thedrifter
01-17-06, 12:50 PM
January 23, 2006
Out of the ashes
Volcanic eruption forced Philippines hangout to close, relocate to Florida
PENSACOLA, Fla. — The garish red paisley carpeting is here, as are the red-leather bar stools and the shuffleboard table.
The names of the past are here, too, engraved in wood by Filipino artists who, over the years, recorded the exploits and humor of some of the Navy and Marine Corps’ most celebrated pilots.
With talk of flight in the air, and Navy pilots of today and yesterday pouring back their drinks, it’d be easy to think the Cubi Bar is back at its home base in the Philippines. But this club that was a popular Subic Bay watering hole for Navy and Marine Corps officers for decades is now at home serving military personnel and visitors at Naval Air Station Pensacola and was recently enlarged.
More than a dozen years ago, the famed club was shut down by a volcanic eruption. Today, the Cubi Bar 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 eating lunch at the cafe.
“Every squadron that was in the western Pacific, it was here. There’s a lot of naval history in talk, you would have one hell of a story,” Cernan 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 1, closed after Mount Pinatubo erupted in 1991. When the United States later decided to pull troops from Subic Bay, the bar’s fate was sealed.
But a place dear to so many of the Navy’s top pilots could not be left behind.
Retired 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 had already 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. “[The Cubi Bar] was where we went mostly when we came off the line.”
So the bar was dismantled and packed into crates, along with a fair amount of volcanic ash.
It arrived in Pensacola in 1992 and reopened in 1996. Rasmussen oversaw its reconstruction. The shipment included the bar’s signature decor: more than 3,000 colorful plaques, which deployed flight squadrons would commission from local artists and present to the bar before returning home.
Too hot for Pensacola
The plaques, which list the names of individual squadron members, often include 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.
Many of the original plaques aren’t displayed in the rebuilt Cubi Bar: They were determined to be too X-rated for a family atmosphere, said bartender Donnalene Miller. But some on display are still fairly suggestive.
Miller’s favorite is a bird with a screw through its stomach. She wondered what it meant until a member of the squadron passed through and said the bird was selected because the squadron “got screwed on every detail.”
Other 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.
The plaques cover every available space, making it hard to see the hand-carved tables.
Retired Cmdr. Jeremy Gillespie is among the veterans who come to find their names.
The relocated bar has a familiar feel despite its new location, said Gillespie, a former P-3 Orion pilot who found his Patrol Squadron 22 plaque on the wall of a dining room.
But the atmosphere in the new location is a little more low-key.
“It was a forward-deployed base with aviators who had been at sea for months. There was a lot more drinking and smoking, a lot of steam being blown off,” he said.
‘Cat shot’ closed
One favorite item from the old bar was not moved to Pensacola: The “cat shot” — a fighter-plane cockpit on rails — landed its pilot in a tank of water if he failed to successfully catch an arresting wire.
“There was a way to adjust it so that it made it impossible to catch the wire. It was a great piece to embarrass some guy who thought he was a hotshot,” said retired Col. Denis J. “Deej” Kiely, a Marine pilot.
Retired Rear Adm. George “Skip” Furlong Jr., executive vice president of the Naval Aviation Museum Foundation, has the original plans for the device.
“We tried to look into rebuilding it here, but there was no way we could cover the liability,” said Furlong, who recalled landing in the water 11 times in one night.
— The Associated Press
Ellie
Out of the ashes
Volcanic eruption forced Philippines hangout to close, relocate to Florida
PENSACOLA, Fla. — The garish red paisley carpeting is here, as are the red-leather bar stools and the shuffleboard table.
The names of the past are here, too, engraved in wood by Filipino artists who, over the years, recorded the exploits and humor of some of the Navy and Marine Corps’ most celebrated pilots.
With talk of flight in the air, and Navy pilots of today and yesterday pouring back their drinks, it’d be easy to think the Cubi Bar is back at its home base in the Philippines. But this club that was a popular Subic Bay watering hole for Navy and Marine Corps officers for decades is now at home serving military personnel and visitors at Naval Air Station Pensacola and was recently enlarged.
More than a dozen years ago, the famed club was shut down by a volcanic eruption. Today, the Cubi Bar 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 eating lunch at the cafe.
“Every squadron that was in the western Pacific, it was here. There’s a lot of naval history in talk, you would have one hell of a story,” Cernan 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 1, closed after Mount Pinatubo erupted in 1991. When the United States later decided to pull troops from Subic Bay, the bar’s fate was sealed.
But a place dear to so many of the Navy’s top pilots could not be left behind.
Retired 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 had already 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. “[The Cubi Bar] was where we went mostly when we came off the line.”
So the bar was dismantled and packed into crates, along with a fair amount of volcanic ash.
It arrived in Pensacola in 1992 and reopened in 1996. Rasmussen oversaw its reconstruction. The shipment included the bar’s signature decor: more than 3,000 colorful plaques, which deployed flight squadrons would commission from local artists and present to the bar before returning home.
Too hot for Pensacola
The plaques, which list the names of individual squadron members, often include 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.
Many of the original plaques aren’t displayed in the rebuilt Cubi Bar: They were determined to be too X-rated for a family atmosphere, said bartender Donnalene Miller. But some on display are still fairly suggestive.
Miller’s favorite is a bird with a screw through its stomach. She wondered what it meant until a member of the squadron passed through and said the bird was selected because the squadron “got screwed on every detail.”
Other 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.
The plaques cover every available space, making it hard to see the hand-carved tables.
Retired Cmdr. Jeremy Gillespie is among the veterans who come to find their names.
The relocated bar has a familiar feel despite its new location, said Gillespie, a former P-3 Orion pilot who found his Patrol Squadron 22 plaque on the wall of a dining room.
But the atmosphere in the new location is a little more low-key.
“It was a forward-deployed base with aviators who had been at sea for months. There was a lot more drinking and smoking, a lot of steam being blown off,” he said.
‘Cat shot’ closed
One favorite item from the old bar was not moved to Pensacola: The “cat shot” — a fighter-plane cockpit on rails — landed its pilot in a tank of water if he failed to successfully catch an arresting wire.
“There was a way to adjust it so that it made it impossible to catch the wire. It was a great piece to embarrass some guy who thought he was a hotshot,” said retired Col. Denis J. “Deej” Kiely, a Marine pilot.
Retired Rear Adm. George “Skip” Furlong Jr., executive vice president of the Naval Aviation Museum Foundation, has the original plans for the device.
“We tried to look into rebuilding it here, but there was no way we could cover the liability,” said Furlong, who recalled landing in the water 11 times in one night.
— The Associated Press
Ellie