A Unique Voyage

Several months ago, my son James entered my name in a lottery to hopefully win a voyage aboard the USS Constitution when she next ventured forth from her berth on Independence Day.  An icon of the Boston waterfront, the Constitution regularly reposes at her dock at the Navy Yard in Charlestown.  Constructed in the 1790s and still an officially commissioned ship of the United States Navy, she serves primarily as a museum and historic site.  Students of maritime history and casual tourists come to Boston to visit this ship and the associated historic shipyard.  Once per year, on the 4^th of July, the Constitution gets underway to make a day cruise through Boston Harbor and render military honors to commemorate the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence.  From a pool of tens of thousands of names, a few hundred are selected by a random lottery, and these lucky few are then invited to make the Independence Day voyage as guests of the Navy.  To my infinite surprise, I became one of the lucky few this year, and I was allowed to bring one travelling companion with me.

To prepare its guests for the voyage, the Navy sent paperwork describing the shipboard accommodations and instructions for reporting aboard.  There would be low overheads, confined quarters, minimal seating, no meal service, and no air conditioning.  In other words, the Constitution was not a cruise ship!  All guests were advised to bring drinking water, a snack, and sunscreen, and to be prepared for very hot weather.  Additionally, everyone would need to pass through a military security screening prior to boarding.

I chose my son Michael as my companion, and early in the morning of Saturday, July 4, 2026, we drove from Nashua to the Charlestown neighborhood of Boston.  After passing quickly and painlessly through the security checkpoint, we boarded the vessel at 8:30am:

The scheduled sailing time was 10:00am, so we had ample opportunity to explore the ship and become acquainted with everything.  Starting on the main deck, we noticed that there were only two sails on the ship, one on the foremast and one on the mizzen.  Clearly, the Constitution would not get underway on her own today.  Nonetheless, even without sails, the masts, crosstrees, and rigging were an impressive sight, no doubt the state of the art in the late eighteenth century:

As we admired the rigging, music filled the air.  A military band played naval and patriotic songs.  Later, when underway, another band dressed in colonial uniforms would also serenade us.  Next, going below to the gun deck, we discovered a row of massive cannons on each side of the ship.  Formidable looking weapons, their very presence stated that they meant business and were not to be trifled with:

Ironically, each cannon bore a design consisting of a crown and the stylized initials GR for Georgius Rex, King George:

I asked a petty officer about this, and he explained that while these guns were replicas, they were exact copies of the originals, which were in fact British.  At the time of her construction, the Constitution was fitted with British guns because the young United States did not yet have an armaments industry of sufficient capacity.

Close to the guns were the crew quarters.  All the men who did the grunt labor and dirty work slept in hammocks in a common area, an efficient but not luxurious use of the space:

At the opposite end of the naval hierarchy were two small but private rooms for the commanding officer and his second-in-command.  Luxurious compared to the enlisted men’s quarters, these rooms reflected the levels of responsibility held by these men, a common feature of both military and commercial vessels:

These rooms featured a small sitting spot with reasonably clear windows:

And the Boston skyline was reasonably clear through one of them:

Between these extremes of accommodation were positioned the commissioned officers’ wardroom and the enlisted crewmen’s chow hall.  Both were simple affairs, although the officers’ was larger, slightly more private, and flanked by individual cubicles for sleeping.  All these spaces, whether for the officers, the crew, or the guns, were immaculately and spotlessly clean, as was the exterior main deck.  The Constitution was obviously a very well-maintained ship.

As departure time approached, Michael and I went topside again.  The tugboat Harold A. Reinauer came alongside the Constitution and was made fast amidships on the starboard side.  The Harold would tow the Constitution “on the hip” throughout her short voyage across Boston Harbor and back.  By now it had become quite hot on the main deck with the temperature in the mid-90s.  Departure was postponed while several passengers who couldn’t bear the heat went ashore to seek relief.  After this, several crewmen circulated among the older guests and inquired about their health.  I guess I looked like a tired old man because a few of these young fellows asked me, “Are you all right, sir?  Do you feel okay, sir?”  I thanked them for their concern and assured them that I felt fine.  Finally, about 10:35am, the Harold gently eased the Constitution away from the dock, and we were underway.

