Between a soldier and a Marine there stands an individual called a Seabee.
Seabees come in assorted sizes, shapes and weights, but all have the same code: to enjoy every second of every hour of every day, whether at work or at play, and to protest by griping (their most beloved privilege) when issued an order.
Seabees are found everywhere: on top of, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around, or more likely than not, turning to.
Mothers, wives, and sweethearts love them, fathers are proud of them, brothers look up to them, sisters admire them, and Airdales hate them. Company Commanders tolerate them, and Chief Petty Officers drive them.
A Seabee is a composite, he has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword swallower, the energy of a pocket-sized atomic bomb, the curiosity of a cat, the lungs of a dictator, the imagination of a Paul Bunyon, the slyness of a violin, the enthusiasm of a firecracker, and the spirit of a fighting cock. He likes liberty, leave, holidays, weekends, girls, chow, beer, movies, gedonks, swimming, pin-ups, sleep and comic books.
He isn't too hot for duty nights, watches, taps, reveille, routine discipline, officers, drills or secured heads. Nobody else is so early to rise without actually wanting to get up. No other person gets so much fun out of liberty or Shore Patrol. No one can have so much fun on so little money.
A Seabee is a magical creature: you can chew him out but you can't get the work done without him: he is dirty, unpolished, unkempt, often overbearing and sometimes reluctant.
A Seabee is a man of magical abilities: he can weld, build, drive, repair and fight, he can wreck or he can beautify. He can make something out of nothing; work never fazes him nor does he seem to tire of it.
His motto is "Can Do," to which he has added "Has Done" and "Did"; this frequently miraculous occurrence is recognized in the form of a "Well Done" by everyone from the Commanding Officer on down.The average Seabee is a thickheaded individual of a variety of nationalities. He won't admit it to anyone or anywhere except in the defense of his corps that his is the best job in the Navy. Without him the Fleet would have nothing to gripe about. Marines would have nothing to talk about and history would have nothing to write about. (And old farts would have nothing to brag about!)
Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 121
ONCE A SEABEE ALWAYS A SEABEE