Long ago and far away. 1950-1954. Ping Jockey (Sonarman) on the USS Cobia(245) and Picuda(382).
Tough duty in the Carribbean, based out of Key West, Fla. Great education for a green 17-year-old. Stunned by the absolute poverty of the people in Haiti and parts of Puerto Rico. I was stuck on mess duty and had to lower our garbage cans over the side to the bum boats. Saw guys picking out the chicken bones and gnawing on them and licking the wrappers that the ice cream had come in.
Pre-Castro Cuba and Gitmo Bay were splendid dens of depravity. Enjoyed every minute of it. On the other hand, because of all the chicken feces, I couldn't wait to get out.
Irony of ironies -- 45 years later I took a 4-day Carnival cruise which stopped off at Key West. Yup, tied up to the exact same mole I used to fish from. All the wooden piers we had tied up to were gone as were the barracks. In some ways I felt like a ghost, and, after seeing the direction this country is headed in, perhaps I am.