Sunday, June 10, 2018

Finished with Engines


The two ships that passed in the night in early January of 2018 stayed their courses on their voyages through life.  Following her birth on January 24, Miss Katherine Elizabeth was officially underway on the outset of  what we hope will be a long, healthy, and happy voyage. Her great-grandmother—my Mom and my children’s Nana—remained on home hospice care on Long Island, buoyed by news and photographs of the new baby.

As winter gradually became spring, my daughter-in-law brought Miss Katherine from distant Alaska to her family home in New Hampshire, with plans to visit Mom in New York as well.  During this interval, however, Mom’s long voyage started winding down more quickly.  Finally, during the night of Thursday, May 24th, four months after the hospital staff’s prediction and one week before Miss Katherine’s scheduled visit, Mom quietly rang up “Finished with Engines.”  She was 99 years, 6 months, and 23 days old.  With her earthly voyage at last concluded, she returned to the celestial realm from which she had come nearly a century ago.

Mom and Miss Katherine crossed paths the following Wednesday, May 30th.  The very young paid respects to the very old in a graveside service at the Cemetery of the Holy Rood in Westbury, Long Island.  Though she never met her great-grandmother face to face in this life, little Miss Katherine sat happily on her great-grandfather’s lap and brought joy to his heart.  The family line was continuing unchecked, and our baby’s future looked bright.

The next afternoon we returned to New England.  At sea between Orient Point, Long Island, and New London, Connecticut, we sailed aboard the ferry Cape Henlopen.  By its very nature, the sea has always been an ideal place to contemplate eternity.  This time, however, there was an added dimension.

With Miss Katherine now embarked, fully five generations of our family have sailed aboard the Cape Henlopen.  In the 1970s, my grandfather and my parents and I sailed on her when she was working the Delaware Bay route.  Since she joined the Cross Sound fleet in the 1980s, Miss Patty and I have sailed on her with our children and grandchildren.  The Cape Henlopen, then, is the vessel that bridges the generations, the ship that we all share in common with each other.  She thus holds a place of honor in our family heritage.

On that calm, cool, and sunny afternoon as we sailed once again aboard the Cape Henlopen, I gazed at the eternal sea and sky and thought of the beloved lady whom we had just laid to rest.  She had always enjoyed the sea and admired its supernal beauty.  I like to think that she was looking down lovingly on her new great-granddaughter, and in her own sublime way, was wishing Miss Katherine Elizabeth a fair wind and a following sea throughout her earthly voyage.

Sunday, June 3, 2018

Going Back to Work


Leaving home to join a ship was seldom a simple matter.  Some complication usually arose, which meant that going back to work was often an adventure and sometimes a misadventure.  Factors such as flexible schedules, weather delays, changing dock assignments, and personal emergencies contributed to the confusion, but they were all part and parcel of the transportation business and so were understandable.  Sending a crewman to join a ship which by its very nature was moving most of the time could be a hit-or-miss affair.  But sending someone to join a vessel that was parked in a drydock seemed like a comparatively simple job, since the ship was now a stationary target.

On Saturday, May 24, 1980, I left New York aboard a United Air Lines DC-10 bound for San Francisco.  In my third assignment as third mate, I was on my way to join the Mercury, then in drydock in Alameda, California.  I had spent the previous day at company headquarters in Bayonne, New Jersey, where the powers-that-be had prepared me for my flight west and my subsequent new position aboard ship.  For my part, I had complete confidence that they had fully prepared me for everything and that it would all proceed smoothly and with no problems.  How naïve I was!  Sitting comfortably on the airplane as I crossed the North American continent for the first time, I remained blissfully ignorant of the disarray that awaited me on the West Coast.

On landing in San Francisco, I was to take a taxi to the Islander Motel in Alameda, across the bay from the city.  The crew was being billeted there until the shipyard work was complete, and then everyone would move on board.  I was to be one of the last crewmen to join the ship; most had already arrived.  There would be a lot of work to do on a tight schedule, but by the end of the coming week, the Mercury would sail.  Being young and ambitious, and after two months at home, I was ready to go!

