to the starboard side and given the three signals. I would then see the starboard flap extend, and the RAT pop out of the side of the plane. After watching it get retracted, I would walk back to the port side of the plane, check the port flap, and give him the signal to close the flaps by doing the reverse gesture of opening the flaps by bringing the palms of the hands back together. Again, I am a bit hazy on that, but that is what I think we did) The pilot, after all tasks in that sequence would wait for your thumbs up before proceeding.

For the final check, you would signal them to drop the tailhook. You looked aft, made sure it was clear, and nobody was ducking under the plane (Men have been killed where someone was scooting under the plane when the tailhook came down and crushed them and fatally injured them, this was well known, and safety on this was carefully observed) The signal involved putting your left hand, palm down, straight out in front of you, making a thumbs up gesture with your right hand, and putting the tip of your thumb against the palm of your outstretched hand. You then pulled your thumb downwards in an arc away from your hand and the pilot would drop the tailhook.

There was a damper mechanism on the tailhook that the Green Shirts (The Airframes sailors in your squadron who handled hydraulics) would adjust. You wanted that damper adjusted so the tailhook would come down steadily, but...they didn't get it adjusted perfectly, or it went out of adjustment over time, so sometimes, instead of coming down nice and smoothly, it would come down with a shuddering, slow motion, shaking as it slowly descended to the steel flight deck. That was okay, generally. But sometimes, when they lowered the hook, it would come down blindingly hard and fast against the deck, sometimes even chipping the non-skid covering, and would land with a crack hard enough to hear even through your hearing protection and over the sound of the jet engine. This would not prevent the launch, but people would notice it and submit a five-part MAF form (Maintenance Action Form, the goldenrod copy to Maintenance, the green copy to the Airframes shop, the blue copy to somewhere else, and so on.

In any case, if the tailhook came down correctly, the Plane Captain would give a thumbs up to the pilot, then, making sure nobody was in the way to get maimed by a retracting hook, give the pilot the signal to raise the tailhook by extending the left hand straight in front of you, palm down, and bringing the fisted right hand with extended thumb around in a wide sweeping arc until the tip of the thumb met the palm of the extended hand. When the hook was up, it was followed by a thumb's up.

The last thing we would do is get the pilot's attention by holding our hand up, palm out, waiting patiently to catch their eye. When they acknowledged you had their attention (I recall they didn't always give you a thumbs up in all this but sometimes, just looking directly at you and nodding their helmets, visors lowered, was how they indicated they were ready for you)

When you had their attention, you would point directly at them with your left arm fully extended, and do a chopping motion on the back of your head with the knife edge of your right hand. This was the signal for the pilot to reach above their head, and retract or stow the "Head Knocker" which they would acknowledge with a thumbs up. At this point, the ejection seat was now fully armed. If they pulled the ejection handle now, either between their legs or above their head, two large spring-loaded hammers on top of the seat would extend upwards. When the rocket on the seat fired, the two extended hammers would demolish the canopy, and the pilot would be propelled upwards through the now disintegrated plexiglass canopy.

When you got the thumbs up once the head knocker was stowed, you delivered a snappy salute to the pilot, and I recall, as a courtesy, they would return the salute.

If there was any ordinance on board, the Red Shirts in your squadron would come around, do one final visual and physical check on the ordinance (like the one done by the Red Shirts who put it on the plane, you did during your preflight inspection, and the pilot did during their preflight inspection. If the pilot was carrying something like a Walleye (optically guided bomb) you would go over, stand directly in front of the optical seeker, and hold your hand up. Presumably, the pilot would lock the aimer on your hand, then when you put your hand to the side, the seeker should slew to keep track of your hand. (I don't remember this step perfectly, but I remember doing it as a Plane Captain...not the Red Shirts)

Anyway, nobody wanted to shoot a plane off a catapult with wiggly or loose ordinance or drop tanks. People could get killed, so there were lots of physical checks. At this point, the Red Shirts would remove all the arming pins from the ordinance (including the arming pins that prevented drop tanks or MER/TER racks from accidentally being ejected while the plane was on the ground.)

