This Month's Story
“Meet me by the slop chute on the old Yang Po.
Bring along your dip net there’s enough for two.
There’ll be some mashed potatoes and some corn beef, too
Meet me by the slop chute on the old Yang Po.”
I’ve served both as a military person and a naval civilian scientist on a number of American military bases in non-English speaking countries. As usual, on these bases, the local languages were often twisted into slang songs and expressions by the US service personal as part of their day-to-day chit chat. This is nothing new; it’s been going on for years. The above ditty is a song my dad used to sing while working on some mundane household project whenever he was home from the orient (in this case China, This was before WW2).
He could sing it in Chinese, too, but my experiences later in life indicated that whatever he sang in Chinese, was probably very, very poor Chinese. (Oh yes, the slop chute was the metal chute on the stern of a naval vessel from which the crew dumped their garbage in the water while in port. No chop chop EPA restrictions in those days.)
The slang that was part of the military chatter usually contained a corruption of the local language. The title of this story is a way US service men in Spain often said “what’s up” (kay pas being the sailor’s version of the Spanish greeting of “?Que Pase?” or “what’s going on?”).
I was no different. As part of my work with the navy as a civilian scientist I spoke several languages. I spoke about eight, some very good, some not so good. Spanish and French were my ‘very good’ ones and I felt comfortable in my travel around Spain and France
My Spanish was used mostly when I worked in the military base in Rota. The base while containing a very large contingent of US Navy personal, legally belonged to Spain (And most importantly for this story, the Spaniards were extremely sensitive to this fact.)
Stella accompanied me on my overseas trips, especially if my work was lecturing or organizing some large experiment. Her presence on these trips was extremely helpful since I talked to her a lot on what I was doing and she would help with the many mundane matters while I was able to concentrate on the more intricate parts of an experiment.
She often accompanied me at least once a year to Europe and made friends that even today keep in touch. In fact, the time I was given a two year UN grant to Yugoslavia, she went along as my translator since she spoke a very poor Slavic and I spoke none at all. We still get Christmas cards from some of the friends we made during that time. I’ll someday tell a wonderful story about our spending Halloween at what once was communist Split, Yugoslavia. It really isn’t Yugoslavia any more, but a collection of small independent countries.
Remember my saying the Spanish were very sensitive about the Rota Military Base being on their property? Well, one time when Stella and I were on the Rota military base, Stella drove us off the base while I was dozing in the passenger seat of the car. This was the first time she had driven in Rota and I had made the mistake of not telling her that despite the large US military presence, the base really belonged to Spain.
She waved at the US Marine standing at the base gate with a Spanish officer standing nearby, which she unwittingly ignored. She started to speed away when the marine waved at her. She hadn’t gone but a few yards further when a Spanish military car stopped her and several Spanish soldiers surrounded the car. She watched amazed as the men ignored her and went to the passenger side of the car and roughly pulled me out still half asleep.
I was taken to a nearby building and after throwing me into a small room, locked the door and left me alone completely dazed at what had happened!
Stella meanwhile was left scared and sitting alone in the car. The US Marine that had been stationed at the gate came over to her and asked her what she was doing on the base. She told him that me, her husband had just given a classified talk at the US Naval Weather Station on the base. The guard went to the Spanish officer that had been with him at the gate and speaking in English repeated what Stella had told him. The officer grunted and motioned for Stella to pull over to a parking space near the gate and went inside the guard station and made a call.
After my being in the closed room for an hour, the door opened and the US Weather Station CO walked in and looking at me and shaking his head asked me what in blazes was I thinking?
“I was asleep!” I said, “I didn’t even realize we were going through the gate! Why didn’t they ask me or something, Stella was driving and I was on the passenger side. They didn’t give me a chance to say anything!”
“Sure, she was driving but you were the man and therefore as a man, you were the person responsible for the car.”
I stared at him. He was right. It didn’t matter who was driving. I was a man and therefore the person in charge.
I had forgotten. This was Spain.
But the title of this story is really the Spanish phrase “what’s happening” and how and when it is used.
On a later visit to Rota, I had to work with a young second Lt. of the P3 squadron that had just arrived in Rota. I offered to take him to the small town of Rota to show him the town and have supper. He quickly acquiesced and we went to the town.
As a normal thing we stopped at a favorite place of mine for some tapas (bar hors d’oeuvres) and sherry. It was an unusual place in that it was a semi outdoor bar. The food was prepared inside and served on an exposed bar at the building’s front where the customers stood el fresco and ate.
The Lt kept looking around, obviously taken aback by the fact that he was really in Spain. But he was pleasant, for all his naivety, and I was ordered for the two of us. In seconds two glasses of a very good sherry were placed in front of us. The Lt downed his in one gulp. I thought it would be too impolite to tell him to go a little slower as I had planned that we would be eating and drinking at tapa bars for much of the evening. I thought a roving supper of tapas and sherry would be the best way to eat and at the same time show him the town.
I waved to the barman for another round despite my drink having been barely touched. The barman immediately came and with new drinks and our tapa order. Our tapas consisted of each of us being served a small lump of meat and some bread (crispy Spanish bread is delicious). I cut my small piece of meat in quarters and slowly ate each piece with a piece of the crispy bread. The Lt cut his meat in two and ate them both quickly, wiping his small plate with some of the bread. As he did this, he said that the food was delicious and that he was hungry.
I looked at him.
“Do you want another serving?”
He nodded vigorously.
I waved to the barman, “Una mas para la senor.”
In minutes another dish was placed in front of him and he began eating the new serving with the same look of pleasure as he had the first.
“What is this?” he asked wiping his plate with the same look of delight as he had done the first plate. “It’s great!”
I hesitated on telling him and decided to call the barman over.
“Por favor, senor, que es eso?”
The barman looked at me as if I was crazy and then answered.
“Cojones!”
The Lt stopped still for a moment, his eyes wide, and then ran as fast as he could to the curb and started to throw up.
The barman stared at him amazed and then turned to me. I was starring, too.
“Que pasa?”
We went back to the base very early that night.
