Between the security of childhood and the insecurity of
second childhood, we find a fascinating mass of
humanity called sailors. They can be found anywhere: on ships, in bars, on leave, or in love and always
Girls love them, civilians tolerate them and the government
supports them, or so they claim.
A sailor is laziness with a deck of cards, bravery with a tattooed arm, and the energy of a turtle, the
slyness of a fox, the brain of a genius, the sincerity of a liar, and the aspiration of a Casanova.
When he wants something, it is usually indecent and immoral,
or against Navy regulations. His favorite
pastimes are girls, females, broads, dames and members of the opposite sex.
He dislikes Navy chow, answering letters, wearing his
uniform, superior officers, and getting up in the morning. No
being can cram into his shirt pocket; a comb, a little black book, a pack of gum, a church key, a pack
of cigarettes, his girl's picture and what's left of last month's pay.
He likes to spend some of money
on girls, some on poker, most of it on booze, and what's left on foolishness. A sailor is a magical
You can lock him out of your house, but not out of your
heart. You can scratch him off your
mailing list, but not out of your mind. So you might as well give up. He is your Far-away from home
lover, your one and only, good for nothing, liberty minded, bundle of wrongdoing. But your shattered
dreams become insignificant when your sailor comes home and looks at you with those BIG BLOOD SHOT EYES
AND SAYS HI SWEETHEART.
Last preventative maintenance on this page December 30, 2005