Ships Store Items

The following items are offered for sale through the Ships Store.  All orders are handled through Shorty Cyr, BM3, 119 Pinecrest Drive, Waterbury, CT   06708, Phone #203-753-6220, e-mail at:  shortybm3@yahoo.com  All orders must be accompanied by a check.  Checks must be made out to the USS Plymouth Rock Association.  You can click on any image to obtain a larger view of the item.  

Plymouth Rock Mug.  Price is $15.00 includes shipping and handling.	Bumper Stickers.  Price is $2.80 includes shipping and handling.
Ships Patch.  Price is $8.75 includes shipping and handling.	Plymouth Rock Cap.  Price is $15.00 this price includes shipping and handling.
Short sleeve tee shirt.  Price is $22.00 which includes shipping and handling.  The following sizes are available:  Med./Lge./XL/XXL and XXXL.	Personalized Commemorative Plaques.  Price is dependent on size, 7x9 is $15.00 + $5.00 shipping, 8 x 10 is $20.00 + $5.00 shipping.   To order contact Shorty Cyr, BM3, he will send you an order form.

Contributed by Harry Andersen, BTC, Retired

I was assigned to Naval Mobile Construction Battalion One [NMCB-1]. The battalion had movement orders and all support materials were packed, crated and on the pier for transit.We were packed, crated and on the pier for transit. The heavy construction equipment had already been placed on an LST and the ship along with Alpha Company’s personnel had set sail with the morning tide. The main body was awaiting the arrival of the USS OLMSTEAD APA 188, an attack troop transport that would take us to our deployment site.

The ship was not the bad feeder we had been lead to believe as our battalion cooks and mess men supplemented the ship’s galley staff. The mess-deck was one level down, amidships. It was initially a popular place…no one missed mess-call. We joked of selling our supply of sardines and sausages to those disgruntle ship’s company line-handler.

The first day out was pleasant and uneventful, spirits were high. Most of the men were lounging about on the forward main deck. Some looked at the sea and the dolphins that would occasionally race and frolic along side. Others were sitting about the deck in small groups playing cards or snoozing on blankets. As members of Operations, Bart, Joe and I were in the gloomy transit admin spaces working on crew assignments and work schedules for the battalion’s pending operating commitment. We were envious of those loitering on deck enjoying the sun and invigorating sea air.

During the night the seas picked-up and the ship began to rise, fall and yaw. It would shutter as it slid of to the side and then right itself. Being in the bow section, the motion was exaggerated many fold. At reveille most of us had trouble climbing from our bunks. Standing was difficult as none had developed “sea legs” to adjust to the movement of the ship. Many grew uneasy, experiencing an inner discomfort that was very foreign. When “chow” was piped, it was with extreme trepidation that I fell in the mess-line which was sparse compared to the previous day. The usual chatter and horseplay was non-existent. As the line moved adjacent to the scullery, one of the unfortunate souls scouring metal trays in the steaming deep sinks turned ashen, tossing-up large quantities of a multi-colored substance into the pile of scattered trays

Joe and I retched, grabbed our mouths and raced up the ladder to the main deck. On reaching the rail, we convulsed until we had intermittent “dry heaves,” bringing up nothing but air. These bouts lasted for what seemed eternity. Finally, after up-chucking what I recognized as assorted candies from a ninth-grade Halloween party, I knew the end was near…I began to see “the bright light!” Would I be the first Bluejacket to succumb to the curse of the sea, the dreaded Mal de Mer? I began to chant, “Oh dear God, I’m dying here! Help me Jeezz-us, [retch] please, sweet Jeezz-us, [retch] save my miserable soul…”

Joe raised his head from the railing; a string of sputum was hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Button it up Ed, Jesus ain’t listening…just me, and in my condition I can’t stand your pitiful whining, so can it!” He suddenly gulped, arched forward, and with a deep moaning retch grabbed the seat of his pants, “Oops! I think I just had an unauthorized pit-stop in my skivvies!” With that, Joe joined in the Jeezz-us chant…

Looking at Joe’s sallow features, the slime still hanging from his contorted face, I saw a reflection of myself. In an effort to lighten our agonizing predicament, I stood erect, threw my shoulders back, faked a broad smile and nudged Joe in the side. Glancing at my pathetic attempt, he rolled his eyes back in his head…we both laughed and struggled to regain some composure. I though, the next smart ass s-o-b that mentioned sea duty to me, was going to get those sardines inserted in his chocolate orifice!

Although the seas were rough, the day was clear and the cool sea breezes seemed in time to ease our distress. Our buddy Bart, who had not been sick, spotted us at the rail. Not to miss an opportunity to stick it to us, he called out sarcastically, “Ahoy, Barf Brothers…you boys hungry?” I managed to give him the finger. “Now, now, I noticed you missed noon chow, and as a good shipmate, I thought you would like me to go below and get some of those tasty mustard packed sardines you stocked-up on. We retched again, grabbing our aching abs…Bart laughing said, “I take that’s a no…I’ll tell the Ops Officer you’ve been reassigned to painting the side of the ship.” He followed with a low thespian bow and a sweeping wave of his cap, “To you my fellow Denizens of the deep, I bid you a fond farewell…ta ta!”

