| I met a lot of
characters in my Navy career but
few could compare with my old
shipmate “Beertruck” Boutwell.
“Beertruck” was one of the many
sailors who knew their jobs but
just could not pass the test for
the next higher rank. If he
could have taken the tests
orally, I would have been
working for him but he just
could not get it down on paper.
The fact that he loved his beer
almost as much as he loved the
Navy may have added to the sad
situation that kept him stalled
in the lower ranks. “Beertruck”
worked hard and he played hard.
Sometimes he would forget when
it was time to come back to the
ship. It became one of my duties
to track him down when he was
A.W.O.L. and because of his
shipboard performance the
Captain would usually forgive
him and just keep him aboard for
a week or two.
One afternoon, I received a
phone call from Boutwell
informing me that he was in
Balboa Naval Hospital and when I
inquired what happened he said,
“I got run over by a beer
truck,” and when I said, “Don't
give me that crap,” he insisted
that it was true. As it turned
out, when he was leaving one of
his favorite haunts by the back
door, a beer delivery truck ran
over his foot. No matter how
hard he tried to live it down,
from then on he was known as
“Beertruck” Boutwell.
The Navy issued “Beertruck” a
set of false teeth shortly after
he joined and he loved to use
them in crude ways. One of his
favorite tricks when we were
drinking beer with our
shipmates, was to drop his teeth
in the pitcher of beer therefore
claiming it for himself. Nobody
argued because they didn’t want
to pour themselves a beer with
Boutwell’s teeth smiling back at
them through the brew.
“Beertruck” was not the
barmaid's favorite customer.
One afternoon, we were off
the coast working with marines
bringing small boats into the
well deck of the ship. Boutwell
and I were in the ballast shack
flooding tanks to raise the ship
up and down to allow the boats
in and out. We discovered there
was smoke coming from behind the
electrical switchboard and I
told “Beertruck” to get me an
electrician and a CO2 (fire
extinguisher). The next thing I
realized the Commanding Officer
was standing in the ballast
shack telling me Boutwell said I
wanted to see him. We laughed
until tears came to our eyes
when we figured out “Beertruck”
did what he heard me say.
Boutwell made my time in the
Navy seem a little shorter and
wherever you are, “Beertruck,”
thank you for being you.
© 2001 Maurice D Karst |
Beer
Truck Boutwell 