USS Franklin D. Roosevelt

USS Franklin D. Roosevelt

CVB-42/CVA-42/CV-42 ~ 27 Oct. 1945 – 01 Oct. 1977

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1966 Olongapo City ~ Julian Bradford

From:
Julian Bradford VF-14

Message:
Now shipmates this ain’t no ****. Late in the fall of ’66 we found
ourselves off the gunline, enjoying libs in dear old Olongapo City,
aka “Sailors’ Disneyland.” Now you know the bar girls always enjoined
us not to be “butterfly boys:” you set up with a girl and you’re not
expected to do the horizontal dance with anyone else.

My base of operations was the Tri-V Club, about halfway down on the
right hand side. Mila was my …ahem… special friend. But one night
I thought I’d see what was going on elsewhere in town so I dropped in
to New Pauline’s and had, well, an interesting evening. I vaguely
recalled getting a hickey or two in the process.

On the way back to the ship, I thought I’d have a beer at the Tri-V,
get three sticks of monkey meat and then call it a night. Sooooo I
sauntered in to the Tri-V, plopped down, and asked for a San Miguel.
No sooner had I taken my second swig than Mila appeared and sat down.
Pleasantries exchanged, she suddenly snapped “What this?” and pulled
my trop white shirt to one side – to reveal a line of hickeys from
earlobe to shoulder, kinda sorta like a red drippy epaulet!

Before I could say anything, she picked up an empty beer bottle and
broke it on the table edge, and with her other hand pulled out and
whirled open about a 29 cm butterfly knife. Aptly named… “You
summabeech, gonna keel you!” she howled, and I grabbed my white hat
and sprinted for the door, she hard on my heels.

Down Magsaysay Drive I ran, screms and yells not far behind me. As I
neared the guard shack, I fumbled for my back pocket. “***k the ID,
buddy!” shouted the Marine guard. “She’s gaining on you!” Redoubling
my efforts, I skidded past the shack just as the (thrown) half bottle
smashed to twinkling shards against one of the columns holding the
shelter up.

Mila stormed off muttering as I hauled out my DD2N and displayed it.
“Whoo, pal, musta been good libs,” commented the gyrene. “Anytime you
come back just ahead of a blade and a broken bottle you KNOW you had a
helluva time,” I panted.

And thus endeth the reading of the morning lesson…