Merchant Mariner Sea Stories

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The Buffalo Soldier in Africa True sea stories from the African continent By: John Gibbons, 3rd Mate

INTRODUCTION I was enjoying a rainy and cool winter day in January at home in Hawaii, getting ready to ship out in a week or so, and watching T.V., when the phone rang. It was John Morris from Red River Shipping and he was offering me a job as Third Mate aboard one of their ships, The Buffalo Soldier. He explained to me that the ship would be loading grain in Lake Charles, LA, and Houston, TX, and taking it to three different West African ports. This took me by surprise as I was already due to leave in a week or so aboard one of my old ships, The Cape Washington, but I have always wanted to go to Africa, and how much better could it be than on a grain ship? They take days, if not weeks, to offload. Therefore, a seaman could spend a fair amount of time ashore. I asked him if I could consider the offer and let him know in a few hours, to which he acquiesced. Well now, let me think about this, the Cape Washington pays 1.5 times more, it has two decks (it’s a converted car ship that hauls military vehicles), it has an elevator that goes into the cargo holds, and there’s a nice gym with a swimming pool and big staterooms. The Buffalo Soldier probably has a lot of decks, a lot of cranes and cargo gear, who knows what living facilities are like, and the pay is less. The Cape Washington is going to the Persian Gulf and the Buffalo Soldier is going to Africa- For me, that was the deciding factor. I wanted to see Africa; I mean, I really wanted to experience Africa. You see, most people think to themselves, when I tell them I’ve been somewhere, that they can relate their travel experiences to mine. As a seaman, that is not entirely accurate. The simple reason is that we work with

the people in those foreign lands, it is not a holiday. What better way to get to know foreign people, than to work side by side with them, to problem solve a situation with them? Now that’s a great way to experience different cultures. When you go on a holiday and pay big bucks for that time away from your normal reality everything is spit polished. Nothing at the docks is spit polished, it’s raw and unedited. I knew that taking the Buffalo Soldier would be new, exciting, challenging, and different, so I called John Morris back and accepted the job. What I didn’t realize at the time was that I’d see eight different countries on all sides of the African continent, cross the Atlantic or Indian Ocean several times, go to Madagascar, round the Cape of Good Hope, transit the Suez Canal, back load U.S military containers in Turkey, circumnavigate the entire African continent, and spend shy of one whole year aboard that ship. As for those life changing experiences I sought- I was quickly hardened in a way that only Africa can do to a person. I learned how to hustle or be hustled, fight off pirates bandits and thieves, find a place in my heart for two lovely women, and discover a happiness and fun spirited connection with some of the poorest and most destitute people on Earth. I also didn’t realize how thoroughly demanding the work for that ship would be, and when I say demanding, I truly mean it. I’m getting ahead of myself though, that’s all in the story. Let’s meet the Buffalo Soldier and go to sea!

CHAPTER 1 “GETTING THE SHIP READY FOR SEA” This is a story about my experiences aboard the Buffalo Soldier, and the time I spent in Africa. Before I begin telling you of Africa though, let’s begin with loading the ship and preparing for sea… I arrive in Lake Charles, Louisiana, a nice small industrial city 30 miles inland, up in the Bayou. It’s January, and the weather is nice and pleasant, the people seem nice as well. I find the ship at the City Docks, she’s

good looking. I note her five cranes, and I’m kind of scoping her out. There’s a truck at the foot of the gangway and a man is loading boxes into it. He asks me, “Are you the new Third Mate?” I tell him that I am and he replies, “Great, you’re my relief, and I am really glad you’re here." “I’ll bet you’re ready to go home,” I empathize. “Like you wouldn’t believe- this last voyage was a fucking nightmare, and to top it off, the Captain is a complete asshole- I hope I never see him again.” With an air of interest, I raised my eyebrows, giving him a “hmm” in return. He finished our conversation with, “Let’s head up and see the Captain so I can get the hell out of here.” Up the gangway I hauled my sea bag and dropped it off in my new stateroom. We proceeded to the Captain’s office, where I met him and handed over my shipping papers, passport, etc. He told me to come back and see him in a few hours, welcome aboard, and then he asked the off-going Third Mate if he was ready to payoff. I left them to finish their particulars alone and headed to my room to begin unpacking. Now, usually you get a turnover from the off-going officer, after all this is a ship. Well, this guy shows up after his payoff and hands me a floppy drive diskette, says his relief notes are on it and, “…by the way, you are also the Medical Officer. See ya.” “Uh, okay, I got it,” I reply, as he heads out the door. I’m reflecting on how interesting that interaction was when the Second Mate comes to my door. He introduces himself as Mel Santos, he is from Puerto Rico. I introduce myself, and as it turns out, Mel kind of got the same treatment from the guy he relieved a few hours prior. However, he didn’t even get any relief notes, just the parting words, “The Captain is a major asshole, fuck this ship. See ya.” Mel hangs out with me for a while as I unpack and he seems really nice. We have a lot in common and had been on some of the same ships, we are both hawespipers (not graduates from a maritime academy), had a love for the tropics, and so on… Of course, we also had this common concern about the ship from the nature of our reliefs’ departures. Within an hour we had kind of made a bond to watch out for one other as we felt out the ship. “You about ready to go find the Chief Mate and see what’s up?” Mel asks me.

“I guess so, let's do it.” We found the Chief Mate with his relief, at least they were getting a proper turnover, in hold #2 trying to get a forklift started. The off-going Chief Mate immediately stressed that this is a real hard working ship, “It’s nonstop on here.” Even this guy seems hot and ready to leave the ship behind him. The new Chief Mate is Mike Lamb- he is short and stocky, from Jersey, maybe 30 or so, and also seems nice. Within minutes I find myself at the nozzle of a 1 ½” fire hose, on a pallet fifteen feet off the deck, using the now fixed forklift, with a seaman driving me around the hold so I can wash the bulkheads clean of the last cargo. As I worked that afternoon I began to grow familiar with the ship and the way she works. The Buffalo Soldier is 750 feet long and has five 40-ton cranes, one crane for each hold. Each hold has three decks, an upper tween, a lower tween, and the tank deck- the tank deck is the very bottom. The tank decks are sixty feet high, and the tweens are twenty-five feet high. The tween decks open and close with hydraulic deck covers, and there are over one hundred of them. On the main deck, which is the weather deck, the hatch covers are lifted off with one of the cranes. All five hatches are separated into fore and aft, starboard, center, and port. The main deck hatches are big too, up to twenty-five tons; try moving one of those around in a stiff breeze. The ship is chartered to carry foodstuffs for the World Food Program, devised by the United Nations, to deliver food to needy countries. The ship can hold up to 26,000 tons of food (in pounds that’s 50 million). Now, that’s a lot of food! As I was saying earlier, I was washing down the cargo holds of the old cargo, that is, to get the holds ready for inspection by the U.S.D.A. The ship can handle bulk cargo, bagged cargo, or even take vehicles and containers. On the ship’s previous voyage they carried bulk corn to Angola. That means that the tank decks were loaded with unbagged corn. They had stuck a huge pipe in the holds and filled them with kernels. So now, after the corn has been discharged, the holds need to be cleaned of what’s left behind before the new cargo can go in. Bulk cargo, as you can imagine, can get everywhere, and now I’m the one cleaning it out. We were only in Lake Charles for a few days. We got holds #2 and #3 passed and partially loaded with about 3,000 tons of bagged grain. We still had to clean and have 1, 4, and 5 inspected, as well as take the ship to Houston to load the rest of the cargo. On this voyage, we are going to be

taking grain, corn, beans and 4,000 tons of vegetable oil. The vegetable oil comes in 5-gallon cans and is loaded in the RO/RO space underneath the ship's superstructure, accessed by a huge stern ramp that is deployed onto the dock. It’s time to get underway for Houston. We take on our Pilot, the local expert on the harbor and its passages, at 0800, which falls on my watch. I have the 0800-1200, and 2000-2400, navigation watches on the bridge when we are underway. Leaving Lake Charles was lovely- from eighty feet up I had a great view of all the creeks, rivers, and tributaries that make up the Bayou. There were lots of waterfowl and fish leaping out of the water. The channel out to sea is very narrow and full of tight bends and turns, we must be very careful and proceed at a safe slow speed. All ships take on a Pilot in all harbors worldwide; he usually takes command of the vessel while the captain monitors the situation. There is a Helmsman steering, as per the Pilot or Captains’ orders, and the Navigation Officer checking the ship's position, monitoring the RADAR, controlling the ships speed, and logging important information. After six hours down the river, we dropped the Pilot off at the sea buoy onto a boat that came out to get him. The Captain then ordered, “Full ahead, Mate.” “Aye, Captain,” I replied, and rang up full ahead on the engine order telegraph. 0800 the next morning finds me up on the bridge to relieve the Chief Mate. I look out the bridge window and see pea soup-thick fog, I can’t even see the bow of the ship. I look at the chart at our position and see we’re in a navigation fairway about two hours from the Pilot station and sea buoy. There are lots of oil rigs around, and looking into the RADAR confirms the rigs as well as other ships and lots of small boats that are probably supply for the rigs. I’m thinking this is pretty hairy basically navigating blind, only relying on the RADAR. Nothing visual, period. The Mate goes over some things with me, such as our last position, orders to try and contact the pilot by VHF radio, RADAR contacts, oil rig position, etc. He finishes with, “I’m ready to get out of here, you got it?” “Yeah, I got it,” and out the door he goes. “Pretty thick this fog, huh?” says my Helmsman. “We couldn’t even see what we hit if we hit something, I can’t even see the bow.” I answered, “Let’s pay extra close attention to what we are

doing, keep an extra sharp lookout as best as you can.” “Aye, Aye,” he confirmed. Well, we anchored successfully and waited for the fog to lift and for our Pilot to come out. A few hours later we had our Pilot aboard, heading up the Houston Ship Channel to Jacinto Port to load our cargo. The Houston Ship Channel is pretty intense, there are lots of navigation marks, lots of boat and ship traffic, and it’s very narrow and windy. Pilots do what’s called “The Texas Chicken.” As two vessels are meeting each other, head to head, they steer directly for one another and at the last minute each comes right and the cushion from the displaced water of each ship pushes them away from each other as they pass within only 50 to 100 feet. So up the ship channel we went. It takes about six hours to get to Houston. The loading docks are right next to the Texas Monument in San Jacinto where Santa Ana was captured and Texas claimed its independence. I’m sure it looked a lot different then, now it’s full of industrial growth. All the liquid chemicals and petroleum products for the country are manufactured here; this place is industry in all its glory. We tie up alongside and right away start loading cargo. At this port they are very efficient and lower into the holds a spiral escalator, or as we call it a “spiralvator.” It has a shoot at the end of a swirling conveyor belt that can be directed anywhere, and the bags come off from there, whereas, in Lake Charles, or some other loading ports, the bags come aboard on pallets that require ten or so men to then lift the bags off and place them in the hold. These bags are big and heavy, 50 or 100 pounds each, so you can see that the manual method of loading could take a while, and hell, we are going to load half a million bags. In Africa they will offload each bag by hand, but more on that later. Things are going good so far, but that is about to change. Before I get into that, let me introduce you to some other men in the ship’s crew. We got a new Captain (the other Captain was not as bad as those other mates had said), his name is Scott Holdsworth, and he is the ship’s Senior Captain. He is about 5’7” and weighs 210lbs of thick muscle. You can’t even see his neck it’s so thick, connected directly to his wide shoulders. He is about forty and is very intense, kind of a bulldog, barks a lot, and has no room for what he terms, “girl AB’s.” AB is the term used for the ship’s seaman working in the deck department, AB stands for Able-Bodied Seaman. With Captain

Holdsworth you better be ready to come out on deck and work hard, get dirty, and love every minute of it- with him there is no other way. Mike Lamb, the Chief Mate, whom we met a bit earlier, seems to be a cool and calm kind of guy. He too is hard working but understands the limits of work, and he doesn’t try and make apples out of oranges, which can be very nice. Then there is the Second Mate, Mel Santos, and of course me, the Third Mate. The AB assigned to my watch is a Philippino by the name of Romeo Escalera. He is hardworking, knowledgeable, and always seems to be there when you need him; I will soon find out that Romeo will become very important to me. The other AB’s are Katadema Yague (we call him by his last name) from Togo, now living in Philadelphia, and Nick Varady, an Alaskan fishing Captain. Both are top-shelf seaman. Nick must have had salt water running in his veins as he held an attitude of complete and superior knowledge on the deck, and it only took a few minutes of working with him to see it. Then we have Steve Hutchins, a fine young man, this is his first ship as AB. Billy Stokes, a good ole’ boy from down south Florida, always eager to help out and work as much as we’d let him. We also have two Ordinary Seamen aboard, Dan Anderson from upstate New York, and a big wideshouldered boy from Missouri named Robert Raines, we called him Hawse, and he was our living piece of heavy equipment. Of course, topping off every good deck department is your lead guy, the Bos’n. Our Bos’n is named Orlando, and he has been working on the ship for several years and knew it all, he was dedicated and very helpful. Orlando knew he was the man, but was always very humble, easy spoken, and carried a big smile. We’ve been in port now for two days trying to get our holds cleaned out and ready for inspection, of which we’ve already had two, and failed them both. Captain Holdsworth calls me up to his office and says in a very irritated way, “Third Mate, meet the USDA inspector in hold number 4 for inspection. These guys are being real assholes and are hitting us on every little corn kernel they find. We are already behind on our loading schedule, and every day spent here is costing the company money.” I respond,” Very well Sir, we’ve been working hard trying to get these holds ready, I hope they pass.” He suspiciously growls,” We’ll see,” and I head out the door for the hold.

