NetNews Usenet Archive 1992 #19/NN_1992_19.iso/spool/talk/bizarre/27983

Text File | 1992-08-30 | 6.4 KB | 138 lines

Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Path: sparky!uunet!stanford.edu!ames!sgi!wdl1!bard
From: [e-mail] (J H Woodyatt)
Subject: This was not my lamest moment... (longish)
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Organization: Abiogenesis 4 Less
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Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1992 01:45:21 GMT
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...it was just a weird series of experiences, and I still don't know
what to make of it.

-----

For those who don't know, I graduated from the California Maritime
Academy in 1987 with a degree in Marine Engineering Technology (which
means I know how to run the engines on merchant ships).  Every year,
the Academy packs every student but the 4th class (the freshmen) onto
the training ship for a three month cruise.  It ain't the love boat,
but enlisted men in the Navy would find it a trade up (officers
probably wouldn't).

Anyway, on my first night alone in a foreign city, I was in Manila, R.
of the Phillipines, about six months before Ferdinand Marcos was
asked to leave.  I was in what appeared to be a public park near the
center of the city at about 11:00 P.M.  This park appeared to be about
a square kilometer in area, and it was home to well over five thousand
people, living in tents, or amid scattered boxes of their possessions.

In the center of this park was a statue, dedicated to some Spanish war
hero -- I seem to recall it was the fellow who conquered the
Phillipines for the Spanish a few centuries back.  Anyway, this statue
was lit up very brightly, and it was guarded by eight adolescent
soldiers armed with what appeared to be shotguns and assault rifles
in the event that the crowd of several hundred people surrounding the
statue in rapt attention were to try to do something -- God only knows
what -- that the adolescents were ordered not to let anyone do.

There was a murderous undercurrent running through the crowd and it
seemed explosive.  Unfortunately, I was in my tropical white uniform
that, at first glance, looks a lot like a U.S. Navy ensign's uniform,
and I think that kept anyone who spoke English from explaining what
was going on.  It was very confusing and more than a little
frightening.

-----

I was on cinderella liberty, because I was a third class midshipman,
so I had no time to hang around and see what would happen.  Given that
a dozen hotels had been destroyed by arsonists in the week preceding
my arrival and honest to God revolutionary communists could be heard
shooting up the countryside outside the city, this may have been a
Good Thing.

On my way back to the ship, I was sort of mugged.  I say `sort of'
because it was a pretty desperate attempt and it failed.  There was
just me and this woman on the sidewalk, with no one, not even the
ubiquitous adolescent military boys with great big guns, in sight.  I
heard her steps as she ran up behind me -- she could hardly be silent
in high heels (she was, by my guess, not ordinarily employed as a
mugger).

When she reached me, she simultaneously grabbed at my wallet and at my
genitals, but because I spun around at exactly the right moment, she
missed the testicles, but caught a good grip on my penis -- and she
squeezed.  Hard.  I have no doubt it would have been extremely painful
had she gotten the testicles.  With her other hand she had success-
fully extracted my wallet from my pocket by breaking the thread
holding the button closed.  She would have gotten away with about
forty U.S. dollars, my Visa card, more importantly, my Z-card (what
merchant mariners use instead of passports), but I punched her in the
nose.  She crumpled and dropped the wallet; I grabbed it and ran.  I
never knew whether she had a weapon.

-----

The ship was tied on the president's wharf, where Mr. Marcos kept his
three personal yachts.  Each yacht was about half the size of our
training ship, an old AKA from WW2.  When I got back to the ship, I
walked past an old woman, hands clenched around the iron bars
which barred entry onto the wharf by the peasants, wailing and
screaming incoherently between tearful chokes, and a thin emaciated
little boy clinging to her legs under her shawl.  I will never forget
that image, and the air of nonchalance about the armed guards at the gate
who seemed entirely unaware of the woman's presence, and who waved
anyone who didn't look like a native Filipino through without checking
I.D., though they did hassle the Malaysian midshipmen for their
Z-cards.

-----

The next morning, I and two friends went ashore on liberty to discover
that, overnight, a line of at least sixty or seventy unmarked armored
personnel carriers as far as the eye could see had been offloaded onto
the street (which I had walked the length of the previous day).

Hovering about the head of the line of tracked vehicles was an
American man (about 45 years old) that we talked with for a few
moments.  He was from North Carolina.  We showed him pictures of our
girlfriends back home.  He said he was a consultant to the State
Department (he didn't say which State Department) and that he was
helping coordinate efforts to suppress the communist `terrorists' that
were no doubt lurking in every tree, and that the personnel carriers
were of American make.  He was otherwise friendly, but he wasn't very
informative.  He just smirked when we asked who he worked for.

Amusingly enough, he was dressed exactly like one might expect such a
`consultant' to be dressed: casual slacks, sneakers, hawaiian shirt
and a great big trenchcoat with lots of pockets.  By midafternoon, the
personnel carriers were gone.

I remember no mention in the world news at the time of American
military aid to the Phillipines.  It was all very unnerving.  The only
evidence we had of there being anything resembling warfare happening
in the general vicinity were the brief presence of the APC's and
reports from friends that automatic gunfire could be heard a few miles
outside town.  Oh, yeah, and an occasional structure fire downtown.

-----

I should stop rambling now.  I will not preach.  I will not preach.  I
will not preach.  I will not preach.


--
J H Woodyatt (a.k.a. Dr. Strychnine)
Space Systems/Loral

"When people reached the last drop of their drinks, the face of Larry
Storch would seem to look out at them from the bottom, belch
contentedly and say, ``Now I am truly what I always was.  Pass the
corn nuts.''"
                             -- Larne Pekowsky