6 minute read
The Mailroom of Naval AviationA JO in the 70s
By CAPT Arne Nelson, USN (Ret.), LTM #4 / RW # 13762, President, NHASF
Helobubbas and shipmates, it’s that time again: the giving season. Giving Tuesday was December 3rd, but donations are accepted and appreciated anytime.
Since 1993, the Scholarship Fund (SF) has awarded more than $1M in scholarships to more than 500 recipients. Since 2020, the start of the current 5-year strategic plan, NHA SF accounts have increased from $618,000 to $812,000 while awarding $289,500 to 89 highly qualified undergrad, graduate, and postgraduate students including military personnel (USN, USMC, USCG), their family members, and Gold Star families. With costs continuing to accelerate, defraying the cost of college education for our members and their families remains at the heart of our request.
Coming into the annual time of giving, and though funds for the 2025 scholarship season continue to grow, donations are down and some key community relations funding are no longer available. So we are looking at non-traditional sources to raise the $100,000 we need for the 2025 scholarships. To help get us there, I am asking our lifetime members, regular members, our trustees, and traditional sponsors to reflect on the impact those 15-17 awards make on our families and shipmates and make a thoughtful gift to NHA's Scholarship Fund.
DONATE. Your tax-free donation supports our 2025 scholarships, this year at $5,000 each. So:
• Write a check and mail it to: NHA Scholarship Fund, P.O Box 180578 Coronado, California 92178-0578
• Go to our website and use your credit card: https://www.nhascholarshipfund.org/donate/
The NHA Scholarship Fund is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit charitable California corporation: tax ID # 33-0513766.
Thank you for your support. Now to the other story.
I joined the HM-12 Sea Dragons in April 1976, and was immediately detailed to the Operations Department where I was given the responsibilities of the Logs and Records Officer. I shared a desk and duties with a QMSA. We were responsible for maintaining the squadron’s plexiglass flight status board, each pilot’s aviation logbook (95 of them), and answering various requests for data.
As one of about 20 ensigns (and 25 JGs, 40 LTs, and at least 8 LCDRs), I was glad I had a job, because the Coca-Cola Officer and COMTAC Librarian jobs were also available. I found out that from 0800 to about 1000, the LTs hung out in OPS, looking at the grease board and working hard to influence the schedules writer to add their name to the draft flight schedule.
As a PUI (Pilot Under Instruction) having arrived late in the fiscal year with plenty of TRACOM flight hours (I had all annual minimums), I was low priority. I wasn’t going to fly. Then they added a 5th quarter (July, August, September) to realign the fiscal calendar. This meant I got to watch the more senior ensigns, all the JGs and LTs fight for flight time daily until October when the new fiscal year became the flight time equalizer. All this as we transitioned from brown shoes!
My daily routine consisted of sorting out the grease board, and the individual logbooks, preparing the daily flight recap, and chasing down my assistant who turned out to be in the VRC-40 geedunk where he was sleeping off the night before. After lunch, I’d spend a couple of hours deciphering the various chapters of the RH-53D NATOPS and wait to secure for the day. To put it bluntly, I had a lot of time on my hands. So, I drew squadron comics to pass time and chronicle daily squadron life. It took a few months for my covert comics to be noticed. One day though, my department head and one of the extra LCDRs approached me with a task. He said, “Say Arne, I’ve seen some of your comics. Pretty much on the spot.” I thanked him.
He went on, “So can you draw something for us like that creepy cartoonist in the magazines, you know, monster comics. Gahan Wilson?" I said, “I could try. What for?”
“Well, the Skipper said at the department head meeting that we department heads treat him like a mushroom. We keep him in the dark and feed him s***! So, can you do the skipper at his desk, with a giant purple and green mushroom head?”
I laughed along with them, not sensing the warning lights and buzzer going off in my flee or fight lobe. Then I said, “Sure, sir. I’ll give it a try.”
Doomed unknowingly!!!
I did the comic, replicating the CO’s office and torso. I drew in the two LCDRs who commissioned the artwork then added the mushroom head complete with highlighting and coloring.
Then I made a copy and, still sensing no danger, presented it to my department head as requested. The OPS Office was as still as a tomb as they opened the manila folder, then the room filled with raucous, rolling laughter as they took it in.
“This is great,” said one. “Looks just like his office.”
“Perfect,” said the other, “The CO will love it! Let’s go show it to the XO!”
UH OH! The growing gravitas of the situation eluded me, then it was back to the logbooks and grease board. Later that day, I was participating in a “hands and feet clear” nuclear weapon loading drill when the XO broke though the perimeter heading straight for me. He brandished the mushroom comic, looked me in the eye and said, “CO’s seen this and he’s pissed off. You better get up there and apologize.”
At that point, I looked up and saw the two LCDRs moonwalk slowly but purposefully across the loading perimeter (I believe this is the first recorded use of the moonwalk) and silently disappeared out the back door of our World War I era hangar, LP-3. Noting they were gone, I said, “Okay, sir. I will get right up there!”
“Don’t worry Arne. He hasn’t seen it yet. He’s gonna love it,” he replied.
About an hour later I was walking near the CO’s ladder when his secret office door burst open. He stepped over the threshold, barking, “Nelson! Get in here.” With an uncommon first name like Arne, I don’t get called by my last name very often, so I knew it was bad. He was steamed and brandishing the cartoon. He growled, “Have you seen this?” I replied, “Pretty good, isn’t it.” Once in the office he shook the paper at me and said, “Sit down!” Visions of the two retiring moonwalkers on the flight line appeared as the CO spent the next 45 minutes telling me how difficult it was to be a CO.
Immediate Fallout: In every FITREP I have received, I could spot where I fit in the competitive ranking: 1 of 10, 4 of 14, etc., except this one. I was buried somewhere in the pack.
Reflection: Later in life I was lucky enough to command a squadron, HC-4 (Gulf War, CNAL Battle E Squadron), and a base, NAS Sigonella (Installation Excellence AwardNavy’s Best Base 2000). Lesson learned - don’t leave your JO stranded.
Bottom line: Being a CO was an honor, pleasure, and a challenge. But it was not hard.