I see the man looking around the upper tween with his clipboard and flashlight. Introducing myself as the Third Mate and tell him I will be assisting him during his inspection. He introduces himself as Chris Osbourne, and we shake hands. I notice that Chris is about fifty and in very good shape, with broad shoulders, tan despite it being January in Texas, he has on a Quicksilver shirt with Vans sneakers, and he is wearing a dive watch. I decide to shoot from the hip and I ask him,” Chris, are you a surfer?” “Yeah I am,” he says, “are you?” “Yeah I am, I live in Hawaii.” That was it for me and Chris, we got along famously. Turns out he was in that movie, “Step into Liquid,” where they showed those guys surfing the displaced bow waves of tankers entering or leaving Galveston. After at least an hour of talking my favorite subject he says, “Well it looks pretty good in here,” and passes not only number 4 hold, but number 5 as well. Needless to say, the Captain was very happy. So now Romeo and I are lifting off the main deck hatches so that loading can begin in the holds, when I hear over the radio, “All hands port side D deck oil spill, all hands port side D deck oil spill.” I yell up to Romeo in the crane cab to, “Set the hatch down NOW and let’s go!!” We both double time it to the scene and on the way there I’m thinking to myself, this is bad. After all, other than a fire or flooding, this is the worst thing that can happen, especially in port. I get to the scene of the spill and find the whole deck under an inch of black oil, where it has flowed down the ladder to the aft mooring station, which too, is under an inch of the viscous problem. The spill appears to be at least 300 gallons, and fortunately, most has stayed aboard, with only about 20 gallons having gone over the side. Several people are already at the scene, including the Third Engineer, who was transferred the oil and obviously left it unattended- no time now to point fingers. We hauled to the scene, I don’t know how many, 50-pound bags of oil absorbent sand and oil absorbent cloth, along with shovels and empty barrels. After several nasty hours of work, we got the oil cleaned up and had notified the proper shore side authorities. Annually the ship has to go through a U.S Coast Guard inspection and that annual date had arrived. Now, I can’t take responsibility for this inspection, after all, I’ve only been aboard the ship for two weeks. Myself and Mel were called to the Captain’s office to get the ball rolling. In his

office are six U.S.C.G. Inspectors, the Captain, the Chief Engineer, and the Chief Mate. The Captain tells Mel and the Mate to go with two inspectors to the port lifeboat and to lower it for them. He then tells me to go with the one female inspector and show her the fire stations, life rafts, pyrotechnics, emergency gear lockers, and the rest of the ships general lifesaving/safety equipment. The remaining inspectors leave with the Chief Engineer to the engine room. The female inspector, Amy, was very nice and we joked around a lot, she carried a good sense of humor. Amy had graduated from California Maritime Academy and had shipped out as a Third Mate, but she felt she wanted more adventure in her career so she joined the Coast Guard. Now she’s a ship safety inspector in Galveston. She tells me she made the wrong decision but has no regrets. We are checking out the ship’s fire stations, there are eighty aboard, making sure that hoses are in good condition, that the nozzles are working, and that the right accessories are with each station as called for in the ship’s safety equipment plan. She is kind of light-hearted and we are actually having a good time when I get a call over the radio to come right away to the port lifeboat. Together we wondered, what’s this all about? Things had seemed to be going well… When we get there the lifeboat is being raised back up to the ship, and I ask the Mate what’s going on. He tells me, with a look of humor on his face, to look over the side at the boat. There is Mel with a broken-off tiller in his hand, looking at it in pure disbelief. The tiller had snapped clean off the top of the apparently rotted rudder. After stowing the boat, the Coast Guard went over to the starboard boat and determined that the same thing would probably happen to it. They not only failed us, but they took our C.O.I. from the Captain, which means until we fix the problem and get our C.O.I. back, the ship can’t sail. Maybe those other mates were right, is this ship a piece of…….? The Captain immediately ran to the store and purchases material for me to fabricate two new rudders. Three days later we have our C.O.I in hand, but it still comes with a huge list of other discrepancies that we have to address by our return to the U.S. The Captain was very happy with my rudders, and it seems that he likes me, he would never admit that, but we are getting along well. I think he likes me because he loves his work as a seaman, he loves being on the deck working cargo, running cranes and winches, rigging things and getting dirty; I’m the same way. It is not by accident that I’m a seaman, I

love the sea, I fall in love with my ships, and I love the deck. Some mates are not like that, they think that being a Mate means being a Navigation Officer on the bridge, where everything is polished and clean, including yourself. They forget that that is only half of the job, and the other half is on the deck working cargo, checking mooring lines, working winches, taking on ship’s stores, and being responsible for the gangway and shipboard security. Nothing comes easy on deck, especially on this ship, as I’m now discovering. It turns out Mel is becoming a “spit-polished Mate.” When Mel looks at work on deck with distaste, I look at it as challenging and exciting. So, it is becoming clear that the Captain and Mel are not getting along, and in his bulldog style, the Captain is expressing that, outwardly. The ship is now about 48 hours from finishing loading cargo and getting underway. It’s about 2000 and one of the longshoremen comes up to me and says that there is a problem with the number two crane- they have been using it to load bags of peas in that hold. So I get Hawse and together we go to see what the problem is. Both of us climb up the malfunctioning machine and into the cab. I turn to release the stop button and turn it on, which seems to be alright, slew left and then right, and that’s all good, but then I try to raise the hook... it raises alright and then will not stop raising. I try turning the control to down, but no luck it keeps going up. Then I hit the all-stop button, but again no luck, it keeps going up, and as it goes further up it starts to go faster. Again, I hit the all-stop, but the crane won’t turn off, and the hook and block are going to collide into the end of the boom head. I yell down to the longshoremen who are taking a break below while we see what the problem is, “Gangway below, runaway block, get out of the way below!” These guys looked up and saw the hook and block speeding toward the boom head and leaped out of the way like Olympic gymnast stars- swoosh, and they were gone. Again, I hit the all-stop, but nothing. Hawse and I saw that the inevitable was now bound to occur. He wanted to escape the cab and climb out of the crane, to which I told him no, that this is the safest place- The wire could snap and the block could come crashing down with 600 feet of wire flying around everywhere, stay here and hold on, here it comes. CRASH, SLAM, as the block hit the boom head and made the boom and crane house shake and rumble. Then it eased off a bit and, SLAM, it hit again, shaking the boom and crane house violently a second time. Again, it kept easing and then hitting the boom head, shaking and jolting the whole

crane. All I kept thinking was, please don’t let that wire snap and that hook and block with 600 feet of wire come crashing down. Now the wire jumped the sheave and was pinched, the block was tilted and hitting the boom head at an angle, shaking the boom and crane with these incredible earthquake-like jolts. Then it hit again and shook the whole crane so hard I was shaking in the cab, both from fear and the hit. Please stop, please stop, I kept thinking to myself, and then it did, it stopped, the crane shut down. The hook and block were pressed up into the boom head and the wire held and it was over, the crane shorted out and finally shut down. “Thank God,” I breathed, Hawse and I released a heavy sigh of relief. Everyone was OK on deck and the wire didn’t snap. I knew at least that the wire could be replaced; it would be a big job, but not nearly as big had the hook and block come crashing down. We opened up the cab door and smelled burned electrical parts, I checked the area for sparks and fire, but there was none and the area seemed to be OK. Now it’s time to call the Captain and tell him what had happened, boy was I freaked out, I thought everybody would blame me. To my surprise, the Chief Engineer and Captain said that they would have done the same thing. After further inspection by the Chief, it seemed that the wrong circuit card was installed in the last maintenance period. “It could have happened to anyone, it was only a matter of time.” What I should have known was where the main breaker was and pulled it, but I hadn’t been shown that- you bet I know where all five of them are at now! The Captain agreed that I wasn’t expected to know where they were, or at least it was understandable that I didn’t know, seeing as I had only been aboard a short time and was thrown right into the work scene immediately. The next day we manually rotated the crane to its sea-stowed position and had new spools of wire delivered. I could only imagine the cost of that wire being delivered within 24 hours. The Captain decided that we would deal with the new wire at sea on our way across the Atlantic, weather permitting. The ship is loaded and ready for sea, we are scheduled to depart that evening. I’m thinking to myself, I wonder if those other mates were right, is the ship all screwed up? I’ve been on a lot of ships and seen a lot of things, but I had never seen a lifeboat fall apart, the Coast Guard pull a COI, oil spills, or a crane run away. On the other hand, it’s Africa I really want to see

and experience, and that is dominating my thoughts. I’m really excited to get there. Before we get underway, I want to share with you two stories that were told to me only hours before we shipped out. Both have relevance to the Buffalo Soldier and what Africa would be like. I’m sitting at the lunch table with the Captain and Jim Barr, Jim is the ship’s Super Cargo, the person that the company hires to be the liaison between the ship, the charter, and shore side workers, to make sure that loading or offloading happens. We start talking about Africa and the ship’s last port of call over there, Angola. It seems the last trip took over two weeks longer than scheduled. The reason being is that the port was dragging its feet trying to keep the ship there as long as possible. They had equipment problems, longshoremen problems, they had to shift the ship so that another higher priority ship could come in and then charge the ship for shifting. They continued to encounter problem after problem, one right after another, another shift, another charge, and so on. After two extended weeks of this, the ship’s crew put all the cargo on the dock and just left. Jim explained to me that once they got you they don’t want to let you go- this ship is America, and all it stands for, which in their eyes is mainly money. Once you are gone they can’t steal from you, charge you, bribe you, or extort you. Then the Captain throws in, “When we’re over there they try and take anything of value that they can. We have to lock away all of the fire stations, because brass is worth something, and all the safety equipment on deck, including the lifeboat survival supplies. Hell, these guys will try and steal the rope you send to the tugboat when we dock and undock.” I’m thinking this sounds exciting, and I can’t wait. Then, on the aft deck, I see the Mate who shipped on the Buffalo Soldier last year. I say to him, “Is this ship really that fucked up?” He then tells me this storyLast year the ship was bound for the Suez Canal on its way to the Persian Gulf. It was late making its scheduled pilot station time at Suez because it had lost an anchor and chain, the brake on the windlass had failed while hoisting the anchor in Greece. The Captain was pushing the engines hard to get there on time, blew the starboard engine, and still barely made it. The ship took on a very upset Pilot, who said we held up the day's transit convoy, and to proceed through the canal. At the halfway point is a lake where ships heading South anchor, while the Northbound ships pass by.

Well, just before anchoring, the port engine had sprung a major fuel leak and all hands were down in the engine room collecting the fuel spray in 5-gallon buckets and pouring them back into the fuel tank. So at anchor, the engineers tried to fix the leak, which means that the engine needed to be shut down and also meant that now the ship would have no available engines. So the ship is at anchor with one engine completely gone and the other being fixed. The Pilot talks some Egyptian on his radio and says to the Captain, “OK we go now, let's get underway, heave the anchor.” The Captain is thinking, we can’t get underway, and secretly calls the engine room to ask how much longer, to which they say about half an hour. The Captain then proceeds to pretend to call the Engine Room, in front of the Pilot, and ask for engines ready to get underway. After about five minutes the Pilot is asking, very irritated, “What is the holdup?” Again the Captain pretends to call, “Five minutes,” he says. “Everybody is waiting for us!” the Pilot screams. Shit, the Captain is thinking, I need to stall. The Captain calls the Mate and instructs him to head for the bow to start heaving the anchor, and on your way there, while in plain view of the bridge and the Pilot, fall down and pretend to have a heart attack or heat stroke or something. So the Mate heads for the bow and falls down on deck, just below the bridge deck windows, and starts to shake his body. The Captain calls attention to him with, “Shit, something happened to the Mate,” turns and then tells the 2nd Mate on watch, “Get the medical kit from the hospital and some help and tend to him.” Then he looks at the Pilot and says, “I hope he’ll be okay and that this doesn’t hold us up too long.” The Pilot replies, “I understand. I hope he’ll be okay too”. After ten or fifteen minutes of “tending” the Mate on deck with IV and oxygen on a stretcher, the phone on the bridge rings. It’s the engine room and they say that they’re ready to get underway. The Captain calls down to deck on the radio and the Mate just gets up and heads for the bow to lift the anchor as if nothing ever happened. The Captain tells the Pilot that we are ready to get underway. The fuel leak fix held for about two hours, but after that, it was all hands back down into the bilge catching fuel oil with buckets the whole way to Bahrain in the Persian Gulf.

