Morning Thoughts: October 28, 2017

Nair is a hair removal product manufactured by Church & Dwight. It was purchased from Carter-Wallace in 2001. The brand is mainly known for its depilatories that work by breaking the disulfide bonds of the keratin molecules in hair. That’s all according to Wikipedia.

It can also be a source of great embarrassment. They didn’t mention that part. I can offer proof via a short anecdote, with the indulgence of you dear readers who love exciting tales of Naval lore.

 It happened this way.

Have I ever mentioned that, because I was taller than most and my voice had changed, they made me the “Recruit Chief Petty Officer” in Navy Boot Camp? I made sure our company arose on time, retired on time, and generally made it to where we were supposed to be in something resembling good Navy condition. I even made sure the men in our company—and some came from Georgia and Texas—passed the written exams. It posed many similar challenges.

Any failure prompted threats to make me endure boot camp a second, or even a third time.

Oh, another thing I helped with was making sure our company did not suffer embarrassment. That, one can imagine, is a measure to be devoutly wished by the Brass. The Navy looks upon embarrassment with great disdain. Remember when Admiral “Bull” Halsey got his fleet lost during the Battle of Leyte Gulf in October of 1944? That prompted the immortal inquiry from Admiral Chester Nimitz, “Where is Halsey? The world wonders." That’s more than a gentle chiding.

We never got lost, and we generally avoided embarrassing ourselves or our beloved Navy, except for this one little thing.

First of all, the company commander of the company next to ours, an old Bosun’s Mate, hated our company, perhaps because our company commander was from the submarine service and the other hated “bubbleheads.” Perhaps it was a personal feud between them. Perhaps it was just a made-up deal. I don’t know. At any rate, he went out of his way to treat us harshly when our own commander wasn’t looking.

Now, we had three or four recruits in our company who scarcely needed to shave once a day. Once a week would have sufficed easily. But the United States Navy was way too busy to establish operational orders for individual shaving. Everyone shaved once a day. Period. I think it went back to the ancient Peloponnesians.

These poor fellows were playing hell with it. Their faces had become raw and red from the unnecessary scraping. What to do?

Enter our company commander, a man named Kent. He carried a bottle stolen from his wife’s dresser at home.

Yes, Nair.

Hell no, it didn’t work. I can still hear the cries of pain if I try real hard. Off to the dumpster went the offending cream.

Yes, someone saw it. Yes, the hated next-door company commander heard about it. Yes two companies were assembled to watch, at attention, a bit of “impromptu theater” as he solemnly withdrew the contraband from the dumpster and lifted it high for all to see.

He walked to where I stood, tall and solemn like John Wayne about to receive one of the many medals for his military service. I drew my chin so far into my neck that you could have played “Anchors Aweigh” on the creases. It was going to be “gunnels awash,” instead.

He spread Nair on my face and grinned like Lucifer welcoming a hypocrite. In the great tradition of John Paul Jones and Barnacle Bill the Sailor, I resisted the urge to light out, if not for “the territories,” at least to the Pacific Ocean which lay adjacent to the base. Its cold waters beckoned soothing relief and communicated a temptation only surpassed by the cries of the Sirens as Odysseus sailed past the rocks of Scylla. I stood my ground, gaining the permanent respect of our company and the increased hatred of our nemesis.

Though I refused to acknowledge pain, our company became known, for the remainder of the ordeal known as boot camp, as the “Nair-Hairs.” We could hear it softly chanted as we passed through line for chow. Move over Bull Halsey. You don’t know what embarrassment is.

I think it is the reason I never made admiral.

Why certainly, good dancers make good sailors.