People often think that the Navy runs on alcohol. The reality is that if a foreign nation really wanted to cripple the Navy, they could just destroy the world's coffee crop and the U. S. Navy (not to mention the entire civilized world) would come to a complete halt. Oil is almost as important to industry as coffee is to a sailor. After a long night of standing watch (or using the consumption technique to protect America from alcohol poisoning), a cup of strong coffee is just the thing to open the eyes and launch a fellow into the daily routine.

Naval Ammunition Depot Oahu Hawaii West Loch Branch conforms to the standard practice of keeping ammo dumps away from important stuff (like Admirals) just in case a pesky unplanned conflagration might cause collateral damage (Officer's Club or BOQ). This is all well and good, but the bus stop was a long way (a mile or more) from the gate and when we had a merchant ship in to load or unload we had to provide transport to the bus stop so the merchant seamen could go party. The Duty Driver got this detail and had to make scheduled runs from the dock to the bus stop. The last run was something like 11:45 PM. Of course, the next day he would have to make 5:45 AM run and then go into the daily work schedule at 7:00. This was kind of tiresome as it was and could get really messed up at times. For instance:

It was my place on the duty roster one day to be the Duty Driver. Everything was going according to plan and one of the guys had me take him over to Barber's Point Housing after the 8 0'clock run. This was OK but it knocked my timing off a little bit. Things went down hill from there. I was just a couple of minutes earlier than the bus so I missed some guys needing a ride back to the dock. Due to a peculiarity in the schedule, there was a two hour gap between the 8 PM and the 10 PM runs. Combined with the location of the bus stop not being on the direct route to Barber's Point, two guys sat impatiently at the bus stop with a phone book, a handful of coins, a snoot full of beer, and no idea who to call. I forget now who all they called but the Oahu phone book is full of military phone numbers. To further complicate matters, someone with a wife and young child returned from 30 days leave and called requesting a ride from the airport. I had already returned to base and was lounging around in the barracks oblivious to the looming disaster or the fact that someone had called from the airport. Upon learning of this new detail, I hopped into the truck, not looking forward to the traffic and 45 minute drive, and off I went. Now the route to the airport goes past the bus stop and I see these two merchant marines sitting there so the only common sense seeming action was to pick them up and take them to the dock as I knew that I was going to be late for the 10 o'clock run due to the limitations of time and space. This of course meant that it would take even longer to get to the airport. Add that to the half hour or so it took for them to get around to telling me that there was an airport run to make (I saw where the Duty Petty Officer retired as a Chief Warrant Officer years later, I never had much respect for him and yes, he was a mineman). This makes for an uncomfortable sit for a young family at Honolulu International. The merchant guys told me that they had been calling around to get a ride but I didn't snap as to how far the calls would go. Upon finally arriving at the airport, I see the sailor with his wife and infant and he is pissed. I helped him load up their luggage and this jack ass chewed me out repeatedly because they spent two hours sitting on the sidewalk with their infant waiting for a ride. For the next 45 minutes, no amount of explanations as to my limited psychic and mind over matter abilities would satisfy this guy. He did finally relinquish long enough after we arrived back at the base to say he decided that he wouldn't write me up after all. I was kind of at the point of wishing he would so that I could expose the less than impressive leadership skills that I was expected to perform under and let an officer see just what an asshole this guy was being. Of course, there was another merchant marine at the bus stop and I had to turn around (there wasn't room in the truck when we went past from the airport) and go get him. That was a sucky night and I finally showered and hit my rack at midnight plus.

Next morning before 6 AM, I'm back at the dock to bus stop to dock run again. One guy going to town and another back to the ship. I was tired, pissed and hearing something about the Captain getting woken up with a phone call about somebody trying to get to their ship at West Loch. This is, to quote George Orwell, ungood. The merchant sailor invited me aboard for a cup of coffee and I decided that I might as well as life didn't seem like it could get much worse. Maybe they would Shanghai me and I could forget about that stupid gray truck sitting on the dock. I drug my self up the gangway and staggered into the wardroom and this guy gives me a mug of the strongest, best tasting, and blackest coffee in the Pacific. He was real talkative and I think he was going on and on about football. All I could muster in return was some unintelligible grunts and put my nose back into the coffee cup. After a short while, I looked at the bottom of the cup and then at my watch and politely excused myself thanking him for the excellent coffee. The gangway felt like a trampoline as I bounced down to the truck. The early morning sky was clearer and bluer than light through a cobalt blue glass. Life was good again and the blood was singing joyfully through my veins. That was the best coffee that I have ever had. I doubt that Starbucks could touch it! My feet scarcely touched the ground as I hopped into the driver's seat. Upon turning in the truck, I got to explain to the Duty Officer (I can't remember his name but he was a Warrant Officer and I remember him as a decent guy) who was on the phone to the Captain about the schedule, which was in writing (thereby saving my ass), and that the buses don't run as sharply as the Navy, combined with the airport run (I left out the ass chewing as it would do no good) and how these weren't the soberest of people at the time I picked them up. The officers understood and MN2 Murray from Maine who was also finishing up his watch told me to go and get some sleep. He very kindly said that he would clear it with Chief Sbei which he did. Problem was, I tried for two hours to sleep and couldn't do it and reported in.

This may not be the most amusing or exciting sea story you ever hear but I swear that that was the strongest and most effective coffee in the Western hemisphere. Thirty plus years have gone by (I was nineteen, I think) and I still remember that coffee. I regret that I didn't find out how they made it. (Or what was the magic ingredient?)