If you've ever seen films of deep-sea divers under water, you might think they look a lot like astronauts: bouncing along semi-weightless, big helmet and heavy shoes, big equipment belts and all. But when they are "topside", just before they go into the water, they sit on a stool and two or three other divers help put on all that equipment on them. Then, with the help of all those assistants, they stand and walk to the side of the ship or dock or whatever they are diving from, weighted down to the tune of 200 plus pounds. They are helped to the ladder or dive platform or what ever means is in use to get them into the water and down they go. Once in the water, they work at attaining neutral bouyancy and get on with the job at hand. Looks pretty easy on film. But bouyant or not, two hundred pounds is two hundred pounds and it is a JOB to move around in that suit and get anything at all done. I knew a lot of Navy hard-hat divers over the years and they all had one distinction...they were BUFF! The Chief was no exception. Upper body definition on that man was amazing. Shoulders and biceps like slow-pitch softballs and forearms like Popeye.
The Chief's job as a diver was performing underwater repairs. This entailed cutting, welding, swinging a sledge-hammer, and wrestling with steel plates and pipes. While stationed on the Preserver in Norfolk, he also was required to dive on a number of plane wrecks in Chesapeake Bay and the area around there. The Chief was a man, he was my hero, and he was my Dad.
One of the things we did regularly was arm-wrestle. He would arm-wrestle with anyone and usually win. As a kid I would get so frustrated because he would set us up and then say, "Go!" Then he would hold me in the start position and say things like, "Go, Jimmy, I said Go! Go on, push..." and like that. I couldn't budge him. Even after I joined the Army and started my travels around the world, home leave would not be complete without a match or two. We would lie on the floor face-to-face and struggle...well, I would struggle and he would grin. Then one night after I got home from Vietnam, we were on the floor facing off and I realized that I wasn't a kid anymore. I was four inches taller than him and weighed probably twenty pounds more than the Chief and for the first time in my life...I liked my chances. One of the things he always stressed was getting the advantage immediately by getting a deep grip and twist and "putting it all out" as soon as the "Go" was given. So I did. To the Chief's great credit, I could not move his arm...but I rolled his whole body over. The look on his face was total shock and amazement. He demanded a re-match and got settled in with a wide leg-spread and a fierce determination. He didn't take me for granted this time and there was no grinning. At the sound of "Go" we both put it all out. It only lasted a few seconds; as soon as he felt his left side coming up off the floor, he quit and stood up. I can't describe how I felt. I was elated for one thing...I BEAT the Chief. Yeah, it was a forty-two year old Chief and I am pretty sure that I would not have been able to beat a Chief my own age...maybe...but in all fairness, at 42 the Chief was a lot more than a lot of younger guys. Still, I beat him. Something I know many a sailor could never say. At the same time, I felt guilty and sad. And you know, he never challenged me to wrestle again. That was the last time.