A grueling cattle car ride on the Great Northern Railroad was the first of many to naval training stations along the route from north Idaho to Astoria, Oregon. It gave opportunity for young sailors, some of whom had never left home before, to feast their eyes on snow capped Rocky Mountains and peer into the depths of yawning canyons. Many of us had never seen the Pacific Ocean before. “Join the Navy and see the world” we were told. Jim and I were on our way.
“Jim, can you believe how they herded us into these ancient rattletrap trains? It’s kinda like we’re white-faced Herefords. I’d heard talk of ‘cattle cars’ before; now I know how they got that name!”
I was talking to a fellow Seaman Second Class, Jim Sweeney. We’d just completed boot camp at Farragut Naval Training Station in North Idaho, and were lowly apprentice seamen in the United States Navy with nary a glimpse of saltwater to show for our training thus far. Our infinitesimal promotion permitted us another white stripe on our cuffs and a bigger one around our right shoulders. It was nowhere near the distinction of gold braid, but it didn’t take much for us “swab jockeys” (the Navy’s own nickname for its sea-based personnel) to feel cocky.
Jim responded to my comment, “Yeah. The way the chief petty officer yelled at us, I wondered why he didn’t save his breath and just use an electric prod like the cowpokes do at auction sales back in Iowa.”
Jim didn’t have anything to brag about. Although he didn’t have a mean hair on his blond head, the well-proportioned rugged farm boy was used to foul-mouthed talk and toughened to hard work. But his walk and speech were equally slow. Platoon leaders screamed at him to “get the lead out” of his feet.
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