Gentlemen... Do I detect a note of jocularity at the expense of Saint Thelma... Patron Saint of Pier 22... Saint Thelma, who worked minor miracles from Bells Cathedral on Hampton Blvd... Bells Gospel Tabernacle of Brewed Products, Pickled Hardboiled Eggs, Beer Nuts, Pork Rinds and Speed of Light, Digital Stimulation?
Bells, that shrine to the memory of the lowest spectrum of the submarine community... The qualified single guy in search of amusement and gratification... Sort of like a watering hole on the plains of East Africa. When the sun went down, the animals showed up to quench their thirst and court the female of the species. In the daylight that followed the darkness, cross pollination partners often asked, "Jeezuz, how'n the hell did I end up with that?"
Saint Thelma, the goddess of barmaids... The lady who once announced that she would kill the next sonuvabitch who dropped a quarter in the juke box and punched "Don't Take Your Guns to Town". The lady who always made sure her regulars were poured into a taxi and delivered to the Orion pierhead watch in time to make morning quarters... And that mother substitute who would pick up your laundry if you had to single up and shove off at oh dark hundred to provide ping time for Naval aviators who couldn't find a Greyhound bus in a haystack.
Thelma... They should erect a statue... A bronze likeness in the middle of the entrance to DES SUB Piers with an inscription, "The Queen of Naval Cold Warriers - Sweetheart of SUBRON Six."
And a second statue of Dixie out at Ocean View inscribed, "World's Largest Set of Minor League Tits... Never Got Both of Them in the Same Zip Code."