When all that was done, the very last direct thing you did was deliver a snappy salute to the pilot, and I recall, as a courtesy, the pilot would return the salute. (I don't remember if they always did, but...in my memory, it seems they did. I could be wrong.)

Then, we would stand around and wait for a Yellow Shirt (and the Blue Shirts who tailed them like remoras that latch onto a shark) to come over and take control of the plane. This could happen quickly, or might take fifteen minutes or more, as you stood around cooling your heels.

When there was a space in the queue towards the catapult, a Yellow Shirt (with the one or two ubiquitous Blue Shirts) would come over and signal the pilot. The Blue Shirts scurry to each main mount, and the Yellow Shirt would give the pilot the signal "Removing chocks" by placing both fisted hands above his head with the bottoms of each fist touching each other, thumbs extended directly out to the right and the left. When the Yellow Shirt took his two hands outwards away from each other, the Blue Shirts would dutifully remove the chocks from the wheels and get out of the way.

The Plane Captain would, at the same time, furiously take the six chains off (two on each main mount fore and aft, and two on the nose gear facing forward) by hitting the metal triangular lock release on the chain, extracting the hook on one end from the plane, and the other from the pad-eye on the deck. These chains we draped over our shoulders, three on each side, by hooking the two chains running down our back into the hook of the single chain running down our chest, the nexus of the three hooked chains sitting directly on our shoulders on each side.

These chains, six of them, weighed around 75 pounds total, so walking with them could be a little ungainly. (If you had twelve chain tie-downs for rough weather, I recall it was positively clumsy. There was also a 24 point tie down for really rough weather, and it was an all-hands operation where the Plane Captains would all chip in together, carrying all the chains and helping to secure them to the pad eyes in the deck.)

Once the Yellow Shirt saw the chocks were out, tie down chains were removed, and there was nobody standing where they shouldn't have been, the Yellow Shirt would hold up his hand, palm out, signifying "I need your attention to begin directing you." The pilot would acknowledge him, and the Yellow Shirt would gesture him to increase power and begin taxiing by holding his arms to each side with his fingertips touching together over the top of his head, then bringing them apart and back together repeatedly in unison to taxi straight ahead. If he wanted him to go left, he would point with one arm straight and motionless in the direction he wanted him to taxi the plane, while he would fold and unfold the other arm above his head repeatedly until he was pointing the plane in the appropriate direction, then would begin gesturing with both arms in unison above his head extending and retracting them. When he wanted the pilot to stop, he would bring together both clenched fists, thumb-side to thumb-side, directly above his head.

The Plane Captain, with all the chains (and I think the wing locks, one in each hand) would stand off to the side as the plane taxied up to just behind the Jet Blast Deflector (JBD), then we would get off the flight deck, into a catwalk, and be prepared (in case there was a problem and the plane could not launch) to follow the plane to a spot area and tie it back down and help the pilot out of the plane.

If the plane did launch, we went below, hanging our chains on the scupper near the catwalk (I think) and were free for some period of time, maybe an hour or more. We might go eat, play cards, write letters, shoot the breeze, do some training, or if we were inclined, help other Plane Captains do their jobs in any way you could. You knew when the plane was due back, so you had to make sure you were prepared and ready, waiting in the catwalk with your chains and wing locks for the plane to return.

You would hear the Air Boss in the island say over the flight deck speaker system "Corsair 307 inbound" in that loud, metallic voice they all seemed to have, and you got ready. When the plane landed, you went to where they were going to spot the plane, usually parallel to the waist cat or up on the bow, and as they taxied the plane all the way up to the bow on the port side, across the flight deck to the starboard side, then aft to the area where the flight deck widened, you stood waiting for the plane to arrive, usually side by side with a couple of chock-carrying Blue Shirts. Yellow Shirts directing the plane in team would hand the plane off to each other until it reached its destination.

