- From Don Price: Skedding in Keelung
Our trips to Keelung always started at the Ships
Movement Board in traffic analysis space on base.
I think checking the Ships Movement Board was the Red Header’s, i.e., Rich Cincotta’s idea but whoever came up
with it, it was a good idea. On
the ships movement board the USS Pueblo was always shown to be in port in
North Korea. The important
thing from our standpoint, however, whether there were any American ships
due into Keelung. You always
planned Keelung skeds when there were no ships in.
There was nothing better than running bars in Keelung when you were
the only Americans in town. There
might be a few merchant seamen in but those crews were so small that they
didn’t create much competition.
I don’t remember how many Keeling trips I took—they all run together so
this is not a story about one trip. I know I went several times because I remember making trips
back to see the same girl (don’t remember the name but she is featured in
a ‘before’ picture on this website).
I do remember that my roomies; the
Red Header and Glen, ‘Radar’
Nelson; were usually, maybe always along.
From what was written on the back of one of the photos, a guy named George Kingston (I think he was day puke friend of Radar
but I don’t really remember) went along at least once.
A Yu-long (i.e., a Datsun assembled in Taiwan) taxi would deliver you
directly to the docks in Keelung. There
was a small pier directly across what I remember as a very wide street from
what was to become my favorite Keelung bar.
I don’t remember the name but it was the one in which my
‘before’ picture on this website was taken.
We usually shopped around and hit most of the bars, promising in
every bar that we would come back when our friends found girls they liked
and, being the honest type that I was, I always told the truth to one of the
girls—whichever one took me to the Pacific Hotel.
They always seemed to know her (whoever ‘her’ was) and the
service was great. I never
wanted to leave the Pacific.
Radar, on the other hand, says
that he once made the mistake of going out late at night by himself in
Keelung. He was stopped by a
ROC soldier with an M16 who was asking him questions in broken English.
Radar was drunk (that’s
how we all remember him) and not the Chinese language scholar that the Red
Header and I were. He
studied Chinese at the China Night Club after his orientation at the OK Bar,
instead of at Taipei American School (Taipei Mei-gwo Sywei-syau) like Rich
and me. All he really
understood was that the M16 was in the hands of a soldier who was becoming
increasingly frustrated as he tried to talk to him.
Radar eventually figured
out, when the soldier pointed to his wallet, that he was asking for a
passport. Radar
showed him his military ID and the guy didn’t shoot him—being a
pervert was not a crime.
On the return trips—this was also the Red Header’s idea—we took the regular Chinese bus.
I think we coughed up a couple of NT$ (New Taiwan dollars) more and
rode the express bus. The local
made numerous stops between Keelung and Taipei.
It was a lot cheaper than the taxi either way.
I never rode it going to Keelung—I was usually in a hurry and I
probably wouldn’t have known where to catch it anyway.
In Keelung the bus station was, I think, by the docks.
When we got back into Taipei, we still needed a taxi because we
didn’t really know where we were.
After I was sent to the fleet, abroad the USS Orleck (DD-886), I was on a
WestPac where the ship (built in 1945) was scheduled to go into Kaoshuing
for minor repairs, go out on exercises in the Taiwan Straits for a week or
so, and then put into Keelung. I
imagined my triumphant return when I put in a chit to go on leave as soon as
we hit Kaoshuing, to check in from leave and stand a day of duty in Keelung
and then go back out on liberty for a couple of days.
Everybody kept trying to talk me out of it by telling me stuff like I
needed a passport (I didn’t—your military ID was good enough for the
ROC) and that I’d be the last one to go on leave when we got to the
States. I was due to get out
shortly after we got back and anyway I never had as much fun in the States.
When we did get back to San Diego, Cincotta
was standing on the dock with a “Price is Short” sign—a double
entente if there ever was one, some might argue a triple entente but I it
wasn’t that short—I loved the navy so much that I started counting days
in boot camp. They broke down
and okayed my leave.
Halfway between Hong Kong and Kaoshuing the damn ship broke down and we
limped into Subic for a three-week stay. Damn piece of junk is a floating museum in Orange, Texas (27
miles from where I now live--it was the last ship out of the Orange shipyard
in WWII) but after what it did to my plans, I’ll be damned if I’m going
to help them restore it.