CHAPTER 2 FREETOWN, SIERRA LEONE “My First Taste” “Freetown pilot, Buffalo Soldier… Freetown pilot, Buffalo Soldier…” No answer. That was our situation as we approached the wreck-lined channel into Freetown, Sierra Leone. The Captain had no choice but to take the ship up the channel closer and closer to the dock as we continued to hail the Pilot. To our starboard was a half submerged small freight ship that hit the reef lining the edge of the shipping channel. Dead ahead was a white sand beach back

dropped by steep cliffs. All around us, in the shallows, were men fishing in dugout canoes. “This is typical African bullshit,” the Captain said in frustration, “Keep extra good position fixes by range and bearing, Third Mate.” “Aye,” I said as I looked at the scene and thought- this could get intense. First, we had to make a forty-five degree turn to port for only a few ship lengths and then another forty-five degree turn to starboard and head up the channel, which was really a river. To our port side was a great shallow sandbank that stretched as far as we could see, and to our starboard were sandy beaches still in the foreground of steep cliffs. Here and there along the beaches, we saw small huts and fishing canoes. The port is situated along the South bank of an immense estuary, and most of the coastal area is swampy region. Again we hailed the Freetown pilot over and over but to no avail. Looking up the river with binoculars we could see that the river bent to the right sharply and there was the dock that we assumed we should be going toit matched with our chart anyway. Slowly we proceeded up the narrow river, I was shooting range and bearings every three minutes, and plotting our position with great detail for the stressed out, but yet well composed, Captain. With only about two miles to go, over the radio came, “Buffalo Soldier, this is Freetown Pilot. Come in. Over.” The Captain looked at me, “It’s about time, look out for him.” He went and answered the radio as I checked out the window with the binoculars for our Pilot. The Captain was talking with him about details of his boarding when I spotted the Pilot coming out. “Captain, I see him coming.” The Captain looked out the window and asked, “Where, I don’t see him?” He was looking for, and hoping, as usual, to see a tugboat bringing out the Pilot. “There,” I said and pointed; he then lifted up his binoculars and looked out, following my outstretched arm. In a small dug-out wooden canoe, the African Pilot stood tall and proud at its bow, dressed sharply in Navy whites, waving towards us in happy welcoming gestures with one hand and holding a handheld VHF in the other. “Where is the tug?” the Captain asked over the radio. “No tug today, Captain, I will board starboard side,” was the frank

response. Less than a mile to go, and the Pilot boards the ship, is promptly escorted to the bridge, and when he enters we are astonished to see a very young, maybe twenty-something, Pilot. He’s confident though. He shakes the Captain’s hand. The Captain is not amused or happy about the situation- No tug, and a kid as the Pilot. He then demands, “Why no tug?” “Broken." “So you have no tug and only a few line handlers in canoes... And you want me to let you, some young kid, take charge of my ship?” the Captain is now hot and very irritated. “No problem,” was the Pilot’s answer. “This is a very big ship,” the Captain pressed, looking at the other much smaller ships at the dock. “Have you ever handled a ship this large before? Don’t lie to me,” he says while pointing his finger at him and raising his eyebrows in a gesture that suggested he already knew the answer. “Well, no, I have not, but no problem.” The Captain respected that the Pilot at least wasn't lying and trying to bullshit him in typical African style, and so they had a little talk about how the docking should happen. We were starboard side to the dock, about a quarter mile off, and we proceeded past the end of the dock, dropping our starboard anchor. Slowly coming ahead, with hard right rudder and using the bow thruster, we spun on the anchor and now were port-side to the dock. We then lifted the anchor and came parallel with the dock, about one ship length off, and slightly past the head. Again we dropped the starboard anchor and backed down on it while using hard rudders to ease close to the dock. Small canoes, with 3 to 4 men in them, came under our chokes as our mooring line eyes were lowered down to them. With very long leads they took them to the dock and secured the eyes to the bollards. Slowly, very slowly, we warped the ship closer and closer to the dock, until we found ourselves secured alongside. That was one hell of a salty docking, old school all the way. I will soon find out that nothing works well in Africa. Machinery seems to be, "Broken, not working now, fix soon,” rather often. Doing things any way you can to get the job done prevails in the wake. We are one of two ships at the dock, the other was a very old vintage ship, a hospital relief of the Mercy Ship fleet which had been supplying

medical care to the residents for three months. I looked down at the dock from the bridge and beheld a sea of desperate humanity; there must have been two hundred black men on the dock, only a handful wearing shirts and shoes. The dock buildings looked to be 50 years old, or older. The trucks and equipment used to haul the cargo away were equally as aged. “Lower the gangway, and do not, I repeat, do not let anyone aboard, except Customs, Immigration, and the Ship’s Agent. Stand at the head of the gangway on the dock,” the Captain ordered. “Roger that, Captain,” and I went below to ready the gangway with my AB, Romeo. Looking down the gangway, as the foot was about to make contact with the dock, I could see that all those men started getting closer and closer to it, ready to jump up on it before it would make contact. I ordered Romeo to stop the lowering, and as it hung ten feet high off the dock, I walked down it and stood at the end. I had Romeo then lower it the rest of the way onto the dock and informed the men, who were ready to come aboard and work, that the ship needs to clear Customs, etc. before anyone could come aboard. It was only a few minutes when before me the sea of black parted, and through it came a well dressed black man in slacks, blue collared shirt, and dress shoes, followed by four others dressed in army-green suits, red boras, and lots of brass buttons. They showed me their credentials as the Shipping Agent and Customs officials. I let them aboard, and one of the other AB’s took them to the Captain’s office. Until the ship was cleared I was not supposed to let anyone else aboard, period, of course, I heard every story in the book, by I don’t know how many of them, as to why that didn’t mean them. Nevertheless, we all stood by on the dock until I got word directly from the Captain- and that was that! So I’m standing there talking with these guys all around me, and I mean all around me, when I smell… Is that marijuana? Yeah, it sure is, one of the guys who was sitting on the bollard next to the gangway was hitting a fat joint. “Hey, what are you doing?” I asked, “Is that legal?” “Yeah man, it’s all over, ganja no problem in Freetown,” was the laidback response. Then this guy passes it to me, to which I had to decline. “Third Mate, make sure the Customs Officials get off the ship OK and then let the workers on,” came the Captain's voice over the radio. “Very well, Captain,” I responded. Well the customs officials left and these guys were chomping at the bit

to get aboard, I mean it was a frenzy, and I had to take control of the situation… If they all rushed up the gangway it would have broken, plus, they each had to be signed in and assigned a hold to work in. Accounting for these men was very important, and as I’ll find out later, stowaways are a huge problem to deal with. Along with cargo workers, each group is referred to as a ‘work gang,’ there are tally men that count cargo, and then there are port assigned security. After an hour or so of signing in these guys and assigning them to work in particular holds, it seemed we were ready to start offloading. I’m holding the control panel in my hand that will lift hold #5’s hatch, it is the only hydraulic hatch on the main deck. There are fifty or so guys standing around it, all in dirty shorts, and most without shirt and shoes. It is hot, very hot. Sultry, thick, and humid conditions to be manually working in. Then I get the call over the radio by Jim Barr, the Supercargo, “Third Mate, open hatch five.” “Aye, Aye.” All these guys heard the order and focused on the hatch with wide-eyed amazement, like dogs that haven’t eaten in days seeing their master ready dinner. I pressed the open button and this huge hatch, 60 by 30 feet, weighing 20 tons, began to open with load-cracking, popping, and creaking sounds. As the hatch raised the cargo of bagged wheat, huge letters, ‘USA,’ began to reveal themselves. What happened next I will never forget. One man started chanting, with closed fist held proudly over his head, “USA, USA, USA,” over and over, as all of them joined in a mass celebration. “USA, USA, USA…” as I lifted the hatch and it slammed with a load thunder into its locked and upright position. Then they all clapped and cheered. Oh My God!!! I thought to myself, as I really didn’t know what to make of it all. The lead foreman came up to me and shook my hand, stating, “America very good, thank you.” “Uhh yeah. Well, we try,” I said, not really knowing what to say, but with all the anti-American crap going around the world these days, it did actually feel good. There were no cranes ashore on the dock, so we had to use ours. I gave the longshoreman who will be up in crane #4 a briefing about the machine, and the offloading began. Each bag weighs 110lbs, is lifted up by two men,

and stacked into a cargo net. The cargo net is then hoisted ashore, while the next one is being loaded in the hold, and the one that went ashore is offloaded onto a flatbed trailer, just the same way it was loaded, by hand with two men. It became early evening and the slight evening breeze from the lush green tropical hills that line one side of the port began to blow offshore. This brings a lot of smoke as the town has no power so all the evening’s cooking is done by fire. Light for the night is by torch as well. It’s like fog coming down the hills, as evening turns to night the fires are clearly visible along the hillside. It’s wicked. You might think it would smell OK, burning wood and all, but it's not just wood that’s burning. It’s whatever they can burn, so it smells nasty and it irritates the eyes. Later that night, towards the end of my watch, which is 1600-2400, with extra duty from 1200-1600 (now that’s a long day everyday in port), Romeo asked me if I was going out. “Sure, I’ll go out. Where is there to go?” He tells me that some of the guys had come back from the beach hotel and there were drinks and girls there. I ask which beach hotel, but apparently there is only one. So after watch, we headed up the docks and out the gate. Immediately outside of the gate, in the very dark of night, girls swarmed us dressed sexy and very touchy, wrapping their arms around us, and asking if we wanted sex. Well sure honey, but not now, can I get to the bar and unwind a bit? “Sure, yes, fine,” was the answer, “I go with you,” they pressed. I told them, as did Romeo, that we wanted to go alone. Then a car/taxi appeared, and you think the girls accepted 'no' for an answer? They tried getting in with us, and we literally had to push them away at arm’s length. My eyes had adjusted, and I was able to see clearly in the dark night on the roadside. My eye caught one of the girls who was very insistent and kept pressing the issue. She was 16, tops, and dressed like a desperate crackprostitute in some back alley of a big U.S city. She sported clunky high heeled shoes three sizes too big, a pink sequined dress three sizes too small, gobs of lipstick, and a clumsiness that almost seemed cute, but was certainly sad at the same time. As the taxi came up to the curbside, and we were getting in, at the last minute so that all the other girls wouldn’t push and shove in their insistent manner, I grabbed her hand and put her in the back seat with me. It was pitch dark on the road, except for torches on the roadside and in

pedestrians’ hands. I looked out the taxi window as we headed up and over the hills toward the beach, that same beach that appeared dead ahead earlier that morning. It was 0030 and people were walking the dirt streets, but going where? “What is your name?” I asked her. “My name is Clementine,” she replied and placed her hand on my crotch, I quickly removed it. “How old are you? You look very young,” I stated. She smiled and held her head high and proud as if she was this year’s hot new model, never used, and fresh out of the box, “I am fifteen, and come from a far village, only in Freetown one week.” “Where do you stay?” “With brother and wife, two children.” “Does he know what you are doing?” “Yes, he says I must do.” “What work does he do?” “No work for him, he fish.” Words from the Chief Engineer at a dinner conversation aboard the ship as we crossed the Atlantic kept buzzing through my head, “The best way to avoid AIDS in Africa is to get girls under 16.” Now, don’t get me wrong, I do like girls, but I will not exploit them, nor do I think it's fun to traumatize them. I think it borders on rape. “How much money do you want from me?” I asked her. “Twenty.” “Twenty?!” I said in a tone that would indicate she must have been kidding, that is way too much... I just wanted to see what she would say. “Ten okay?" She bartered back. We arrived at the hotel entrance and I took out a fifty dollar bill and handed it to her, “Now, you go home and stay home for a few days, understand?” She said things like, “How come,” and, “You don’t like me…” “Make sure she gets home. Do not drop her on the street at the gate,” I told the taxi driver as I paid him for the ride there and for her return. I informed the driver that if I caught wind of him dumping her somewhere and pocketing the cash that I would make sure that nobody from our ship would use his services, and by the way I held myself, and how Romeo responded to me, he knew I had some sort of authority and would be sure to do so. After

all, he drove a beat-up Toyota Celica painted purple with a yellow strip that had the word “TAXY” written on it- not hard to spot. “Yes, OK,” he said, and we shook hands. The hotel bar was actually kind of nice. It was open-walled, overlooking the small bay, along the river delta. There was a three-person band playing a type of Calypso music, and several expats, UN or aid workers, and backpackers hanging around. It took a whole two minutes for more girls to show up and surround me and Romeo. I ordered a drink for myself and Romeo while the girls begged and pleaded, “Drink for me, you like me,” all the time trying to grab my crotch. I don’t mind buying drinks and so on, but hell, we just got here, let me settle in. Then I smelled it again, ganja. Over in the corner was a long-haired dreadlocked African with a few aid workers and a few African girls hitting a big fatty. That is where I want to go and hang out for a while. It looked peaceful by those people. Romeo was entertaining a cute girl, about to hit the empty dance floor, so I headed for the smoking corner. “You want some?” the dreadlocked man asked as he passed the joint. “Is it cool?” I inquired. Then a British man, who was sitting by, said, “In here, yeah mate, but out on the streets, no, you got to watch out.” “Why in here and not on the streets?” “It’s illegal,” the dreadlocked man spoke up, “and the police will take money from you or you go to jail.” “But in here it’s cool,” the Brit reassured. Then he hit it big and passed it to me. I pulled, held it in, and sat down as I exhaled. My name is John I said to the group. The dreadlocked guy introduced himself as Petey and the Brit as Simon. There were a few more Europeans there, and I inquired as to what they were doing in Sierra Leone. Some were as I had suspected, aid workers, UN, day trippers, etc. Then a lovely blond woman with a thick Irish accent spoke up, “I'm a doctor aboard the Mercy Ship in port, my name is Sara.” I told them that I was a mate aboard the Buffalo Soldier, the ship that docked today astern of them. I passed the joint, only Simon and Petey were hitting it, everyone else was just drinking beer. All of them carried a demeanor of chilled out... forget everything, clear the mind, and relax. After sitting and drinking with them for only a few minutes or so they

all left, as they had been there for a few hours already. So, I went back to the bar where Romeo’s girl, of course, had a girlfriend. Her name was Anna and she was twenty-two. We got very drunk, ate some mystery meat and rice plates, and then secured a hotel room for the night. The next morning I asked her if she wanted a ride home, as I was about to call a taxi for a lift to the ship. She accepted and we all got in a cab and headed back over the hill toward the port. It was daylight now and I could see the streets well. Small shacks made up the residential houses, composed of blue tarps and various pieces of wood. There were some cement structures that looked like they were built in the 60's being used as town bureaucratic buildings. Children hung around stop signs and intersections trying to sell things into the car windows, like plastic items and water in baggies bound by a twisted rubber band on top. After we dropped Anna off at her half-collapsing shack, we had about three hours to kill, so we decided to walk around town and see what we could find. In the heart of town was a giant monkey pod tree with bats hanging from every square inch of available limb space. The smell of the previous night’s fires still lingered in the thick yet cool morning air, mixed with the fine scent of bat piss. We walked through King Jimmy Market where food, fresh fish, and clothes were sold. The food was very subsistence style, “Want chicken?” the old lady, dressed in my auntie’s 1970 something dress, would say as she snapped its neck off for you. “How about pig, you like?” as a man cut parts off of a whole one, burning away any hair remains. Fishing was a main staple here, dugout canoes lined the shores, and seafood was widely available, most dried. Everywhere fish hung from rafters and poles. Decidedly less fresh were the clothes, defiantly re-salvaged from some U.S charity donation. The giveaway was that most of the shirts said things like – Lawn Saloon Scottsdale, Arizona, Boward County Girls softball league, Monterey Bay Dive Company, etc. As I walked through the market I was kind of impressed at the large amount of food and all the vendors, it’s not what I would have thought Africa was like. I had expected a scene like those pictures of desperately malnourished and starving children, with kwashiorkor bellies sticking out, sitting on the dirt ground. They were poor, yes, but desperately hungry...? Not totally. Out of the backside of the market, and immediately down a small hill, I looked toward the ship in the distance and literally all I saw were piles

of trash lining the hillside all the way down to the water’s edge- A brewing place for disease and ill health. We walked through the main part of town, where the newest building was again a 60's vintage cement structure, last painted when it was built. I like old things, like cars and buildings, so I thought it looked nostalgic, kind of like a small southern town in 1964; even the buses had that old rounded look with big bumpers. Women had one-piece solid colored dresses, and men wore old-style southern hats. There was a large monument of some former dictator in the town center. I took a picture of it, and as I turned to walk away, not looking down, I stepped right into a pile of rotting trash alongside the street curb. To sum it all up- Look one way and it’s kind of nice, look the other way, and it’s a dump.