The Yellow Shirt would position the aircraft where they wanted, then give the stop signal described above. When the plane was stopped, the Yellow Shirt gave the "Insert the chocks" signal, the reverse of the "Remove the chocks" signal by bringing the fisted hands with thumbs extended together until the thumbs touched directly above their head.

The ever-present, chock-carrying Blue Shirts would rush forward to insert the chocks, and the Plane Captain would put the wing-locks in place. We would then secure the plane to the flight deck with the six chains. As soon as we got the chains on, we would run over to the avionics bay on the port side, use our TL knife in the same way we secured those latches, by placing the flat end in the release part of the latch and slapping it with the ball of your hand. We did this in rapid succession, completing the task in about 5-10 seconds. The door would flap open (hinged on the bottom) and you would retrieve the canvas bags with the main mount safety clamps, the nose gear clamp, and the ejection seat pins.

Grabbing all these, we would clamp the two main-mount clamps onto the main struts, insert the nose gear pin and give the Yellow Shirt a thumbs up. He would signal the pilot to cut the engine by pointing at the plane and drawing his hand across his throat, and then go out to direct the next plane being taxied his way, the ever present Blue Shirts in tow behind him to get positioned where the next plane would be spotted.

We took our TL knife, using the same motion to release the stair panel, extended the stair, climbed up, and released in the same fashion the foot-step recesses for the pilot. The pilot would open the canopy, we would insert the safety pins for the ejection seat, and the pilot would hand us their bag (I recall they had some kind of olive sailcloth bag, about the size of two or three stacked videocassettes with stuff in it, maybe a manual, charts, or lunch...I don't remember!)

We climbed down with their bag, and they would climb down after us. We would hand them their bag, they would mouth an unheard (over the din of jet engines) "Thank you." and then they would walk away.

We would walk around the plane inspecting it, looking for any obvious issues, close the canopy, close the footsteps, retract the ladder, and close the avionics bay. We would know if the plane needed to be re-spotted, and if so we had to stick around to ride the brakes.

If the plane was scheduled to be fueled, we would be on hand, and the Purple Shirts would come out lugging a black hose behind them once the plane was spotted. If the canopy needed cleaning, we might do it then.

And we would wait. If the plane needed maintenance, you might need to be around to ride brakes if it was taken below to the hangar bay. Otherwise, you could head below and take a break.

When your planes weren't flying, you had to wash the planes. Since there is little water available at sea, you don't get to wash planes like you would a car. There is no water hose. You have cleaner in spray cans you have to spray on the plane, let it sit, then wipe it off with rags which were delivered to your shop in large bales perhaps three feet on each side held together with baling wire. Those damn bales had all kinds of cut up clothing items in them, and the material wasn't always any good for wiping off the cleaner. Some would just smear it. The stuff was awful, all chemicals, and you would breathe it in. So, if planes weren't flying you were laying on your back, spraying this stuff on the belly pan which was smeared with streaks of oil, hydraulic fluid and fuel, with dirt and grit all mixed in. On a windy flight deck, you would spray this stuff, the foam would blow into your face, eyes, and mouth. I hated it. But it was what you did.

If the plane was scheduled to fly another sortie, you would be told when it was expected to launch, so you get up on the deck early, and begin the process all over again. I cannot remember for sure, but I don't think it was uncommon to have your plane fly two or three sorties in a twelve-hour shift. Sometimes, another one at night. I don't know if that is accurate, it has been a long time, but that is what my memory tells me.

My favorite port (After Mallorca, of course) was Barcelona...it was beautiful, and there were lots of bars and restaurants there. My favorite restaurant was “Los Caracoles”...when you walked up to it, there were chickens on spits roasting in a recess in the stone wall just to the side of the door. It was the first place I ever had calamari, before most people in this country who were not Italian had it!