- From Don Price: THE TALENTED PUSSY I first saw the talented pussy at a going away party for the guy
who had been temporarily in charge of my watch section.
Since my feeble mind doesn’t remember what watch section that was, I
would appreciate anyone who recognizes the story contacting me through Axe’s Linkou
website and telling which one it was.
We had had a CTR2, I don’t remember his name, put
briefly in charge of the section while we awaited the arrival of a lifer CTR1. The latter turned out to be a good guy (can’t
remember his name either) who tried to be one of the guys by inviting the whole section
over to his apartment to watch one stag film after another after another. The problem with that is that we knew that we
missing real shows in town and losing valuable time in the clubs too. Hell, you only got 80 hours off! Someone else might be ball-sucking your favorite
girl.
Back to the CTR2. He had his wife with him in Taiwan (don’t ask
me why) and, therefore, had not had the real Taiwan experience. One of my old roomies who featured below tells me
that his wife gave him the clap after arriving on the island—after he had done
without on the ROC for six weeks while they waited for housing. I wonder if it’s the same guy as in Valkwitch’s
story. His going away party was at
their apartment and someone had arranged for a performance by the talented pussy. His wife was going out for the evening with a
friend of hers. Unfortunately, she left a
little late, just as the taxi cab we were waiting for pulled up outside the apartment. There was a discussion or argument or whatever—the
only thing I really remember was “I can understand the young girl and even the old
lady (mama san) but what’s the German Sheppard for?” His wife did go on out for the evening and, I
think, even came back plus we got a performance by the talented pussy.
My favorite part of the act was
her putting ping pong balls up the talented portion of her anatomy and with one muscular
(you should have seen her abdomen—probably some of you have) thrust of her body would
shoot the ball across the room. We, of
course, tried without much success that I can remember, to catch the balls in our mouths. Drunken guys diving with their mouths open trying
to catch ping pong balls is one of those timeless images that made this evening so
memorable. She also got down in a squat
holding a calligraphy pen with same talented portion of her anatomy and wrote “good
luck” in Chinese on pieces of paper lying on the floor. Another of her many talents was to put an entire
peeled banana up her pussy and then to ‘slice’ it as she slowly let it out. I can’t remember whether I ate any but some
did. There was another trick with a needle and thread that didn’t work and mama-san’s
English wasn’t good enough to explain to us what was supposed to happen. I don’t remember whether she did anything
else but I do know that they eventually put a towel on her back and brought in Rin Tin Tin
and he did know what he was there for. Finally,
someone insisted that one of us needed to take a shot at her. We picked my roommate, Glen “Radar” Nelson. Radar had
had way too much to drink and was grossed out by the whole thing but he gave it a try. I could go on but I told him that I wasn’t
going to tell any limp dick stories. He told
me that after he left, he stepped off in a benjou, cut his leg, and then came back
upstairs to wash his leg off with vodka. Radar also told me the names of two others who
were present; Ron Sazsi and Joe Gross who drove a Z car.
I never saw her perform again
but she did perform in my apartment on Tong Ho Street in Jienton. My other roommate, Rich “the Red Header” Cincotta engaged
her for his birthday party. I had the eve
watch that night and was leaving for work in my sailor clothes when people started
arriving for the party. Rich and Radar
could both out-party me.
From Don Price: MY
FIRST TWO DAYS Rich Cincotta, aka The Red Header, was the one who convinced me to go
to Taiwan. We were both stationed in Edzell,
Scotland at Christmas time 1970, when the decision was made to cut the base back from 500
to 300 personnel. I had recently been
transferred from the ditty bopping division to traffic analysis. My old division had put my name on the list for
transfer but my new division had decided to keep me.
By the time I found out about all of this I had orders to Taiwan, as did Cincotta. My
new division told me that they could get the orders cancelled which meant that I was in
the rare position of being able to decide whether to go or not. Rich
told me that he’d heard that Taiwan was the best duty in Asia and we had just had
nine months of what everyone told us was the best duty in Europe. CTRs usually did two overseas tours before they
had one in the States and I was very aware of where people stationed at Edzell tended to
go after a tour there—places like Adak or Midway.
