I became a volunteer short order cook for Club 289 earlier this year, and it surprised me how quickly it felt like home. There's something about serving food to shipmates that brings back the rhythm of the mess decks -- the laughter, the sarcasm, the stories that start with "You're not gonna believe this," and somehow end with everyone nodding because we do believe it. We lived it.
Being around people who still speak Sea Service language feels like slipping back into a world where everyone understands you without needing an explanation. One joke, one phrase, one old reference -- and suddenly you're right back on the ship, younger, louder, and surrounded by the same chaos that somehow made you better.
And yes, I've remembered a few things I'll never do again. I will never go below to ask the HTs for a punch -- I've grown attached to my current facial structure. I will not request one hundred fifty feet of shoreline -- I've been handed enough mops for one lifetime. And I absolutely will not set eyes starboard, port, aft, or forward to check the international dateline or the equator. I fell for that once, and the crew treated it like a national holiday.
But beneath the jokes, the truth is simple. The camaraderie we had -- whether deployed on a Med cruise aboard USS Spartanburg County LST 1192 or moored in port -- shaped us. Those days taught us responsibility, humor, resilience, and the kind of loyalty that doesn't fade with time. We shared long nights, hard work, ridiculous moments, and quiet ones too. We grew up together without even realizing it.
Being part of FRA Club 289 brings all of that back. Every time I walk through the door, it feels like reconnecting with a part of myself I didn't know I missed. The laughter, the stories, the familiar faces -- it's a reminder that we didn't just serve. We belonged. And we still do.
Younger generations could truly benefit from time spent here. read more