TREASURE ISLAND We came by train to this manmade island under the Golden Gate Bridge.
It was a place where sailors were imprisoned while the naval bureaucracy arranged for transportation to their final destination.
It was Treasure Island, more commonly known as TI.
Upside Down If boot camp made a farce of discipline, Treasure Island turned it upside down.
Fortunately, the average stay was only a few days, and most people could stay out of trouble for that length of time.
Working parties were standard fare at such places, and let's face it, they usually helped to pass the time; however, TI added a new wrinkle.
The executive officer had invested "master-at-arms" authority in seamen and junior petty officers.
This meant that as long as they were wearing "MAA" armbands, their orders carried the same weight as an order from the executive officer, a privilege normally reserved for senior petty officers.
These masters-at-arms were in charge of the working parties, and each and every one of them was a little Hitler.
It didn't matter whether you were an airman apprentice or a chief petty officer, they were in charge, and they loved it.
All day long, they barked orders at juniors and seniors alike, and studied how they could make menial tasks even more humiliating.
It was obvious by their nasty attitudes that they had all the backing they needed, so everyone did as they were told.
WHAAAAAP My barracks consisted of four large door-less rooms big enough to hold 12 bunk beds each.
The rooms were bordered by a long hallway that went from one end of the building to the other with a door on each end.
The offices, heads, and main entrance were on the other side of the hallway.
The bunk beds were made of lead pipe just like you would have put in your house at the time.
I was the only one assigned to my room, so I chose a bunk in the middle and was making it up when I heard the damndest "WHOOOOSH!" I ever heard.
Then, there were a lot of "ohs" and "ahs" and "wows" and then a lot of excited conversation.
I continued making my bed, but then I heard it again, "WHOOOOSH!" And again, I heard a bunch of guys whooping it up, so I just had to wander next door to find out what was going on.
Well, it was the damndest thing I ever saw; they had screwed the end cap off one of the corner poles of a bunk bed and were pouring lighter fluid into it.
Then they held a lighter over the pole and flicked it.
"WHOOOOSH! A large blue flame shot out of the pole and nearly reached the ceiling.
It only lasted for a few seconds, but oh, what a sight.
Well, I couldn't wait to try it.
I rushed back to my room and was delighted to see that an end cap was already missing from one of the corner poles on my bunk.
I poured even more lighter fluid than the other guys because I wanted it to be a good one.
I turned out the lights to increase the effect, and then took my Zippo® and set it on fire, but instead of a "WHOOOOSH!" I got a, "WHAAAAAP! WHAAAAAP! WHAAAAAP!" My predecessors had used the open pole for an ashtray and stuffed it full of cigarette butts.
It went off like a Roman candle, but with all the fireballs coming out at once.
Instantly, the whole room was on fire.
Burning butts were everywhere, on the beds, on the chairs, on the deck.
I scurried around in a panic brushing the burning butts off the beds and furniture.
Then, I scurried around stomping on the burning butts; I was so busy stomping I didn't even notice I had an audience that was getting bigger and bigger, and that right there in front was one of those little Hitlers with an armband.
I asked the captain, "How can you bust me? Ain't I already as low as I can get?" I didn't realize I had been promoted when I left boot camp.
I did realize that my pay was a few dollars more a month.
I didn't know I had been a seaman recruit because we didn't wear any stripes and nobody called us that.
Most of the time, we were called skinheads.
Fact is, I was a seaman recruit in boot camp, and I was promoted to seaman apprentice when I graduated.
The captain explained all that, and then busted me back to seaman recruit.