You wouldn't suspect we had fist fights on our ship during the war but sad to say we did. Even though our watch gun crews were close as brothers we did have an occasional fight between us but more often than not they were between men from different divisions. I managed to have two during my time aboard, one was over and forgotten in a few minutes but the final outcome and resolution of the other dragged on for a year or more.
Even though any assignment associated with messcooking was considered the lowest of the low in prestige, the ten men in the breakout gang almost immediately bonded together and adopted an "us against them" mind set. Also, we soon discovered the breakout gang wasn't a bad deal, not bad at all. A straight day job, work done by noon, no cleaning stations, and for me at least, a top side battle station on the guns. Nobody in the gunnery department had it any better in my opinion.
Our boss was a Storekeeper 1/c who we called "Keys" because of the many keys he carried. He had access to every store room and to all the goodies to be had at that time, including the beer. He treated us very well and we all liked him.
Three of us were carrying 50 lb sacks of flour from one of the dry storerooms to the bake shop when Chico, from a small town in Colorado, noticed a book hidden among the sacks in the storeroom. In the book was an envelope with pictures of bare breasted native women. After hiding the envelope in his locker he put the book back where he found it.
Most of us never saw any of these island women but those who did have contact with them were warned; taking pictures of their naked boobs was strictly forbidden and anyone found guilty of this crime would be punished by a thousand lashes, keel hauling, walking the plank or hanging. Well maybe not that bad but the word was out, take no pictures!!!
When we were stacking the last three sacks in the fourth deck compartment under the bake shop two men came down and one of them had the book in his hand. Trouble ahead.
The man with the book was a powerfully built BM 1/c who was also a big shot in the "third deck clique." Men in this group were usually senior petty officers who had access to any of the privileges available during those days and could provide them to each other. They lived better than the rest of us and could be identified by their pressed dungarees.
Actually, we didn't begrudge nor were we envious of their status or any of their privileges. We felt for men with their rating and seniority in the Navy, this is how it should be
Keys who was a member of the clique must have tipped off the BM his stash was probably discovered.
I was one step up on the ladder when he confronted Chico asking if he took the envelope.
When Chico denied having seen it, he began threatening him with disciplinary action. I told Chico not to worry he wouldn't dare make a complaint to anybody. Without even looking at me he said; "you keep out of this you loud mouthed bastard."
I don't know what got into me but I said; "who are you calling a bastard". Had I the option, I would have taken back those words and did just what he said. Too late now, the dye has been cast, the Rubicon crossed and I'm in serious trouble.
This will be classic boy against man and not just an ordinary man but a Neanderthal.
He looked at me seemingly in disbelief that a lowly seaman would have the gall to say anything to a big shot like him. He put the book down on a table, faced me and said; "you heard it."
Forced to shit or get off the pot and knowing I'm probably in for ass kicking I hit him in the mouth. He grabbed me around the neck and was hitting me on top of the head when a lieutenant who had been in the bake shop above and who was probably a clique member also, came down the ladder and broke up the fight.
When I stepped back the BM was bleeding from a cut on his lip. Wiping the blood with a bakers apron he told me, "this ain't over, you’ll get yours".
The officer must have been aware of the situation because ordinarily if a lowly seaman hit a BM 1/c that would be brig time at least. Nothing was done and the next day I must admit I was proud when I saw his fat swollen lip especially since Keys spread the word throughout the clique and I didn't have a mark on me. I sensed I had Keys' support.
Needless to say, the pictures disappeared over the side, after a another quick peek of course.
Whenever he saw me he had a little comment to make about my impending doom but I gave no thought to his promised retaliation until a payday shortly before pulling into San Francisco a year or so later. He was at the pay table and the last to count the money. When he handed it to me he said; "I’ll be seeing you soon superman." Exact words I'll never forget them.
I was at a bar with a friend a couple of days later when I saw him walk in with a BM2/c and hoped he wouldn't see us.
No such luck, he saw me and pointed us out to his partner before walking over.
I told my friend Russell I had big trouble coming and if he didn't want to get involved he best leave now. "I'm with you Willie". Good old Russ, what a friend. As always, my tailor made uniform I had only worn a few times was a major concern of mine, especially in the first hour or two of a liberty.
I turned on the stool to face him and had my back against the bar to get good leverage because I figured when he swung or reached for me my only chance would be to shove him back with my foot hopefully knocking him down and taking it from there. Russ should be able to handle his friend.
So what happens, he tells the bartender to give us a drink, shakes hands and leaves. Hallelujah!
The Lord takes care of his children.
I saw him at a reunion about ten years ago still powerful looking but somewhat stooped and moving slowly apparently with difficulty. I decided I wouldn't say anything to him unless he recognized me; I had a beard which I didn't have in those days. He looked at me once and even sat next to me in the hospitality room but didn't say a word, drank one drink and left. I never saw him again at that reunion or any since. Did he recognize me, I doubt it but probably will never know unless he is still alive and reads this.
If you do Boats, I knew I had no chance against you and I was saved twice, once by the lieutenant and once by the goodness of your heart.
BTW, yesterday I was looking at the jumper I had on that day in Frisco, the stripes are yellow, and the thread has faded otherwise there isn’t a rip or tear in it

