Hallmark doesn’t make a card for Sea Daddys. (But maybe they should) 8

Warning: Some salty language may have snuck past the censors

There was a Navy training film many years ago called “The Lost Sailor”.

The idea behind the film was for Navy leaders to recognize all the things that could go wrong with a young sailor when they first report on board a ship or submarine. The newly arriving boot was probably fresh from school and this was his first assignment at sea. He reports on board and suddenly gets disillusioned when everyone is too busy to pay any attention to him. In fact, the sailor that ultimately takes him to his berthing assignment is a sub-standard sailor who is only available for such duty because he is on restriction. It doesn’t take long for the squared away recruit to turn into a derelict just like his “mentor”. The entire film is based around leaders not letting this kind of thing happen to their new sailors when they report on board.

I don’t remember the first time I heard the term “Sea Daddy”. Thinking back to my earliest days in the Navy, I remember reading the Blue Jackets Manual from front cover to back. The Eighteenth Edition of Ridley McLean’s handbook for sailors had specific details on everything the American bluejacket would ever need to know about being a sailor.

Delbert D. Black was the Master Chief Petty officer of the Navy in the 1969 edition and he gave the following forward: To all Navy Men: The Navy is a man’s job. It requires courage, dedication and daring. Navy men have a proud tradition of heroism in all conflicts.”

He goes on to say more but in the entire book, nothing is mentioned about the existence of a position or assignment called Sea Daddy.

Maybe that’s why I never had one when I went to my first submarine. I was a Machinist Mate Fireman that was assigned to a Fleet Ballistic Missile submarine and my role would include driving the boat, cleaning dishes in a hot deep sink, compacting and shooting trash and eventually standing watch as a roving Auxiliaryman and later as a Scrubber Room watch.

As I was reporting on board, the senior men in that division all hit their rotation dates. Once the dust settled, we had a brand new Chief (who had just been advanced) one first class and one second class. The rest of us were new to the boat and new to submarines. If there actually was an official title of Sea Daddy, there wouldn’t have been enough of them left to care for the rookies that showed up for duty,

Looking back through a long lens, I think Chief John did the best he could with what he inherited. All of us had been through a lot of technical classes before we showed up. The problem was that the technical classes were mostly geared towards the sleek new SSBN 640 Class Boomers and this was the original 41 For Freedom experiment called the George Washington. By the time I reported on board, she had sailed in both oceans, made over forty patrols, and was showing the signs of age that can only come from a boat that had been stitched together in a rush to beat the Russians to a viable boomer.

Old Boats Leaked

Everything that could leak did. The pumps we had to pack and repack were buried under pipes and deck plates and lines that crisscrossed each other in a chaotic maze that had been designed by a mad man. The high pressure air compressors were not the kind any of us had trained on so each time they required repairs (which was pretty damn often) it was like an exercise in jig saw puzzle land. On my first patrol, I saw very little of these mechanical wonders since I spent most of the time in the galley as a crank. The second patrol was a little better since I was qualified and only stood dive and drive part of the time. Between watches and drills, I was indoctrinated into the world of adapt and overcome.

While I am sure he would have revolted against the idea of being called a Sea Daddy, Chief John probably fit the bill more than any other man I served with in all five boats. He was patient to a point but he was also firm that you didn’t get to walk away from a job just because it was kicking your ass. He would teach to a point but his main method of teaching was to make sure you didn’t screw things up too badly while you were figuring out the right way to fix them.

You do not have permission to quit

My least favorite job was repacking the trim pump. This pump was vital to the ship’s operation since it moved water from tank to tank and helped the boat to adapt to the ever changing sea and internal ballast. But replacing the packing meant climbing down into a tightly packed area with very little room to get comfortable. Then you had to maneuver your hands in such a way that you could pull the old packing as needed and insert the new rings. If you tightened the packing too much, you smoked the rings. Then you got to start all over. I found this out the hard way. After a few attempts, I went back to the Chief and said that I couldn’t get it. I was tired, hot and dirty and I just wanted to go to my rack.

I don’t think I saw my rack for another day.  Or maybe it was two

Chief John made it very clear that he had no time for someone not doing their job. I don’t remember his words but I do remember he had quite the way with phrases that a young sailor would never forget. I finally got it right. I never had to repeat that error again. The same lesson would be learned on nearly every job I was assigned to for the next few years.

I lost track of Chief John when I transferred. After some time away from submarines, I returned to being an Auxiliaryman and never looked back. The lesson about doing hard things without quitting never left me and I hope that I did him proud. To be honest, I think he would be surprised to know I made it as far as I did. He was in my mind the day I made Chief. I tried to help other sailors along the way with some of his best lessons and maybe a few I learned from others.