Chapter 3 Freetown – Part #2 “The Mad Plywood Caper” Back aboard the ship, it’s time to go to the bridge and get turn-over relief information from the off-going mate, Mel. The bridge is a good place to get a turn-over because from there you can oversee the entire deck and what hatches and cranes are being used. Freetown will be a light port as we are scheduled to only offload about an eighth of our cargo. Mel informs me that a set pace has been maintained and the ship is already expected to get underway in two days. I had a good time ashore last night, and seeing as how I have to work 12 hours a day, I’ve pretty much decided that I’ll wait until our next port, Monrovia, Liberia, to go ashore again at night. I plan on going

out in the morning again though, maybe tomorrow. Down the ladderwell and out the door finds me in the thick of the offload happening out on deck. At the gangway, I see Romeo and an OS (Ordinary Seaman), Dan Anderson, along with the day worker AB, Steve Hutchins. They are assigned to work the deck with me while one of them will always be at the gangway controlling people coming on and off the ship. The ports also assign a local security guard at the gangway, it’s part of the deal, as well as a security team that roves about the ship. Their job is to assist in controlling the massive flow of workers that come and go, but as typical African fashion goes, they’ll accept a bribe and falsify the gangway log so their friend can stow away. The Captain and other experienced crew know this, therefore, we control the log and they mostly sit around. Here in Freetown, it won’t be so bad because the ship is going to two other African ports before it departs for the States. It’s the final port where it’s very crucial to be aware of stowaways. What is of more concern now is theft, and by guess who? That’s right, our roving security and by some of the workers. What do they steel? Anything. Before the ship came into port we had stowed and locked away anything they might want. Things like the brass on a ship, especially in areas where a spark is of concern (brass will not spark), fire hoses, nuts and bolts, stainless steel items, ship’s lifesaving and safety equipment, all lifeboat survival equipment, any tools that are left out and unattended, shackles, paint cans and brushes, you name it. All the cargo vent ducts are closed by shutting the vent door and dogging them down with brass wing nuts attached to brass bolts. They're usually left open for good air flow throughout the holds during cargo operations. In the event of, let’s say, a fire, they can be shut and secured to restrict airflow into the holds. Due to the high probability of them getting stolen, and then there not being a way to secure the vents in the case of a fire, we removed the wing nut assemblies and sealed the vent doors in the closed position with foam and cargo hatch tape. This, of course, made the holds swelteringly hot. Even things as small as nylon rope that was used for something and then set aside on deck could be stolen. To buy small nylon rope in a US store, for example, could cost up to 20 cents a foot, so now add up 50 feet of the stuff. I will soon find out that 20 cents times 50 feet is more than a worker in the hold makes in a 12-hour shift, over a week’s worth of work. Starting to get the picture? Anyhow, I head out onto the deck and see that cargo hold 5 is finishing up, while 2 & 3 are about halfway finished. As I peer into hold 3, I see the

two teams of two guys bending over, each grabbing a corner of the 110lbs bag, and lugging it into the stretched out cargo net. One after another, up to a ton or more. There are eight of them that do this while the other four are under the closed hatch along the port side in the shade taking a break. Four guys load a cargo net while four guys break, alternating. What is that smell? Ganja again! I went down to check it out and sure enough, two of the four guys laying on the bagged cargo under the deck hatch in the shade were, in fact, toking on a joint. “You know smoking that on our ship is illegal, not to mention unsafe, and if the Captain catches you he’ll fire you from working here,” I cautioned them. “It’s no problem, man,” as the guy handed me the joint. I waved it off in decline. They knew that even if the Captain fired them they’d be back to work the next day. It was hard enough for us to keep track of the number of them on the ship, let alone their actual names, and being able to identify them individually amongst the masses… I still had to bark an authoritative voice at them though. “You have extra shoes?” They asked me. I didn’t, all I had were one pair of work shoes, one pair of shore shoes, and my Hawaiian slippers. I looked at their feet, of the four of them one man had old black dress shoes, one man had two different tennis shoes on each foot, and the other two were barefoot; only one had a ragged t-shirt on from Wachovia Insurance Company. I felt bad but I had to say, “No, I have no extra. If I give to you I will have nothing.” Yeah right was the look I received in return. “Listen, please keep the ganja cool, okay?” They responded with a thumbs up and a big smile. Cargo nets in and out of holds, cranes rotating around, skinny but ripped and muscular Africans humping bags with big smiles and happy freespirited attitudes, grain dust filling the air, ganja burning, trucks moving up and down the docks…those were the daily sounds and smells of work aboard the ship. Later that evening, at 2230, the Super Cargo came out to talk with the Foremen about the daily pay. It seems that after every shift the workers are paid in cash and the Foremen, one is assigned to each hold, tells the Super

Cargo how much was discharged. A shift is 11 hours from noon to 2300, and midnight to 1100, with an hour transfer of workers between. So I’m there with Jim and he’s dealing with the Foremen, one by one, about each hold. Jim would say things like, “Now, don’t bullshit me, my tallyman said such and such.” “Tallyman not always there, tallyman take break and lose count,” would be a typical argument in return. Jim had been at the game a long time and knew if he was being fed a bunch of crap, plus, he knew exactly the discharged amount, he was just seeing who was honest and who wasn’t. A hold was expected to discharge 100 tons in a shift, with a bonus for every extra 25 tons after that. So, after a bit of haggling, I see Jim break out an envelope of greenbacks and hand over 10’s and 20’s to the Foremen. It sure didn’t seem like a lot, and after the transactions were over I inquired, “What is the rate of pay, Jim?” “One dollar and twenty-five cents.” “For the 11-hour shift?” “Yeah, but they get a 50 cent bonus for every 25 tons extra they discharge from each hold.” “That’s it?” “Those are the wages that the food aid program has negotiated.” I thought to myself, holy shit those men had humped, I mean humped their backs, all day in the humid heat for a dollar twenty-five. Then it dawned on me, what the hell do the tallymen and security get? I really thought the answer would be something less, but when I asked Jim he informed me that those were the best jobs, and they got two dollars and fifty cents for an eighthour shift. Wow, at least somebody is making bank- Ha! I was starting to see African reality. I looked up at the hill full of fires and around the decrepit and poorly maintained docks with skinny barely dressed men moving about like programmed robots, and I pondered, how then do they survive? I mean, I know that you got to do what you got to do, but really? I had become friends with the lead security official since our stay in port, Edward, who always wore an old style dark blue derby hat and a big smile. I went to him after the workers left the ship and we were in between shifts. “Edward,” I inquired, “I just seen Jim pay the workers a few bucks for their daily work and he told me your pay… How do you survive? Do your wife and children work? What’s the story?”

“Only I work, John,” he said. I gazed at him in bewilderment. He continued, “It’s the magic.” I thought, magic, that’s a bunch of crap, so I replied, “Come on, for real, how can you survive on such little money?” “No, really, magic.” “Please explain how this magic works.” “It all goes around, John.” “What?” “The magic.” He then recognized that I was genuinely inquiring out of concern, so he added, “Okay, sit down, I will tell you how it works.” I sat down with him and he explained, “You see, it goes like this- If I need something I take it from a friend or someone, then if that person needs something, they take it from another person, and then finally that third person will take from me. That’s the magic that goes around.” “That is pathetic. You can never get ahead by screwing your partner thinking it's okay because eventually he will screw you back, and then it's all even,” I was disgusted. “John, last year I made 260 dollars, do you have another suggestion?” A tear came to my eye, that hit hard, and I said reluctantly, “No.” Then I stood up and shook his hand, saying, “Good luck, Edward, may God bless you.” “I pray every day, John.” Unlike every other worker in Africa, he never asked me for a single thing, so I quietly assured him, “I will have something for you when the ship departs, Edward.” After a good night’s sleep, I headed out the gate and caught a cab to walk through some of the small villages that lined the town. Wherever I went my cab driver, Victor, either waited for me or walked around with me- he wasn’t about to let the American dollar slip away after all. This seemed alright because I really had no idea of where I was going and he could act as a guide, of course, he was also on the hustle. Lots of wood was around, including monkey pod, mango, and teak, to name a few. All the wood was logged and hastily boarded out. There were a lot of wood carving shops as well. Some of the wood carvers were very talented, carving big statues of animals or of local people in various daily acts, such as women with fruit baskets on their heads or a man in a dugout canoe with his catch of the day.

Next to, and connected to, every little shop was the keeper’s living quarters. All had dirt floors or old wood laid down as flooring. A typical shop had a few shelves painted with a variety of colors, walls of chain link fence with tarp or scrap wood attached to it, and a woman sitting on a small stool with the back wide open to the outside. Shops sold items like mixed clothing and shoes, cooking utensils, plastic buckets and other plastic items, soap, paper, candles, tarps, old tin cans, warm soda and beer, all very desolate and un-arranged. You’re probably thinking of these items as new, but that was a rarity, most were used, such as the typical US charity clothes and shoes. “Where do they get these items?” I asked Victor. “Maybe from your ship.” “My ship,” I said, bewildered once again. “Yes, from anywhere, go collect maybe,” he replied. Just then a skinny old man on a bike, that I think used to be mine in 1978, wearing only worn and tattered running shorts, came peddling by with a large amount of trash strapped to the rear basket. “See?” Victor said. I nodded acknowledgment. We walked around and I took pictures of some beautiful natural scenes of trees, hills, and overlooks of the port. It was only 1000 and the word must have gotten out, rich American in village! Quick, send the little children with sad hungry faces, dress up the teen girls in slutty clothes, and have all the old people stand in his way looking as pathetic as possible. Little boys followed, girls touched, and around every corner was an old person sitting on the ground. “Come, we go,” Victor said. Yeah, time to go. Now back on the ship and it was close to sunset. I watched the Mercy Ship get underway after a stay in port of nearly three months. The dock was crowded with hundreds of Africans, most that had received some sort of medical treatment, and there were many others present as well who supported their cause. Old and young, disabled, dismembered, crutched, in wheelchairs, men and women, boys and girls, all waving and cheering. As she slipped away from the dock her decks were lined with over a hundred volunteer medical workers, edging the old teak rails, waving back. The Mercy Ship, again, is old, maybe built in the 60’s, a 400 footer, rounded stern with capstans and teak decks, amidships house, with yard and stay boom forward,

and round portholes along the hull’s length. There were bouquets of flowers thrown and confetti flying, tears, clapping or hands and cheering filled the air. The sunset added a golden tint to the whole scene as the ship met the outgoing current and passed out of the delta to sea. It’s now about 1900 and the Mate is getting ready to get off the deck for the rest of the night, leaving it to me. We went down to the after end of hold 5 on the upper tween deck and into the RO/RO decks. The ship carried vegetable oil in 5-gallon cans and they had been stowed there. He tells me that in about half an hour they should be done with offloading, what they're supposed to, and then he wants me to oversee the longshoremen secure the rest of the load for sea. He calls over the foreman, his name is Mungo, and we discuss the plan. All the oil is stacked in a great number of rows, and every two cans high plywood is laid down to even the weight and avoid the cans crushing themselves. Then, in between every 5 rows, plywood is stacked vertically. Finally, plywood is stacked along the free-standing edge and secured tightly with chain and binders- all this is what we call “dunnage,” material used for bracing or stowing of cargo to prevent movement and damage. After the oil is offloaded, there is a lot of free standing plywood left over and it’s all really crappy pieces. At about 2000 they’re done offloading the oil and we are ready to secure the remaining for sea. Mungo gets his guys on it and Romeo and I are there to oversee them and make sure it gets done right. One bad shift at sea and the load could all come crashing down, leaking out all over the holds. Four of his men are doing a really good job of securing the load, though it’s hot and the job is rather tough. One guy has to hold up the plywood sheets while the others string heavy chain across it. The other guy attaches the chain binder and locks it down, and then 2X4 pieces are wedged in here and there to tighten it up even more. Stacked next to the load are the extra pieces of plywood from the oil we had offloaded. There are a few stacks and maybe a hundred sheets. Now, I had been warned by the mate to watch the plywood because it’s a very valuable commodity to the Africans, it’s like gold, and it wasn’t the first time I had been given this information. During the offloading the past days we had watched the plywood so that they wouldn’t steal it. You might be asking yourself, how could they steal a sheet of plywood? Answer- by throwing it over the side to a partner swimming in the river and floating it downstream,

