the assorted works of G. H. Spaulding





Cubi O’Club bar moves to Florida


By AP writer Melissa Nelson

25 Nov 2005



PENSACOLA, FIa. (AP) -- The garish, red paisley carpeting is here, as are the red-leather bar stools and the shuffle board table. The names of the past are here, too, engraved in wood by the Filipino artists who, over the years, recorded the exploits and humor of some of the U.S. Navy’s most celebrated pilots.


It’d be easy to think the Cubi Bar was back at its home base in the Philippines. But this officers’ club that served decades of squadrons is now at home serving military personnel and visitors at the Pensacola Naval Air Station.


Nearly a dozen years ago, the famed club was shut down by a volcanic eruption. It now welcomes many of the same pilots who passed through it on their way to and from deployments to the western Pacific.


On a recent afternoon, Apollo astronaut Gene Cernan, the last man to walk on the moon, was among a group of retired Navy and Marine pilots enjoying lunch at the cafe.


“There’s a lot of naval history in this room. If these walls could talk, you would have one hell of a story,” he said. “It might need some editing and censoring, but you’d have one hell of a story.”


The Cubi Bar, which took its name from an acronym for Construction Unit Battalion One, closed after Mount Pinatubo erupted in 1991. When the United States later decided to pull troops from the Subic Bay, the bar’s fate was sealed.


But a place so dear to so many of the Navy’s top pilots could not be left behind. Navy Capt. Robert Rasmussen, director of the National Museum of Naval Aviation and a former Blue Angel pilot, sent a letter to the Subic Bay commanding officer suggesting the bar be preserved. He learned the commanding officer already had sent a letter to the museum suggesting the same thing.


“Cubi Point was without a doubt the center of Naval aviation in the postwar years, especially during the Vietnam conflict,” Rasmussen said.


So the bar was dismantled and packed into crates, along with a fair amount of volcanic ash. It arrived in Pensacola in 1992, and Rasmussen oversaw its reconstruction, down to its exact specifications. The Cubi Bar Cafe opened in 1996.


It features more than 3,000 colorful squadron plaques from the original club that flight squadrons would commission from local artists and present to the bar before returning home from a deployment.


The plaques, which list the names of individual squadron members, are often not plaques at all but ornate carvings of anything from birds to mermaids to chess pieces. They range from the size of a large poster to human-sized carvings of various creatures.


The ornate squadron carvings include an airplane with its fuel line attached to a beer bottle, an ace of spades, a white rabbit in a tuxedo, an Indian chief head and an armored knight. Some bear slogans such as “VS-21 Fighting Red Tails” and “The Last Real ‘Harriers in WestPac.”


But many of the original plaques aren’t displayed in the rebuilt Cubi Bar: They were determined to be too risque for a family atmosphere, said bartender Donnalene Miller.


The new Cubi Bar Cafe doesn’t serve the 15-cent beer-and-hot dog special available in the old bar, but it does offer San Miguel beer imported from the Philippines for $3.00 a bottle.


The relocated bar has a familiar feel despite its new location, said Cmdr. Jeremy Gillespie, a former P-3 Orion pilot who found his Patrol Squadron 22 plaque in the back wall of a dining room.


“You can close your eyes and hear Filipino artists imitating the Mamas and the Papas or Jimmy Buffet,” he said.


Retired Col. Denis J. “Deej” Kiely, a Marine pilot, said those who lived through the Vietnam days occasionally return to find the names of friends who didn’t make it back. The Cubi Bar was a good place to come during a hellish time, he said.


“It was a relief that you were still surviving and you could put it out of your mind for a while that you would have to go back and do it again,” Kiely said.


Cernan, who passed through the Cubi Bar as a naval aviator in the late 1950s before joining the space program, said the bar is about tradition and camaraderie. Cernan hasn’t found his name among the squadron plaques and believes his is among those in storage.


“It doesn’t make a difference whether my name is here or not, he said. “I left a lot of memories, thoughts and memories here.”


Commander Pete Wheeler eats lunch at the Cubi Bar Café at the Pensacola Naval Air Station in Pensacola, FL, Nov 11, 2005. The club which originally was located at Subic Bay in the Philippines, was dismantled, packed into crates and reconstructed in Pensacola.





CDR Bill Ketchum, CO of VP-17, gives it a "shot" during squadron's 1973 Cubi deployment.


Ketch doesn't "ketch" the wire -- gets wet, earns adult beverage on way out



The Legend of the Cubi Cat  


By Art Giberson


If you're old enough to have served in the Navy or Marine Corps during the Vietnam War and particularly if you were an aviator, chances are you've heard of the infamous Cubi Point Catapult.


Cubi Point Naval Air Station and the adjoining Subic Bay Naval Base in the Philippines was a place where war-weary Navy and Marine Corps aviators, Marines and Sailors, could let off a little steam after flying combat missions over Vietnam or spending weeks on the gunline aboard ships on Yankee Station.


The managers of the Cubi Point Officers' Club, as well as their counterparts at the other officer and enlisted clubs, were forever tasked with devising new and challenging ways of keeping the warriors entertained.


