April 2, 1973, Monday

It wasn’t so bad driving to school this morning. Things are settling in nicely. Maybe I can do this. I am surrounded mostly by idiots, myself included. The saving grace is I can now escape the madness, to recharge before I have another go at this navy thing.

This week we finished up the last piece of our vessel projects. I have a watch to night. The guys will take the Volvo home. I’ll spend the night on the base. Later.

I ate dinner chow with Garza and Moe. All the black guys sit together. They have this special hand shake when they meet up. They bump their hands together in three different ways. They twiddle their fingers hit their hands up high and down low. They call it the black power greeting. They do this every time a new brother sits down. Each brother at the table needs to greet the new brother. I first saw this on Treasure Island, a typical greeting lasted thirty seconds tops. A new maneuver is added weekly. It now takes a brother 2 minutes before they can sit and eat. That’s per person. Come to a table with 5 black guys and its ten minutes before you can eat.

Moe my black friend is our personal interpreter when it comes to black guys. Every day that I have eaten with Moe he gets approached by the other black sailors. They can’t understand why he would rather eat with us white guys than with them. “Hey brother go join us. You don’t have to eat with these honkies. “Ya all come join your black brothers, man.” Sometimes I say, “Holy fuck, Moe! I didn’t know you were black. When did you do that?” Or Moe’s answer is, “No, thanks, these guys are all the nigger I can take.” Or my favorite is when he shockingly looks at us and says. “You mother fuckers lied to me! You told me you were black.” Sometimes he will look at them and state bluntly. “Thanks brother I’m color blind. Fuck I must have sat at the wrong table. Thanks for pointing it out for me. How stupid am I?”

Got to go, Mr. Journal. It’s time for my 2400-hour watch. Later.