Last week I was explaining about how US Navy ships have a tradition of making an unusual entry in the ship’s deck log at the break of the new year: those unlucky souls tapped to stand the “balls to four” watch are allowed to pen a poem. In a year of logbooks filled with (hopefully) unremarkable entries such as “Captain on the bridge”, or “Moored, starboard side to pier XX”, our nation’s creative (or bored) sailors get a shot at making their unique mark in naval history.
Since it’s an official log, you’re not going to find anything too scandalous or insulting—those entries are left for unofficial logbooks surreptitiously maintained by junior officers that are stashed away on the bridge while underway. I won’t tell you where we kept ours. But all sailors are a clever lot, and you can still glean a bit from what is written each year.
And this year, given what we’ve all been through, I can only imagine what watch standers will be writing.
I wish I could feel more optimism as we look towards 2022. Instead I will be honest and say that it’s just not in me right now. Last year I did feel as though life would certainly ease as Italy weathered a total lockdown for both Christmas and New Year’s. And things did get better. For a bit. Suffice to say that it’s been a tough year for everyone everywhere. And even now as I read about ships that are hobbled by COVID, I’ve got to imagine that the mood of decklogs will be decidedly sober.
As chance would have it, I came across a website that not only discusses the history of deck log keep at New Year’s, but it also contained a few examples over the past 80 years. To my surprise, one of these examples jumped off the screen as a real gem for my family: one of the scanned copies was from a Vietnam-era ship that my father served on, a Gearing-class destroyer. I had my brother print up the scan and show it to my Dad to see if it looked familiar. He handed it to my Dad, who fished out his CVS eyeglasses and leaned down for a close look. “I remember when we did this,” he said after chuckling.
The poem written on the BASILONE’s log is written to an old timey song that I know called “Downtown”. The poem is classic Navy, because the author is artfully grumbling about standing watch while the rest of the non-duty section crew is out living it up on the streets of Newport, Rhode Island:
Midnight has struck, and here on the BASILONE we’re all alone —
Alone.
The Duty Section here wants to wish everyone a very happy New Year —
New Year.
But the officers have made it, followed closely by the crew.
There’s no one left on board to wish a happy New Year to.
Sad are we.
As I read the lines, I smile and nod because I know what it is like to stand watch over the holidays. When it is cold and lonely, and you have nothing but your thoughts. But as I read on, the words hit me a bit differently than they would have in 2001—or even 1966 when this was written. That’s because this year, the buzz of any revelry is tamped down by the pandemic.
They’ve packed up their troubles and woe and have found all the places
Where lights are aglow and gone…Downtown!
Gone where the action is… Downtown!
Drinking their beer or fizz…Downtown!
Where we would all like to be.
But despite all the constraints and personal anxiety that I have about living in a pandemic, there is something remarkably grounding about these entries. Maybe because they help to ground you, provide some orientation to the present moment (even if they were written in 1966).
We’re moored starboard side to good DYESS with sturdy standard mooring lines —
Doubled Up.
Berth one five three at Naval Station, Newport, R.I. is the place we call —
Our home.
GRAND CANYON, MOALE and FISKE also share our nest this New Year.
Electric power and steam and phone are coming from the pier.
But these don’t help.
We made our rounds, we watched the whole show; but we’d like to be
Where the real swingers go… Downtown!
That’s where our buddies are… Downtown!
In some secluded bar… Downtown!
That’s where we’d all like to be.
You don’t need to be serving in a uniform somewhere at midnight in order to understand two coexisting yet contradicting emotions: the fact that yes, menial tasks are integral to ensuring smooth daily operations—but they are also insufficient in terms of filling one’s emotional bucket with high morale and general well-being. I personally might not want to be Downtown! for New Year’s Eve- but it’s nice to know that the option is there. And that I could go if I wanted.
COMCRUDESLANT is SOPA on YOSEMITE where flies his flag —
AD 19.
Units of the U.S. Fleet, Yard and District craft are also present here —
Atlantic Fleet.
Material condition Yoke and readiness five are set.
ASROC Sentry and cold iron watch are guarding us yet.
Plus sounding-security.
Often when I hear myself complaining or feel overly bogged down by the daily numbers of the pandemic—I think about how good things are on that particular day. Maybe it’s that I am not feeling sick. Maybe it’s because I am only a phone call away from my loved ones—and I’m not underway where there is only one Plain Old Telephone Service line on the mess decks where sailors queue up once they’re off watch. Sacrificing hours of precious sleep in order to score a few minutes of conversation with loved ones back home. Looking ahead to 2022, things don’t look exactly rosy, but I try to remind myself that this is only one point in a long continuum of deck log poems and life experiences.
But though we are sad and want some good cheer, we’re wishing for all
A very happy New Year from …BASILONE!
DD Eight Two Four…BASILONE!
Wait ‘til you hear us roar… BASILONE!
We send best wishes to you.