My father was in the Blue angels and has some hilarious stories from the 70s, seems like all they did was party hard and practice/fly airshows. Sure it was one heck of a time, here is a quick bio if anyones interested
https://www.intruderassociation.org/images/blue_angels/miller_bio.jpg

Edit: through these stories i also learned i will never be as cool as him haha

Was on Okinawa when the Marines were having opening ceremonies for the new club house at Orwan Beach. It was build by the Seabees. Was the Navy invited (nope), only us lowly Corpsman attached to our units (and they made us stand at the very back). Anyway all the big brass (Generals etc..) were there including the Marine Corps Band. The Marines love to snap to attention when the Marine Corps Hymn is played (won't do it with Anchors Away). We bribed the band leader (ex Navy by the way). The result was this: as the General was about to cut the ribbon the band leader raised his baton, all those Marines (about 500) snapped to attention the band broke out with Anchors Away. We were at the back jumping up and down cackling and hootin. It was so hilarious to see the look on that Generals face and to see all of those Marines standing at attention. I think the band leader was last seen running from the location.

That is awesome....

Back in 77 at Luke AFB, AZ. a Sergeant name Shoemaker was assigned a brand new Airman Basic for training named Kress. Kress was so new he had not yet received his flight line security badge, but as long as he remained near Shoemaker(who had a line badge)he was authorized to be out on the flight line with Shoemaker.

One afternoon we're all sitting inside the line shack waiting for our jets to land. Somebody looks out the window and yells to our boss Msgt. Sheppardson (Shep) that the Security Police (SP'S)have Shoemaker and Kress face down on the flight line with M-16s pointed at them. Next thing we know, both Shoemaker and Kress are hauled off to jail.

What happened is that Shoemaker had sent Kress down the flight line about 100 yards to get a maintenance stand. The SP's see Kress with no line badge and no escort official in sight. They question Kress and he explains that Shoemaker is his escort and he's just 3 jets up the row. SP's go up to question Shoemaker and guess what...
"no line badge". He'd left it clipped to his fatigue jacket in the line shack. During this ordeal the SP's search Kress and Shoemaker. They find a bag of weed inside Shoemakers FOD bag. (a FOD bag is a small pouch worn on the belt by flight line personnel. Used to put stuff like screws, rocks, safety wire found on the flight line in).

About three weeks later we're all sitting around the line shack again BS'in waiting for the jets to return. Msgt. Shep hollers over to Shoemaker, "Hey Show, I was over at the Credit Union this morning and saw a guy wearing 2 FOD bags on his belt. Damn, you think he had a pound in there."

I had my tech school at Sheppard AFB in Wichita Falls. I was mopping floors for weekend duty one Saturday morning when I briefly met a Navy man who also had his tech school there (you are correct, we had to teach the Navy everything about flying).

Anyway, for the jelly-headed civilians here... each service has a moniker that all members are known by. Everyone in the Air Force is known as an Airman, and therefore you would address them as "Airman [last name]". Likewise, every Navy person is also known as Seaman.

Well I spent that fine Saturday morning mopping floors along side Patrick Shooter, one of the new Navy recruits. Seaman Shooter did better swabbing the deck than you would have guessed.

Classic! All these stories are so great. Brings a big smile to this old Chiefs ugly mug.

Speaking of old Chiefs:

1st year at 1st duty Station, my roommate opened our Weapons shop door with great fanfare, bowing and waving a Chief into the office. At the same time, asking the Chief if he was our new Weapons Chief. It was the Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force.

man
thats strong

Normally a submarine blows sewage overboard with compressed air when underway and submerged. When we were going to the Med, they modified the hull so a fitting could be place forward of the sail and a firehose attached to blow the sewage overboard to a barge.

So, we are alongside the tender in Sardenia, it's Sunday morning, our underway time was relatively early, I think 0800. I'm up on the sail as the phonetalker and lookout, along with the OD and anothe lookout. I can look down and see the line handlers for the bow line and #2 line. They all have their harnesses on and the line to the track follower. Besides a life jacket this equipment is mandated so no one can fall overboard from the round deck topside.