or hidden in the cargo nets amongst the bagged grain to a partner ashore. Desperation yields many a creative idea. Anyway, back to the after hold, they had finished and I felt they did a great job. Mungo asked me, “Can I get a couple of pieces of plywood, mate?” I looked at Romeo and he gave me this shrug like, yeah mate, why not? There’s a shit load and its crap pieces anyway... “You think the old man is in his room watching a movie with the Chief and Jim?” I asked Romeo. “Yeah, as usual.” So I said, “Sure, like three pieces okay?” “Oh, yes, yes, thank you,” he said, and heartily shook my hand like I had given him something he desperately wanted. Mungo and I started talking about things like his work, family, etc. His men really worked hard and they came over and said something mumbo jumbo to him, then he turned to me and asked, “Can they each have one piece too?” “Yeah, sure, no problem.” Now, let me give you a little bit more context for the situation. Why is plywood like gold when there is so much wood around? Because the wood that is around is cut into posts and planks, most still with bark on the edges. There isn’t a mill to make plywood, and even if there was, the wood would be stolen while in process. Cut it down, rip it, and that’s it, use it. Africans, I’m starting to realize clearly, have a hard time seeing the big picture. They have an equally hard time working together and trusting each other. To work together toward something that will take time, no, it’s an on-demand necessity of survival that they’ve come to know. So the remaining plywood is mostly junk, as there are half pieces, quarter pieces, even pieces that are triangularly cut and ripped. The net has to be slung out and loaded right under hatch 4 center where the crane can lift it away to shore, and this is also where a gang of 20 men are working loading bags. Well, my guys come waltzing over happy as clams with a cargo net and a few pieces of plywood. They laid out the net off to the side and set in the plywood, all eyes transfixed on them in overt amazement. We left one guy behind to watch the load and headed back to get a few more pieces. When we got there, I turned around and ten guys had followed demanding wood. I’d say no, and they’d argue back wanting to know why, and how come those others can have and we can’t, acting as if they were entitled to the plywood.

“I deserve it,” one man voiced while pounding his chest at me. “You don’t deserve shit. Turn around and get back to work, that’s what you’re getting paid for,” I asserted in defiance. Yelling and screaming started and then all hell broke loose as ten more guys came rushing around the corner and the ten in front of me slipped by, quickly removing plywood from the pile. I grabbed the wood from one man’s arms and then another took it from me. I tried to stop them, but there were too many. Romeo was pushed out of the way and it seemed that there was nothing we could do. I grabbed a metal pipe used as a stanchion and threatened them with it. That wasn’t working, they were all over the empty hold, moving quickly still. Then I positioned myself in front of the pile of plywood and threatened to swing at anyone that took another piece. That worked and they seemed pacified that they had all gotten some anyway. I had Romeo shut the hydraulic door into the area that held the plywood and I went to the plywood load area in 4 hold. Plywood was scattered everywhere and not a man was working cargo. They were fussing and fighting over the pieces instead. I signaled the crane operator to lower the hook, but he didn’t. The hold Foreman was screaming down to me, ‘What are you doing, are you crazy, work is stopping on the docks!” The scene was absolute chaos. I looked up at him and yelled violently, “I don’t give a shit! Send that fucking hook down here now or I will go up there and throw that crane operator out and lower it myself!” The Foreman could see I was not messing around, and he signaled the hook to lower down. I started throwing pieces of plywood into the cargo net, all the while these guys were still fighting over which piece was to be whose. I looked at all of them fighting and yelled, “You stupid assholes better start loading this net with plywood, because so help me God, this load is out of here in ten seconds!” Then I started counting, “1, 2, 3…” I didn’t care anymore. I wanted that plywood off and gone before I got in deep shit from the Captain or Jim. Just as the load was getting in the air and heading out of the hold, I guess word had gotten out and here came the forward two gangs of forty-plus men. Thank God that load was out of there. I thought work would start again, uhh, no. They all had to meet the load and their plywood on the dock. Not just my guys, the ones I actually gave a few pieces to, and not the twenty guys from hold 4, but all the other forty or so guys too. It was the entire working force on the ship. They all bee-lined it

for the gangway and the docks. Guess where I went? That's right, with them to get this mess cleared up and hopefully get everybody to work before the jig was up. Oh, but it was only the beginning... As I emerged onto the main deck, I looked up and saw the cargo net full of plywood high in the air slewing offshore toward the dock. Glancing along the length of the ship forward, I noted that cranes 1 and 2 were stopped and no one was working in the forward two holds either. Aft toward the gangway, and every African worker, I mean every African worker, loaders in shorts and ragged t-shirts, tallymen in pants and white shirts, and even the security guards in their blue shirts, were making their way down the gangway towards the dock. I surveyed the dock as I looked over the gunwale. There were five trucks that were being loaded, and all the truck workers looked up at the load of plywood with eyes filled with amazement, as though God, Himself, was shining down on them. They stopped their work, hopped off the trucks, and gathered around the area where the load would land on the dock. Are you kidding me, all the longshoremen, ship and shore, have stopped working and were now gathered under the load of plywood that hung over the dock as it was being lowered down. I looked up at the Captain’s porthole, as it faces forward over the deck so that he can look out and see how things are going. Thank God he and Jim were both consumed in some movie. The load met the dock and the cargo net was released. A feeding frenzy of desperate Africans attacked the pile of plywood. I signaled the crane operator to lift the hook up and slew it over the ship. I could not believe my eyes as I witnessed what took place next on the dock. There was Mungo and his boys trying to push and shove their way in so that they might salvage a piece or two of what should be their plywood, which was a hard thing to do as there was a hundred-plus men all fighting and screaming for it. One man held a piece up over his head and ran down the long dark pier toward the gate. Another grabbed a piece and tried the same, but was tackled from behind and was kicked in the head as his pursuer took off with that piece. Mungo had two pieces, and with the aid of his boys guarding it and him by swinging 2X4’s at anyone who tried to break their barrier, they made their way to the gate. I looked up at the porthole, Romeo now at my side, to see if a face had peered out, but not yet. On the dock, fists were flying in the pile of plywood as these guys grew more serious about getting a piece. Like rugby players fighting in the pile for the ball, they gauged, scratched, and kicked. Emerging

from the pile with a piece was only half the battle as someone was waiting to pull it out of their arms, or ambush them down that long dark pier toward the gate once they had it. After a while, there were only a few scrap pieces left, like those half and quarter pieces, triangular and ripped or broken pieces, etc. Most of the unsuccessful plywood contenders were making their way back on board. I looked back up at that porthole, still empty. Then the workers slowly resumed their stations in holds 1 and 2. Romeo said to me, “Mate, look," as he pointed onto the dock by the bow. Two men were engaged in a tug-of-war over a quarter piece. Finally, one won but he couldn’t run with it because he was being knocked down by others. He knelt down on it crying, literally crying, and with his hands in praying position pleaded with his competitors to please leave him alone and let him have the one last pathetic piece of scrap. After a few minutes of begging, crying, and pleading, he was left with his piece and ran down the pier like a dog that had just won a fight for a bone and was going somewhere to consume it alone, in peace. That was the last of that and slowly work started up again. I looked up at the porthole and once more found it empty. Good, please let work start before Jim and the Captain look out or come down. Crane 1 slewed over, trucks fired back up, and the sounds of work started to fill the air. Just then the port security guard came up to the hull of the ship and looked up at me, screaming, “What are you doing?! You can’t give away plywood like that! All work has stopped and the security at the gate is out of control!” “I didn’t give anything away, those piece of shit countrymen of yours stole them from behind our backs.” “That is not what they are saying," he shot back. I looked at Romeo and said, “Didn’t they steal that plywood?” “Yes, while we weren’t looking they loaded the cargo net and put it over,” he backed me up. “This cannot happen again,” the guard said in a suspicious and angry tone. “It better not, this is bullshit,” I said, equally angry. He eyeballed me and turned away, heading back to his post. Ninety percent of the workers were back at it, cranes were moving cargo, trucks were rolling, and dust swirling in the thick humid night air. Just then, I saw the Captain look out the porthole and I looked up at the gangway

deck as Jim was walking down the ladder to the cargo deck towards Romeo and me. “How are things going?” He asked me. “Good, Jim, good. Yeah, Romeo?” “Yeah, good.” “Excellent,” he said, and we started our walk along the deck to observe the progress. The next day, as the tide was slack going toward ebbing, we heaved in our mooring lines, hoisted the anchor, and steamed out of port bound for sea. Our next port would be Monrovia, Liberia, only 100 miles South, overnight.

Chapter 4 Monrovia, Liberia “No one’s going ashore and that’s final!” It was only my second port, Monrovia, Liberia, and I was beginning to get used to life aboard the Buffalo Soldier. I was already anticipating the worst and expecting delays. Try and plan something, ha, you can plan on those plans being broken like promises. I was hardening quickly in a way that only Africa can do to a person. Here we go again, I thought to myself as the Captain was screaming over the VHF radio. “What do you mean broke!?” “Yes, Captain, sorry broke, will fix soon,” replied the port authority. “What’s the matter with the tug?” “Small problem.” “How soon until you have it fixed?” “Very soon, Captain, can you please call back on this channel at 1400?” “1400?! That’s six hours from now! That’ll put us a half a day behind, are you sure it will be ready by then!?” “Okay, thank you, call back at 1400,” was their final response. He was livid, but there was nothing he could do. Unlike Freetown, there was no way to dock this ship without a tug in that harbor. A look at the chart, and quick confirmation with binoculars, showed that the harbor was small with not much maneuvering room. Liberia had just suffered years of brutal civil war and most of the docks had been blown up. Semi-submerged wrecks scattered the harbor basin, plus, the charted channel probably didn’t exist. We needed a local Pilot, and the Captain knew it. “Pieces of shit. Can never get a straight answer out of these assholes, always lying and bullshitting. Third mate, plot a course two miles off the beach, one hour up and one hour down. We’ll reduce speed to 10 knots. Keep your ears tuned in to that radio in case they call early. If we miss the call because you and Romeo are up here skylarking and gabbing it up like high school girls on the phone I’ll have your ass, understand?” he stared at me wryly. “Aye, Aye, Captain. We’ll pay close attention, Sir,” I assured him. He

always liked to bark, he didn’t really mean the high school girl thing, it was just his way of getting his point across. After I plotted our course as instructed, we made our way North at two miles offshore. All around and along the gently sloping beach, men in dugout canoes were fishing. Many of the canoes even tried to approach our ship, waving and holding up fish just ten yards off as if we would stop. Sure thing, let me call down to the engine room and ring up ‘stop,' then we’ll put her in astern propulsion, within a mile or so we should be at all-stop, then I’ll round up the Bos’n, and have the deck gang rig the accommodation ladder, on the lee side of course, and then the steward will bring some cash to buy those fishes- How much per pound? Yeah, right. The shoreline was pounded by the effects of war and I could clearly see bombed out buildings and roads that looked as if they were paved at one time, but now as UN trucks traversed them, dust clouds billowed behind. It was all back dropped by lush green mountains stripped of large trees. Up and down the coast we steamed, waiting offshore to enter the port. At 1200 I was relieved by Mel and I briefed him on the Oldman’s orders. After eating lunch, I went out on deck and found the Mate with the Bos’n welding up some intruder defenses. Along the main deck, a gate had been welded from the house bulkhead to the outboard bulwark, both port and starboard, to prevent intruders from accessing the stern. In reality, all a crafty intruder would have to do would be to hop up on the top of the bulwark and shimmy around it. So, they were welding four-foot high extension gates that hung offshore four feet. I started helping them out and soon it was 1400 and the Mate and I figured we must not be going in yet because the Captain hasn’t called on the radio. Up and down the coast we steamed until the afternoon wore on to evening, and the Mate went up to stand his watch from 1600-2000. At dinner, the very pissed-off Captain was informing Jim that we would have to wait until tomorrow to go in, hopefully in the morning. The port had no lighted aids to navigation, even the day aids weren’t very reliable, so it was strictly a day port. The next morning, at 0800, the Captain tried hailing the port authorities with no response. He paced the bridge steaming hot, calling, “Buffalo Soldier- Monrovia Pilot, come in, over!” Time after time, with no response. We steamed slow ahead just outside the harbor entrance while the old man scanned the port with binoculars, looking for a tug, calling over and over

again, “Monrovia Pilot- Buffalo Soldier- Come in, over.” 0800 lead to 0830… to 0900… to 0930… to 1000… to 1030. He sat back in the Captain’s chair, fuming inside, but calm and realizing there was little he could do. He sort of started to accept it and eased up a bit.1100 to 1130 passed, “Well, Third Mate, I guess I’ll go down below and get some lunch. Keep your ears on that radio and hopefully sometime today…” “Buffalo Soldier- Monrovia Pilot- come in, over,” came an African voice over the VHF radio. “It’s about fucking time,” he growled and stood up from his chair to answer the radio. “Monrovia Pilot- Buffalo Soldier- come in, over.” “Good day, Captain, please proceed to pilot station inside buoys 1 & 2. Come to all-stop and have pilot ladder port side one meter from water edge, over.” We were only a mile from that spot, hovering just outside the harbor entrance, and buoys 1 & 2 were dead ahead of us. The Captain was scanning the port and I was taking fixes. He answered the radio, “Monrovia PilotBuffalo Soldier- understand buoys 1 & 2, all-stop, pilot ladder port one meter.” “Very good, Captain- Monrovia Pilot clear.” So we found ourselves just inside buoys 1 & 2, the wind was dead calm, and ahead was dock number 4. To port was dock 3, which was blown up, then dock 2, which had a small freight ship half-sunk lying on its starboard side, all running North to South. Dock 1 was past dock 2 but ran East to West. Dock 1 was small, it was actually a pier, and looked like it could barely accommodate us. So, we assumed we would be tying up at dock 4, but as we waited, the tug was nowhere to be seen, nor were there any line handlers or people on dock 4. The Captain was losing it, this was a very small harbor with very little room to maneuver, and all around us, we could clearly see evidence of war and/or miscalculated pilotage in the form of sunken ships. “Where is that damn tug and pilot…” the Captain hissed as he looked around. “There it is, Captain,” I pointed toward dock 1. Here came chugging along some old and beat up push tug spewing thick black smoke from its short stack with a sharply dressed gray-haired white man standing on the bow.