Come to think of it, maybe there was such a thing as a Sea Daddy after all. If I were to see him today, I would thank him for helping me through some of the most difficult days of my life. And I would probably wish him a Happy Father’s day.

Dedicated to MMC/SS John Mills, US Navy

The best damn Chief I ever met

Mister Mac



Sticks and Stones 7


What’s in a name?

This story probably has more relevance for those of you who served in uniform but is probably not exclusive to service members. Somewhere along the way, you probably had a nickname. Whether it was because your name was difficult to remember or because there was someone else there that had the same name, you were assigned a moniker which became stuck like glue to you.

I had a number of them from early in my career. I am not sure if Bob or Robert threw most people off, but somehow Mac was easier to remember. I went from Mac to Petty Officer Mac to Big Mac to Chief Mac to Mister Mac. Even after the service, Mac stuck around for a long time. Its only been recently that I have become “Bob” again. I will not share some of the more fragrant nicknames I probably had along the way. Old age has helped me to sublimate them in my brain.



In the beginning (boot camp or basic) the nicknames were “group focused”.  I always remember the first wake up call I had in Camp Barry as we were blissfully slumbering on our finely prepared beds.

“Reveille reveille up all bunks… hit the deck shitheads. Get your sorry asses out on the grinder in three minutes or you’ll be doing pushups until Christmas.” Of course this was accentuated to a broken broom handle banging on the sides of what we would later learn was a “Shit-can”. I am not sure why they called it that since I never saw anyone actually use it for that purpose. But for the remainder of my career, any object that was used for waste collection was most commonly referred to as a shit can.

The words “shit can” have many uses in the Navy. When you are about to get rid of a disruptive sailor, you are ready to “shit can” them for instance. Shit can’s are not very smart either since anytime someone does something stupid things, they are “as dumb as a shit can”.

Back to the first thought though: shitheads. The Petty Officer who was assigned to greet us that first morning had probably practiced his wording before he got us up at 4:30 that first morning. For a long time, I wondered why he would be so snarly at 4:30 in the morning to a bunch of complete strangers he didn’t know. It finally occurred to me at one point that if he was waking us up at that early hour, he had to have been awoken much earlier. Maybe even before the first pot of coffee was brewed, No wonder he thought we were shitheads.

As we moved through the orientation system, we were treated to many more colorful invectives. Many were family terms of course. Sons of … and Mother… were widely used in a number of circumstances to make a point. I have to admit that after 14 weeks, I not only became numb to it all, I probably added most of the terms to my somewhat limited vocabulary. Whether it was humor or anger, you could always find just the right word for any situation. This was to prepare you for the fleet.

After going through A school and Sub school, I headed to Charleston to pick up the boat. It had already left and I was assigned to Auxiliary Package Course for another few months. During package course, I had my first exposure to the DBF sailors. Since the diesel boats were being decommissioned at a rapid rate, most of my classmates were previous enginemen being converted to A Gangers. Many were much older (late twenties) and had developed their language skills to a fine art form, I had never heard the F word used in so many creative ways. This new training prepared me for my time on my first boat.

I did learn fairly early however that there were some times when the language was not appreciated. Mainly it was with young  officers fresh from the academy. They were still fairly naïve and the typical sailor talk was deemed by many to be too crude (until after their first stop in Subic of course). I also saw a transformative change the first time they were monitoring the TDU operations and rotten eggs were being loaded into the chute.

The other time you had to be pretty judicious about your speech habits was around Chiefs. I believe with all of my heart that the saying “It is better to give than to receive” was created by a Chief. You could always tell how good a day it was going to be (or bad for that matter) by how quickly the Chief got to his first curse during morning quarters. I observed this carefully among my early mentors and relished the skills that I would use someday when I became a Chief.

Here’s the interesting thing. While some of the names were probably meant to be attention grabbing, most were not really meant to be hurtful. They were just words that culturally set the tone for the rest of the conversation. Obviously there were some exceptions (I can’t think of any redeeming characteristics about the words dumb-fuck). We just knew that we were going to have to endure a few harsh words form time to time.

Society is maturing I suppose. Nowadays, I almost never use any of the words that once flew easily from my mouth. That seems to be the right thing to do. I do appreciate the education those sailors and Chiefs gave me along the way. Occasionally I am made aware that some people I have been associated with may have said something that could be considered insulting. I just smile to myself and say:

Is that the best you can do slut?

“Fuckin A”

Mister Mac

Disclaimer: No one living or dead or soon to be born was directly or indirectly referenced in any of the above comments. Particularly excluded are any female law students in well known Universities in and around Washington DC or other major North American Cities. Reproduction of this article in any way shape or form would be just plain rude so don’t do it or I will find my old Chief’s hat and level you with my vocabulary.
This is a No shitter.