 Shenandoah, I long to hear you. Once full of nostalgia, give us a feeling of what it was supposed to be like long ago to be a sailor. Today, in this half hour, we're going to tell it like it is through music. Right now, for some of the people involved, it's something like the national purpose. And if we're lucky, we may be able to please them and you. That is if we can really sing it just like it is. In the beginning, at boot camp, it can be confusing, exhausting, frustrating. And some guys are wonder for the first few weeks how they ever got into this and why. Confusion is the word and a censored word's another. But marching my feet are like hamburger meat. And I want to go home to my mama. I want to go home to my mama. Mm, mm, mm. I want to go home to my mama. From testing my brains, they ache like my feet. I want to go home to my mama. The food is OK, but there's no place to eat. I want to go home to my mama. Well, they got me believing I ain't nothing but dirt. And this is the 20th time that I've washed this shirt, huh? I want to go home to my mama. I want to go home to my mama. I do it over and over because the Navy way is right. I want to go home to my mama. My head sure is a swimmin' and my clothes are a sight. I want to go home to my mama. I want to lead down, but you can't muster bed. I could die at attention and they wouldn't know I'm dead. I want to go home to my mama. And listed the draffles on my neck. And I want to go home to my mama. I had to go in. So I thought, what the heck? I want to go home to my mama. I made up my mind and the Navy deserved. They say that everybody gets what they deserve, huh? I want to go home to my mama. I want to go home to my mama. Oh, don't let me mess up. They'll holler some more. I want to go home to my mama. Stupid, do 20 push-ups and do 20 more. I want to go home to my mama. Well, the boot is for kickin'. I guess if that's a joke, oh Lord, for a shower, oh Lord, for the smoke. And I sense it once another, for marching my feet, all I can do. Navy Seals, the elite of the underwater demolition team. These are guys who jump from planes, they attack under the water, and they fight on the land. And to hear them tell it, it's all in being mentally ready. Navy Seals is where it's at, not glory or a paste of. Navy Seals, what's happening? We call it a sun and fun club. You've got to hack the program, and some guys just don't make it. Gold medal swimmers and football stars, not all of them can take it. 50 obstacles by day with every muscle straining. In the icy drink at night, they call it tadpole training. They run you 15 miles no sleep until you're cold and groggy. Then tease you at the water's edge, oh no. Not yet young froggie. Let's sing another song or two until your nerves are steady. Let's go in the waterpiece, or we'll tell you when you're ready. The night will come when you go in a river operation. Life or death, young frogman, now no time for hesitation. Navy Seals is where it's at, not glory or a paste of. Navy Seals, what's happening? We call it a sun and fun club. Explosives, man, you think they're bad because you're spooked by danger. But by the time we use hot stuff, we know her. She's no stranger. Gorilla fight in dead of night, or mission strange and stealthy. They tell it like we're Superman and Brandon. It's not healthy. But we are trained like none before, till now it's purely mental. Half a man, half a fish, munitions grow with danger incidental. From sky above to beat below, or river operations, it sure beats all that ship routine. And man, you're battle stations. Beach bums with sand and sun that's living. As long as I am in Navy Seals, it's worth the time I'm giving. Navy Seals is where it's at, not glory. Navy Seals, what's happening? Conformity or not is bad. He digs a small unit that works together and plans together. And it's the same feeling free to core if you want to use the fancy name for his brother under the sea, the Sub-Sailor. Art Chow is the greatest. The extra pay is gravy, the Sub-Sailor's duties, the best in the Navy, the views all internal, no windows but one. When the periscope's up, you can look at the sun. So when it gets to me, four off and four off, give me periscope liberty up in the con. With water above me and water below, the monotony grabs me with no place to go. They give me the street when my trick is all done. I get periscope liberty up in the con. Art Chow is the greatest. And the extra pay is gravy, the Sub-Sailor's duties, the best in the Navy, the one when the periscope's up. You can look at the sun. So when it gets to me, periscope liberty up in the con. Long cruise is over, it's home to the base. Feeling the air breeze on my face. You know, it seems somehow better down under the sea. The sun's so much brighter, more vivid to me. There's no place on earth that I'd rather be than up in the con. On periscope liberty, four off, four off, periscope liberty. Up in the con. Yet he's got the highest re-enlistment rate. Now that's kind of hard to figure out until you analyze his character. He's an adventurer, he's tough, and he's scrappy. And he has an overriding need to belong. And to help. He wears jungle utilities like the Marines. And he carries, in addition to his well-equipped fuel medical kit, he carries eight bottles of blood strapped to his legs. He carries eight bandages stuffed in every pocket. Four canteens of water. Now the Marine calls himself a grunt. And anyone who's regular Navy is squid. And they normally mix like leather and tar. But he'll admit