Taiwan started sounding really good to me.
I arrived in Taipei a couple of
weeks after Cincotta, on Valentine’s Day
1971. I still remember stepping out the door
of the plane and wanting to know “What the fuck is that smell?” It was, as all of you know, the aroma of the river
that was really just one giant benjou. They
loaded us onto a bus driven by a Chinese army sergeant for the trip up the hill. I made the mistake of sitting on the right hand
side by the window—the perfect spot to look out the window and see nothing but air—where
you expected to see a shoulder—as our driver headed up the hill like we were in a
grand prix race.
Having lived through the bus
ride and being totally exhausted from an 18-hour flight, I dumped my belonging in the room
they assigned me and walked across the hall to the dayroom where some guys were playing
cards. One of the first people I met was a
guy from Des Arc, Arkansas, a town 35 miles from my home town of Searcy. I knew Des Arc well because it was the home of the
Sportman’s One Stop, a liquor store that sold to me for at least two years before my
21st birthday. The guy from Des
Arc decides that I need to get back on the bus and go downtown that night and since Cincotta had duty that night, he’d take it
upon himself to show me around. What I didn’t
know was that he was supposed to already have left the island for the Canal Zone but he
(a) had the clap and (b) didn’t want to leave so he was going down town every night
and drinking away the effectiveness of his medical treatments. I’ve heard that they shipped him out with the
clap but the way I remember it is they restricted him to base to get him well enough to
ship out. I don’t think he was the one
on whose room they put guards to keep him from getting on the bus but he might have been. For those of you who didn’t know or remember
him, Jim Gage or Gaggy was my first night tour guide. I was told the nickname was from some hammer’s
attempt to pronounce his name after seeing it written out.
My first stop with Gaggy was the Sea Dragon, the navy enlisted men’s
club that closed not too long after I arrived—I think it was the only time I went
there. Gage’s
reason for going there was that the drinks were cheaper that the 50 cents you paid in
the clubs so we could load up before my first trip to the King’s Club. I wasn’t ready for Gage. He
was counting my drinks and continually telling how many I was behind. He finally gave up on me and turned me over to
another guy who I think was named Snaith or
something like that. My new guide and I
shortly left for the King’s Club but we stopped to get a bottle of Ooh Mei Jiyou for
the trip, a distance of only a few blocks. I
don’t think we drank the whole bottle but I do remember that he disposed of the
bottle by tossing it over a stone or cinder block wall and bouncing it off a building—a
building in front of which was flying the flag of the country of Spain. I expected to be arrested at any moment (remember
I’d only been the island for a few hours).
We, nonetheless, arrived safely
at the King’s Club and I was given a seat at the bar between two older Americans who
asked me the usual questions about where I was from and the like. One of them even bought me a drink. Nice guys. They
also waited until I seemed to be fading and gave me wet-willies in both ears. I had just met Dirty Dan and Uncle Harry, the two senior enlisted men at Linkou
Navy. Nice guys. They decided that I needed to be introduced to my
first Chinese girl so, at their urging, I asked one of the best-looking girls behind the
bar her name. She leaned over close and
replied “Lisa Fuck Shit.” Nice girl. All
of this fun eventually led to my being poured into a Yu-Long taxi for my first of many
drunken rides up the hill.
On day two, Cincotta was off duty and decided that it was high
time that I went to Johnny’s New Life Hotel in Peitou.
I’ve got to admit that this place beat the hell out of Gaggy, Snaith, Dirty Dan, and Uncle Harry! It
was at the end of a row of hotels that catered mainly to Japanese businessmen. We drank Taiwan beer (it only came in quarts) and
watched as mama-san paraded girls individually into the room until you found one that you
liked. If you weren’t sure she’d
bring the finalists back for another look. It
was a night like none I had ever experienced. We
took a break sometime that night for a hot bath in a hot tub/small pool with a bunch of
other people. I had such a good time that I
had trouble standing up straight the next morning. I
still remember the price—750 NT or $18.75 American.
On day 3, I reported work.
