Left Behind

On Sunday afternoon, November 4, 1979, the General Hoyt S. Vandenberg sailed from Roosevelt Roads, Puerto Rico, bound for a special operations area in the Caribbean.  Due to depart at 3:00pm, the ship rested patiently alongside the dock in the beautiful tropical weather while her crew tended to their duties.  Captain C.H. Harriman stood with the harbor pilot on the starboard bridge wing, watching as the last mooring lines were brought aboard.  I stood at the engine order telegraph inside the bridge and next to the helmsman.  We were to get underway in just another minute, when suddenly an unexpected visitor arrived.

Entering through the chartroom, Mitchel Salem, the first assistant engineer, asked me quietly, “Where’s the old man?”

Somewhat startled by this soft-spoken apparition, I pointed and replied, “He’s on the starboard wing.”  Then I watched as Mitch approached the old man and said something privately into his ear. Captain Harriman, the taller of the two, bent over to listen.  After a moment he stood up straight, looked around, and exclaimed in a very loud voice, “I can’t sail without him!!”

In the commotion that followed, it was revealed that the Chief Engineer was not on the ship.  He had been searched for everywhere, but to no avail.  The obvious conclusion was that he was still ashore and would miss the ship.  Captain Harriman hurriedly instructed the linehandlers to leave one head line and one stern line on the dock.  He then stepped inside the bridge to examine the Certificate of Inspection, which listed all the crewmen and their specific qualifications that the ship was required by law to carry.

In the engine room of the General Vandenberg, there were five licensed officers: a Chief Engineer, a first assistant engineer, a second assistant engineer, and two third assistant engineers.  Four of these five were required for the ship to legally sail from an American port; only the second third assistant engineer was not required by the Certificate.  But this extra third assistant, an older man from Spain named Castro, held a Chief Engineer’s license, the only one besides the actual Chief who did.  So, whether he wanted the job or not, it suddenly became his.  Captain Harriman called the engine room and spoke with him briefly.  “Mr. Castro,” he barked into the phone.  “You’re the Chief Engineer for this voyage!  I can’t sail without you!  You got it down there?”  An on-the-spot promotion.

With the crewing crisis concluded, Captain Harriman returned to the bridge wing.  The last lines were taken in, the pilot gave the helm and engine directions, and a tugboat helped ease the General Vandenberg away from the dock.  Soon she was turned around and heading out to sea.  Once the ship cleared the harbor, the pilot left and was taken ashore in a launch.

Just when we were settling in to a normal underway watch, a radio call came in from the tugboat dispatcher.  He had our Chief Engineer and would send him out to us.  Would we please slow down so the tugboat could catch up to us more easily?  At a much reduced speed, and with the pilot ladder again lowered, we waited for the tug.  When it arrived, it nudged along the starboard side, and the missing Chief Engineer climbed aboard.  I watched from the bridge wing with Captain Harriman, whose annoyance at this entire episode was obvious but restrained.

The scriptures inform us that “unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall much be required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more” (Luke 12:48).  I’ve often heard this paraphrased in contemporary English as, “More is expected of those to whom more is entrusted.”  Captain Harriman’s translation, related to me in a litany of complaint afterwards, was “It’s one thing for an ordinary seaman to miss the ship when it sails, but it’s altogether different when the Chief Engineer does the same thing.”  Whatever the wording, though, it’s the same principle.

Working one’s way up to either Master or Chief Engineer is a long and arduous process.  If it were easy, the licenses would be meaningless.  Because it is not easy, these licenses make a statement about the men who hold them.  They certify that these men are competent and trustworthy, that they have made the grade and paid their dues.  Simply put, the Master’s and Chief Engineer’s licenses command respect.  And it is natural for those who respect the Master and Chief Engineer to expect professionalism in return.

Over the years, I’ve seen that the majority of educated and professional people conduct themselves appropriately and responsibly.  The small number who don’t are the exceptions and not the rule.  I recall a few such standouts of egregious unprofessionalism.  One of the worst of these was the director of a college library, a place where we asked people to keep their voices down.  She frequently threw public hissy fits and vicious temper tantrums over trivial matters, one day shrieking at maximum volume and with eardrum-splitting intensity at a staff member about his lack of political correctness.  Witnessing this performance, I thought but did not say, this woman is educated to the PhD level, and this is how she behaves?

Unfortunately, not everyone “to whom much is given” returns what is “required.”  Put another way, “it’s one thing for an” illiterate street urchin to scream like a banshee at another person, “but it’s altogether different when” a highly educated professional librarian “does the same thing.”  The standards for and the expectations of the two are completely different.

After the Chief Engineer was safely returned to the General Vandenberg, he resumed his duties in the engine room.  Mr. Castro stepped down and resumed his duties as third assistant, but he received a day’s pay as Chief for his brief promotion.  The General Vandenberg then set forth on an uneventful voyage to her operations area, and after that, northwestward to Port Canaveral, Florida.  She arrived there on Wednesday, November 14, 1979.  These events took place so long ago, but I’ve always remembered the day the Chief missed the ship and was almost left behind.  I was very young then, and this episode made an impression on me.  It showed me that I could learn valuable lessons by simply observing the actions of others.