After the aircraft landed I collected my luggage, went out front, and found a taxi.  As I put my suitcase in the trunk, I told the driver that I was going to the Islander Motel in Alameda.  He gave me a confused look, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Where dat, man?”

Startled by this inquiry, and thinking that of the two of us he should know, I replied with, “You’re asking me?”

Leaving me to wonder what I had just gotten into, the driver stepped into the dispatcher’s office.  Through the window I could see the two men studying a map.  After several minutes he returned to the taxi and said, “Ees okay.  I find eet.“ Away we went, then, over the Bay Bridge, across Oakland, and then through a tunnel.  Emerging into the daylight again, the driver turned to me and announced, “Deesa Alameda.”  The Islander Motel stood a moderate distance farther along.

In an attempt to situate myself, I asked the driver about the locations of the motel, the shipyard, and the subway.  I specifically asked him, “Can I get the BART1 subway here in Alameda?”  I preferred to use that instead of paying for expensive taxi rides.  The driver assured me, “Yay, ees right by dee hotel.”  And a moment later we arrived there.

As I checked into the Islander Motel, I explained to the desk clerk that I was to be a crewman on the Mercury and was joining a group of shipmates who were already registered there.  The clerk stared at me uncomprehendingly and replied that there were no crewmen from any ship staying at the Islander.  Seeing my bewilderment, he then inquired about the Mercury and my business with her.  In the course of this very confused conversation, it became clear that my employer had sent me to the wrong place.

Feeling bad for me, the clerk placed a call to the shipyard so I could try to get some information about the Mercury and her crew.  The yard bird who answered the phone resented my inquiries and threw a minor tantrum:  “There ain’t no Mercury here!  She’s still the Illinois!  You guys don’t even own the thing yet and yer askin’ me all these questions!!  How am I supposta know this stuff?  I ain’t no infermation booth!!  Why don’t you come over here and see fer yerself?  There’s a couple a yer guys on the thing.  Maybe they kin tell ya what’s goin’ on!”

I had already decided to do just that.  After all, I had gone out there to work, not to just sit around and wait for something to happen.  So I asked the desk clerk to point me the way to the subway station that the taxi driver had said was near the motel.  He looked at me in astonishment.  “There is no BART station in Alameda,” he exclaimed.  “You need to go into Oakland for that, and it’s much too far to walk.  I can’t imagine why he said there’s a BART stop here.  That’s just crazy!”  He called another taxi for me instead, and off to the shipyard I went.

The Todd Shipyard was a modest affair situated on the north side of Alameda Island and across the Oakland Inner Harbor from Oakland itself.  Aboard the Mercury I introduced myself to Captain Edward Lanni.  Completely surprised by my unexpected arrival, he asked me many questions.  “How did you get here?  What are you doing here?  And why are you here on Memorial Day weekend?  Did you just come out from the base in Bayonne?  You got any luggage?”  And so on.  Another very confused conversation followed, and it left my new boss feeling exasperated.

“You gotta be kidding me!” the Captain finally exploded.  “Those folks in Bayonne!  They need to look out the window once in a while!”  Counting on his fingers as he spoke, he continued, “First, they send you out here on a holiday weekend.  They don’t want to pay overtime, so the crew isn’t working until Tuesday.  You could have stayed home with your family longer!  Second, they send you to the wrong hotel.  We’re all put up at the Jack London Inn.”  Pointing across the water, he went on, “It’s right over there in Jack London Square.  Nice place, good neighborhood, great restaurant, and a short walk to downtown Oakland.  You can get the train there and go into San Francisco.  Third, they don’t tell you anything about the ship.  We don’t even own it yet, but we’re here anyway to get her into shape.  She still belongs to States Lines, and she’s still officially the Illinois, and they’ve got their own skipper and chief mate here to help us out.  Fourth, there is no way this ship is going to sail a week from now.  It takes more time than that to bring a ship this size out of layup and put her back in service.  And finally, I suppose they didn’t give you any cash for your taxi rides or your dinner tonight.  Am I right?  Yeah, I knew it!”  He threw up his hands and shook his head in disgust.

