The computers I worked on printed a continuous log of the activities that the computer was monitoring. These logs were printed on teletype paper rolls several hundred feet long. Many times a day, we would have to remove the paper, date it, and put on a new roll. When things were really busy, we had two teletypes going. Most of the logged data was discarded after a month or so, depending on how big the pile grew. However, in some instances we would get a request for the logs, at which time we would have to either turn over the logs, or decode the logs and give that record to the requesting body. The logs were just long sequences of numbers that had no meaning unless you had knowledge of the inner workings of the computer. Needless to say, these logs piled up quickly, so the ship had a rule that if no one asked for a log within a certain period of time, we were instructed to destroy them. The preferred method of destruction was to burn them.
When we were at sea, the ship had an incinerator to which we could deliver the logs. It was in a small room that was along the corridor to the cafeteria. It was only open a few hours per week. We would deliver the logs to the room, and a crew member assigned to the room would put them into the incinerator, where the powerful flames were aided by special increases of fuel and air.
When we were in port, we would load the logs into the ship’s vehicle and we would drive them to the base disposal facility. In Long Beach, this was a building at the end of a long breakwater where classified information was always destroyed. My first trip to the facility was with DS1 Thornton, who was familiar with the area. We loaded the van with log rolls and other classified records that needed to be destroyed, and we headed over to the disposal facility at about 4:00 in the afternoon. We arrived at the facility, turned over the materials, and the operator signed for them.
Then we headed back to the ship — but first Thornton wanted to stop at the Enlisted Men’s Club near the facility. Thornton warned me to make sure that I did not remove my hat (referred to as a “cover” in the navy) until I reached the door. Then as I reached the door, I was supposed to remove my hat. So he and I went into the bar. It appeared that Thornton was good friends with the bartender, a gruff old retired sailor. It was a rule that any sailor who entered the bar with a hat on got “rung”on the ship’s bell hanging at the bar, and was required to buy a round of beer for the entire bar. Luckily I had been forewarned. (We happened to be early enough that there were not too many people in the bar yet, so maybe I would have gotten off lightly.)
This was my first and only visit to that bar. I had to deliver log rolls to the incinerator many times, but I never managed to do it just before I got off duty. I did not have the clout of a DS1.