“Here they come, Bos’n,” the Captain called over the handheld radio. “Roger that, Captain, we see him,” he replied. Onto the bridge the Pilot appeared, that sharply dressed white man. He was short and had a big smile full of life, holding a demeanor as if all was fine, that all of this was quite normal. As the Captain and he met and shook hands, the Pilot introduced himself as Horst Vulkar. They discussed the docking procedures and his thick European accent came out mixed with an African lilt. The Captain asked him where he was from, and he said Hungary but had lived in Liberia for twenty years, his easy-going unexcitable attitude certainly showed that. “Well, all we should have to do is take that tug on the port bow and pull her over and then push us in for a starboard side to on the dock,” the Captain said, assuming we would go to dock 4. “No, Captain, you're going to dock 1,” the Pilot replied frankly, in his thick accent. “What? That pier is not long enough for us.” “No problem, Captain, we can take a long lead to a dolphin there,” he replied with a happy face as he pointed to it offshore of the end of the pier. “Can we start offloading there? That pier doesn’t look very wide- can trucks come down it?” “Yes, sure.” “Yes, sure, you better be right. I’m already delayed a day because of your bullshit,” the Captain warned, shaking his finger at him. The Captain was short but very stocky, wide shoulders, thick neck, and an attitude of toughness that came from playing years of hockey growing up in Maine. “It’s okay,” the Pilot replied as the Captain shook his head in small up and down motions, boasting a smirk that suggested- Okay then, but you better not be fucking me. The tug was made fast on the port bow and began pulling as we put on hard left rudder and came ahead, dead slow. After we swung around, we proceeded past dock 3 which was only half there due to a bomb that had taken out a chunk of it. Then, past pier 2 with a half-submerged freight ship heeled over on its starboard side, and then ahead lay dock 1. Which, again, was more like a pier. We had to come to starboard and head bow in port side to. The Pilot gave the tug the order to push ahead on our bow but the tug just laid off, it wasn’t approaching the ship. So, the Pilot spoke some mixed African-English with Euro accent into his radio with the tug, who answered

in an equally difficult to understand English. Back and forth continued the tense speaking, some yelling occurred as well. “Captain, the tug is broke,” the Pilot said. This was bad news seeing as how we were committed, there was no turning around, and at that point, docking was the only option. “You are just like them, aren’t you,” the Captain expressed angrily to him. “What’s the matter with the piece of shit?” “They can’t get it into gear, maybe a broke cable they think. They are looking at it now. Maybe it can be fixed soon,” the Pilot replied optimistically. Soon, yeah sure, was streaming through the Captain’s head. “We are going to make like Freetown and spin on the hook,” the Captain said to me, and then turned to speak with the Pilot. “On the bow ready to let go starboard anchor,” the Captain ordered over the radio. “Standing by and ready,” the Mate replied. “Let go.” “Anchor let go.” “Keep her taunt, we’re going to spin on it.” “Roger that.” Then we put hard rudder on, dead slow ahead, bow thrusters at full, and spun to starboard slowly. As we became port side to, parallel with the dock, we heaved up the anchor and then the tug came chugging over to our starboard side. “Tug is fixed now, Captain, no more problems,” the Pilot happily informed the Captain. “That’s great,” the Captain said sarcastically. The tug pushed us in as we came ahead slowly. The pier wasn’t long at all our bow came within twenty feet of the shore. Our stern stuck out past the end of the dock thirty feet, and our stern lines were long leads out to a dolphin off the end of the pier. At the head of the pier, was a sandbagged wall/gate with Army-green African guards fully armed and waiting at the end of the pier. Next to our stern, was a blown-out cement structure that looked like it was part of some sort of loading facility. Later, I learned that Liberia exported lots of iron ore, which is what the building and this pier were used for but now it was a desolate half-collapsed reminder of the war that had crippled the country.

It was late in the afternoon by the time the Agent, Customs, and Immigration had left. They informed the Captain that this was strictly a day loading dock because past the sandbagged troops there was a mile or so of dirt road and dirt fields before the main road, and thieves/bandits waited in the field to swoop trucks loaded with cargo to steal it. Two bad things happened that evening: One, no cargo got discharged, and Two, the Captain, as per the Agent’s recommendation, restricted us to the ship that night, fearing for our safety. “Oh, come on, Captain. We want to go, we’ll be fine…” “No. If you guys get beat up and injured it’s my responsibility and the ship could find itself short-handed. No, and that’s final!” From up on the deck of the ship we could see, at the far end of the field, maybe a hundred UN trucks, Jeeps, and other vehicles waiting to go into service. The main road filled with small shack shops and drinking sheds. To us, it looked crazy, yet fun. “I said no. Everyone will remain aboard tonight and at sunset the gangway will be hoisted aboard.” The water in that part of the harbor was very clear, you could see all the way to the bottom, and our bow was very close to the shoreline. There was a huge square cement piling that protruded out from the head of the pier toward the beach. After hoisting the gangway up, I walked down the outboard side of the ship to the bow, and there I saw, just ahead and slightly to starboard, men bathing in the clean water and women washing clothes while kids jumped from the pilings and swam around. Then, looking down to port onto the dock, there were the armed guards dressed in Army-green standing behind their sandbag fortress, guarding the pier. I walked down the inboard side toward the stern and onboard the Buffalo Soldier, behind the galley, on deck 3, we had an open deck area with picnic benches where we had BBQ’s on Sundays at sea, and in port, it was a place that the crew would hang out during breaks and off time. While docked we would move the benches inboard to the dockside of the pier. From there we could watch what was happening at the dock, like cargo op’s, who was coming and going on the gangway and stuff like that. So, that is where I was going to see who was hanging around the table. When I got there, I found a few guys, Leo, our cook, a crazy Phillipino guy, Charlie Dunbar, our SA, a young kid maybe 20 from Texas (this was his second ship), Charlie Daley, one of the QMED’s from Alabama, and Yague,

one of my port watch AB’s. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Mate, plenty of girls down there,” Leo said, as he gestured to come over to the table and look over the side. As I walked over to the bench I said, ”Girls on the dock,” in question and wonderment. “Yeah, and they want to come aboard,” Charlie added, while he was trying to heave a line with a canvas bag attached to it ashore. I looked over the side and next to the old iron ore loader stood about ten girls and a few guys, all looking up at us waving, blowing kisses, and smiling. The guys were trying to hawk stuff, and of course, the girls were trying to sell sex. “What are you trying to do, Charlie?” I asked. “Trying to get this bag ashore so they can put some beer in it,” he said as he heaved it short again. “Try tying a shackle or something heavy to it,” I suggested. The girls looked good and the guys held up beer cans. “Come on, Mate, can’t we just go down on the dock?” It was always me the crew would try and get to do things like that, they wouldn’t even consider asking the other mates that question. Alcohol is not allowed aboard the ship. I’m a hawsepiper and a little bit on the edge, I like to take chances and I thrive on excitement, but I said, “Are you fucking crazy, the Oldman would shit if he found out, no way, maybe tomorrow we can go out.” “They say it’s safe out there, no problem.” I looked at the small crowd that could now tell the crew was trying to talk me into it, and the men gestured us to come down, drink, and girls would say, “It's okay, no problem, let’s have fun,” while showing their cleavage or turning around to show off their booties. It was 2200 and that would be right up my alley- get some of that beer and sneak some girls aboard... The Captain was in his room with the door shut, meaning he was turned in for the night, and at least half the crew was asleep as well. The guys could see I was itching for that exhilaration, that rush, but I held firm. “No, tomorrow we can go ashore,” and I walked away. No Africans were aboard, no security, nothing, only the crew, with a raised gangway. Sneaky Africans could climb up the mooring lines though, so a roving watch was established with the AB’s. I met Romeo along his rounds and asked him if all was good, to which he said, things were fine and

secure. I asked him how all those people got onto the dock by the stern and he informed me that the Army guys at the head of the pier let them by. I thought, now that’s tight security. I left Romeo to his rounds and I continued to walk forward along the inboard side of the ship. On the dock, walking slowly and deliberately with a no-rush strut, appeared a pretty girl in a red dress with summer sandals, her hair was braided, colorfully beaded and long. She defiantly caught my eye and I stopped along the main deck bulwark, she came closer. I didn’t motion her, I just looked down onto the pier. She looked up at me and slowed. I focused- she was gorgeous- our eyes met and locked. She came closer, never losing eye contact with me, walking slowly over to the edge of the pier to where I was leaning over the bulwark, still staring at one another, smiles creasing our faces, then she tripped, over the mooring line on the dock, and almost fell but caught herself. “Are you okay?” I asked. She was embarrassed and her blushed red checks shown through her very dark skin. She wasn’t Melato (with white mix), she was very black. She smiled in her own amusement and looking up at me replied, “Yes, I’m fine.” “What is your name?” I asked. “Rose.” “I’m John, nice to meet you, Rose,” she smiled. “Tell me, Rose, isn’t it dangerous to walk that dirt road at night?” “Maybe before, but now, no, it’s okay.” “Are you with those people at the stern?” “No.” “How did the guards let you on the dock?” “Oh, big problem for me.” I didn’t touch too much on that, sometimes it’s hard to understand what they are trying to tell you. You really can’t get it because you aren’t living in it, and lots of times they exaggerate or flat out lie to get your sympathy. Then she asked, “Can you come see me, John?” “Not now, Rose, we are restricted to the ship, but maybe tomorrow.” “How come?” “Captain says it’s unsafe,” and I pointed toward the dirt road and field. “Have drink, bar there, okay?” I took that to mean that if it’s unsafe, then why is there a drink bar along the dirt road. Then I asked,” Do you work there?”

She shook her head no. “I work cleaning”, she said. “Cleaning?” “Yes, cleaning ship.” I wasn’t sure what to make of that and speaking to her from the bulwark was difficult because she was at least twenty feet away from me. We spoke a lot without speaking, and she was very pretty. “Can you come and see me here on the dock tomorrow at 1200?” I asked her. “Yes,” then she made an eating motion with her hands to her mouth, touching her stomach. “Wait here, I’ll be back,” I said, as I nodded in response. I returned with some leftover dinner, teriyaki chicken, rice and some apples, wrapped in foil in a paper bag. I tossed it down to her and bid her goodbye, assuring her I would see her tomorrow. She held the bag close to her body and looked around as if someone might see it and take it from her, then she waved goodbye and walked quickly off the pier.

Chapter 5 “Passing through security check points, African style” My phone rang early, it was 0630. When I answered it, Mel's voice came through calling to wake me up and let me know that the Oldman wanted to have a deck department meeting up on the bridge at 0700. I got up, washed my face, got a cup of coffee, and headed topside. I was a few minutes early, and Mel was there doing some voyage planning work at the chart table,

while out on the port bridge wing I could see the Captain and the Bos’n shooting the shit and looking over the side. I walked out onto the bridge wing and greeted them, “Good morning.” I knew what they were looking at- Next to us, on the other side of the pier, was a small freight ship that I too had been admiring the day before. I had thought to myself, now, that’s a salty looking ship, the kind I’d love to work. I love the look of some ships, for example, the Buffalo Soldier when I first saw her with her five cranes, pontoon hatches, raised bow, and open forward mooring deck. The small freighter, African Star, was 200 feet long and had two yard and boom type cranes for cargo, four pontoon hatches situated fore and aft, two hatches for each boom, a low freeboard, raised foredeck and foc'sle, small after house, rounded open stern with capstans, and lots of round portholes. Gray decks, white house with old wooden doors, black booms and green hull- She was old and very salty looking indeed, you know, the kind where you’d expect John Wayne to step out onto the bridge wing in his Captain’s hat and khaki shirt to take a navigation bearing or something like that. “Now, that’s the kind of ship I’d like to own running inter-island in the Caribbean, eh, Johnny?” the Captain mused as I stood next to them at the end of the bridge wing. “It’s definitely sweet,” I replied. “So simple and easy to keep running,” the Bos’n agreed. “Lots of open space on deck, you could almost load anything topside, and then with those big pontoon hatches you could fit large cargo if needed below as well,” the Captain mused. We stood together admiring the small ship and continued to dream out load about owning her and running inter-island somewhere in a tropical paradise. Aboard the African Star, we watched the crew get ready for their day. They had a generator outside on the after deck that they fired up for the house power, laundry lines full of clothes strung up everywhere around the stern, and several black men went forward to ready booms to move hatches while one man, who appeared to be the Captain, was topside in the bridge. A large-bosomed black woman, dressed in a bright floral print dress and matching head wrap accented with a gold necklace and bracelets, walked along the side decks watching the activity. “She must be the Oldman’s wife,” the Captain said. Mel stepped out onto the wing and announced, “Everyone is here now,

