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Anonymous
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Before I became a Christian in 1998, I had lived 50 years. I refer to those years as the "Locust years," mainly because I lived only to serve myself. I reaped exactly what I sowed. There was no crop of substance, and what little good that was done in my own little puny power was not to honor the Lord and little bit of goodness was summarily consumed by the locusts. What a waste.
I am not particularly proud of my lack of accomplishments of that time, but I do have one event that was a bit humerous that I wanted to relay to you -- especially since the forum is in GREAT need for any kind of a story right now. I don't normally write of these times, but the truth is, the well is runnin' a bit dry right now and I am scrapin' the bottom of the barrel, can'tyousee.
The time was 1969. The place; Wakiki Beach, HA. I was on my way to exotic SE Asia for a little "touring." I was in the Navy and as they promised, I was about to see the world--and the first port of call was comin' up--the famous Pearl Harbor.
I had never been out of Arkansas but once and that was to Texas (another foreign country to a 12 year old Razorback). I was a lean, mean fightin' machine, fresh out of Boot Camp, weighing in at all of 160 pounds. I was 21 years of age. What I lacked in muscle I also lacked in knowledge and wisdom.
We anchored at Pearl after a 6-day voyage from San Diego. I was excited. They told us all the "off limits" places to stay away from and I made note of it.
It just so happened that as I was departing the ship, I looked over and saw my best buddy's ship anchored. So I boarded it and looked Buster up. We soon were on our way.
We began with a steak at Mikes Grog and Scog, but as the evening wore on, the beer began to bear down on us ole salts. Truth was, neither of us could hold our liquor very well, and it was obvious to the most casual of observers. Eventually we wound up at a dive on Hotel Street. I remembered that this street was off limits, but I didn't care. To me, Viet Nam and the Phillipines were off limits, but I was I going over there anyway.
So, once on Hotel Street and in this bar, we sat back and drank far beyond our capacity. Once we were bleary-eyed, an extravagant Amazon came over to us, very scantily dressed, I might add. We were in no shape to walk good, much less be of service to her, but here she came anyway...a woman of the world, looking for a drunken sailor's money. She looked like Raquel Welch (remember we were looking through the bottoms of beer glasses).
So up she swaggers. She stopped at our table and bent from waist, placing her elbows on our table. Everything was hangin' out. She was a Hooters star before Hooters ever came about. Buster and I just stared in our stupor. We probably were drooling as well. She looked each of us in the eye and said, with a rough voice. Hey, you sailors like tits??? Buster, who was 6'3" and 210 pounds, said, "hail yes we like 'em" and proceeded to plunge his right hand down her cleavage--without an invitation, I might add. She recoiled a bit and for no reason, two other girls came over. They all looked like they worked out at the same gym. All were really power women right out of Muscle and Fitness magazine--but what bodies!
The same one that Buster made contact with came closer to him again, but this time she didn't bend over. I'm tellin' you, she delivered an unprovoked, hard, right hand to the side of Buster's left jaw that sent him absolutely sprawling across the floor. We were shocked. We were just havin
a good time. "Hey, lady, we didn't mean anything by i--" WHAM. I got smacked by one of the other ones--and hard too (really hard).
Now bein' Southern Gentlemens, we were taught by our families to NEVER hit a woman. So we put our hands to our faces in a defensive posture and took 15 or 20 repeated, hard hits. Some we blocked, most we didn't. (We couldn't see 'em comin) <img src="/metal/html/lol.gif" border=0 width=15 height=15 alt=":lol">
Now, have you seen the old B westerns where the bad guys are thrown out of the double swinging doors of the bar to the dust of the street? Well, because we didn't mount any kind of offense, it was not long that all we wanted was to be AWAY from those bitches--and how. They literally knocked us out the doors and we wound up on our backs in the middle of Hotel Street.
Once the gals saw us to the street, they broke off their assault and returned to their lair, cussin' and laughin'. I looked at Buster and said, "That's another fine mess you've got us into you S** O* a B****!
About that time one of Wakiki Beach's finest yanked us up off the street by the collars (remember the Navy collars?) of our summer white uniforms and said, "What the h** are you swabs doin' messing with them queers, anyway??? Buster's face turned beat red. "Queers? Why I'll beat the livin' h** out of each one of them plasticized steroid-laced transvestite sons of bitches! The cop said, "The h** you will boys. You get your asses outta here before I call the Shore Patrol, and I mean NOW!
He turned us toward the main street area and we began to stagger off. I glared back at him, "C'mon Buster, let's catch the bus back to Pearl and be done with this bunch of ass****s." The cop just smiled and said, "Tough luck swabbies, the buses stopped running at midnight. You got a long hike back to Pearl." I looked at my watch. It was 1:30 am. It was seven miles to Pearl Harbor, best I remember and we were just a shade from bein' knee-walkin' drunk.
