THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, July 31, 1996 TAG: 9607310429
SECTION: MILITARY NEWS PAGE: A10 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY MYRON GLOVER
LENGTH: 59 lines
0600, and Reveille.
I roll out of my rack to the sounds of hundreds of feet slamming to the deck. Better hurry, I think, if I want to be one of the first to the head.
Grabbing my towel, wash cloth and soap, I make the mad dash to the light at the end of the passageway, sliding past others with the same aim. Luck must be on my side: I'm the fifth in.
Feeling brand-new after a shower and shave, I take a quick, brisk walk through the hangar bay, ducking to miss the wing of a parked F/A-18 Hornet, drinking in the smell of bacon, eggs and hash browns. They've drifted up here from the mess decks, overpowering the odor of jet fuel and grease and machinery, luring me.
I have time to eat, I decide, but it'll have to fast. Wouldn't want to be chief's ``problem child'' this morning, especially if he hasn't had his morning cup of coffee. Oh yeah, must hurry.
It's 0659 when I hurry from the mess. I make morning quarters just in time. The night check supervisor starts his morning pass-down to me. I'm sort of paying attention - I'm more concerned about the sight of huge piles of gear on the deck, airplane parts the squadrons dropped off while I slept.
Within an hour I'm knee-deep in the work the Navy pays me for. My shipmates and I are turning wrenches like we're possessed. Production Control wants the parts back, like, yesterday.
Uh-oh, here comes the chief. Standard questions: How's everything this morning? Fine, chief. He strolls off. I get back to work.
Before long it's time to get to the hangar bay to stand in the chow line. I'll have a Big Mac and some fries, I tell the guy behind the counter. He must not hear me: What he puts on my tray is stewed beef and rice.
I decide to eat it anyway. I sit at a table with other sailors, trying to get a little elbow room, then head back to work before the chief sees me lounging.
It's 1300 when I get back to the job. If I weren't on an aircraft carrier, weren't at sea, I'd get to go home in 2 1/2 hours. As it is, my working ours are 0700 to 1900 - a long day by anyone's standards.
But motivation is high. All of the sailors around me know their jobs, which makes my job a lot easier. I wouldn't want to be with any other crew in the Navy: We all share tremendous pride in the huge, powerful Enterprise. Trying to uphold the reputation of her past crews keeps us working hard every day.
The hours pass quickly: Suddenly, it's time to do pass-down, to hand off the job to my replacement on the next shift. I'm tired, yet relieved to be getting off. Afterward, I find myself in that same mad dash to the head to take a shower.
This time I'm not so lucky: I'm something like 35th in line.
The hot water draws the last of my energy from me. I have to muster the last of my strength to climb up to the top bunk. Now it's time to leave the problems behind and think of home. Boy, am I tired.
I say a quick prayer for me, my family and my shipmates. Good night, ``Big E.'' I'll be seeing you tomorrow.
Good night, Virginia and Florida.
I'll be seeing you in six months. MEMO: Petty Officer 2nd Class Myron Glover is an aviation ordnanceman
working aboard the carrier Enterprise. by CNB