In the brave new world created by the coronavirus, I unwillingly joined the afflicted multitude with a very minor head cold that surprisingly caused me to test positive. The cold itself lasted two and a half days; the vacation required by my employer lasted two weeks. In the frigid second half of January, then, I sought relief from my medically imposed home confinement by going outside and hiking around the neighborhood twice every day. Bundled from head to toe in multiple layers, I marched through the snow-plowed residential streets and pretended that I was actually going somewhere. As my feet dutifully tramped along the pavement, my mind wandered off to its customary destinations of the sea, the ships that sailed it, and the ports they visited. One series of memories in particular lodged itself in my consciousness. As I looked upon houses, snowbanks, and bare trees, I saw salt water, big ships, and motley crewmen from a winter four decades past.
The General Hoyt S. Vandenberg arrived at the Military Ocean Terminal in Bayonne, New Jersey, in the late afternoon of a raw and overcast Wednesday, November 21, 1979. Chilled to the core by the weather, I suddenly realized how easily I had become accustomed to the comparative comforts of the South Atlantic and Caribbean. Back in the real world of the American Northeast now for an extended period of shipyard repairs, it seemed like a long winter lay ahead of me. But mitigating this circumstance was the fact that I had returned to my childhood home, a welcome respite from my normal vagabond life.
At 5:00pm on the Friday after Thanksgiving, during which I saw my parents and grandfather briefly, the General Vandenberg left the Bayonne headquarters and went to the shipyard. Since many of the crew, including the Master, had departed for a long weekend ashore, this shift of berths was carried out with a reduced workforce. Captain Glenn Sowash, one of the office folks, came aboard with the pilot for the uneventful passage across the Upper Bay to the Erie Basin. He was thus my boss for about two hours. After the ship was secured to one of the Todd Shipyard piers in the Red Hook section of Brooklyn, a chauffeured automobile collected Captain Sowash and the pilot. They kindly gave me, the junior third mate, a ride to the nearest subway station, and then I found my way to the Flatbush Avenue Terminal and caught a train home.
Beginning the next day, I commuted to the General Vandenberg via trains to downtown Brooklyn and then by bus to Red Hook. The Todd Shipyard, fronting on Beard and Halleck Streets, was conveniently situated at the end of the bus line. This arrangement was necessitated by the shutdown of the ship’s engineering plant. There would be no heat, no hot water, and no food service during the shipyard overhaul. The skeleton crew that remained with the ship was placed on “S & Q,” that is, subsistence and quarters, for the duration. This meant that the company gave us cash and told us to use it for room and board ashore. I was fortunate. Staying at the nearby family headquarters was much more palatable than putting up in a waterfront flophouse!
This arrangement lasted through December and most of January. We worked on rotating shifts: 12:00 midnight to 8:00am, 8:00am to 4:00pm, and 4:00pm to 12:00 midnight. With these schedules, I commuted to and from the General Vandenberg at both normal and off-peak hours. The trains and buses ran all day and all night, though, so this was not problematic except for one brief transit strike. Otherwise, it went well, and I became quite familiar with several of the old landmarks of downtown Brooklyn as I made the connections between buses and trains.
This part I found quite interesting. I had always enjoyed sightseeing by walking around town in the seaports I visited, and Brooklyn was no exception. Borough Hall, the Municipal Building, Cadman Plaza, the Flatbush Avenue Terminal, and the Brooklyn Law School all became well known to me by both day and night. In two months’ time, I hiked many miles through downtown Brooklyn and got plenty of fresh air and exercise. I always felt comfortable and safe, and never had any trouble with or felt threatened by anyone. This was true at the end of the bus line in Red Hook as well, despite that neighborhood’s less than stellar reputation. The bus stop was only a short walk from the shipyard entrance, and I came and went there in the early morning, late afternoon, and midnight without any difficulty at all.
Some of the General Vandenberg’s deckhands felt differently about this, though, as I learned later. These fellows gathered late at night at Sam’s Bar and Grill on Beard Street, diagonally across from the shipyard and close to the bus stop, and they frequently saw me walking between the shipyard and the bus stop. I noticed the lights and heard the music from Sam’s, and sometimes saw men loitering by the front door, but otherwise, I scarcely gave the place a thought. Of much greater interest to me was the Brooklyn Law School, at the corner of Fulton Street and Boerum Place downtown. When I walked by this iconic structure and saw the students studying at the big library tables inside, I thought that maybe I should look into it for myself. Even then, I realized that the shipping business would likely not last forever.