Enter Cmdr. John L. Sullivan and the now famous Cubi Point Officers' Club catapult.

The catapult at the Cubi Point Officers' Club came into existence in 1969 and immediately created a division within naval air among those who had ridden the cat and caught the wire, and those who had ridden the cat and missed the wire and gotten soaked.


The escapades of Navy and Marine pilots at the Cubi Point Officers' Club, according to Sullivan, is the stuff of legend.


"These tales will be handed down and embellished as long as we have aircraft carriers in that part of the world," Sullivan said in an article he wrote for Wings of Gold magazine.


One of these escapades, according to the retired commander who now lives in St. Mary's County, involved catapulting a squadron mate down a half dozen stairs in a chair from the bar upstairs onto the dance floor below. "The fact the chair had casters helped little on the stairs. Rarely did a pilot make it down the stairs and onto the dance floor in an upright posture. Most arrived on the dance floor in a crumpled mess. The practice often ended with disastrous results," Sullivan said.


"There were broken bones, severe strains, small concussions and numerous other injuries that grounded crack combat pilots," former Commander in Chief, Pacific Fleet, Adm. Maurice 'Mickey' Weisner, said in a recent phone interview.


Weisner said that he and Vice Adm. Ralph Cousins, commander, Task Force-77, suggested to Capt. 'Red Horse' Meyers, NAS Cubi Point, that the chair catapulting be eliminated because of the injuries.


At the time, Sullivan was the Aircraft Intermediate Maintenance Department (AIMD) officer.


"I was called to the skipper's office and asked to come up with a solution," Sullivan recalls. "After a great deal of consultation with my maintenance officers we realized we had an excellent window of opportunity. A new lower club extension to replace an old bamboo bar was in progress. From that point on we let our imaginations run wild."


Heading off to the surplus yard, Sullivan and his band of AIMD scavengers liberated a banged up refueling tank which was quickly converted by the metal smiths into something resembling an A-7 Corsair II.


The 'aircraft,' Sullivan recalls, was 6-feet long had shoulder straps and a safety belt and was equipped with a stick that, when pulled back sharply, released a hook in the rear of the vehicle to allow arrestment. Propulsion was provided by pressurized nitrogen tanks hooked up to a manifold.


"This arrangement provided enough power to propel the vehicle to 15 mph in the first two feet," said Sullivan. "Acceleration of zero to 15 mph in two feet is the equivalent of the G force of World War II hydraulic catapults.


Beyond the exit from the club was a pool of water 31/2 feet deep. Each pilot had 6 inches to play with if he was to make a successful arrestment.


We named the vehicle 'Red Horse One' in honor of our skipper, Capt. Meyers.

Successful pilots, according to the commander, were held in high esteem by their peers and their names were inscribed in gold letters on the club's Wall of Fame.

Reaction time was short because the wire was some 14 feet from the nose of the vehicle. The downward curvature of the track had to be precise. The rollers would bind if the curvature were too sharp.


Since the pool water was the force that stopped the vehicle, we had to get the vehicle as deeply and as quickly into the pool as possible. Engineers from the Strategic Aircraft Repair Team used their 'slip sticks' to solve the problem.


The vehicle was retrieved from the water by a mechanical winch and cable connected to an eye welded to the back of the A- 7.


Sullivan said that Rear Adm. Roy Isaman, (Naval Air Test Center commander, 1971-74), had a bronze plaque made in Hong Kong which was bolted to the wall next to the catapult with the inscription, 'Red Horse Cat-House.


"The first night the catapult was in operation it attracted a huge crowd. Rear Adm. Isaman was the first to ride the vehicle after it was declared safe by the BIS (Board of Inspection and Survey). No problem since I had recently arrived from the test center at Patuxent River and was declared the BIS representative," Sullivan recalls.


Rear Adm. Isaman manned the cockpit, saluted and was launched. He dropped the hook early and we awaited the hook skip but it didn't happen. Instead the hook caught the rubber we had attached to the steel bumper short of the wire. The hook tore the rubber from the bumper and caught the wire. To the howl of the disappointed junior officers, there was no wet admiral this time. Isaman became the first pilot to trap in the vehicle.


"After being presented with a bottle of champagne, Isaman's name was enshrined on the 'Wall of Fame.' Some 40 pilots rode the Cat that night before another successfully trapped," Sullivan laughed.


Word of the Cat quickly spread throughout Southeast Asia and even attracted Air Force F-4 pilots from Clarke AFB.


They would come swaggering in loudly claiming they were equal to the task. Each and every one of them failed to catch the wire, much to the delight of the Navy onlookers.


"Enlisted men from AIMD operated and maintained the catapult during their off time. They were compensated for their work from funds we took in for the operation of the Cat. It cost nothing to ride the Cat," Sullivan emphasized, "providing they caught the wire. However, it cost $5 if the rider required rescue from the pool."


Sullivan said that of the many dignitaries, who attempted to ride the cat, his favorite was Under Secretary of the Navy John Warner (now a U.S. Senator from Virginia).