I went there with the same group described below, and one of the first thing they brought out was two big platters heaped with golden yellow fried rings. They were perfect (I am sure one of the guys had the dish before and ordered it for us) and when offered to me, I refused. I thought they were onion rings, and I have a lifelong aversion to onions. When I told him, he said "No, no...not onion rings, this is calamari!" So I took one and nibbled it and I was hooked. After I got out of the Navy, and before you saw them routinely in restaurants, I tried over and over again, but...just could not get it right!

However, this night described below did not happen at Los Caracoles. But it was in Barcelona.

I usually did not go ashore every single night...I wasn’t a “Liberty Hound”. So, one night as we were anchored off Barcelona, I was just sitting in the shop late, writing letters, and the door opens. In comes Naperski and his best friend, Bob Fairbanks. They are drunker than skunks, and Ski is rattling on, nearly incoherently, about drinking out of urinals and wiping his face with toilet paper. I had no idea what he was talking about, and Fairbanks kept saying “Don’t listen to him. He’s crazy. He has no idea what he is talking about...”

Well, I could believe that. They left and went to bed. The next morning, they came down to the shop and convinced a group of us to go back with them to this restaurant. They just had to go there again, they said nobody would believe them if we didn’t. So that night, eight of us got on a liberty launch and went into town. Myself, Heath, Toothless Ingram, Dan Grote, Steve Naperski, Bob Fairbanks, John Outcelt and Tom Hammond.

Once ashore, Fairbanks and Naperski admitted they were so inebriated the night before, they had no idea where this place was, or what it was called. We couldn’t believe it! But they insisted that it would be easy to recognize, so we hopped into two taxis, and had the guys drive us around Barcelona. Up and down the streets we went, peering out the windows. We drove for 45 minutes, and finally, the cab driver pulled over, turned around and basically said “What the hell are you boys doing?” None of us spoke Spanish, and he spoke no English, so....we tried everything to get the point across to him. Making motions with our hands to mouth to eat, and Ski made a motion like smashing something with a hammer while saying “BOOM BOOM”, and the guys face just lights up. He says “AAAAAhhhhhhhhhh...” and turned around and drove us right to this place and stopped in front of it.

We walk inside, and to the left is a bar, and further ahead, a bunch of tables. There is paper, trash, food and broken glass on the floor. I take this all in, and say to myself “This ain’t right...” and suddenly,

there is a deafening “BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM”! I cringe and look to my left, behind the bar, and this guy (dressed in what appears to my untrained eye to be Lederhosen, shorts, suspenders, etc. ) has a HUGE wooden mallet with a short handle on it.

The head of the mallet appeared to be at least a solid foot diameter on the face, and was a least two feet long. Basically, it looked like a piece cut out of a tree trunk! He had the mallet with both hands, and was pounding it on the bar with all of his might. The whole bar and wall behind it shook...crockery, glasses and cups fell off the shelves onto the floor and shattered.

There were rolls of toilet paper being dispensed from hangers installed up near the ceiling. When customers wanted a napkin, they just reached over and grabbed some toilet paper. After using it, they would simply throw it on the floor. Nobody said anything to us and pointedly ignored us, so we found a table and sat down. We sat there for about 15 minutes, wondering what we needed to do to get something to eat and drink, and this old withered, bald guy, wearing the Lederhosen, just walks up to us and looks at us with his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his toes.

We looked at him then at each other, then back at him. He looked at us. We all shrugged our shoulders and one of us said “Cerveza?” at which he turned on his heels and walked away without a word. This was very strange. Another guy walks over with his arms full of beer mugs, and throws them on the table! We scrambled to catch them, but several slid off the table and broke on the floor.

We grabbed our mugs, thinking “Okay, what now” when the old guy comes back over with an enameled chamber pot, and puts it down on the table. It is full of beer, and we dumbly stare at the guy. He reaches over, grabs a mug, and dips it in the chamber pot of beer, scooping out a mug full. At that, we all burst into laughter, then scoop our mugs in and begin drinking.