I was not onboard at the time, but the story was told to me from two of the people involved. Real names in this story have been changed/or omitted as the individuals may be/or are still living. Would not want to embarrass anyone! Not all at sea periods were boring during the various deployments. Over the years of sailors being at sea for extended periods of time, it can cause friction, that lead to altercations. It made no difference as to the ship, including the Fighting Lady.
As with any weapons handling operation and weapons elevator operator, the elevator operator does not move the elevator unless he believes the load is stable and safe for operation of the elevator. It appeared there had been some differences of opinions between the supervisor and elevator operator. The supervisor invited the elevator operator in to the Third Deck Elevator Pit to prove a point (?).
The supervisor being the senior felt that he should allow the junior (elevator operator) to throw the first punch, so he allowed the junior to hit him first at which time the seniors jaw was broken with one punch. The Doctor in sickbay called the GA Division LCPO and asked if he knew what happened. Since he was not at the scene he did not know the actual events and started calling guys in the office and asking them about the fight. The third guy in was the junior or Elevator Operator. He hesitantly told the LCPO exactly what happened and the LCPO had a good laugh. The LCPO called the Doctor back and they also had a good laugh. The senior had his jaw wired shut for six weeks. He also laughed about it and the cause of his jaw being wired shut and as far as all knew there was no hard feelings. The LCPO had told all the elevator operators they were not to move their car until THEY were satisfied that the load was safe and the Junior did not think the load was safe and refused to move the car. And there’s the rest of the story, as understand by the personnel in GA Division.

When I came aboard the Yorktown from the USS Kearsarge I thought that they would put me into the Photo Lab. That is where I had worked on the Kearsarge and thought I was pretty good with a camera and in the darkroom. But when I reported aboard "The Lucky Y", the Personnel Warrant Officer said, "we'll full up on photo mates. But we just had a black oil spill during an unrep and we sure need men for 2nd Division."

I spent the next few weeks using jet fuel and a bucket to dissolve the black oil off the side of the ship as we cruised along in the Gulf of Tonkin.  So I was pretty miserable in 2nd Division but look back now as it being one of my happiest times in the Navy. I was a real salt water in the face sailor for a time.  I did 8 hours on the helm of the Yorktown, sat gun watches on the 6 inch gun (as we called them during the Vietnam War/Cold War era), acted as a side-boy on the quarter-deck when in port dressed up in my whites with full medals.
But I really didn't want to be there and coming from another ship, having GREEN strips on my uniform (an airman) and not WHITE strips (seaman) caused friction amongst many of the old boys. Indeed, my name stopped being Dan and become for all purposes and for all time, "The Airdale"...the only airman in a seaman's division.

One of the bigger men was always on my case. I have 20/400 vision and am blind without my glasses. I had my white GI issued Navy towel around my waist and was heading for the showers on the foc'le berthing for boatswain mates when this big guy again started ragging on me. I don't what he said but my come back must have hit a raw nerve because the next thing I knew my 125 pound body was flying through the air and I was fighting for my life. With one hand he picked me up and held me up against the bulkhead and with his right hand he pounded my face.
I returned fire as best I could...my glasses were long gone and as I was now blind I just struck with both my free hands but it must have seemed like a battleship fighting a bi-plane. I got my blows in however.
The "fight" probably only lasted 30 seconds as one of the wiser and larger men of 2nd Division pulled him off me and kept saying "you're a bunch of fu**ing animals...animals!"

Even then I was amused in my pain...like I picked a fight with someone who weighed 75 pounds more than em? As is my personality, I don't back down regardless of the odds.

So, I pick up my towel, pinch my bleeding nose and continue my journey to the head. I get inside and turn on the water.

Outside in the head I can hear my (former) enemy say to another boatswain mate, "I just had a dust up with "the Airdale". He's a skinny guy but he sure stood up to me. I gotta a lot of respect for him now."

Thereafter, this is true, the former bully was my best friend. If anyone gave me a "ration of shit" as we used to say, he was stand up for "The Airdale".