Captain.” We walked into the bridge and the Captain had a talk with us regarding the plan for this port. He informed us that since they would not offload cargo at night, Jim had ordered extra work gangs and that we would be offloading an extra hatch. There would be four open at a time and several pontoons would be off at each hatch. He warned us to be on the lookout for rain and be ready to close the pontoons on quick notice. The pontoon hatches are a bear to open and close- First, someone had to climb up into the crane cab, then, two guys on deck would hook up a spreader to the crane, engage the spreader onto the center of the pontoon, and lift it with the crane to line it up perfectly into the hatch slots. This can take some time because the hatches weigh 25tons and they are huge, 30 by 50 feet, and in a stiff breeze pushing ahead of a rain squall coming at you, it can be a real challenge. The watches would be doubled up during the day to provide extra guys on deck to handle situations like that because if you figure four holds are being worked at a time, and two or three pontoons are off, then there could be 8-12 off at once. As he was explaining the plan to us, I could see well over a hundred men coming down the dock, slowly assembling in groups, most of them in ragtag clothes and some with ripped sheets twisted around their shoulders like some sort of pouch. A lot of them were dusty and dirty already with nappy afro hair, clearly unbathed for days, barefooted, and looking as if they spent the night on a dirt street somewhere, which I’m sure was the case. They formed into work gangs at the direction of the foremen, who were dressed in old slacks and a country-patterned plaid-collared shirt, sporting an oldfashioned hat with a small brim and dark-colored band. They had clipboards and they directed the mass of workers into groups that would be work gangs for each hold. One by one, the foreman would point at a man and he would step aside and be checked off on the clipboard. Then trucks arrived, all of them old with rounded hoods and front ends, big flatbeds, and very beat up. They took positions close to the side of the pier that the ship was on so that the cranes could reach them. The Captain closed our meeting and let us know that we weren’t restricted to the ship anymore, and to let the rest of the crew know that they could pick up their shore passes in his office outbox and then he handed us ours. We all headed down for a quick breakfast and then out onto the deck to ready the hatches. The Bos’n took Dan and Hawse forward and readied hatch 1 and 2, Mel took Nick and Steve and readied hatch 3, and I took Romeo and

Yague and we readied hatch 4 and 5. Hatch 5 was the easy one because it was the only hydraulically operated hatch on the main deck, just unlock, push a button, and it goes up and locks. After we had opened our hatches, I took some of the guys to the gangway to lower it and post a watch there. On the dock the men that had been selected to work stood by at the stern area of the ship, ready to come aboard, while the rest of the men that had not been selected were pleading with the foremen to choose them, some even on hands and knees with hands folded in prayer form. Jim told me that these guys would be making more than the guys in Freetown since they had negotiated a ten percent higher wage and an eight hour work day. I could hear them begging now, Please, chose me to work my ass off humping 110lbs bags all day at the bargain rate of a dollar fifty, we love the U.S.A. The ones that weren’t selected stood off to the side to see if there would be some work later, perhaps mucking bilges in the engine room. I don’t know how many of these guys came aboard, maybe fifty for each hold, plus foremen, crane operators, security, and tallymen. At the gangway, Jim held a meeting with the mates, Bos’n, and the foremen before we started the offload. Jim was a big man, a lot in the stomach from loving good food, he wore a baseball cap, usually shorts, tennis shoes, and a polotype shirt. He kind of looked like a big kid and had a very easy going happy attitude, usually, but today seeing as how we were delayed a day from our offload and they wouldn’t be offloading at night, keeping in mind that this is our largest discharge port, he was very itchy to start offloading. He discussed the offload plan, what holds and cargo would go first, and then what would follow. He introduced us to the foremen and then the Lead Foremen. It went well and we soon found ourselves on deck ready to go. Everywhere there were workers and we got down to business offloading cargo quickly. Shortly three cranes were lowering and raising hooks in and out of holds, several work gangs in each hold loading bags into cargo nets, grain dust filled the hot morning air, and old exhaust-spewing trucks were coming and going on the dock- now we’re working. The Lead Foreman was Freddie. He was maybe thirty and eager to work close cooperation with the ship’s crew, which was pleasant. “Mr. John,” he would say, “things are going well, yes?” He was always inquiring what he or his guys could do to make the offloading process run more smoothly and efficiently. “Yes, it all looks good, Freddie. You can drop the ‘Mister,’ Freddie,

just call me John”. “Okay, Mr. John. Finish hold three port in maybe twenty minutes and then start three starboard. I will send some of my guys over to help you with the pontoon hatch, okay, Mr. John?” “Sounds good, Freddie." “Maybe you have something for me.” “Maybe.” Always a hand out was the general African rule. He would smile and nod his head up and down in confirmation. “My something would be a book, Freddie.” “Book no good.” “It’s the best thing I could give you, it’ll supply you with a lifetime of benefits that are hard for you to see now, but believe me, it's true, I promise.” “Ah,” waving his hand at me and laugh like I was kidding. We’ll see, Freddie, if I’m kidding when we depart, I thought to myself as I smiled and nodded back. As the hot humid day wore on and gangs finished part of a hold and needed to move over, we closed hatches and opened others for them, all the while, keeping our eyes on the weather. Approaching rain squalls are very common along the coast in the tropical areas of Africa, so we watched carefully with the naked eye as well as with long-range RADAR. None of the cargo could get wet since it’s food and would obviously spoil and root. Monrovia was our biggest port for cargo, almost three-quarters of it was going to be discharged here. Along with grain we carried wheat, soybeans, corn, a corn/soy blend in powdered form, black beans, white beans, green beans and lots of vegetable oil. It was noon, so I went on the dock to check the lines, drafts, and gangway as part of a normal routine for me, but really, I was looking for Rose. The dock was packed with activity from the offloading of cargo, men and trucks moving all over, but to my amazement, and as I would soon discover all over Africa, men sat around idle. These men were the ones not chosen to work but apparently still sat around hoping. As I passed by them they would often ask for my shoes or something, and I started getting a bit tired of this asking. It was as if they felt entitled or deserving of such nonsense. So I would reply, “No, thank you," as if they offered me something and I had declined. Then they would squint their eyes and raise their checks in a look of confusion. As I checked the bow lines from the dock, I could clearly see the sandbagged guard stand at the head of the pier. There was a lot

of people standing on the other side looking as if they were waiting for some sort of break to get on the pier. I looked closely at the mass of people behind the guard stand and saw Rose leaning against a cement block, she was all by herself and wasn't speaking with the others in the mass. I walked out of the gate and she saw me. “How come you didn’t come to the ship?” I asked her. “Last night okay, now guard say no,” she explained. I was on duty and being on the dock was one thing, I could justify that, but being outside the gate talking with some girl, I couldn’t. “I said I was worker, but they no believe me, John.” “Well of course not, only men working cargo.” “No, I am cleaner.” “Cleaner, what you clean”? “You know Cleveland, John?” “The ship?” “Yes, ship Cleveland. I’m working as cleaner inside house.” “Oh, you want to do hotel cleaning service.” “Yes, scrubbing walls, sweep, wax,” nodding her head up and down with a big happy face, excited that I finally got it. “Come then,” I said to her, and we approached the gate. The two well-armed guards were African. “She no pass while cargo,” the one said. “Why, she might steal something and shove it up her dress?” “No pass.” “She is ship worker, cleaning.” “No pass.” I reached in my pocket and pulled out a ten, I held it in a tight roll in front of him. “Okay, fine.” “Always pass, no problem, okay?” I added. He looked at me, considering the offer, “Okay, no problem.” As Rose and I passed through the gate and walked down the dock I thought, while patting myself on the back, I’m getting the hang of this African shit. Then she said, “Too much, John, one dollar, two dollar, enough.” Okay, maybe I need to fine tune my skills, but I’m working on it.

As we walked slowly down the length of the dock toward the stern, Rose and I talked while I checked drafts and lines. She told me that she was 21 and that she was taking care of her younger brother, who was 10, and her older sister, who was 25 and was missing a leg and had been severely wounded in the war. She said her father went to the war and never came home, and that her mother was killed when her sister was wounded. She too had a battle scar and she showed me her back shoulder with a large, butcherstitched scar upon it. I asked her straight away if she was seeking work as a prostitute and she said that she wanted work as a cleaner as she had been aboard the Cleveland, but that she had been a prostitute before, only out of desperation though. “I want to go to America, John, have good life,” she said while gazing into my eyes. She was a very pretty girl, absolutely gorgeous, and of course, with her sad story I was really liking her a lot but this wasn’t my first rodeo in a poor foreign port, so I wasn’t going to take full line and sinker, not yet anyway. We found ourselves at the gangway, and I asked her if there was a place that we could go out tonight and have some drinks, one that was safe and out of the way. She said there was a place in the city, about half an hour away, that was run by two Greeks that served food, had a bar with dancing, and a small upstairs hotel. I told her I would be ready at midnight and asked her if she could come and get me in a taxi, she agreed, and before she left I assured her that I would ask the Captain about a maid job for her. She gave me a big hug and kiss on the cheek. I watched her walk away still feeling her caress and smelling her fragrance on my body as she passed the guard stand and disappeared down the dock. Back up on the ship at the gangway, Romeo, who was standing watch, and the security guard, had seen me on the dock with her. Romeo complimented that she was a fine looking girl, while the security guard commented on her character and vouched for her story about doing hotel services for the Cleveland, which apparently, had been in port before us a few weeks earlier. I told Romeo that she was coming to get me at midnight and asked him if he wanted to go. He said yes and I then proceeded to find the Oldman and ask him about Rose. “That girl I saw you with on the dock?” he said in a surprised, yet sarcastic, tone which already revealed his answer. Shit, he must have seen us, “Yes, Captain, she’s a nice girl and worked

as hotel maid aboard the Cleveland.” “She’ll be in your room all the time and you’ll be anywhere but out on deck, no!” “I won’t be with her while she’s working, and I won’t let it distract me from my duties.” “Johnny,” he said, which is what he called me when things were good, so I thought a breakthrough would be coming, “I saw that girl and she would distract you. No.” “Can we give it just a shot and see how it goes, maybe a few day testrun? I promise it’ll be good.” “No, and that’s final.” “Yes, Sir,” I reluctantly replied. As I turned to leave his office, he said, “Good luck with her. She is good looking, probably the best looking African girl I’ve seen.” “Thanks, Captain.” “Now, get out on deck and get back to work,” he said with an amused smile like he couldn’t believe I had the balls to even ask such a thing, but that is why he liked me- because I did have the balls. During offload, and as the tides change, the ship goes up and down while dockside. A lot of my watch is tightening or slacking mooring lines and checking the gangway and the drafts of the ship. The draft is the depth the ship sits in the water. On the bow and stern, there are marks on the hull that I check often. The way in which they are checked is to go down on the dock to see them. So I am on the dock checking the draft marks and this man comes up to me and asks, “Mister, you want wood statue?" Now, there are a lot of wood carvings all over the place, but to hear 'statue' intrigued me a bit, and so I replied, "Statue?" “Yes, come see.” We walked to an old Toyota truck with a canopy over the back, he lifted the canopy and exposed a truck bed full of large wood carvings. They were statues it seemed because all the carvings were at minimum 4 feet tall- beautiful carvings of African women. I started looking at them, and every time I would say 'nice' regarding a piece he would respond with things like, "Yes you take now, very nice, good for you, take now..." One piece truly was very nice. It resembled just the very look of most the women around, gowned in tropical floral print, a wrap around their hair, and a tray of fruits atop their head. The statue was about 5

and a half feet tall, made of a solid piece of mahogany. “Wow, this one is very beautiful,” I said while touching and admiring its quality. “Okay, I sell you now,” he said. “Oh, I don't know, I would have to think it over,” I said. It was blocked by a few other statues and I wanted to see it better. He told me to help him offload it onto the dock. It was very heavy, solid, and we lowered it out of the truck bed together. She stood tall on the dock. "This is magnificent,” I said, "How much?" "Three hundred," he replied. "That's way too much,” I told him. And so, it went like this… -$250 -No, I don't think so. -Okay, $225. -No, too much. -$200, very good price, only for you my friend. -I don't have that much, I am sorry, I cannot afford it. -Okay my friend, how much you pay me? -$150. -Okay, you take it now. -I don't have money now. I must wait until Captain pays me, and even at $150, I must still think it over. He could see I really liked it, “Ok, I leave with you and I come back tomorrow, you pay me then.” "I cannot guarantee I will buy it,” I warned him. It was all to no avail and he kept insisting to leave it at the top of the gangway, that he would come back later for cash or the statue. Finally, I conceded, and Romeo helped me haul the statue up on the ship where we placed it right there at the top of the gangway. Everyone could see it as they came and left. "Maybe someone like and buy from me if you no like,” he said. “Maybe,” I replied. "What is your name?" “Jimmy,” he answered. I told him I was the Third Mate and he left the