And so it starts. We drank and drank chamber pot after chamber pot of beer. Then, the old guy came back over to the table and just stood there looking at us. We looked at him then at each other, then back at him. He looked at us. We all shrugged our shoulders in bewilderment. The guy had one hand behind his back, and pulled it out, and there was half of an onion. Food? Yes, we would like food...could we get some bread as well...”Pan?” The little withered bald guy in Lederhosen turned on his heels and walked away.

Suddenly, a wheel of bread, thrown from the other side of the restaurant, came winging at our table like some huge, oversized golden-brown frisbee! We missed it, and just as we looked at each other to say “What the...” another wheel came winging to our table! We caught that one, and the next one that arrived a second or two later. I have no memory of eating anything. Things got a little fuzzy after that.

Then, one of the guys who worked there came to our table and began shouting in Spanish, while he gesticulated with this...er...device in his other hand. It looked suspiciously like a douche (as if I had any idea what the hell that was at the time...but Toothless Ingram (who had to have all of his teeth pulled on the cruise for some reason) stated his certainty of that identification. In the picture below, you can see one of these crazy people who worked there drinking from this contraption!

We’re gonna drink out of a douche? Is that safe?

Well, we were drunk enough at that point that drinking out of the toilet itself might have seemed like a good idea. The guy holding the “device” looked at us, and with the patience of a teacher educating slow students, stuck the tube in his mouth and took a big swallow as if to say “See? Nothing to it!” Well, he used that to dispense beer to us as if he were using a fire extinguisher.

Pretty soon, there were two or three of these things being passed around...my recollection after that time frame is a bit fuzzy. I remember eating chicken and throwing the bones over my shoulder. I also remember a fire starting on the floor at the table next to us, all that crumpled up toilet paper on the floor must have been ripe for a spark, but one of the Lederhosen wearing guys simple walked over and dumped a chamber pot of beer on it to extinguish it.

Throughout it all, there seemed to be and incessant BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM as one or another of the staff would take a turn with the huge mallet.

There were occasional wheels of bread that flew through our midst, I think, but I cannot be sure. At one point, a young lady at another table wearing a denim top surrendered it to the staff, who modeled it for us.

I have no recollection of seeing that woman without it. I remember the woman was there with two guys, and I think it was their table that had the fire.

Soon, all three of the guys who ran the place were drinking with us. I do not believe there was much service going on other than these guys hauling the beer dispenser devices to any patrons who happened to be there, which at that time was doubtful. I believe we were the only ones there.

The next thing I remember is standing outside the place in a line, facing the entrance. As the guys lowered the protective grating on the entrance and crouched underneath it to exit, we all turned around and mooned them. They began shouting in Spanish, and whizzing in the gutter! This whole thing was like a hallucination. At that point, a cab showed up, and Ski jumped up and stood on the hood of the cab, while the driver yelled out the window at him.

That was the last thing I remembered that night. As long as I live, I will never forget that night. The name of the establishment is lost to me, if anyone reading this knows of it, I would appreciate the information. Someone told me later it was very popular with the college crowd.

So, I am grateful for the time I spent in the Navy. I couldn’t have purchased a better education about life. And that night sure was an education!

I usually have a lot to say on this forum whenever the topic comes up. I don't have a connection to it by having been there, but my Commanding Officer in my training squadron (McCain) was one of the pilots who was smack dab in the middle of the conflagration, playing a key part.

Then, my Fleet Squadron I went to (VA-46) was flying the A-4 Skyhawks that ended up being the fuel that ignited the explosions that followed the Zuni missile streaking across the deck.

Remember, the Forrestal fire took place in 1967, and I was in that squadron less than nine years later. Be the equivalent today of a 2014 event to our present day. So there was still a lot of institutional memory of that fire in my squadron, and the lessons from it taught to the fleet were still being taught.

Glad to help.

It was complicated for me for many years on this forum.