Propelled by the Harold, the Constitution took a direct route from Charlestown past the North End, Downtown, East Boston, and Logan Airport toward Castle Island.  She was accompanied by a fleet of Navy, Coast Guard, and police escort vessels.  No doubt intended to prevent a terrorist attack, several of these boats featured deck-mounted machine guns with crewmen at the ready.  Michael found this one just off the Constitution’s port side:

In addition to these precautions, all landings and take-offs at Logan Airport were suspended while the Constitution was in the vicinity of the runways, and a police helicopter circled the ship overhead.  More peaceful to contemplate, though, was this view over the Harold’s deck of Downtown Boston that Michael took from the Constitution’s starboard side:

Continuing past Downtown, the Constitution sailed past the modern-day cruise ship terminal and container ship docks of the Seaport District, neither of which was particularly photogenic.  Beyond this industrial neighborhood lay the Constitution’s destination.

Fort Independence sits on Castle Island.  This is not actually an island but a peninsula at the easternmost end of South Boston, a site critical to the defense of Boston Harbor long ago.  A large crowd of spectators filled the park adjacent to the fort, braving the intense heat to watch the ship and await the fireworks.  The Harold maneuvered the Constitution into position.  Several crewmen distributed ear protection to the passengers.  Then the cannons roared and billowed white smoke as the Constitution rendered a 21-gun salute in recognition of the 250^th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence.  After the noise and smoke subsided, everyone on board cheered.

It was now time to return to Charlestown.  The Harold eased the Constitution back through the harbor, past Logan Airport and the Seaport District once again.  Two large cruise ships were moored at the Black Falcon Terminal, and we supposed the passengers on these vessels were enjoying a fantastic view as the Constitution slowly passed in front of them.  At several spots along the shore, additional groups of spectators endured the extreme heat and watched the ship go by.  After a little while, when the Constitution had safely moved away from the runways, landings and take-offs resumed at Logan Airport.

As the ship passed Downtown and the North End again, Michael and I noted several landmarks that held special significance in our family history.  Chief among these were the steeple of the Old North Church, an icon of the North End and the site of Michael’s graduation at the completion of his program at the North Bennet Street School in 2013, and the Coast Guard facility on Commercial Street, the place where I had taken the exams for and received my Merchant Marine license as limited master and unlimited chief mate in 1984.  So long ago now!  As the Constitution came abeam of the Coast Guard docks, a contingent of naval officers gathered on the main deck and saluted as a cannon was fired and military honors were rendered by the Navy unto the Coast Guard.

Taking pictures of such events aboard the Constitution proved difficult because the ship was so crowded.  Hundreds of people occupied deck space that had never been designed for passengers and sightseers.  Nonetheless, we emerged with a few good shots, including one of the North End skyline that shows how the neighborhood has burgeoned since Michael’s school years there:

Michael also captured this dramatic upward-looking view of the foremast and its associated rigging, the part of the ship that had impressed me the most when we first stepped aboard:

And as Michael had studied wood working at North Bennet Street, it seemed only fitting that he would discover this wood-carved Navy emblem:

With the Constitution now approaching her dock in Charlestown, the Harold gently turned her around and then eased her stern first into the mooring basin and with her port side to the wharf.  Getting the ship into position, putting out the mooring lines, and placing the gangway were time-consuming processes.  We rested in the shade and comparative cool of the gun deck during this evolution.  Many passengers, however, seemed anxious to return ashore, and they huddled in the heat at the gangway area.  About 1:10pm, after approximately two hours and thirty-five minutes of underway time, we were free to go ashore.  As we stepped onto the dock, a crewman presented us with certificates that testified of our having made this short but unique voyage:

I must give credit to all the military personnel, both aboard the Constitution and shoreside.  They were consistently and unfailingly professional—polite, courteous, welcoming, friendly, and perhaps most importantly, showing compassion and concern for guests experiencing difficulty with the heat.