- From Don Price: GREAT ESCAPES I remember two great escapes and what they both have in common is
Tom Sherman and Mike Sopchak, two guys who always seemed to be
mentioned in the same breath. The first was
an escape from the King’s Club. I heard
that they tore the sink off the wall in the King’s Club bathroom—you really have
to do something bad to get cussed out (for real) by King’s Club girls and have them
call the Provost Marshall (PMO) on you.
Late at night, in downtown Taipei, all the slow moving
traffic, carts and farm animals, would move from one side of the city to another. When Sherman
and Sopchak came out of the King’s
Club they spotted an old man who was moving his water buffalo across town. They somehow talked the old man, who spoke no
English, into letting two crazy Americans ride his water buffalo to the next bar, the
China Night. There are two things you need to
remember about drunks riding a water buffalo: (1)
you ride bareback and hold on with all fours and (2) since water buffalo cool off by
wallowing in the mud, it becomes caked to their skin when dry. Our heroes arrived at the China Night with the
front of their clothing completely black. Oh
yeah, there is one other thing to remember. Be
careful on the dismount. One of them, I think
it was Sherman, fell on the pavement and broke
his arm.
The night of the second great
escape began at a ship-over party in the Prince Club.
I’ve forgotten who was shipping over but it was a sufficiently rare
event, despite the highest VRB in the navy, to cause someone to buy out the Prince Club
for the several hours to celebrate. The
Prince Club wasn’t one of the more popular places so they agreed to close the club
for a private party for an agreed upon amount (maybe $150) where everyone was allowed to
drink as much as they wanted. It quickly
became clear to the owner that free drinks and Linkou Navy was a lethal combination. The executive officer was even drinking with us. The C. O. would have been there but he was off the
island at the time. The guy running the club
eventually cut us off early and the party moved to the Imperial Club. The Imperial Club was a popular spot but they
weren’t as tolerant as the King’s Club. With
people dancing on the bar, the exec among them, they called the PMO. Just as the PMO arrived, so did the drunken pair
of Sherman and Sopchak, on a motorcycle which they promptly
dumped in front of the paddy wagon. You guys
know the routine—they took their IDs and put them in the back. Then they went inside to run in a good part of
Linkou Navy. After some negotiation, the
exec got them to agree to take him in for the whole command. They went outside and found the paddy wagon empty—they
did not bother to lock the door. I guess they
thought taking IDs was enough. It wasn’t. Later, that night when I was sitting in the China
Night, the PMO came in and came straight to me—they knew all Linkou Navy on sight. “Have you seen Sherman and Sopchak?”
“If you do, you tell them that they better turn themselves in. They’re in real trouble this time.” I don’t remember how much trouble they got
into but as I remember punishment priorities on the ROC. Our base was Air Force but the
admiral always told them, in matters of jurisdiction, that it was a navy island. The navy liked or tolerated Linkou Navy a lot
better than the Air Force or Army. I wonder
if the Air Force and Army guys had any fun at all.
From Don Price: 44 CLUBS On a
mid-watch one night, some of us with “time on the ROC” were lamenting the
tendency of every NUG to, on their first trip down the hill, get off the bus, walk into
the first club they saw,—usually the China Night—fall instantly in love and be
rooted to the spot for the first month or so. We
decided that they needed to be introduced to the pleasures of the island and that the best
way to do this was an initiation that required them to visit every club that we could name
at least once during their first month on the island.
We spent the rest of the watch coming up with a list of every club any of us
knew, all 44 of them. We had all of the
Linkou Navy hangouts, all of the back-alley places, all of businessman’s row, the row
of four clubs around the corner from the compound (across the side street from where so
many of had jackets made by the tailor shop on the corner), and at least one Japanese
businessman club. The initiation was this: the NUG was given a list with a blank beside the
club’s name that had to be signed by a club girl in each of the 44 clubs. When we were sure that the list was complete (as
complete as we could make it), some idiot—I believe it was Don Price—decided that we, having so much
time on the ROC, should be to able to do it in one night.