Two of the ship’s cooks had stepped out on deck earlier. One was large, portly and middle-aged, the other much younger, probably a Striker, carried a large floppy cook’s cap filled with what appeared to be fried chicken and biscuits. The older man observing, but ignoring us, leaned on the rail, gazed out at the horizon and related to his apprentice how he enjoyed coming topside to watch the ever-changing vista of the sea...it was one of the things he loved about navy life.

He reached into the cap, pulled out a piece of chicken, took a few bites and tossed the bone over the side. With crumbs smeared across his broad greasy face and the half-eaten meat clinched between his teeth, he turned to Bart. Smiling broadly to show the partially chewed flesh, he extended the food-stained cap, “Lad, you look a bit undernourished, would you like some of the Olmstead’s finest cuisine to put a little meat on your bones?”

Bart looked into the cap, then at the old cooks face, turned a vivid green, grabbed the rail and tossed his lunch! Joe mockingly slurred, “It is truly an honor for us to be sharing the rail with a real sailor.” I followed, “Yes, Bart’s a real crusty old barnacle; it’s like having King Neptune himself here by our side. I’m so very proud to share this moment…” Bart embarrassed, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, “Shut up Eddie! Just shut up, you too Joe, I must be getting a flu-bug or something!” The old cook gave me a wink and returned below…

As the afternoon approached dusk, the seas continued to build with the winds increasing to near gale force. Gusts began whistling through the ship’s superstructure and rigging emitted a low moaning hum. The sounds became eerie. The skies along the horizon blackened and angrily rolled. The Captain informed the ship of impending weather and ordered all transient personnel to their assigned quarters, securing all exterior doors and hatches.

Conditions continued to worsen into the night. The ship reacting to the storm’s fury, would rise out of the water, shutter from stem to stern, yaw, and then drop off the crest into deep troughs on the backside. The bow would bury itself into the oncoming wave plowing through it in violent contortions. I lay on my back on the cold moldy canvas gripping the bunk frame with all my strength, my hands cramped in pain. The close spacing of the bunks helped keep me in place. As the ship plunged, I would be thrown upward into the bottom of the bunk above, bashing my nose and forehead.

The sounds of the ocean breaking over the ship, mixed with loose equipment ramming bulkheads, set up an indescribable din. Waste from the latrine washing back and forth with the ship’s violent contortions sloshed out across the now slimy deck. The odors, sights and sounds became horrendous. Either, through raw fear or adapting to the ships motion, I had not been sick since crawling into the bunk. I felt capable, yet powerless to help my comrades…all anyone could do was hang on and wait out the storm. It was a seemingly endless nightmare…

Over the next decade, I would sail again on APAs, LSTs, LSDs, and the Military Sea Transport Service ships, but never again would I face the experience of my maiden voyage at sea. In the 1960s with the Defense Department’s adaptation of the Rapid Deployment concept using commercial 707s and huge military C series aircraft, a new era began and ship movements of large bodies of troops basically came to and end.

To this day, though dated, the INK SPOTS remain one of my favorite singing groups. Their harmony rarely heard today can spark a memory returning me to the days of my youth and those endearing shipmates who are remembered with gentle enduring fondness… “Got Sardines?”

Navy Trivia

Binnacle List Many novice sailors, confusing the words 'binnacle' and barnacle, have wondered what their illnesses had to do with crusty growths found on the hull of a ship. Their confusion is understandable. Binnacle is defined as the stand or housing for the ship's compass located on the bridge. The term binnacle list, in lieu of sick list, originated years ago when ship corpsmen used to place a list of sick on the binnacle health. After long practice, it came to be called binnacle list.

Chewing the Fat God made the vittles, but the devil made the cook was a popular saying used by seafaring men in the last century when salted beef was the staple diet aboard ship. This tough cured beef, suitable only for long voyages when nothing else was as cheap or would keep as well, required prolonged chewing to make it edible. Men often chewed one chunk for hours, just as if it were chewing gum and referred to this practice as Chewing the fat

Ditty Bags Ditty bog (or box) was originally called ditto bag because it contained at least two of everything - two needles, two spools of thread, two buttons, etc. With the passing of years, the 'ditto' was dropped in favor of ditty and remains so today. Before WW I, the Navy issued ditty boxes made of wood and styled after foot lockers. These carried the personal gear and some clothes of the sailor. Today the ditty bag is still issued to recruits and contains a sewing kit, toiletry articles and personal items such as writing paper and pens.

Fathom Fathom was originally a land measuring term derived from the Ango-Saxon word "faetm" meaning to embrace. In those days, most measurements were based on average size of parts of the body, such as the hand (horses are still measured this way) or the foot (that's why 12 inches are so named). A fathom is the average distance from fingertip to fingertip of the outstretched arms of a man --- about six feet. Since a man stretches out his arms to embrace his sweetheart, Britain's Parliament declared that distance be called a "fathom" and it be a unit of measure. A fathom remains six feet. The word was also used to describe taking the measure or "to fathom" something. Today, of course, when one is trying to figure something out, they are trying to "fathom" it.

Galley The galley is the kitchen of the ship. The best explanation as to its origin is that it is a corruption of "gallery". Ancient sailors cooked their meals on a brick or stone gallery laid amidships.