We can't get under way because even though we are ready, the tug is ready, the sewage line is still connected just to starboard of the #2 line crew. This thing is a 3" fire hose that is absolutely rigid and rises probably 5 to 6 feet above the fitting and the deck. This puppy has got some serious pressure on it. You could have hit it with a fire ax and the ax would have bounced off.

The Captain is PO'd because he's gonna miss his underway time if that fitting and hose aren't cleared. Finally a couple of real young dudes, probably Seaman Apprentices come off the tender and make it across the brow and head for the fitting. Both of them are either hung over or just go woke up, probably both and start working on the fitting and hose.

I'm 20 feet up watching this cluster. These two a busy little beavers, one is working on the hose fitting with a spanner and the other one is working on the deck fitting.

The dude on the hose fitting got down to about 2, maybe 3 threads left when the pressure on the hose ripped it off the fitting and it started spewing baby chit yellow liquefied fecal matter in the air from a dancing hose. The dude on the deck fitting got a face full of this goop and started puking on the deck, the hose guy was drenched from head to toe. The hose blew liquid chit about 15 feet up the sail and the poor bastages on #2 line couldn't get away because of the track follower. They all got splattered. The Chief went ape. I will probably never hear an outstanding string of expletives like that in my lifetime. I mean he was stringing 4 syllable profanities together like a maestro.

The two fecal matter covered dudes finally got the deck fitting off and the hose spewed it's contents into the water instead of the barge and the Navy probably got fined by the local authorities. We got underway.

Had a drill instructor that stuttered worse than anyone I've ever heard, but when he was singing cadence he never missed a beat. Reminded me of Pat Tillis. We were marching early morning and it was my day to stop traffic when we were crossing streets. I almost stepped in front of a bus and immediately knew I was about to catch hail. He stuck the bill of his hat on my nose and said " Bbbbb boy, you want me to sssssssslap the ddddddog chit out of you?" I knew there was no good answer to this question and fully expected him to follow through. Luckily, the rest of the guys could not maintain and busted out laughing, diverting his attention from me. I think we double timed it, everywhere, for 3 straight days.

August 1988 Fort Leonard Wood Mo. I got up at 4 am to haul my butt over to the motor pool and sign out a pick up truck for the grenade range that day. I figured since the ammo dump was on the way back to our barracks I would just pull in, load up some grenades for the company and head back to the unit and eat breakfast.....(save a trip).

Got to the depot acted like I knew what was up, talked the GS 8 in charge, let him know what I was there for and backed the truck up to the loading dock and took care of business. Fully loaded with 600 M67 hand grenades I headed to the unit. As I pulled up in front of Bravo Company I was met by my very angry Drill Instructor, Drill Sergeant Sakaria who rode me up and down for taking soo long getting back from the motor pool, after about the 21st or 22nd push up he asked me what specific reason did I have for running so late? As it was very important I got back to the unit to pick him up so we could go together to the ammo depot to pick up the grenades then eat breakfast.

I explained I saved him the time and did it myself. He told me to recover, turned a few shades paler then his normal Samoan glow and asked me to clarify what I just said, I explained I went to the ammo depot, got the grenades and they are in the back of the truck?

He pulled back the tarp curtain saw that they were there and almost fell out. I explained I just figured that since the depot was on the way I would just get em, he cut me off and explained the process and the security involved. Meaning the Army was not designed for a private to go pick up a truck load of grenades at his leisure and bring back to the unit. It required an armed NCO .45 cal on , and a driver (me).

He quickly gave me his .45 had me guard the truck for a minute after a quick inspection of the crates and seals, he then went inside and called the MP's and senior unit leadership to update them on what just took place.

Long story short, a drunk and hung over GS 8 lost his job at the depot that day, a Battalion Commander from Ohio State became the best friend of a Private from Lake Carmel NY, and I never had to road march to a range the rest of my stay there.

God those were the best of times....,