10 – Enroute Boat School
The usual suspects
They met at the town jail to update the HUA files. The files, shared tales of the most recent incidences of concern in the town, were at once sad, joyous, or evil to their core. They were shared, with smirks and laughter, by the towns’ police force. The shared tales of assaults, juvenile pranks, robberies, suspicious fires, even the occasional instance of citizen bravery and courage, were the usual sort of shit only shitbirds could bring to life in such a small town. The suspects or perpetrators were all, of course, documented in excruciating detail. Just one file drawer at the jail held their HUA files, about and by people who evidently had their Heads Up their Ass because of the things they did, or the excuses they blurted out for whatever event had transpired.
The HUA files were often shared with State Troopers cooperating on special cases; both groups always had a good laugh! None of the tales were of course normal, but became so in their small world, the town of Cape Elizabeth, Maine. The police force had but a Lieutenant, a Sergeant and two corporals, hardly the necessary force to deal with all these miscreants and these incidents, or so they regularly told themselves.
The shared tales recounted at their meetings led to better law enforcement, better utilization of limited resources, and a shared awareness of what and whom they had to deal with. It also let them share a good laugh every so often. The “usual suspects” as Bogey had said in that movie, recurred across the varied tales in the HUA files.
Among the usual suspects the name Tooley occurred most often.
The first suspect
Padrick Marcus Michael O’Toole, Tooley, was almost always the first suspect of the police force. His pranks ranged from lighting a bonfire across a road on Halloween to hanging rotten pumpkins at windshield level along those same roads weeks later. He was even suspected of chaining the Lieutenant’s rear axle to a tree one night. Nothing was proven; the case remained humorously open.
The Lieutenant mused, “Funny that Mischief never stuck as his nickname! Mischief and Mayhem should be his middle names, not Marcus or Michael. Though I must admit I think that O’Toole saved two children from a house fire, but eluded getting his name in the paper for that; the description of the mysterious savior matches him to a tee.”
Tooley was what he’d been called since first getting in trouble, and this faculty to find trouble and jump in the middle of it seemed to be in the air at the oddest of times. His Maa, prim and proper and all too Catholic, was at a loss to explain why Tooley behaved so, and frequently chastised him. “God will get you and punish you if you don’t stop these shenanigans. One more time and I’ll get your Daa to tan your hide with his belt.”
His grades in school were often very good, especially in math. Yet he was as often rebellious, a trait his Daa attributed to his Irish roots. Tooley was ever distrustful of authority and regimentation. Hadn’t his very own grandfather’s funeral been interrupted in County Kerry by the Black and Tans, they being a very symbol of the crown’s authority on the loose in Ireland? Daa had few good words about Brits and beamed when telling him how he was descended from a Celtic warrior of great bravery who fought legions of men, who had naturally married the most beautiful of women.
Tooley nevertheless got to know his Daa’s stern words about behavior, and Daa’s belt, especially if it meant damages to be paid. Tooley’s transgressions occasioned several jobs to work off damages, or Daa’s charges. “Padrick, you’re a natural in sports. Why do you wander from sport to sport by season and never became a star in any one sport? And why do you disrupt them all?”
Padrick confessed ignorance of the Why. He knew his Daa approved, at least in part, so apparent were his talents that coaches competed for his participation. Now that has to be pleasing to Himself!
Tooley’s youth was influenced heavily by the assistant pastor of his church, who was more concerned with the average working man than was their pompous pastor. The pastor wanted to build a mosaic tile tower in the front of the church, a monument to him rather than God. It was to be taller than any mosaic in New England, all this in a working class parish. The assistant pastor’s calm and logical resistance led to his “banishment” to an Indian reservation in the backwoods of Maine. The pastor did get his monument. It was a sad lesson to see.
Tooley later attended the parish school, Holy Cross, suffering numerous encounters with its principal, Sr. Mary “Marble Ass,” who regularly applied her thick yard stick across the knuckles of mischievous students. Tooley was a regular recipient, but learned fast, and often – Behave, or don’t get caught.
Ice cubes for an Eskimo
Tooley’s grades and charm … it was said he could sell ice cubes to an Eskimo … were his saving grace. On a dare, and with the princely sum of five dollars on the line, Tooley had applied to compete for an appointment to the Naval Academy, figuring his chances to twelve decimal places, and quite improbable. He was wrong.
Tooley had been mighty impressed with his feat of somehow managing to get a Congressman’s appointment to Annapolis, the Boat School as his older Army vet brother Evan called it.
“Tooley, I’ll bust your head if you disappoint Daa. You need to straighten up and do something right for once – and no troubles!”
A little off the top
Tooley would not become one of the usual suspects at Navy, but got in more than his share of troubles, more than most of his classmates – right from the get go.
He sat in the barbershop chair, waiting to get his first haircut in months. It was his first day at Navy; he looked out over the tennis courts and the seawall and thought, what have I gotten myself into?
