Happy Hour and the Bicycle



It was May 1962. VF-132 had just completed the" Shake Down Cruise" on the USS Constellation CVA-64. It was a three month cruise to Gitmo and the Caribbean. Coincidentally the year after the "Bay of Pigs". But that's another story. Back at NAS Cecil Field,Florida, after working on the flight line, we would head to the "Crow's Nest", the enlisted men's club. We could in wearing dungarees until 2000 hours. Then only civilian clothes ,or the undress uniform of the day. We went back to the Barracks, showered , changed into the uniform of the day. We went to the "EM" club and had a few beers. It was still light out in Jacksonville, when we decided to head back to the barracks. Outside to the club's front door was the "Duty Messenger " bicycle. The bike was used to hand deliver messages to various parts of the base. It shouldn't have been there, at the club. Having established a nice beer buzz, I said to Larry Purser,"get on". He alertly asked ,"Get on What"? I picked up the bike and gestured to Larry to get on the handle bars. We would ride back to Barracks 93. Peddling the two of us, down the road between the semi circle of barracks and the hangars, I turned left toward the hangars. It was after 2000 hours and the fire and line watches had been deployed. Larry, riding the handlebars said "wrong way". I kept pedalling toward the flight line of base aircraft. I zipped toward the jet trainers parked wingtip to wingtip, with a small opening between each wing. Larry rising up from the handlebars, blocking my view, excitedly said" Tip tanks, Tip tanks". We barely made it through. The line watch challenged us. "Halt, who goes there"?"Friend or foe"? That challenge is printed on the plastic clipboard attached to the duty belt. We ignored the challenge and turned right in front of the hangar doors, retracing our tracks through the flight line. Again we were challenged. "Halt, who goes there"? The line watch must have been right out of boot camp. He stopped challenging us and started blowing his whistle. "Tweeeeeeeeeeeet, tweeeeeeeet." Time to exit stage right. Dusk had turned to night, and the red flashing lights on the "Fleet Air Duty Officer"( FADO) bounced off the hangar doors. I peddled as fast as my beer soaked legs could pump, and stopped at Barracks 92. Larry excitedly shouted " Wrong barracks". I said "Follow me". We ran through the back door of the barracks and down the first floor, out the front door an into Barracks 93. It was "Lights Out" in all barracks as we ran panting, sweating, and laughing. we could hear the Duty Officer running through Barracks 92, shouting challenges. He would be here next. I was able to get undressed and hid under my blanket, sweating some of the beers out. The Duty Officer was getting closer. Larry couldn't stop laughing. I thought the jig may be up. Someone three cubicles over shout at the Duty Officer,"Shut the F@#k up. That was all the newly commissioned ensign needed to divert his attention from the bike riding pranksters to the poor guy who was trying to sleep.The next morning at 0800 muster, our squadron's leading chief told all to be on the look out for the beer buzzed pranksters who stole bicycles. For some reason,he was looking right at us as he warned the rest of the squadron.