So, we took off. We looked like death warmed over--filthy from rollin' in the dusty street and in summer whites at that. No one - not even a pervert- (and they have a BUNCH of 'em there) would pick up a couple of drunk sailors that night. We walked the entire way, lickin' our wounds and our pride, restin' a while and walkin' a while.
About a mile before we got to Pearl it began to rain. It rained enough to just soak us through and through to the bone. Once we got into the base, Buster split off and staggered toward his ship. "See ya later buddy," he said. "I'll hook up with you again." With that exchange, I went my way.
It was probably 4:00 am and it started to rain again. I found a parked Navy car in a parking lot that had it's doors unlocked. I helped myself. I politely hopped in and promptly passed out.
The next thing I knew, it was 0820 hours. Muster was at 0730! I looked at myself. I was a MESS. I looked like a walking mud pie! The car I chose to sleep in was a wreck that had been up on blocks for months for cannibalization. It was just covered on the inside with a think layer of dust! Combine that dusk with a soaking wet summer white uniform and me rolling around in that mess for a few hours and you can imagine just how I looked.
I managed to unass the vehicle and made a dash for the ship. As I ascended the gangway the Master at Arms said, "Oh h***, look at this sh*t! I was written up for a number of offenses that a fine sailor would not get caught doin' and spent the better part of a month on ship restriction, paying my dues.
So much for seein' the world and my first encounter with the beautiful state of Hawaaii.
I eventually straightened up a bit and became a reasonably good corpsman/dental tech, once I learned that me and booze didn't mix too awlfully well.
As for Buster, well the next time I saw him was in San Diego a year or two later when he just happened to sail into the harbor. By the grace of God we both made it out of the Navy with Honorable discharges (no kiddin') and resumed our lives. Buster, however, married a gal with a kid and remained in California for 15 years or more but eventually came back to his Arkansas home, family in tow.
Buster died a few years ago of lung cancer. He was the best man at my wedding and my best runnin' buddy in my junior and senior year at Benton High School. We were Navy buds and buds after the Navy. It's too bad he couldn't control his smoking from the time I met him. Otherwise I would have him as my buddy even today.
We both learned a few things along the way. The first thing these two country boys learned was "Things are not always as they appear" and "If it looks too good to be true, it probably is."
Well, it DOES make for a decent story--maybe. I'm not proud of much of what I did during the Locust years, but maybe this 'ill rock some of your memeories and will result in a GOOD story.
I am grateful that I serve a "second chance" Lord who never gave up on me. The best thing is...that he won't give up on you either. Just give Him a shot and He'll make you just what He intended for you to be--Hotel Street or no Hotel Street.
Thanks for comin' along. <><
Arkie John
I am not particularly proud of my lack of accomplishments of that time, but I do have one event that was a bit humerous that I wanted to relay to you -- especially since the forum is in GREAT need for any kind of a story right now. I don't normally write of these times, but the truth is, the well is runnin' a bit dry right now and I am scrapin' the bottom of the barrel, can'tyousee.
The time was 1969. The place; Wakiki Beach, HA. I was on my way to exotic SE Asia for a little "touring." I was in the Navy and as they promised, I was about to see the world--and the first port of call was comin' up--the famous Pearl Harbor.
I had never been out of Arkansas but once and that was to Texas (another foreign country to a 12 year old Razorback). I was a lean, mean fightin' machine, fresh out of Boot Camp, weighing in at all of 160 pounds. I was 21 years of age. What I lacked in muscle I also lacked in knowledge and wisdom.
We anchored at Pearl after a 6-day voyage from San Diego. I was excited. They told us all the "off limits" places to stay away from and I made note of it.
It just so happened that as I was departing the ship, I looked over and saw my best buddy's ship anchored. So I boarded it and looked Buster up. We soon were on our way.
We began with a steak at Mikes Grog and Scog, but as the evening wore on, the beer began to bear down on us ole salts. Truth was, neither of us could hold our liquor very well, and it was obvious to the most casual of observers. Eventually we wound up at a dive on Hotel Street. I remembered that this street was off limits, but I didn't care. To me, Viet Nam and the Phillipines were off limits, but I was I going over there anyway.
So, once on Hotel Street and in this bar, we sat back and drank far beyond our capacity. Once we were bleary-eyed, an extravagant Amazon came over to us, very scantily dressed, I might add. We were in no shape to walk good, much less be of service to her, but here she came anyway...a woman of the world, looking for a drunken sailor's money. She looked like Raquel Welch (remember we were looking through the bottoms of beer glasses).
So up she swaggers. She stopped at our table and bent from waist, placing her elbows on our table. Everything was hangin' out. She was a Hooters star before Hooters ever came about. Buster and I just stared in our stupor. We probably were drooling as well. She looked each of us in the eye and said, with a rough voice. Hey, you sailors like tits??? Buster, who was 6'3" and 210 pounds, said, "hail yes we like 'em" and proceeded to plunge his right hand down her cleavage--without an invitation, I might add. She recoiled a bit and for no reason, two other girls came over. They all looked like they worked out at the same gym. All were really power women right out of Muscle and Fitness magazine--but what bodies!