The night began where all good
nights began, at the King’s Club, with everyone agreeing to have one drink (remember
how small those glasses were) in each club. Before
I had gotten my first Scotch (Long John was the standard bar Scotch), a couple of guys
were ready to go. They were ordering ice and
splashing some Ooh Mei Jiou over it and heading for the next club. I don’t remember how I kept up but we lost a
number of guys along the way to the GiGi Club, number 40 on the list. Why would I remember the GiGi Club, a club I only
went into once? They had a great time with my
list and one of the girls kept it. The home stretch was the four clubs in a row on
the crossing street just around the corner from the compound. In the first club, one the survivors started
giving me shit about losing my list and how no one was going believe that I’d made it
to all 44 if I didn’t have the list. I
even went back to the GiGi Club (ok, technically I went there twice) and tried to get my
list back. They laughed and told me they didn’t
know what I was talking about. Fompi! I
continued running clubs and got more shit in the next bar only to reach the point where I
was convinced that no one was going to believe that I had hit all 44--even if I did
finish. I walked out of club number 42, went
straight the curb, got in a cab, and said “Jienton.” I was told that one person actually had a drink
in all 44 clubs. That didn’t help my
hangover very much.
- From Valkwitch: This story is a composite of the first few
trips down the hill. I don't have a clear recollection of the chronological order in
which they happened, or if certain events happened on the same sked or different
ones. This isn't because I'm getting old, (I am) it's because we were always
hammered. I have clearer recollection of events that happened at work, when we
only had a mild buzz on. I arrived February 26th, 1971. I came in on a
Northwest Orient MAC flight with a few other Navy guys and a bunch of Zoomies that filled
the bus that picked us up at ShungShan Airport. I recall CMDR Stein being there to
greet us. There was a Zoomie SSGT on the bus that was acting as a tour guide on the
way up the hill. He was coming back for his 2nd or 3rd tour, and it was obvious
he had run the Taipei clubs. He pointed out the few Clubs on the way up the
hill with such passion that I wanted to get off the bus right there. We pulled
into Linkou in front of the NCO club and another Zoomie SGT got on and gave
directions for checking in, finishing his welcome aboard address with directions to stay
on the base until we were all checked in which would take a few days. I was
bummed. The Zoomies got off, but he told us to stay on. The bus pulled around
to the Navy Barracks where CT2 Pee Wee got on board. He had a huge afro with his hat
seemingly pinned to the top of it. He welcomed us aboard, told us to take our time
checking in, and have a good time. When I asked him about being restricted to
the base until we got checked in, he said "Shiiiiit No man! That's for the
Zoomies. Go on downtown and get aquantied." This was my first
indication that NSA was going to be more like McHale's Navy than the US
Navy. PeeWee advised going down with someone that could show me around and
get me back. I ran into a few guys that I knew from NCTC and tried to find
someone to take me downtown. Being close to payday everyone was broke, so
I talked a guy named Gus (can't remember his last name) into showing me around if I
bought the beers. The first place he took me was the China Night. I was greeted by
the girl sitting on Paul Harbours knee in the picture "Delta Sked - China
Night" on the Picture page. I think her name was Julie. She asked me
the usual new guy stuff. What's your name, branch of service, and where
stationed? I was awe struck with the mini skirt and those legs, and was half
paying attention to the line of questions. When I told her I was at Linkou she said
"Oh Really" except it sounded like "Are you ready?" Maybe that's
what I wanted to hear, 'cause I was ready! Turns out she wasn't. The next stop
was the Kings Club, which was probably a different night because everyone was there,
so it must have been after payday. I was greeted by my wife to be
FiFi. The Kings Club girls were different as it was about the only club
where you weren't greeted as a valued customer. In fact you could usually
count on being insulted. I was given the usual new guy 3rd degree but with far less
tact. She wasn't at all interested in my name so she didn't ask. It was a
simple "You're new, Are you Navy?" I said yes. She looked at
who I came in with and asked "Are you Linkou Navy?". With pride
I said yes, to which she responded "Linkou Navy sucks!" and walked
away. The delta section was celebrating the departure of CT1 Wallace, one
of Fatman's buddies. A CT1 from Bravo was at the Kings Club that