As I said, I was in McCain's old squadron (VA-46) some years after he served in it, and when I entered the USN, McCain was my commanding officer for several months. I served as a plane captain trainee and was his plane captain as a trainee on several occasions. I grew up in a military family, and I held the torch for all of our POWs, including McCain, and gave him default respect for years due to all the factors above. I wore POW wrist bracelets (I had one for Denton that eventually corroded and fell off my wrist) and was at Andrews AFB to welcome them home when the first flight of them ended up there, so I have early roots in the POW awareness as a kid. When I joined the USN and was a trainee in his training squadron (VA-174 Hellrazors) some of the other guys didn't know much about him, but I sure did...and about his father and grandfather.

I refused to criticize him for years, and am grateful to a Freeper who gently discussed it with me via Freepmail (not in a thread) and helped me see that McCain was not worthy of any kind of respect or support from me as a conservative. He could have flamed me to pieces in many threads about this, but not only did he not do so...he was reasonable and persuasive without being caustic and abusive. v I cannot tell you how much I appreciate that. I am stubborn about tradition, respect, chain of command, etc., and if that person had fired a few broadsides into me as others had, I would never have seen the light of day.

I still will not criticize his performance as a POW (even though I have reviewed and believe the evidence from other POW's that confirms some of those negative accounts) because...I just wasn't there. I don't know what it was to go through that. We all know everyone (nearly everyone) talks under torture as Admiral Stockdale said (one of my signature heroes in life) I have an extremely negative view of McCain as a politician and husband.

I am fine with the most vitriolic characterizations of his actions in those aspects, but condemn in the strongest terms attempts to pin the USS Forrestal disaster on him. It makes us look foolish, and waters down the things he should have been condemned for. And it disrespects the men who were injured and died that day in 1967 because it sacrifices the truth in an attempt to use the event as a political pawn to bring him down. I really dislike that. v The truth is, McCain did not start that fire no matter what anyone says, even if I myself would like to pin it on him. People say he was clowning around and doing intentional "hot starts" which caused the fire. Simply not true, not even close.

Here is the truth.

Planes were spotted for a launch back near the ramp. This is a common setup. You can see from the image below the relative positions of the planes, I highlighted where McCain's was, the Phantom that fired the Zuni, and the path across the flight deck.

As the planes were getting ready to launch, stray electricity on the MER/TER rack holding Zuni rockets on the wing pylon of an F-4 Phantom caused one to ignite.

It streaked across the flight deck, severed the arm at the shoulder of a sailor who was in its way, and it plowed into the drop tank of the A-4 next to McCain's A-4, passing through it and continued on into the ocean without exploding.

Fuel poured out of the punctured tank onto the flight deck and was ignited by flaming pieces of solid rocket propellant from the Zuni that had fragmented on impact, and the place became an instant conflagration. The

rest is history. The root of the problem was those safety pins I talked about in my account that were removed from the TER/MER racks before we launched. Those safety pins physically broke a circuit, so no electricity at all could be conducted to the ordinance mounted on them. But due to the high tempo of flight operations supporting shore combat in Vietnam, they found that they could decrease the time by removing those pins early on, before the plane started up. This shortcut seemed reasonable and safe, and was approved by leadership on the Forrestal.

NOTE: THIS REMINDS ME OF SOMETHING I FORGOT OR GOT WRONG IN MY ACCOUNT: we had to hook external electrical power up to the plane, and that was what we pulled out of the wells in the flight deck to plug into the side of the plane. That was hooked up before the pilot arrived. Once the plane was started, I believe one of the first things the pilot would do is flip a switch in the cockpit to switch from shipboard power to the plane's own electrical power system. It is part of this root cause.

The F-4 Phantom across the flight deck had the power cable in the plane and its TER/MER safety pin out of the rack.

When the Phantom started up and the pilot flipped the switch to transfer power to the plane, and there was a stray electrical current surge when he flipped that switch that entered the firing system of the TER/MER, and since the electrical switch had been opened by the removal of the safety pin, the current flowed right in and set off the missile, which ignited and fired.