that the corpsman in the field is half Marine. He goes on all the ambushes and all the patrols, rough rides in the middle of the worst of firefights. When the grunt calls him, the squid is always there. The squid to the grunt is a case of the hives. I'm Cormin, he's a Marine. Proud of his image as tough, fighting man, as great as the world's ever seen. But when he gets hit, it's Cormin, he cries. Doc saved my life, he will meet. A man never knows why he lives or he dies the bravest that we've ever seen. Seven days on patrol without meeting the soul. Charlie, I hope, won't appear. Today I might get it. God, not in this hall. Move it, Doc. Comes from the rear. Then he's there, opens fire. And it all hits the pan. Move up, says the skipper. They do to a man. Rockets, machine guns, the stuff's really flying. Wounded all over, wounded and dying. When they yell, you could hear it in hell. I move, for there's no longer fear when they yell. I move, and it's thank God you're here. At base camp, they say to me, Doc, if I'm hit, just leave me, leave me, because I'll be OK. The platoon needs you living, not dead or in shock. For minor wounds, just stay away. The grump's job is fighting, the squids is to save. We love these marines, it's not gory we crave. Out here, I'm the doctor, without any staff. I treat them, berate them, and at times make them laugh. I move, without any fear, it's Carl and they yell. Well, the squids' job is done for the moment. And his wounded are safely aboard the Medevac chopper, headed for one of the hospital ships, lying not far distant off the coast. The copilot is already alerting the ship to the number and types of casualties to expect. From hell to repose, the journey he makes from squid to the Navy nurse team. Hospital staff is matching the stakes of death and his life they redeemed. Several minutes it takes to know this is not just a dream. Ground eyes I see, smiling at me. Ground eyes, you're heaven to me. Welcome back to the world of smiling sympathetic eyes. A gentle hand to hold and someone to listen. This and I do for a month, sometimes two. Every detail he has to recall. There isn't a lot that a woman can do. Getting seasick whenever it's rough. But I say to myself, when I want to complain, look at them. You think life is tough. My thing, if you wish, is to nurse aboard ship and to come for the infinite ways. It is pain I'll remember. Ground eyes it goes, here on repose. Ground eyes remember repose. We're sung by sailors to expedite work on sailing ships. Work like hauling lines, turning winches, weighing anchors. Sailors don't sing much while they work today. But there's one group who might, if they could hear themselves over their heavy equipment, that group would be the CBs. So here's a channe for a CB. It might seem strange to see us sailors putting in our time on the land. Sweating hard up on the beach, beyond the reach of ocean and the sand. Pulled doughs and patties, rigged poles and power lines for sound. Sometimes laying runway tar with sounds of war, a crackling all around. Musty bees work in all conditions, weather. Commodation's not so hot, because like it's not we're sleeping in some hole. Charlie comes calling. We waste no time in feeling bad, just a simple guy, like we never be. It's the most specialized man in the Navy who even wonders himself if he doesn't leave some of his humanity outside the cockpit when he goes to work, is the carrier pilot. When you consider the sophistication of his aircraft to say nothing of where and how he has to set it down, is it any wonder he's a bundle of well-tuned motor responses? It's a special breed, rolling in at supersonic speed, delivering his ordnance on a dot, dodging a sound, or whatever. The bomber pilot's great delight is a low-level run at a 50-foot height for the fighter that shoots. What I really dig is a one-to-one with an enemy make. It isn't the kill itself that counts. It's beating the odds as tension mounts. The Berman von Richthofen thing was great. My only reach in spite of the plaque. Bullseye scored, and on the way back, safe over water, we call feet wet so all of us know whose covered is bet. We've won the game. Anyone's lost, it isn't the same. For the fighter that shoots, what I really dig is a one-to-one with an enemy make. It isn't the kill itself that counts. It's beating the odds as tension mounts. The Berman von Richthofen thing was great. My only regret, I will lead to the carrier pilot. Bride, an individual on the ground. He's a buddy to all the guys around. But in that plane, I'm ready to go. A finely-tuned impersonal pro, and the juice for me. What I really dig is that one-to-one with an enemy make. It isn't the kill itself that counts. It's beating the odds as the tension mounts. The Berman von Richthofen thing was great. My only regret, I was born too late. This is command as every skipper knows. Liberty lovers and sangos. Tires on freeways, yes they. I have no choice but to give them a steely blast. This is command as every skipper knows. Hold her steady as she goes, men, one crew. Sailors good at their professions. Duty done, their proud confessions. Pulls their cap and shell. It's called every skipper knows. When and to conanxious weeks and months, we sit with them gun range along the shore. As skills increase and more, this is command as every skipper knows. This is command. Patriotism, gallantry, and contemporary. But maybe we shouldn't try. Their meaning is personal. Related to what you do, the men of the United States Navy go to sea.