night. There was bad blood between Wallace and this Bravo CT1, for which I never
learned the reason. It had something to do with work, how rediculous! Words
were exchanged and Fatman decided to get into it with the guy from Bravo. Gary
was at the end of the bar closest to the door and the Bravo guy was up toward the unisex
bathroom. Sitting between them at the bar were a mixed bunch of Linkou
Navy. One of them, I can't remember his name either, had the enviable talent of
being able to puke any time he felt like it. It relly impressed the girls. As
Fatman was charging up the aisle to crack the Bravo guy, the Puker upchucked on the floor
just ahead of him. Fatman had his fist cocked and was just letting loose with a
viscious right cross when he slipped on the barf and went down smashing his knuckles on
the floor. I think he broke his hand. All the Kings Club girls seemed to be
having a great time and enjoying the show. I was thinking this is nuts, I've
got to get out of here. I had gotten in a little trouble at Pensacola (another
story), stood a mast, and didn't want to risk any more problems. As I was about
to leave FiFi told me I was a chicken shit. So I stuck around. Next thing
I know someone yells out "Anyone that can't tap dance on the bar is
queer." I'm not the quickest guy after a few beers, so before I had a
chance to get clarification on that last announcement I realized I was the only one on
the floor. Everyone else was tap dancing on the bar, so up I went,
wondering why Papa San Johnny wan't mad. I guess it wasn't his bar.
Man, what a three ring circus we could create. Coming soon - "The Min Chuan
Rodeo" or "Don't Give Me that Bull" My story is from the
spectator side, we need an up close and personal view from the athletes; Uncle Mike
and Toe so I'll be in touch with Mike for his side.
- From Axe: This took place about the first month I was on Taiwan, so the date had
to be late May - July. My first room mate was a guy by the same of Joe Prisk from
Alpha section. He took me downtown about the 1st day I was there. He brought
me up to the San Francisco Club and introduced me to Peanuts. It seems this was
quite a tradition when I got there. And as most of us did, I fell in love at first
site. Peanuts was quite a gal, that really liked us Linkou Navy guys a lot. In
latter months this was not available for us to do, since Delta section was kicked out of
the San Francisco club for good around the end of 1971. But that is another story
worth telling latter.
- From Axe: Another Joe Prisk story. When he was getting ready to leave Taiwan (late
June) he wanted to go out big. So one day he and I went into the city (Where it was
off limits) and he went about buying a bomb. Now this "Bomb" came in a
large box about the size of 5 pizza boxes stacked on top of each other. The plan was
to go back to the Kings club and set this bomb off. We got to the Kings club and Joe
found a ladder. We went outside to the Sign that hung on the building. Joe
took the bomb, which was a smaller box inside the big box and tied it to the sign.
Coming out from the bomb were rows and rows of firecrackers. Each firecracker was
about the size of an M-80. There were 2 streamers of these firecrackers coming out
of the bomb. So Joe took one end and I took the other and we walked away from each
other until they were totally spread out. Now you have to picture this. Here is Joe
about 30-40 feet away from me and between us is this streamer of firecrackers going up
into this bomb hanging from the sign. At the same time we each lit our ends and
these firecrackers start exploding. There is paper everywhere as they start moving
up the streamer on their way to the bomb. By the time the firecrackers have been
exploding for about 5 minutes we have a total crowd around us on the side walk.
Everyone came out of the clubs as well since the noise was unbelievable. I swear it
took almost 10 minutes of exploding before each end went up into the
"bomb". As they both went into it, it took about 30-45 seconds and then
the bomb exploded. It had to have been about a stick of dynamite. The sign on
the Kings club started swaying back and forth, but it ended up staying on the building.
I know that Joe was a little disappointed that it didn't get blown off the
building. Paper was EVERYWHERE. We had to have had 200 people watching us blow
this thing off. Cars were stopping in the street and if you remember the Kings club
it was right at the main intersection of the main drag of Taipei. The time was about
dusk, so it wasn't dark yet. It was great. I will never forget that
experience. Here I was less than a month on the rock and damn near blew a sign off a
building. We didn't get in any trouble and even the cops were there watching it.
I knew then that I was in a place that we could party hardy and not worry to much
about it. Thanks Joe for the memories. Hopefully he reads this sometime.