Oh Those Tropical Summers
Tales of the Chief, #15
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
Summer in Yokosuka is hot, humid, hazy and muggy. There isn't enough water to kill the thirst, every thing is clammy and sweaty, it's almost like Missouri in summer ! We lived in the Navy housing area called Admiralty Heights if you were American, Takiyama Heights if you were Japanese. It was about a twenty to thirty minute drive from the base. The Chief would stop and pick up two cases of beer...Burgie ! of course...they kept it cold at the Ship's Store. Now, so you get this image correct in your mind...these were the days before 16 oz cans...before aluminum cans...before pop tops...these were stubby 12 oz STEEL cans. Today a five year old can crush daddy's 16 oz aluminum can...in those days it took a MAN to bend one of those cans in two. You now have the image I want you to have.
The Chief would come in the kitchen door, holler for "Joe the Bartender" (that was my official title in all things dealing with alcohol) and plop down at the kitchen table with one of the cases and a "church key". I would scramble to the call, pick up one of the cases and tear it open. I would then stock the bottom shelf of the fridge with the first case...always rotating any stragglers from the previous day to the front. In the time it took me to open the case ( these cardboard cases were made of heavy, waxed cardboard, not the flimsy crude they use today), stock the shelf, and take the empty case to the broom closet, the Chief would have opened, drained and crushed no fewer than 6 cans. He would slow down after 7 or 8. The cans weren't folded in half...they were pinched tight in the middle.
When he decided he had caught up, he would relinquish the rest of the case for me to stow away. I grew up around serious beer drinkers...I have seen some impressive quantities slogged down. But in my youthful experience in the Navy or in my own life in the Army, I have NEVER seen a beer drinker who could hold the light for the Chief to go by.
The Chief would come in the kitchen door, holler for "Joe the Bartender" (that was my official title in all things dealing with alcohol) and plop down at the kitchen table with one of the cases and a "church key". I would scramble to the call, pick up one of the cases and tear it open. I would then stock the bottom shelf of the fridge with the first case...always rotating any stragglers from the previous day to the front. In the time it took me to open the case ( these cardboard cases were made of heavy, waxed cardboard, not the flimsy crude they use today), stock the shelf, and take the empty case to the broom closet, the Chief would have opened, drained and crushed no fewer than 6 cans. He would slow down after 7 or 8. The cans weren't folded in half...they were pinched tight in the middle.
When he decided he had caught up, he would relinquish the rest of the case for me to stow away. I grew up around serious beer drinkers...I have seen some impressive quantities slogged down. But in my youthful experience in the Navy or in my own life in the Army, I have NEVER seen a beer drinker who could hold the light for the Chief to go by.