The other root cause of this was the defective ordinance they had loaded on the planes. The Forrestal had been on station conducting heavy flight operations and was running low on ordinance. When an ammunition ship performed and underway replenishment to give them more bombs, the only ones they had left were old Korean War era iron bombs. They were aged and due to that age had more unstable explosives that became that even more unstable with age. Worse, the coating on the bombs, (even thinner coating than the modern bombs at the time) designed to insulate them if they were caught in a fire, had decayed as well, and its performance as an insulator was drastically impaired. The bombs were cracked, had material leaking out of them, and were covered with rust and dirt. The ordinance crews were afraid to even handle them and were concerned that a the shock of launching the plane might set one off. The Captain of the Forrestal was aware of this and attempted to send them back to the ammunition ship (USS Diamond Head), but was told there were no replacements, and it was those old bombs or nothing. So, wanting to fulfill his mission, he reluctantly agreed to accept them.

These old, uninsulated, thin skinned, cracked, leaking, rusting, and chemically unstable bombs were mounted under the wings of the A-4 Skyhawks. When the fire started, it is said that one or two of those bombs came off the racks (possibly inadvertently ejected by McCain) and they rolled around in the flames until they prematurely cooked off and killed dozens of men.

That is it in a nutshell.

Bring back any memories, Chief???

Hahaha...I'll bet if you were in around the same time as I was, you wouldn't have to struggle to remember what a "MAF" was!

You Chiefs. I had some great Chiefs. Chief Waters, who handed out all the nicknames to our guys himself became "Chief Muddy Waters" due to his constant cheek bulging with Red Man and styrofoam cup of brown spit.

Chief Moore. Best. Chief. Ever. I have a great story about him.

He was one of the most taciturn people I had ever met. But not taciturn in the way someone might be sullen or unfriendly, but...just didn't say much.

The chief was a very pleasant guy. He never, ever lost his cool. He was rational, thoughtful, and a GREAT mechanic.

That is him with the blue baseball cap and his hand on Naperski's head (we were at the volcano park outside of Naples for a squadron BBQ. Perfect picture, captured him faithfully. We all thought he was a great guy and someone we all could find something to emulate in. But man, was he a quiet guy.

He was quiet, and calm. Great qualities. I remember once, up on the flight deck, someone dressed in khaki came running up to him with steam coming out of his ears. He was waving his arms, yelling and was squarely facing the chief about two feet away. I don't remember what he was pissed about, some maintenance thing.

While he yelled, Chief Moore just stood there impassively, styrofoam cup in one hand, cheek bulged out to one side of his black mustache, not moving. His blue eyes (they were kind of an Electra-Shave blue) just looked right back at the angry guy without showing any emotion.

Gotta remember one thing about Chief Moore. He was from down south, and always had a big chaw of Red Man in one cheek, a lot of them did like the Famous Chief Muddy Waters. Not a little dainty one, either. There were times when little strands of black, wet chewing tobacco could be seen sneaking out of the corner of his mouth. I recall seeing him pull the bag out, incline his head to the side while he conveyed a big blob of tobacco from the bag to his mouth as he tried to minimize the droppage.

So as this guy lost his mind yelling at him, Chief Moore stood like a wooden indian holding the ever present styrofoam cup. Just as the guy was reaching his peak of agitation, Chief Moore inclined his head a fraction, brought the styrofoam cup up a little higher, and a dark brown jet of tobacco spit exited from under his black mustache and expertly landed in the cup without so much as a drop hitting the sides.

The guy yelling at him literally stopped in mid-sentence with his arms halfway up in the air. It appeared he had completely forgotten what he was saying. His mouth opened and closed once or twice like he was a landed fish, then he turned on his heels and walked away.

Over the years, I have often thought of that, and am convinced he DID play that guy like a fish, and waited to spit at just the right time.

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