COMMUNICATIONS

The Communications Division of any ship might almost be called the ears of a ship. They are continually listening to the chit-chat of the ether waves and have more scuttlebutt to put out than any other bunch of people with the possible exception of the mess cooks.

Occassionally a fellow with a glassy‑ eyed stare can be seen wandering around the deck. It's a pretty safe bet that he’s a dit‑daw crazy radioman, a ping‑happy sonarman or a pie‑eyed radarman that has somehow escaped from his deep dark hole.

The quartermasters are more of the outdoor type. They are continually running around with a sextant and bearing ring trying to get a fix by taking sights on heavenly bodies. (Stars, that is). Then after spending several hours thumbing through books and jotting down many figures, they plot a triangle that can be covered only by the entire hand. After all this they tell us, "Well , we’re somewhere off the coast of the U.S."

Let us not forget that small group that is always slaving from morn until morn; the yeomen. At sea is the only time that they have to catch up on all their reports. And just about that time, back into port we go, only to receive a new load of mail which immediately buries them again.

Yes, we were called the C division and the only possible thing that it could have stood for was crazy ‑‑ ‑ ‑   if you're not before you start in communications, it won't be long before you are.

At early dawn comes radio checks,
Leaving us crazy, hair pulling wrecks,
A certain number of little grey boxes,
Which make lots of noise, like two fighting oxes,
Always garbling the heading and sometimes the text,
We log just enough so the Captain's not vexed.
The Captain calls down sayin' "Get out of your coffin
Tell 'em we hear 'em too damn loud and too damn often."

Now there was a shakedown back in '46;
That was when CIC was at it's bliss.
The CIC racket couldn't have been finer,
For our blooming call was "Lullaby Niner"!
And when e'er our call hit the air,
T 'was like the magic words, "Standby, Beware."
Then we joined the old Eight Ball Squad,
And many's the place we've steamed in a fog.
And never once was Combat confused;
For it all served to keep us amused.

Now two years later in '48,
The bureau opens up and gives us the gate,
They tell us to spend our time down south,
Chasing gadgets who speed around and about.
Now you know and can very well hear,
The bridge shouting down in our ear,
“Come on Combat, get on the ball
If you expect any liberty at all. “

Now CIC is not very large;
In fact compact and actually small;
There's only three paces from wall to wall.
Yet of all the scatter brains and gear,
You'll always hear our welcomeing cheer:
"Come on in boys, if you think you can hold 'er,
For now you're aboard the "Mouldy Holder"."

HERE AND THERE WITH THE GUNNERS

A certain GMC was down in the forward chiefs quarters waking the reliefs. When asked if the coffee was on, he said, "My name is Cummings," and turned around and walked off.

Things are really getting rough in Key West. "Moose" English TMC, has switched to tea at the famous, Southernmost Tea Room on Highway #1.

Most of us still feel the effects of our recent trip to New York, but Fire Controlman Bill Wright still shows the effects. What happened, Willie?   Did a chicken kick you?

We understand that Walker, GM1, has recently acquired a calendar. Oh well, Hiram, you can mail those cards next year.

Why is it that Polly, GM2, is now steering well clear of all slow moving trucks?

Just recently, Donald (Ging) Oyler learned to play the clarinet, and now they call him banjo.

Within a few months the fire control gang will be bidding farewell to Brown, Olson and Rhodes.

Norman (1 MC) Shaffer is taking a Charles Atlas correspondence course as his extra‑curricular activities in FC School in D.C.

"Killer" Cole, the only man Mr. Dickey ever saw, sleeping on a wheel watch while making an approach to pass mail to a submarine.

"AlNav" Alexander (Alias Vital Statistics ) is available from 0800 until 2200 any day for consulatations on any subject.

Benjamin "Pistol Packin' Mama" Paskin didn't realize how fast he could run until the necessity arose.

Why is it that "Duck" Lundin always turns his radar before going ashore in the afternoon