well that going into the drug business would be a major insult to a value system that had served him well so far.
Like most of his other career decisions, though, it came down to a matter of practicality. He had long since adopted the typical enlisted view of drugs on board ship: As long as people were discreet, doing an occasional joint or pipe of hash to take the edge off all the boredom, then there was nothing seriously wrong with it, other than the penalties for getting caught. His attitude was reinforced by the seemingly casual attitude held by the command in Hood, which, unlike his last ship, did not operate a high profile antidrug-use program. A couple of the chiefs were known to kick some ass if somebody was flagrant about what he was doing, but the key seemed to be discretion. As Rackman had put it, the command did not seem to be after him personally or his operation, and he had given Rocky the impression that the Old Man actually did not believe there were drugs in his ship. Just to be sure, though, Rackman took great pains not to attract attention to himself by flashing a lot of money or living visibly beyond his means, and the operation ran itself.
But for Rocky, it was a girl named Lucy who opened his eyes to what was happening in America. He had met Lucy at one of those all-weekend beach parties that bloomed out on Ocean Beach when the coastal weather cooperated. He had been soaking up rays and nursing a six-pack with three other first class petty officers from the ship when this vision had come ambling down the beach: long, stringy beach blond hair, clingy bathing suit, legs up to h’yar, as the song went, enormous eyes, and a lopsided, lazy smile on her face that told every man who stared that she could read his mind and was not offended.
Rocky had held up a cold beer and she had put the rudder over and joined him on his beach blanket.
Lucy came from a well-to-do middle-class family in San Mateo who thought she was productively enrolled as an English major at UCSD. At the end of her first semester in Southern California, Lucy had aligned her orbit with the appropriate celestial spheres and declared her personal emancipation from all recognized conventions, especially those of the people who were paying her tuition. She focused single-mindedly on the task of expanding the horizons of her personal experience, adopting the rule that one should rule absolutely nothing out of the spectrum of personal experience, including this thoroughly square sailor with the pleasant manner and the dynamite black beard.
Over the next few weeks that the ship was in port, Rocky became something of a project for her as she turned him on and tuned him in to the dizzying kaleidoscope of Southern California freedom, which included the uninhibited questioning of all existing value systems, decrying the Vietnam War, despising LBJ, embracing a host of ill-defined isms, indulging in mind-expanding substances, and screwing his brains out anytime he was in the mood and sometimes when he wasn’t. Rocky was mostly in it for the great sex, but he could not help but be affected by the views of Lucy and her friends.
Collectively, they showed him that there was not only a whole new world out there but that it was altogether different from his world, and, even more disturbing, they actively disliked what he did for a living and even what he was. And there were lots of them, as even a cursory glance at the television revealed.
When Lucy finally slipped down the ecliptic in search of new galaxies and experiences, Rocky was a changed man. Lucy’s breathtaking interpretations of what it meant to be a child of the sixties had shattered his complacent notions about the value of conformity, playing by the rules, and unquestioning cooperation with the system. By even his own admission, his successful career as an enlisted man in the Navy had been vividly exposed as a pawn’s game. While he had not bought into the whole scene, especially all the
Like most of his other career decisions, though, it came down to a matter of practicality. He had long since adopted the typical enlisted view of drugs on board ship: As long as people were discreet, doing an occasional joint or pipe of hash to take the edge off all the boredom, then there was nothing seriously wrong with it, other than the penalties for getting caught. His attitude was reinforced by the seemingly casual attitude held by the command in Hood, which, unlike his last ship, did not operate a high profile antidrug-use program. A couple of the chiefs were known to kick some ass if somebody was flagrant about what he was doing, but the key seemed to be discretion. As Rackman had put it, the command did not seem to be after him personally or his operation, and he had given Rocky the impression that the Old Man actually did not believe there were drugs in his ship. Just to be sure, though, Rackman took great pains not to attract attention to himself by flashing a lot of money or living visibly beyond his means, and the operation ran itself.
But for Rocky, it was a girl named Lucy who opened his eyes to what was happening in America. He had met Lucy at one of those all-weekend beach parties that bloomed out on Ocean Beach when the coastal weather cooperated. He had been soaking up rays and nursing a six-pack with three other first class petty officers from the ship when this vision had come ambling down the beach: long, stringy beach blond hair, clingy bathing suit, legs up to h’yar, as the song went, enormous eyes, and a lopsided, lazy smile on her face that told every man who stared that she could read his mind and was not offended.
Rocky had held up a cold beer and she had put the rudder over and joined him on his beach blanket.
Lucy came from a well-to-do middle-class family in San Mateo who thought she was productively enrolled as an English major at UCSD. At the end of her first semester in Southern California, Lucy had aligned her orbit with the appropriate celestial spheres and declared her personal emancipation from all recognized conventions, especially those of the people who were paying her tuition. She focused single-mindedly on the task of expanding the horizons of her personal experience, adopting the rule that one should rule absolutely nothing out of the spectrum of personal experience, including this thoroughly square sailor with the pleasant manner and the dynamite black beard.
Over the next few weeks that the ship was in port, Rocky became something of a project for her as she turned him on and tuned him in to the dizzying kaleidoscope of Southern California freedom, which included the uninhibited questioning of all existing value systems, decrying the Vietnam War, despising LBJ, embracing a host of ill-defined isms, indulging in mind-expanding substances, and screwing his brains out anytime he was in the mood and sometimes when he wasn’t. Rocky was mostly in it for the great sex, but he could not help but be affected by the views of Lucy and her friends.
Collectively, they showed him that there was not only a whole new world out there but that it was altogether different from his world, and, even more disturbing, they actively disliked what he did for a living and even what he was. And there were lots of them, as even a cursory glance at the television revealed.
When Lucy finally slipped down the ecliptic in search of new galaxies and experiences, Rocky was a changed man. Lucy’s breathtaking interpretations of what it meant to be a child of the sixties had shattered his complacent notions about the value of conformity, playing by the rules, and unquestioning cooperation with the system. By even his own admission, his successful career as an enlisted man in the Navy had been vividly exposed as a pawn’s game. While he had not bought into the whole scene, especially all the
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