Snake Ross and the Plyboard Caper

© 2011 Bob Stockton. Unauthorized reproduction prohibited.

I suppose it was around 1952 or so when I first met Snake Ross. I was fresh out of Navy Radarman Class "A" School and had received a set of orders to the icebreaker USS Glacier which was currently drydocked in the Charlestown Naval Shipyard being fittted out for a long Antartic deployment. Those orders were a bit of a disappointment for me; I had my sights set on destroyer duty and active combat in Korea but as the old salts would say, "Orders is orders," so off to Charlestown and icebreaker duty it was.

After a brief leave period at home I reported aboard Glacier and was directed to report to the OI Division Leading Petty Officer, Radarman Second Class "Snake"
Ross.

Snake? I remember thinking to myself that this assignment was not going to turn out well if I was going to have someone by the name of "Snake" cracking an imaginary whip and snarling  (do snakes snarl? Probably not, bad metaphor) at my every effort. Man up and grin and bear it, I told myself. Just check in with the guy and see what happens next. Throwing my seabag on my shoulder I headed up one ladder to CIC where I would be standing watches for the next couple of years. I entered the compartment and briefly surveyed the two radar repeaters, various radio transmitters, plastic status boards and the dead reckon tracer console. This was it. My duty station for my time on board was to be this little black hole that smelled of stale coffee and cigarettes mixed in with the unique aroma  of  energized electronic equipment, sort of a mix between Madison Square Garden and a radio station transmitter room. Standing by the tracer console was a tall, bespectacled man with second class petty officer stripes on his dungaree working shirt. He was smoking a filter cigarette and in the middle of a dirty joke when I approached him with my packet of orders. I waited until the tall man finished the joke which, by the way is too filthy to repeat here, and handed him my orders.

"Excuse me sir, are you Petty Officer Ross? I was told to report to you."

"Yeah. I'm Snake, and you can knock off the bleeping 'sir' business. Who the hell are you?" He replied. I gestured in the direction of the packet that I had just handed to him. Combat destroyer duty in Korea was looking more and more attractive, I thought. I wondered what string of expletives would come next?

"Stockton, welcome aboard Glacier. We're glad to have you with us and I hope you packed your longjohns as where we are going it is going to be bleeping cold. Real bleeping cold. You'll be crapping icicles for turds before this cruise is  over. Grab your gear and I'll show you the compartment below where the division bunks."

That was my introduction to the seagoing Navy and to the sailors who made things work. Snake Ross. Foul mouthed, completely unpredictable, liberty hound - all those terms described Snake. Sharp, professional, hard working and a bit crafty when some "cumshaw" was needed also described this remarkable man who was to become my lifelong friend and the principal factor in my making the Navy a twenty year career.

At this point it occurs to me that some landlubber reading this may be a bit puzzled by the term "cumshaw." Let me cite an example of the meaning of the term.

Snake was returning to the ship at about six in the morning after an all night liberty. While crossing through the shipyard he passed the yard boat repair facility and noticed a stack of marine 3/4 inch plyboard. Later  that morning Snake was having a much needed cup of coffee on the ship’s mess decks when the  Chief Machinist, a  Chief Warrant Officer Humpreys passed by. Humphries was coming from the engineering  spaces headed for officers country. Snake stopped him and asked if he were in charge of the 'crossing the equator' ceremony again this year on the ship's transit to Antartica. Humphries answered in the affirmative. He was in fact again saddled with that collateral duty  for the upcoming trip. Snake told him about the marine plyboard outside the boat shop in the shipyard and Humphries remarked unofficially that it would be nice if the ship had some of that plyboard as we would not be using the ship's allowance of damage control materials to build our hog trough and water pool for the ceremony.

Snake sprang into action, and a daring plan was formulated to "appropriate" some of that boatyard plyboard. Snake summoned me and another non rated Radarman  and headed for the Quarterdeck  to speak to the Officer of the Deck who, at the time happened to be Chief Gunners Mate Harper.  Harper was a real piece of work in his own right. He had been given the sobriquet 'I.W. Harper' as he was known to have a sip or two from the bottle underway in the forward five inch gun mount. Snake told Harper that he needed the ship's truck to make a guard mail run to the Fargo Building which was just outside the shipyard main gate. With Snake at the wheel of the truck we headed straight for the boatyard. We pulled up next to the to the side of the facility where the plyboard was stacked and began loading, looking constantly over our shoulders to see if anyone at the boatyard had spotted us.

So far so good. Or maybe not. About five sheets  had been loaded on the pickup truck when a burly Chief came out of the boatyard and asked us: "Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing here?"

Thinking on his feet, Snake looked at the Chief and said: "Chief we’re off the tender USS Hamul  and my Chief  said to drop this plywood at the boat repair facility."

The old burly  Chief snorted and said: "Look you bleeping tender sailors aren't gonna unload any of your garbage plywood here. Load it back up and get it to hell
out of here!!!!"

Aye aye Chief!

We loaded all of the boatyard plyboard and headed back to the Glacier with more of the material than we would ever need for the ceremony.

"Snake" Ross had pulled it off! From that moment on whenever a little creative "cumshaw" was needed Snake was charged - unofficially. of course - with getting the job done.