Ashore now under a partly cloudy sky and with a fresh breeze that gave some relief from the heat, we paused to take a few more pictures of the Constitution, one of which I found somewhat distinctive:

In the Navy Yard gift shop, however, I found a much better likeness, appropriately an antiqued portrait of an antique ship:

Finally, I think it appropriate to recollect that when the Constitution was built in the 1790s, her namesake Constitution was as yet a largely untried and unproven document.  Founded on a combination of Christian principles and Enlightenment philosophical ideals, the Constitution has by now withstood the test of time, despite having been disregarded and contradicted by some government officials who had taken an oath to uphold and defend it.  Tragically, such crime continues in our day, and it contravenes the appeal to moral integrity set forth by Katherine Lee Bates in the hymn “America the Beautiful:”

Confirm thy soul in self-control,

Thy liberty in law.

Such political crime also ignores the scriptural assertion that the

law of the land which is constitutional, supporting that principle of freedom in maintaining rights and privileges, belongs to all mankind, and is justifiable before me (D&C 98:5).

Sacred scripture speaks further of

the laws and constitution of the people, which I have suffered to be established, and should be maintained for the rights and protection of all flesh, according to just and holy principles (D&C 101:77).

With these thoughts in mind, I am very thankful for the unexpected but golden opportunity that I received from my son James to sail aboard the Constitution on her annual Independence Day cruise with my son Michael, and I most certainly appreciate the high ethical standards that inspired the establishment of the original Constitution.

From the Sea to the Hinterland: Outward Bound

For half an hour or so in the late morning of Monday, April 21, 2014, I stood at the Boston harbor front and gazed upon the water.  Dark blue and serene beneath a clear blue sky dominated by brilliant sunlight, the seawater beckoned to me, as it always does.  In a similar moment in my vagabond youth, I would have stepped across a gangway and boarded a ship about to set sail.  Today, however, was to be different.  Instead of going to sea I would undertake a long inland voyage, by railroad. 

At 11:55am, Amtrak’s Lake Shore Limited was scheduled to depart from nearby South Station. This train would convey me away from the waterfront and into the Midwest along the route of the old Boston and Albany and New York Central Railroads to Chicago.  There in Union Station I would transfer to the California Zephyr and travel across the Great Plains, through the Rocky Mountains, and across the desert on the route of the old Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy and Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroads to Provo, Utah.  My purpose in making this journey was to attend Miss Karen Elizabeth’s graduation ceremonies at Brigham Young University.  With mixed feelings of reluctance and anticipation, I pried myself away from the salt water in front of me and walked to South Station, ready to board the train.

The Lake Shore Limited departed on time.  Ensconced in a coach seat next to a window on the right side, I enjoyed the view as the train ran the length of Massachusetts and into upstate New York.  The train passed through the crowded Boston suburbs and made its first stop in Framingham as the Boston Marathon was wending its way through town, supervised by an army of police with a fleet of ambulances at the ready.  Following further stops at the magnificently restored station in Worcester and the disappointingly dilapidated station in Springfield, the train entered the Berkshires.  Small farms filled the valleys and gentler slopes amid these mountains and formed a rural landscape vastly different from the eastern end of the Commonwealth.  After Pittsfield, the train descended toward sea level again, and at last emerged from the peaceful wooded hills as it approached the junction in Rensselaer, New York.