Misgivings like this notwithstanding, the General Vandenberg’s overhaul at the Todd Shipyard was a busy time. Major repairs were done in the engine room, the crew’s accommodations, and on the weather decks. The ship was drydocked, and the entire hull sandblasted and repainted. Finally, all lifesaving and firefighting equipment was inspected, tested, and repaired as necessary. Day shifts were thus filled with commotion; night times were comparatively quiet with reduced activity. One interesting fringe benefit was the view. The Erie Basin itself was not much to look at, but the skyscrapers of Lower Manhattan, two and one quarter miles away to the northwest, were clearly visible both day and night over the rooftops of Red Hook.
All this came to an end on Monday, January 28, 1980. Following some last-minute work on the sewage pumps, the General Vandenberg left Brooklyn three hours late at 3:15pm and sailed south toward Florida. I went with mixed feelings. The shipyard period had proved a bonanza for me with a return to my childhood home and time spent with my family. Most significantly, in early December I met Miss Patty, the girl who would one day become my wife. That day stood off in the distance, as did the day I would sail with a General Vandenberg crewman on another ship.
One of the deckhands who patronized Sam’s Bar and Grill was Steve Zander, an ordinary seaman and often the overnight security patrolman on the General Vandenberg. Steve was a quiet, introverted, and bright young man. He did not talk very much, but when he did he spoke thoughtfully and philosophically. It was through him that I learned that I had unwittingly been the star of the show at Sam’s.
In the latter part of 1980, I sailed with Steve aboard the Wilkes. One warm and quiet night in mid-Atlantic, he told me the story of Sam’s. Some of the guys from the General Vandenberg who watched me coming and going at midnight became convinced that I would sooner or later be “rolled,” that is, attacked, robbed, beaten up, and left for dead in the dark alleyway next to Sam’s. They passed a calendar around the bar, and everyone picked a date for my expected demise and put money on it. One fellow was chosen to safeguard the cash, and later he would award it to the winner when the inevitable happened.
By the time the General Vandenberg sailed in late January, I had safely made my commute many times. I never did get rolled. The boys at Sam’s were reportedly happy for my safety, but disappointed that no one had won the jackpot. The custodian of the cash gave all the money back, and the lottery concluded uneventfully. In discussing how it could have ended this way, the guys reasoned that I was either a whole lot tougher than I looked and therefore safer than they thought, or that since I was a native New Yorker I instinctively knew how to get along in the city without getting into trouble. Whatever, I thought with a laugh!
Four decades later, I was walking around Nashua, patiently waiting to go back to work after my coronavirus quarantine. I have returned to downtown Brooklyn a few times over the years, but I never rode the bus back to Red Hook. The Todd Shipyard there closed down in 1986. Then the property passed through several owners. Finally, all the shipyard buildings and facilities were demolished in 2006. An Ikea store now occupies much of the site. Adjacent to this structure sits a parking lot, built on top of the now filled-in drydocks. Only a few vestiges of the Todd years remain.[1]
I don’t know if Sam’s Bar and Grill is still there. I’m inclined to doubt it, though, because without the shipyard, Sam would stand to lose a lot of business.
The General Vandenberg is long gone. She went out with a bang, quite literally, when explosives were detonated in her lower holds in order to sink her as an artificial reef near Key West, Florida, on Wednesday, May 27, 2009.[2]
For my part, I never did look into attending the Brooklyn Law School or any other law school. Instead, I sailed as long as I could, got married, bought a house in New Hampshire, and had a family. Perhaps if I had gone to law school I would now be a big shot attorney or a distinguished federal appeals court judge. But I’m content where I am. I’d rather play with my grandchildren than do paperwork in a law office or settle disputes in a courtroom.
As my feet marched and as my mind sailed through my coronavirus exile, I thought in Conradian terms and turned “for sustenance to memories,”[3] and these memories carried me a long way. At such a distance of time, they were most of what was left. The far reaches of the past were “Only a moment; a moment of strength, of romance, of glamour—of youth!”[4] Yes, I was young once, and in a world which was very different from the one that we inhabit now.
[1] Information from www.shipbuildinghistory.com, www.ltvsquad.com, and Google Maps.
[2] This event is depicted in several YouTube videos. The full episode is at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0fI8JsunVQ0 but partial versions can be found elsewhere.
[3] Joseph Conrad, in Jerry Allen, The Sea Years of Joseph Conrad, Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1965, p. xii/
[4] Joseph Conrad, in M. Harriet M. Capes, Wisdom and Beauty from Conrad, New York: Doubleday, Page & Co., n.d., p. 131.