The same one that Buster made contact with came closer to him again, but this time she didn't bend over. I'm tellin' you, she delivered an unprovoked, hard, right hand to the side of Buster's left jaw that sent him absolutely sprawling across the floor. We were shocked. We were just havin
a good time. "Hey, lady, we didn't mean anything by i--" WHAM. I got smacked by one of the other ones--and hard too (really hard).
Now bein' Southern Gentlemens, we were taught by our families to NEVER hit a woman. So we put our hands to our faces in a defensive posture and took 15 or 20 repeated, hard hits. Some we blocked, most we didn't. (We couldn't see 'em comin) <img src="/metal/html/lol.gif" border=0 width=15 height=15 alt=":lol">
Now, have you seen the old B westerns where the bad guys are thrown out of the double swinging doors of the bar to the dust of the street? Well, because we didn't mount any kind of offense, it was not long that all we wanted was to be AWAY from those bitches--and how. They literally knocked us out the doors and we wound up on our backs in the middle of Hotel Street.
Once the gals saw us to the street, they broke off their assault and returned to their lair, cussin' and laughin'. I looked at Buster and said, "That's another fine mess you've got us into you S** O* a B****!
About that time one of Wakiki Beach's finest yanked us up off the street by the collars (remember the Navy collars?) of our summer white uniforms and said, "What the h** are you swabs doin' messing with them queers, anyway??? Buster's face turned beat red. "Queers? Why I'll beat the livin' h** out of each one of them plasticized steroid-laced transvestite sons of bitches! The cop said, "The h** you will boys. You get your asses outta here before I call the Shore Patrol, and I mean NOW!
He turned us toward the main street area and we began to stagger off. I glared back at him, "C'mon Buster, let's catch the bus back to Pearl and be done with this bunch of ass****s." The cop just smiled and said, "Tough luck swabbies, the buses stopped running at midnight. You got a long hike back to Pearl." I looked at my watch. It was 1:30 am. It was seven miles to Pearl Harbor, best I remember and we were just a shade from bein' knee-walkin' drunk.
So, we took off. We looked like death warmed over--filthy from rollin' in the dusty street and in summer whites at that. No one - not even a pervert- (and they have a BUNCH of 'em there) would pick up a couple of drunk sailors that night. We walked the entire way, lickin' our wounds and our pride, restin' a while and walkin' a while.
About a mile before we got to Pearl it began to rain. It rained enough to just soak us through and through to the bone. Once we got into the base, Buster split off and staggered toward his ship. "See ya later buddy," he said. "I'll hook up with you again." With that exchange, I went my way.
It was probably 4:00 am and it started to rain again. I found a parked Navy car in a parking lot that had it's doors unlocked. I helped myself. I politely hopped in and promptly passed out.
The next thing I knew, it was 0820 hours. Muster was at 0730! I looked at myself. I was a MESS. I looked like a walking mud pie! The car I chose to sleep in was a wreck that had been up on blocks for months for cannibalization. It was just covered on the inside with a think layer of dust! Combine that dusk with a soaking wet summer white uniform and me rolling around in that mess for a few hours and you can imagine just how I looked.
I managed to unass the vehicle and made a dash for the ship. As I ascended the gangway the Master at Arms said, "Oh h***, look at this sh*t! I was written up for a number of offenses that a fine sailor would not get caught doin' and spent the better part of a month on ship restriction, paying my dues.
So much for seein' the world and my first encounter with the beautiful state of Hawaaii.
I eventually straightened up a bit and became a reasonably good corpsman/dental tech, once I learned that me and booze didn't mix too awlfully well.
As for Buster, well the next time I saw him was in San Diego a year or two later when he just happened to sail into the harbor. By the grace of God we both made it out of the Navy with Honorable discharges (no kiddin') and resumed our lives. Buster, however, married a gal with a kid and remained in California for 15 years or more but eventually came back to his Arkansas home, family in tow.
Buster died a few years ago of lung cancer. He was the best man at my wedding and my best runnin' buddy in my junior and senior year at Benton High School. We were Navy buds and buds after the Navy. It's too bad he couldn't control his smoking from the time I met him. Otherwise I would have him as my buddy even today.
We both learned a few things along the way. The first thing these two country boys learned was "Things are not always as they appear" and "If it looks too good to be true, it probably is."
Well, it DOES make for a decent story--maybe. I'm not proud of much of what I did during the Locust years, but maybe this 'ill rock some of your memeories and will result in a GOOD story.
I am grateful that I serve a "second chance" Lord who never gave up on me. The best thing is...that he won't give up on you either. Just give Him a shot and He'll make you just what He intended for you to be--Hotel Street or no Hotel Street.
Thanks for comin' along. <><
Arkie John
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