Rensselaer was an important stop.  There the Boston section of the Lake Shore Limited would be merged into the larger New York section that was coming up the Hudson from Manhattan.  Operating on a padded schedule, the Boston section arrived first and needed to wait.  Disembarking for the duration along with many other passengers, I looked around the new station, watched trains come and go, and remembered when I had visited the companion cities of Albany and Rensselaer as a teenager.  I had come up here several times aboard the tug Charger as she hauled the gasoline barge Interstate 35 in the summer of 1978.  I had visited the Amtrak station and the state capital, in addition to the petroleum docks and related waterfront landmarks.  So long ago!  It felt good to be back and feel the gentle breeze from the river, even if only briefly.  Presently the New York section of the train arrived.  Its locomotives were removed; the Boston section was backed into place; the two sections were coupled together; and the now enlarged Lake Shore Limited departed on time at 7:05pm.

From Rensselaer the train crossed the Hudson and skirted the north side of Albany.  Within view of the magnificent campus of the state capital buildings, the train passed slowly through a ramshackle neighborhood of abandoned industrial buildings with shattered windows and crumbling masonry.  Soon enough, the train entered the famous main line that crosses the sprawling farmland of upstate New York and accelerated.  Station stops in Schenectady, Utica, Syracuse, and Rochester followed as darkness gradually enveloped the landscape.  The stop for Buffalo was made in suburban Depew close to midnight.  A few minutes later, the grand old Buffalo Central Terminal came into view.  An icon of the old New York Central Railroad, it has since become a victim of deferred maintenance and fallen into disuse.  Happily, though, plans for its rehabilitation are in the offing.

Through the dark night the Lake Shore Limited crossed the northwestern corner of Pennsylvania and the northern tier of Ohio.  I slept quite soundly through Erie, Cleveland, and Elyria.  A bit after 5:00am, I awoke in Sandusky, Ohio, and gazed seaward as the train crossed a bridge spanning a narrow section of Sandusky Bay.  Lake Erie lay faintly visible just beyond.  Shore lights penetrating the predawn darkness reflected on the water’s calm surface.  Dozing again, I reawoke in the Toledo station, another large and once-impressive facility that had fallen on hard times.

While sleeping through the night in a coach seat probably sounds uncomfortable, it actually was not.  Unlike airplane seats, the Amtrak seats were wide and spacious with leg rests and ample room to stretch out.  The lighting was subdued, and the other passengers were quiet.  Those who detrained and those who came aboard during the night did so with minimal disturbance.  Overall, it was very peaceful. The train did carry sleeping cars and a dining car, but for this one night I opted for coach and supplied my own food, and it worked out quite well.  Soon after the night receded, the train crossed into Indiana.  An early-morning stop was made in the farming community of Waterloo, followed by stops in Elkhart and South Bend.

Running about an hour late, the Lake Shore Limited reached South Bend around 10:00am.  This was one of the highlights of the journey.  As the train slowed on its approach to the station, the Golden Dome and the chapel spire of the University of Notre Dame came momentarily into view.  The gold of the dome shone brilliantly in the bright sunlight and contrasted beautifully with the blue sky behind it.  For a second an industrial structure along the tracks blocked the view, but then the Golden Dome reappeared briefly for an encore performance before the train passed through a changing landscape and came into the station.

Seeing Notre Dame again was a family history moment.  My older brother—the smart one of the two of us—attended the University of Notre Dame from 1967 to 1971 and graduated with a degree in computer science.  My parents and I made one journey by automobile to Notre Dame in each of those school years.  The first year we delivered him; in the second and third years we attended football games; and finally we watched him graduate.  So long ago, but many happy memories!

West of South Bend the Lake Shore Limited became delayed by heavy freight traffic and track repair work.  As had been the case all along, freight train after freight train went by in both directions, bisecting the seemingly endless cornfields of northern Indiana.  Presently the train entered the cornfields of Illinois.  As the landscape became industrial again the freight traffic increased exponentially.  The train waited for a while at a point a few miles south of Chicago and a few hundred feet west of Lake Michigan.  The bright blue and calm water of the lake looked both inviting and refreshing.  A short distance offshore, a cargo ship was sailing north.  Finally, at 11:10am Central Time, the Lake Shore Limited arrived at Chicago Union Station.

