Daddy? 

by Bob "Flapper" Parker

After Sub School in 1963, I was sent to USS Scamp in San Diego for my qual boat. I was in the Seaman gang, and through some quirk of fate never had to serve a tour mess-cooking. A lot of the really senior guys in those days were WW II vets and had some real tales to tell. One of those vets was the Chief CS head cook, a grizzled old raunchy-talking true swab.

Like any other boat in that era, when there were BS sessions going on in the Crew’s Mess, the topics were fairly limited: sexual or drinking exploits, close calls with SPs, Jarheads, Airdales and other ‘foreigners’, and other kinds of near-death experiences.

As the boss of the Mess, the Chief (can’t remember his name) had access to the service jackets (and all the personal data therein, like home town, date of birth, mothers maiden name, etc.) of all of his mess ‘cranks’; however he used the information he culled in a very fiendish way! Remember that the mess cooks in that era were of an age just preceding the ‘Baby Boomers’, in that they would have been conceived and born during WW II – not afterwards.

Scene: Meal time is done and cleanup is just about wrapped up. The Chief plants his butt at one of the tables, with a note pad and maybe some stores inventory lists or other tools of his trade; his 1st class cook, Charlie, joins him. Cards games are getting set up, an Acey-Deucy match is in progress … you get the image.

Chief (calling to one of the mess cranks): “Smith! Come on over and take a break; things are looking OK.”

The chief turns back to Charlie, as if continuing their BS’ing, and Charlie (who is in on the scam) waits until Smith sits down and joins them, and says, “Where yah from, kid?”

Smith gives his home town: “Salina Kansas, Charlie”

Scratching his balding head, and taking a sip of his black and bitter, the Chief responds, “Salina Kansas! I been there! It was back during the war. I was transferring from the Atlantic fleet to the Pacific and was taking a train cross-country. We made an over-night stop in Salina. That was when I got the best piece of ass I can ever remember.”

“When was that, Chief?” Charlie asks.

“Well, lessee now; it would have early spring of 1943. Yeah, March of ’43.” This happens to be 9 months before the mess cook’s date of birth.

The Chief continues, “Oh, I was quite the Romeo in those days and this black haired beauty fell to my charms like a ripe apple from a tree. What was her name anyhow? Mary Beth? Mary Jane? No. Ah! Now I remember! It was Mary Sue Martin; God, we had fun that night!”

Mary Sue Martin is the maiden name of Smith’ mother, and Smith’s eyes are wide as saucers, having put 2 and 2 together. He doesn’t know whether to punch the Chief in outrage … or to hug him close and say “Daddy?”

Published July 2006 - A Doc Gardner's 2006 Sea Story award winner (1 of 3)