could screw it all up was to piss off an officer or a chief.
Being a survivor at heart and an extremely practical man, Rocky had made it a point not only to get along with officers and chiefs but to become something of an expert at it. He took special pains to turn himself out in immaculate uniforms, paying for custom-fitted shirts and trousers. He kept his shoes shined, his hair cut, his demeanor sincere, and his performance of duty scrupulously professional. When he realized that not very many of his enlisted peers had figured out the system, he knew he was onto a good thing. He was treated with respect by his superiors and also by the other sailors, even the give a-shit brigade, because as long as Rocky played the game, the rest of them could goof off, serve their time, and get out. Even after all these years, Rocky thought of it all as a big con, but, having adapted beautifully to the system, he was completely secure in the Navy. He was unconcerned about his future, which the Navy would take care of, and casually ignorant about what was happening in the outside world.
He was by no means a saint; you could not get to E-6 in the Navy or any of the services without being able to play the enlisted game as well as he played the officer’s game. As a divisional leading petty officer, he could read through a junior enlisted man’s scam in a flash and knew by heart the standard liturgy of enlisted excuses, the “my car, it,”
“my kids, they,”
“my wife, she” stories by which the white hats worked the system for a little slack. He had worked his own share of scams and deals over the years, but always within the system and always under the protection of the chiefs. As far as the officers were concerned, Rocky was comfortably in the groove, a solid citizen aboard ship, a dependable petty officer who never gave anybody any trouble. He was, in every sense of the term, a certified lifer.
When the sixties, with the Kennedy assassinations, the civil rights upheavals and killings, the burgeoning Vietnam War protest movements, the advent of rock and roll, free love, and the drug culture, began to roll over America like a wave train of social tsunamis, Rocky had done what most military career people did: ignored it all.
He had been content to go to sea, go on deployments, and serve his time on twenty. But by 1967, when Rack man first made his pitch, even Rocky’s secure little world in the Navy had begun to wobble just a little bit.
He had set up a bachelor pad over in Ocean Beach when he made E-6, and it wasn’t long before all the antiwar, antimilitary, antigovernment, and antiestablishment noise began to get in his face. And then there was the money angle: With Johnson’s Great Society programs and the Vietnam War inflating the economy, budget capped Navy pay began to lose its historically secure buying power. Even Rocky, who was no economist, had become acutely aware that the twice-monthly paycheck was covering less and less ground, and he paid attention when he heard the chiefs grumbling as they began to realize how little that pension check was going to cover when they hit their twenty. Rocky had never looked that far ahead, being satisfied to nod agreeably when the older hands talked about hitting that magic twenty-year gate, rolling out, and living on their retired pay. As life began to turn on its ear out there in the world, Rocky had begun to nurture some doubts as to the system’s intentions and ability to take care of him, which lent Rackman’s proposition an immediate appeal, especially the money.
But it had been more difficult to deal with the ethical and moral complications. He had been raised in a family that put a high value on having a solid job, turning in solid performance in return for solid benefits and security, and doing something with the flavor of public service to it.
After twelve years in the Navy, Rocky was no longer bemused by any maudlin concepts of patriotism, but he also knew full
Being a survivor at heart and an extremely practical man, Rocky had made it a point not only to get along with officers and chiefs but to become something of an expert at it. He took special pains to turn himself out in immaculate uniforms, paying for custom-fitted shirts and trousers. He kept his shoes shined, his hair cut, his demeanor sincere, and his performance of duty scrupulously professional. When he realized that not very many of his enlisted peers had figured out the system, he knew he was onto a good thing. He was treated with respect by his superiors and also by the other sailors, even the give a-shit brigade, because as long as Rocky played the game, the rest of them could goof off, serve their time, and get out. Even after all these years, Rocky thought of it all as a big con, but, having adapted beautifully to the system, he was completely secure in the Navy. He was unconcerned about his future, which the Navy would take care of, and casually ignorant about what was happening in the outside world.
He was by no means a saint; you could not get to E-6 in the Navy or any of the services without being able to play the enlisted game as well as he played the officer’s game. As a divisional leading petty officer, he could read through a junior enlisted man’s scam in a flash and knew by heart the standard liturgy of enlisted excuses, the “my car, it,”
“my kids, they,”
“my wife, she” stories by which the white hats worked the system for a little slack. He had worked his own share of scams and deals over the years, but always within the system and always under the protection of the chiefs. As far as the officers were concerned, Rocky was comfortably in the groove, a solid citizen aboard ship, a dependable petty officer who never gave anybody any trouble. He was, in every sense of the term, a certified lifer.
When the sixties, with the Kennedy assassinations, the civil rights upheavals and killings, the burgeoning Vietnam War protest movements, the advent of rock and roll, free love, and the drug culture, began to roll over America like a wave train of social tsunamis, Rocky had done what most military career people did: ignored it all.
He had been content to go to sea, go on deployments, and serve his time on twenty. But by 1967, when Rack man first made his pitch, even Rocky’s secure little world in the Navy had begun to wobble just a little bit.
He had set up a bachelor pad over in Ocean Beach when he made E-6, and it wasn’t long before all the antiwar, antimilitary, antigovernment, and antiestablishment noise began to get in his face. And then there was the money angle: With Johnson’s Great Society programs and the Vietnam War inflating the economy, budget capped Navy pay began to lose its historically secure buying power. Even Rocky, who was no economist, had become acutely aware that the twice-monthly paycheck was covering less and less ground, and he paid attention when he heard the chiefs grumbling as they began to realize how little that pension check was going to cover when they hit their twenty. Rocky had never looked that far ahead, being satisfied to nod agreeably when the older hands talked about hitting that magic twenty-year gate, rolling out, and living on their retired pay. As life began to turn on its ear out there in the world, Rocky had begun to nurture some doubts as to the system’s intentions and ability to take care of him, which lent Rackman’s proposition an immediate appeal, especially the money.
But it had been more difficult to deal with the ethical and moral complications. He had been raised in a family that put a high value on having a solid job, turning in solid performance in return for solid benefits and security, and doing something with the flavor of public service to it.
After twelve years in the Navy, Rocky was no longer bemused by any maudlin concepts of patriotism, but he also knew full
Similar Books