After flying in from Japan the secretary was taken to the club for lunch by Rear Adm. Isaman and Capt. Meyers. The secretary had heard of the Cubi CAT and unhesitatingly requested to ride it. Capt. Meyers looked at me; I nodded and immediately took steps to get a crew ready. Word spread rapidly that Under Secretary of the Navy John Warner would try his luck. The club was soon packed with onlookers.


Before launch we outfitted the secretary in a set of white linen coveralls with 'Red Horse Cat House' embossed in bright red letters on the back. Amid the cheers of the onlookers, the secretary bravely launched and promptly landed in the pool. We catapulted him five times after that and each time he got wet. The skipper kicked the bumper plate back about an inch each time hoping he would catch the wire. While the official never noticed this, we all did. He told the skipper after his fifth trip into the pool, 'it can't be done.'


By this time the bumper was back some 12 inches from the wire and was an easy arrest for a pilot who had a launch or two on the CAT under his belt. So 'Red Horse,' in his tropical whites, strapped in. Before launch one of the junior officers kicked the bumper forward to its original 6-inch position.


Meyers launched and to the delight of the visiting official, settled ignominiously into the pool. Secretary Warner wouldn't take off the coveralls. He and the skipper, both wringing wet, sat down to lunch with dry colleagues.


Several hours later, still wearing the coveralls, the secretary boarded his aircraft.

The tale of his Cat adventures would be told at the Pentagon, he informed us and the coveralls would be testimony to the validity of his tale.


Sullivan completed his tour at Cubi Point in 1971 and returned to Patuxent River. "I am happy to say there were no injuries from riding the Cat during that period, only wounded pride," Sullivan says.


Sullivan returned to Cubi Point in 1979, then employed by Grumman Aerospace Corporation as the Project Manager for the C- 2 COD. Much to his dismay the Cat was gone.


The tracks were covered and the pool was filled with cement. Introduced to the new club manager, he asked if I could assist him in putting in a new Cat. I felt like a dinosaur whose time had passed. I believed that as long as there was a Cubi Point there would be a fun place for naval aviators to unwind. In the midst of it all would be the "Cat" and the 'Wall of Fame.' Now both are gone. What remains is my fond memories of the officers and men of AIMD whose ingenuity and hard work made the "Cat" a reality in 1969.


"Today it remains a 7th Fleet legend."

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Here's a Postscript to the story from an unknown source.


Great story. Thanks for passing it along. As I'm sure you did, I Launched -and paid. I have a VP-19 yearbook with pics of the cat shot in it. You and I were out there at the same time, as I recall - circa '72. Here's my footnote to the story.A former POW, who allegedly became born-again as he parachuted into North Vietnamese custody, swore he would build a church if he ever survived the ordeal. He did survive, became CO of Cubi Point, built a new base chapel, tried to convert Cubi O'Club into a family club, removed the cat shot, forbade the display of nude centerfolds anywhere on the base (which was a disaster for the VR-50 ready room in the BOQ annex, in which, you might recall, the walls and ceiling were completely covered with Playboy centerfolds), tried to get the bars shut down in Olongopo - he was a real force to reckon with. I can't remember his name, but I was out there in 77-78 just after he left. The atmosphere on the base among both the enlisted men and the officers was awful. He initially filled the cat shot pool with dirt and planted flowers in it (adding insult to injury). But the flowers died, so he filled the pool with cement and converted the downstairs space into a teen-agers disco. I suspect what he really wanted was to close the club and herd everyone into his new chapel. He certainly changed the demeanor of the club - it was no longer fun to go there, so he drove everyone out into town, thereby producing the exact opposite of his desired result.




And another letter


I enjoyed both John Sullivan's article on the catapult and the subsequent letters to the Mail Buoy on the subject. The article reminded me of an evening in the fall of 1972 in the catapult room when the bombardier/navigators of VA-196 had quite a night riding the cat. We were in port aboard Enterprise with CAG-14, enjoying a respite from the rigors of Yankee Station, and a few of us felt lucky (or was that 'skilled') enough to try our hands at trapping in Old Red Horse One to get our names on the "Wall of Fame" and snag the free bottle of champagne that went along with it. We were trying to get as many of the squadron guys present to give it a try, but not having a great deal of luck, considering how many there were present that evening. So a couple of us (both BNs) decided to pay our money and take our chances, at five bucks a pop. Amazingly, I got a trap on my first shot (that night, anyway) as did my running mate shortly after me. We were having fun and looking for more 196 players, but it seemed that only BN's wanted to play, as two more decided to give it a shot. To our amazement, the next two trapped on their first tries of the evening. We had quite a string going with four traps by BN's and all of us still dry from the waist down. Needless to say, interest was waning in being the next one to keep the squadron streak alive (something silly about odds of five in a row or something), so it ended at four that night.

I don't know if that's a world record or not, but it sure was a squadron record: four BNs in the same squadron with traps on their first cat shots of the evening.

It's really is too bad the Cat and the "Wall" didn't survive for the ages and inclusion in the Cubi O'Club replica at the Pensacola museum.






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