The patterns of the tennis courts outside the windows struck him, like some mathematical equation he’d heard of in some class, or maybe it was the chicks playing with the Firsties out there. Plebes, the name for freshmen at Navy, were not allowed to see or talk to girls – or risked the certain, unforgiving wrath of upper class. Plebes were, as they were often told … “the only thing lower than whale shit in the ocean.” Firsties were seniors, next to God himself in this part of naval heaven.
“Take just a little off the top please”, he politely told the barber, the first colored person he’d seen besides those on television at home. It was the Sixties and he was from Maine. The barber nodded an acknowledgement and promptly removed all but a scant quarter inch of hair all around. Tooley lost his locks and swore at the man, “What the hell did you do that for?
“Just part of the benefits here. We cut you folks all the same; it keeps your head cooler in the heat.”
Tooley ended up running two hours Extra Duty (ED) for his outburst, learning once again that he was a Plebe and, indeed, lower than whale shit in the ocean. “Pull another stunt like that and I’ll have you out on Hospital Point for ED every day of the week” warned his Second Class Plebe Summer squad leader. Tooley made it through Plebe Summer, with ED each week regular as you please.
There were few light moments during the academic year, one at Sunday night dinner in the mess hall each weekend. The Plebes had to provide entertainment for the upper class at their assigned company table in King Hall. Tooley excelled at performing each Sunday evening, often making the Firsties (seniors) squirm. Across from the Plebes at each table sat the Youngsters, the Third Class or sophomores, just out of their own year of misery. They always chuckled at seeing Firsties squirm.
Late night endeavors
The paint dripped, but it was the message that was important! He painted the laundry smoke stack with BEAT ARMY in foot high letters once, twice if you counted an assist. The assist was a chore to pull off; Tooley and Stan, Bob and Mike had to find a ladder that would reach the roofs’ edge, and yet be light enough to then pull it up on the gravel roof … then reach up to the metal rungs on the smoke stack itself. Their intell had to be absolute that no other class would be there on that particular night, as each vied for showing off its spirit visually. The intell was good. Stan blurted out, looking to see if anyone listened –“Tooley hold the ladder while Bob and Mike climb and do the painting.”
“I hope they don’t spill any on me from way up there,” Tooley said looking skyward. It had only been his class that were there as painters that night.
Tooley played rugby, a tough sport for guys with leather balls, and had great math and science grades, but consistently failed in behavior, earning demerits for being, well … Tooley. He was the proverbial loose cannon; he got fried or put on report for infractions a lot … quite a lot.
Hundredth Night
100 nights before the First Class (Firsties) graduated tradition let the Plebes take charge of them, and run their ass for an hour before the Hundredth Night evening meal. It was payback time, but one had to be cautious. You had to Order them to Come Around for their hour long in advance. With that kind of warning Firsties could make your life truly lower than whale shit for as long as that advance notice was. Tooley didn’t care.
Tooley planned it out; it was memorable, the gist of stories for years to come. He bought a large flounder out in town, ground it up, and smeared it on the Firsties room’s cast iron radiator. Then he turned the heat on full. The stench drove mids away within days, laughing uncontrollably when they heard the story.
“His ass is mine,” Tony screamed. “I’m going to have him running beer runs for weeks.” Tooley never had more thorough workouts, yet he smiled, knew he’d get his turn, and hazing didn’t bother him in the least. Tooley and Tony lived through the experience, and smiled knowingly at that meal.
Anchor Yanker
Tooley managed to graduate, but only just; he was near the bottom. He actually made a run for Anchorman, last in class by Grade Point Average to graduate. This notoriety had its own tradition which required each classmate to give “their” Anchorman $1.00. I might just leave with a wad of money.
Tooley purposely got fried to bring his behavior grades down, hoping his average would edge him closer to Anchorman status. He missed by just .005 grade points. He swore - Damn, I put more into that than all of my classes this semester. One would think the gods would at least recognize my talents!
At graduation he chose Cryptography as his career path and went to a flock of crypto schools. He graduated at the top of each class, even beating out a Harvard Phi Beta Kappa for first in class. That done he was given his choice of duty stations.
He chose USS Liberty, AGTR 5, stationed in the Med. Liberty was officially a “technical research ship” but every crypie knew it was a spy ship. Its communications or comm gear was the most advanced, sophisticated in the world, and its crew included the most brilliant linguists in the world. Tooley pondered his assignment though … I get to work with the coolest stuff.
He arrived in May of 1967 For Duty. He always wanted to do his own thing, write his own story … and what a story he wanted it to be. On the other hand, crypies were proscribed from ever writing of their duties or experiences. He thought of that edict … this is a strange ship in a strange place. I wonder what shore leave will be like in this damnable part of the world. What have I signed up for? I wonder if it will be a boring tour.
