The Frogmen

That don't look nothin'like the|skipper looked. Not for my money, it don't.

Sure, Canarsie. You got him looking like|one of them joes on a war bond poster.

- The skipper was a man.|- So he was a man. What's this, a dame?

That's not what Kinsella means,|Canarsie.

He means the skipper's jaw|was like a... like a hunk of granite.

- And his eyes were blue.|- Here, you make blue eyes with black ink.

Simmer down, Rembrandt.

All Pappy means is his jaw was tougher|and his eyes were, well, kind and friendly.

Look, fellas. Don't get me wrong.

I feel the same way about the skipper as you do.|But I done this over 20 times.

Just the same, all I say is,|if that looks like Mr. Cassidy did, I look...

You look like my uncle,|and I hate my uncle.

Ha, ha, ha!

Take another crack at it, Canarsie.

Come on, Pappy. It's your deal.

- Let's go, you guys. On your feet.|- On the double!

My, my! How you talk.

These lads just got no manners.

Okay, fellas. Let 'em do their job.

Operation Overboard!

- Hey, me and Joe were only kidding.|- We were just ribbing.

We don't think it's funny.

We figure we didn't ask to be aboard|this bucket, and if you guys...

- Sure, sure. Forget it, forget it.|- Yeah.

What's the verdict, fellas?

Toss 'em overboard, or give 'em|another chance to be little gentlemen?

Overboard!

You can't blame us.

Sure. Sure.

You guys been having yourself a ball, while me|and Joe and the whole ship's company...

been waitin' on you hand and foot,|like you was V.I.P. s or somethin'.

- We are.|- Tell him the facts of life, Jake.

Listen, swabbies. There are roughly|three million men in this man's navy.

There are only a thousand of us guys|spread out over the Pacific.

You and your boyfriends have the honor and|the distinction of having aboard 30 of these...

- Fearless.|- Red-blooded.

- Death-defying.|- He-men.

So you gotta appreciate us, cater to us,|make us feel relaxed and at home.

Otherwise, some of you|won't be around for the next mess call.

Now shove off and swab the deck|somewhere else.

Come on, Pappy. Give us a chance|to get some of our plasma back.

You been taking mine|ever since we left Pearl.

- How about you, Canarsie? You wanna play?|- Me, gamble? Nah.

Anyway, I wanna finish the picture.

There's more than one way to wet down a deck!

Operation Manslaughter!

Holy smokes!|Of all the dirty tricks!

Come on. Give me a hand.

- Yes, Bill?|- A little trouble aft, Skipper.

Some of Mr. Lawrence's boys|tangled with some of ours.

- Serious?|- Not very.

Usual black eyes and bloody noses.

And a lot of injured pride, no doubt.

- Well, bound to have some friction sooner or later.|- Why?

Well, you know, two different groups|aboard a ship about to go into action.

Nerves, tempers.

Get all the facts, Bill. Line up all the men|involved on the fantail, and I'll hold mast.

- Whistle when you're ready.|- Aye, aye, sir.

I wouldn't worry too much about it,|Lawrence.

It happened once before when I ferried|Jack Cassidy and his U.D.T. gang out to Iwo.

Matter of fact, most of these same boys|were with him then.

I gave 'em a tongue-lashing,|and everything was shipshape again.

- Is that what you intend doing this time?|- Maybe.

- Why?|- It's your ship.

Meaning I could do|a better job running it?

Okay, I'll tell you what I'll do.

- I'll hold mast on my boys, and you do the same on yours.|- I'd like that. Thanks.

And you can be certain my men|will give you no more trouble.

We didn't care about|getting a free bath, sir...

but look what they did|to our skipper Mr. Cassidy.

Yeah, Canarsie's|been working on it for weeks, sir.

We were all gonna sign our names on it|and send it to Mrs. Cassidy.

Sure. A man got a right|to stand up for his rights, sir.

What rights?

Well, sir, we're not just ordinary sailors.|We're U.D.T. guys.

That makes us somebody special, huh?

Gives us the right to walk over everybody,|throw our weight around?

- What Kinsella means is...|- I know exactly what he means.

We're U.D.T. men.

Fearless, red-blooded,|death-defying he-men.

I know that song,|and that's all it is... a song.

It doesn't entitle any of us to extra privileges|or favors from this ship's company.

Mr. Klinger, I'm giving these men|eight hours extra duty.

- See to it that they deliver a full 60 minutes in every hour.|- Aye, sir.

And I want it understood that no part|of this ship is out of bounds...

to members of the ship's company.

Remember that.

You can't say some of you fools|didn't ask for this.

I'll work out the extra-duty details with the|ship's exec and give them to you in the morning.

Take it easy.

Lawrence reminds me of a guy named Pulaskie|I used to know in Brooklyn.

Everybody reminds him of a fella|he used to know in Brooklyn.

Who ever came from Brooklyn|that ever amounted to anything?

Winston Churchill's mother,|the beautifulJennieJerome.

Walter Hampden, Harry Houdini,|Danny Kaye, Mae West, Gene Tierney...

Susan Hayward, Mickey Rooney, Barbara|Stanwyck, Lena Horne and, last but not least...

- Marvin W. Minkowsky.|- Yeah? Who's he?

Yours truly, matey,|and keep your eye on him.

This kid is gonna go places|and do things.

Like starting another picture|of the skipper, but pronto.

"But pronto. "|What am I, a slave?

Don't answer that question.

Bridge, this is Radio.|From the flag, Nancy Hanks.

Call the flag, see if they're on|the Nancy Hanks, Smitty.

Aye, aye, sir.

- The kleinsmith is on the Nancy Hanks now, sir.|- Here's the message.

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