This was another family history moment.  My grandfather, Robert Burns, had made many business journeys to Chicago by rail in the 1920s, 30s, and 40s.  Arriving via the old New York Central and Pennsylvania Railroads, he had passed through Union Station and nearby La Salle Street Station frequently.  I had been there once before myself, in 1979, and Miss Patty and the three older children had all passed through Chicago several times in recent years.  Today I felt that I was catching up with the rest of the family!  With nearly three hours between trains, I went outside and walked through the busy city streets.  Tour boats laden with sightseers glided along the narrow Chicago River, dwarfed by skyscrapers on both sides and partially canopied by bridges spaced a block apart.  A cold east wind blew through town from Lake Michigan.  A bright and sunny but chilly spring day in the aptly named Windy City.

Shortly before 2:00pm, it was time to board the California Zephyr.  This train consisted of double-decker coaches and sleepers, as well as a dining car and sightseer-lounge car.  On this leg of the journey, I had a roomette in one of  sleeping cars.  My private little space was located on the right side of the lower level of the last car on the train, one of five such roomettes in a cluster.  Restrooms, showers, luggage storage racks, and a self-service beverage bar were located a few steps away in the vestibule in the center of the car.  It all formed a convenient, comfortable, and quiet neighborhood.  The dining car was two cars ahead, and the lounge car was the next one ahead of the diner.  All together, these facilities were a bit more spacious than my coach seat on the previous train!

Right on time at 2:00 o’clock, the California Zephyr eased southward out of Union Station.  Turning to the southwest, she rolled through the suburbs of Chicago and before very long came into the great American heartland.  All through Illinois and Iowa the train sailed across a sea of farmland.  Occasionally it stopped at small settlements like Princeton and Galesburg and Ottumwa where grain elevators crowded around the stations.  Between stops, it was like being at sea.  Mile after mile after mile of flat farmland extended uninterrupted to the horizon in all directions on both sides of the tracks with the train constantly at the center of the circle.  Numerous freight trains hurried past in the opposite direction on the adjacent track.  The gentle motion of the train resembled that of a ship in a mild sea; it could easily lull one to sleep.  I spent the afternoon reposing in the quiet solitude of my roomette watching a continent go by outside my window with no responsibility except to enjoy the ride and show up on time for dinner.  It was a very pleasant feeling; I could get used to it!  Yet I was not completely alone.  I remained in contact with the rest of the family via text messaging.  James in particular sent me many memos concerning the details of train travel that I would need to know.  At dinner time I walked forward to the dining car where I enjoyed a gourmet meal of strip loin steak and mashed potatoes with cheesecake and strawberries for dessert.  While I was dining the train crossed the Mississippi River.  Back in my own space at bedtime, I was lulled into a sound sleep in my cozy little bed after watching the sun set over a sea of farmland in western Iowa.

Daylight the next morning found me in Colorado.  I had slept all the way across Nebraska.  On awakening, I needed to orient myself to the day of the week.  Traveling by train resembles traveling by ship this way.  When several days are spent en route, the time can become a blur.  It was now Wednesday morning, two days and two nights after I had begun my journey in now far-off New England.  This evening, Wednesday night, I would arrive in Provo.  With this minor matter straightened out, I tended to my morning ablutions and then sat down to an early breakfast of French toast, sausage, and orange juice in the dining car.  Following breakfast, I found a seat in the already crowded sightseer-lounge car and gazed upon gradually sloping farmland and the distant Rocky Mountains as the train approached Denver.

The California Zephyr backed into Denver Union Station at 8:00am, an hour behind schedule.  This was a service stop of about 45 minutes’ duration.  In this interval the passengers could disembark  while a service crew fueled, watered, provisioned, and cleaned the train.  I stepped ashore and looked around the station.  It had been undergoing a major rebuilding and rehabilitation project for about the last two years, and the results were impressive.  Everything was clean and bright with new tracks, new platforms, and a beautifully rejuvenated station building of classical architecture.  The surrounding neighborhood was likewise seeing major improvements.  New office buildings and condominiums were filling downtown, with Union Station serving as the central focal point of the area.  Walking about in the cool morning air with the bright sunshine and clear blue sky felt refreshing and invigorating after a restful night aboard the train.   And so my first impression of Denver, the Mile High City, was a very good one.