It was by now getting late in the afternoon.  With nothing for me to do just yet aboard the Illinois-Mercury, and with my belongings in a room at the Islander, we agreed that I would spend the night there and join everyone else at the Jack London tomorrow.  Captain Lanni would dispatch another young mate with the company car on Sunday morning to help me change hotels.  Come Tuesday, he would have the purser reimburse me for my taxi rides and dinner tonight.  Finally, he ordered me to have some fun: “This is a great port.  Go out!  See the sights!  Have a good time while you’re here!  Just be ready to work on Tuesday morning.”

As promised, the second mate arrived at the Islander Motel with the company car the next morning.  He was Manny Subda, a graduate of Fort Schuyler and a few years older than I was.  Delivering me to the Jack London Inn, he described the crew’s work schedule and duties while the Illinois-Mercury was undergoing her renovation.  Everyone lodged at the hotel because the ship was as yet uninhabitable.  We would all move on board when the domestic mechanical systems became fully functional and the company officially took possession of the vessel.  Then the Mercury would sail, probably in mid-June.  This was good to know, and I started to feel better about everything.  Then, after settling in at the correct hotel, I followed Captain Lanni’s orders to “go out” and “see the sights,” and San Francisco soon became one of my favorite cities!

On Tuesday, May 27, I went to work.  The company vehicle shuttled the crew between the hotel and the ship, which over the holiday weekend had been refloated and towed to the Military Ocean Terminal on the west side of Oakland.  One of my first duties was meeting with Charlie Malone, the purser.  While grumbling about the time and money that Bayonne had wasted in sending me to the wrong place, he did all the paperwork necessary for me to recoup my expenses.  “One of us could have gotten you at the airport with the rental car and brought you to the Jack London,” he lamented. “No need to send you chasing all over California!”

As things turned out, I joined a good ship and a good crew.  I spent many hours working with Manny Subda, the second mate, stockpiling and organizing nautical charts, navigational publications, and related materials, and we became quite friendly.  I also assisted Paul Dino, the chief mate, with several projects relating to cargo stowage and emergency equipment.  He, too, was a very good shipmate, and also a mentor for many of the younger fellows.  In my free time in the late afternoons and on weekends, I explored San Francisco and its environs, using the BART system as inexpensive and reliable transportation.  No more taxi rides for me! 

In due time, through the good work of all thirty-five crewmen, the Illinois-Mercury became fully ready to go to sea again.   Some bureaucratic snags delayed the transfer of ownership, and we officially took charge of the Mercury on Friday, the 13th of June.  That same day we all checked out of the Jack London Inn and took up residence aboard ship.  At 9:00am on Fathers’ Day, June 15, 1980, the Mercury departed from Oakland and went to sea.  It was my first time sailing on the bright, blue, and beautiful Pacific.

While this assignment got off to a bad start, it had a happy ending.  More importantly, this experience taught me valuable lessons.  Never again would I blindly believe everything the Bayonne folks told me about a shipboard assignment.  Never again would I assume that a taxi driver knew where he was going and what he was talking about.  Never again would I fly off to a place I had never been before without first studying it on maps and memorizing its salient features.  Never again would I leave company headquarters without company cash in my pocket for the inevitable unexpected expenses.  Never again would I enable such a fiasco to take place.  Skepticism and improved self-preparation would replace naive gullibility and misplaced trust.

Church leaders in recent years have spoken extensively about life experience, self-reliance, and preparation, applying these points to both spiritual and temporal matters.   President Thomas S. Monson once asserted that “Life is a school of experience,”2 and that “Preparation for life’s opportunities and responsibilities has never been more vital.”3

Wise people prepare as much as possible for everything, learn from both good and bad experiences, and avoid repeating mistakes.  By following these simple principles, we find assurance that “The day will come when we will look upon our period of preparation and be grateful that we properly applied ourselves.”4  My trek to join the Mercury taught me both the educational value of experience and the practical value of preparation.


1 Bay Area Rapid Transit.
2 Thomas S. Monson, in Teachings of Thomas S. Monson, comp. Lynne F. Cannegieter, Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 2014, p. 10.
3 Op. cit., p, 231.
4 Op. cit., p. 231.