2001-11-26 - 11:00 p.m.

Story of a Pea Coat

This story starts with the end, and ends at the start.

November 2001

An old school punk girl, whom I've never really talked to much and hardly know anything about, got tired of me asking makeup questions, so she decided it was about time that a woman just took me to a makeup counter and helped me get a collection of expensive (yet good) makeup. MAC stuff. Gotta love makeup that requires all of its sales people to wear only black. Gotta love makeup that employs men to do the makeup too.

Before hitting the department store display on the busiest shopping day of the year, she took me through some of the high-end thrift stores in the upper Haight. At the first store we visited we found a new wave (think early 80s) trench coat that was bleeding in zippers. Though it fit me like a glove (actually it made me look fucking skinny) at $95 it was a bit out of my range. I told her about how I've been saving up to get a used USN wool pea coat, but they typically run between $80 and $100 in Northern California thrift stores.

After visiting several stores, we stop in one and immediately I run over to the uniform and military gear section. I always check this part out first. Anyhow, I see a USN wool pea coat, complete with a Gunner's Mate patch. Think of something that looks like the VNV dark angel symbol with a little nuclear looking thing under it. Hella rivet.

I try on the coat, and it fits. Like a glove.

No Surprises

I've always known that I have the body of a 19-year old sailor or pilot. Most anything USAF or USN fits me. I have a terrible time fitting into USMC gear (they make those guys bigger than pilots and sailors), but the other stuff was designed for just out of high school kids. I happen to still be that size.

But the thing that sold me was the story � this pea coat came complete with a Hot Work Permit. Yeah, Petty Officer Third Class Mills (the previous owner) accidentally left a bit of history with his coat. How could I leave the coat (at $65 complete with rating and rate on shoulder) there?

December 1989

Somewhere unknown, a sailor is issued an order � to burn a stack of papers in building 41. He is told that he only has 2.5 hours to complete his task. No officer is left in charge, but he is given an emergency number to call: 8333.

Now I can only imagine that a Fire Watch really is. Perhaps in time I'll figure it out. But right now this is what my brain is filling in �

Petty Officer Mills, ordered to destroy paper work, goes through the process of filling out additional paper work authorizing him to actually burn documents on a base. The authorization goes through a special communications (SPECCOM) group. And he estimates that the entire task will take only minutes, but allows himself a little over two hours.

He collects the paper work. Burns it. And shortly thereafter his career ends. And finally 10 years later the only two witnesses around to the burning paper, are a pea coat and ironically a piece of paper that probably would be burned in the next stack of documents.

Oh, I could easily play around more with this paper and dream up all sorts of great conspiracy stories. And that really is the point behind life. Enjoy it. When you buy an antique, you aren't just recycling something somebody else no longer needed. Often that thing has a story, if only it could tell. But sometimes the story could be sitting on a tiny piece of paper in the pocket.

I certainly wonder if anybody appreciates my grandfather's coat pockets. Last November I flew to Pittsburgh to see him laid to rest, and spent my Birthday sorting through his possessions. A year later, and I've still not had his striped suit tailored to fit me. Perhaps if I treat myself to anything special for my 30th, it will be to spend a bit of time and collect back both my memories and the memories of things that are now mine.

LISTENING TO: Birmingham 6 Resurrection

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