From Denver the California Zephyr continued westward and uphill and before very long entered the Rocky Mountains.  Following extensively curvaceous track, the train twisted and turned through valleys and along mountainsides and passed through numerous short tunnels.  I considered myself fortunate to have found a seat in the now very crowded sightseer-lounge car, which with its oversized floor-to-ceiling windows offered the best vantage point for taking in the view.  This was my first time seeing the Rocky Mountains, and the view of them from the train was simply spectacular.  In the late morning, the train reached the summit of the rail line and transited the six-mile-long Moffatt Tunnel through the Continental Divide at an elevation of 9,239 feet above sea level.  From this point it was downhill through the mountains and canyons of western Colorado.

Also at this point I had my first experience with a very mild case of altitude sickness.  I did not really get sick, but just didn’t feel right—lethargic, uncomfortable, queasy, etc.  To alleviate this condition I retired to my roomette and put my feet up, ate some bland crackers to settle my stomach, and skipped lunch.  I also stepped outside at the next few station stops to get some fresh air.  After a little while, and as the train continued into lower altitudes, I felt fine again.  By dinnertime, the train was emerging from the famous Glen Canyon through which it followed the Colorado River, and I sat down to another banquet of steak and potatoes in the dining car.  So much for altitude sickness!

After Glen Canyon the landscape changed to hills and orchards, then to high plains, and then to the famous Ruby Canyon.  By this time the sun hung low in the western sky.  As the California Zephyr passed through the canyon, the now softening sunlight struck its ragged rock walls and illuminated them in magnificent shades of red that defy description.  Ruby Canyon was indeed aptly named.  At its base, the Colorado River again flowed alongside the track.  The river and the railroad parted company after a while, though, and the train entered the desert of southeastern Utah, a sea of empty and uncultivated land that stretched for many miles in all directions to the horizon.  I watched the sun set over the desert, and then dozed off for a while.

By this time the California Zephyr was running about two and a half hours late.  She would arrive in Provo at nearly midnight.  From Provo the train would continue to Salt Lake City and then across Nevada and California to the San Francisco Bay area, but without me.  As I approached the end of my long journey I thought of all that I had seen and experienced since leaving Boston.  What impressed me the most was the enormous food-growing capacity of this country. With the obvious exceptions of the cities and the mountains, from western Massachusetts to western Colorado were farmlands.  In a trek of approximately 2,500 miles,  I reckoned that about 1,700 of those miles contained farmland, whether used for orchards, livestock, or wheat and grain.  A very impressive and thought-provoking sight of “a land which is choice above all other lands.”[1]  Also very impressive was the engineering work of building a railroad with tunnels through the backbone of the Rocky Mountains, truly a monument to American ingenuity and perseverance.  And yet, there was decay in some of the cities, which seemed out of place in a choice land.

Anyway, close to midnight, the California Zephyr came to a halt in the Provo station.  I stepped ashore from this great train for the last time and was greeted on the platform by my beloved little girl, Miss Karen Elizabeth.  She and her friend Magnolia had come to welcome me and drive me to my lodging near the campus of Brigham Young University.  I was very happy to see her again, of course, but also a bit sad to see my train leaving the station without me.  Later on when people would exclaim in surprise, “You rode the train to Utah?!  How long did that take?”  I would answer, “Not long enough!”  And it was true; I could have very happily kept going!

But tonight Miss Karen wanted to know all about my journey.  She had ridden the trains between Boston and Provo several times herself, and we enjoyed comparing notes.  We chatted as I got settled in a spare room in the apartment of Taylor Anderson, her home teacher.

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[1] Ether 2:10.