ship, leaving the statue behind. Relieved right on time found Romeo and myself heading down the gangway to go party with Rose at the Greek bar. I waved goodbye to the armed security guards, they waved back with big smiles, and passed out of the gate where Rose was waiting for us in a taxi. Boy, did she look so beautiful too. I was very happy to see her and gave her a big hug. I introduced Romeo and she introduced the driver as Tabo. Tabo was super friendly, about 40 plus, and Rose said he is trusted driver. "I wait for you at bar until finished, Mr. John,” he said to me looking into the rear view mirror, speeding down a dark dirt road. "Thank you, Tabo, if you are thirsty please let me buy you some drinks,” I said. “No, Mr. John, okay, I wait in taxi,” he replied. Rose then told us, "Tabo is going to make sure we are all safe.” "You need anything, Mr. John, let me know, I wait for you,” with a big smile looking into the rear view mirror going faster down the dirt road. I looked into the mirror into his eyes, smiled, and said, "Thank you.” With Romeo in the front seat, and me and Rose in the back, we found ourselves on the main dirt road far outside the port. There was really not too much outside along the main road, a few fires could be seen here and there next to decrepit camps where people gathered. It was very dark out and after about 15 minutes we approached a military check point. Rose told me we need to pay our way through, and as we came up to the guards out of the dark, I could see this was a real guard station with mounted machine guns, steel plating as a barrier (not sand bags), and all together there were 5 guards, dressed smartly in Army green uniforms and combat ready helmets. "How much should I give them?” I asked Rose. "Just like last time, John,” she answered. I looked at her puzzled, because last time she told me, after I gave the guard ten bucks, that one or two bucks is what I should have given them. This guard station was not like the one at the gate, this guard station looked very intimidating and serious. Tabo pulled up and spoke with the guard, then the guard came to the back window where I was sitting and looked at me expectantly. I looked up at him and smiled, he didn't really smile back, he just stared at me. I reached in my front pocket where I always keep my money and handed him a five dollar

bill. He smiled wide and waved us on. I looked at Rose with a big smile of accomplishment. "Pretty good, right?" She shook her head. "Too much, John, one dollar, two dollar enough.” She was so adorable. With big smiles on our faces, we sped away toward the remains of the bombed out city. Every 50's era cement building had some form of damage to it, and every fifth or sixth one was completely destroyed. The war was recently over, and the road was cleared as well as sidewalks. No electric power was available, and torches hung from the front entrance of any building that was occupied. Suddenly, we came around a corner and there, all bright with lights, was the Greek Bar with several taxis out front and many African people walking around. "How do they have power?” I asked Toba. "Big generator, Mr. John,” he answered. "Is it safe here with all these people?” I asked him. "Greek brothers very popular, they help us very much in war. Everything is fine here, all city come here, Mr. John. Have good time,” he reassured me. I could see he was not joking, as at least 100 dark African men and women smiled, laughed, and danced just on the street at the bar’s entrance. We pulled up and Rose, Romeo, and I got out and went to the front door where I paid our way in. Rose took me by the hand to meet the two brothers at the bar. These two guys were the bartenders and this place was booming, with food being served, drinks slinging, music, and dancing all in a sea of black people with a speckle of expat white here and there. Rose introduced us and I shook their hands. The one brother told me to take care of Rose, "She is very special girl." Rose smiled as I told him I planned to do just that. I also told them I thought it was a very good thing they did for the people in the war. One answered, as he outstretched his arms toward the masses of people in the bar, "These are our people, always happy. We want to live here and nowhere else.” The other brother added, "We love them, and we love it here.” They were very busy and told the waitress to give us the best table in the house and offered our first round of drinks on the house as well. I shook their hands

goodbye and told them once again that I was very impressed by what they did. "Be happy," they replied with big smiles. To myself I thought, Wow, this is an experience! Rose and I danced till we were very hot, and when we got back to the table Toba was there eating some food. We all talked for a bit, it was 0130, and Rose was sitting on my lap. I asked her if there was a hotel around we could go to. She told me there was one right upstairs here, owned by the Greek brothers. Romeo wanted to go back to the ship and Toba said he would take him and be back in the morning for Rose and me. It just keeps getting better. After Rose and I went to sleep that night the sun was coming up. We slept for 4 hours, and at 0930 we were in Toba’s taxi, heading down the dirt main road back to the ship. As smoke from the night’s fires lingered in the cool moist morning air, I could see all around dirt fields with makeshift camps here and there. We approached the armed security check point again and I handed the guard two dollars, I smiled at Rose and she smiled back. “Toba, how much do I owe you?” I asked him as we approached the gate to the ship. "Twenty dollar okay, Mr. John,” he answered. I handed him thirty and told him I appreciated everything, he smiled wide. Rose never had, up to this point, asked me for money or told me I owe her for the night. "How about you, Rose, what do I owe you?" I asked her. She looked right into me with her exotic big dark eyes that could steal any man's heart, tilted her head to the side and her expression suggested the amount was up to me. I handed her fifty and got a big hug and smile that could light up the entire African continent. I then handed her an additional twenty and told her and Toba that it was for the taxi drive home, and maybe some breakfast. I made arrangements to meet Rose on the dock that evening. As I walked through the security checkpoint, I looked at the guard I paid off ten bucks before and said to him, “Remember, she always pass, okay?” He nodded his head and replied, "Yes, sure, no problem.” At the top of the gangway, the statue of the African women stood by next to the check-in desk. The gangway watch told me the guy had been by

there asking for me earlier that morning, and that he told them he would be back later that evening. I made my way to my room, took a cold shower, ate some lunch, got some coffee, and took over the watch from Mel at noon. I met Jim out on deck by hold 2, and he informed me that the extra crews had been doing very good and cargo is being discharged at a good rate. He expects we would get underway in 2 days. I then got a call on my radio to come to the gangway to check-in extra ship cleaning workers. I showed up at the gangway where twenty guys in rag-tag long pants, mixed and matched shoes of some sort, and t-shirts with American logos on them lined the bulkhead. Romeo informed me that they were ship cleaners hired by the Captain to clean the engine room bilges. We signed them in and I escorted them to the engine room and turned them over to the 1st Engineer, who then put them to work cleaning up oil, grease, and sludge. Their pay was one dollar an hour. Rose met me on the dock that night, about 2100, and I told her I was way too tired to go out that night. She looked at me sadly and said, "I want to be with you, John.” "You want to come on ship to my room?" I asked her. "Yes, yes, okay,” she agreed happily. "I have to let you on after 2200 and then you must leave at 0500 so that no one knows, or I could get in trouble,” I told her. "Okay, I tell Toba come back morning,” she smiled and went off to speak with him. I turned around and there was the statue guy. "You want lady statue?" he asked me. "I don't know. It's very nice but I have no money, and it's kind of big for me to take home,” I explained. "You take on ship home, no problem,” he replied. "I go home on airplane,” I told him, trying to explain that I live in Hawaii, not the Gulf Coast. "Okay, $125.” I kept telling him I didn't think I wanted it, and he kept insisting I do. Finally, he said he would be back the next day. On the dock at 2200 to check the ship's drafts, I found Rose. I took her to the foot of the gangway and told her to wait there until I returned to get her aboard. I then returned aboard and told Romeo what I was planning to do and

went topside to be sure the Captain, Chief Mate, and Jim were all tucked away for the night. After confirming the ship was quiet and sleepy, I went to the gangway and motioned for Rose to come up quickly. The African security guard at the gangway desk smiled at me and looked down. Through the door, to the elevator, up in the elevator, out the door, into my stateroom door, shut it and she's in… shewww, big sigh of relief. First thing out of her mouth, "Food, John, hungry.” "Yes, Rose, I will be right back,” and I went down to the galley and made her a plate, wrapped it up, and brought it to her. She looked at it and asked, "What this, John?” "Meatloaf, rice, and peas.” “Meatloaf,” she said in a confused tone, squinting her eyes at it trying to figure out what it was. “Yes, Rose, you eat it. It is cow, very good,” I tried to explain. I think cow registered with her and she nodded and sat down with a smile. I told her I would be back in about 30 minutes when I was finished working. When I was finally relieved by Mel, I told him I had Rose in my room and I might need his assistance getting her off the ship at 0500. He assured me it was no problem and that he would make sure the coast was clear then. When I got back to my room the plate was wiped clean and Rose was asleep on my bed. I cuddled up with her and went right to sleep myself. 0500 my phone rang, it was Mel letting me know the coast was clear. Quickly out the door, into the elevator and down to the main deck, out the elevator and down the passageway to the gangway deck, smile at the security guard, quick kiss, and down the gangway she goes. That afternoon I met Jim on deck. Cargo is going well and he told me the ship plans to finish offloading early in the morning, we plan to get underway around 1500 tomorrow. Except for some cargo in the lower tank decks of holds 4 and 5, and vegetable oil in the after holds, we were almost completely discharged and most of my watch was spent securing the other holds for sea the following day. I got a call on the radio from Romeo telling me the guy with the statue was there, so I went to the gangway and met with him. “Hello, Mr. John, you take statue now?” He eagerly asked. "No, I don't think I can get it home,” I replied bluntly.

"Come on, Mr. John, it is very nice,” he half-pleaded. “Yes, I know, I really like it but it's too much trouble to take to my house in Hawaii,” I explained more clearly. “Okay, Mr. John, $100,” he immediately offered back. I looked at it and pondered aloud, “$100, huh?” “Yes, $100, Mr. John, very good deal for you,” he added. It was late, about 2200, and I only had enough money for my last night out with Rose. So I told the guy to come back the next day at lunchtime, before we get underway, and that I would get some money from the Captain and pay him then. He was very happy, shook my hand, and told me he would return then. Soon after my talk with the statue salesman, I met Rose and Toba at the gate and asked them if there was a place we could go and drink and stay overnight like the Greek Bar, but closer. They told me there was an expat bar and hotel down the road, and so we went there. The little shanty town outside the gate looked like super small towns out in the middle of the desert in the U.S.A, with a gas station and maybe a small store or little diner, you know the ones, dust blowing everywhere and no one doing much, lots of standing around, trash and junk all over the place. We came to a large walled facility with two big steel doors at the entrance. Toba honked the horn and someone inside unlocked the two doors to let us in. The facility was kind of nice, with little single room structures all spread out, along with a bar and restaurant, all within an acre of a 12 foot high walled in secure area. If the facility wasn't walled in it would have been trashed and ransacked by the destitute people who stood idle all along the roadside. Toba left after I assured him Rose and I would stay and be ready to go in the morning at 1000. We had a drink or two, Rose ate like she hadn't in a week, and then we went to our room to do what boys and girls do alone in a hotel room. The morning came and I told Rose the ship was leaving that day. "When come back, John?” she asked me with a sad face. I didn't really know that answer so I just replied, "Ship go back America and then maybe we come back here.” "Like Cleveland, John?" The Cleveland often came to West African ports and made regular stops in Liberia. “Yes, like Cleveland,” I assured her, but really, I had no idea. She, no

doubt, had my heart and I was saddened as well to part company. We embraced for a long time. It was almost 1000, which meant meeting Toba and heading to the ship for the last time together. “Here, Rose, this is for you… I love you and hope you are okay while I am gone,” I said as I handed her some money. She looked at the two $100 bills and smiled, this was more money than most Africans make in a year. She then hugged me and said, "I love you, John, I wait here for you.” I smiled back, and then we kissed and left the room for the taxi. When Toba dropped me off at the gate to the ship I handed him a $50 bill, with a tear in my eye and pouring down Rose’s face, as I waved farewell. They waved back as I turned and proceeded through the gate and up the gangway. It was 1100. At the top of the gangway, the Chief Mate was waiting and he told me I was the last crewman aboard, and that the ship was waiting for me as we were getting underway early, as in, now. I went to my room, changed my clothes, and went to the bridge where I met the Captain. "Have a good time here, Johnny?" he asked in a rather rhetorical tone. “Yes, Sir, I sure did, Captain,” I answered with a smile from ear to ear. "Get that pussy out of your head and let's focus on getting this ship out of here. Got it?” he barked at me. "Got it,” I smartly replied. Over the radio came, "Pilot aboard and on his way to the bridge.” "Roger that,” the Captain replied. Our Hungarian Pilot came onto the bridge. When we had docked there were tug problems, by casting lines ashore and easing the ship dockside we did what is called "warping a ship,” but docking with the anchor trick was one thing coming in, getting off this dock required a tug, no other way around it. The Captain and the Pilot greeted one another. "You and your African buddies got that tug fixed and working properly?” the Captain sharply questioned the Pilot. “Yes, Captain, it's all fixed now, no problem,” he replied in his thick African-Hungarian-English accent. "Yeah, no problem, I've heard that before," the Captain softly sneered. The Chief Mate was raising and securing the gangway when over the radio came, "The man for the statue is here and is screaming up at me for

$100 the Third Mate owes him.” "Do you owe him money for that statue, Johnny?" the Captain asked me. I told him how I was going to get some money from him when I came back today and pay the guy at lunch before we left at 1500, but since we are leaving early I had no chance to do that. The Captain told the Chief Mate over the radio, "Secure the gangway for sea, let's get out of here.” "Roger that,” came the reply. I walked out onto the bridge wing and looked down at him on the dock from 130 feet above. He put his arms up at me in a gesture that suggested the classic, ‘What the fuck, where is my money?!’ I looked down and shouted, “Sorry!” He was not happy, and proceeded to yell, "Where is my money?! I want my statue!" and so on... mixed in with African swear words. Again, I yelled down, “Sorry!” with my arms outstretched in an attempt to say there was nothing I could do. I turned and went back into the bridge and got ready to depart the dock. The tug pulled us off the dock as the statue man kept yelling at the ship. We entered the channel out of the very tight basin, with little room to maneuver. The tug did not fail, the Captain was very tense, and the Pilot drank coffee and smoked cigarettes as I navigated for the Captain with great focus and detail. We found ourselves at the sea buoy and let the Pilot go back onto the tug. The Captain told me to set a course bound for Guinea, our last discharge port. "It's a really nice statue," the Captain turned and spoke to me in a humorous tone. "I kept telling the guy I didn't want it, but he kept insisting. It was even his idea to put it on the ship at the gangway.” The Captain continued, "Hmmm, sure is nice.” "Can we keep it at the gangway in ports for good luck?” I asked. “Sure.” "Let's call her African Rose,” I suggested. "African Rose it is.”

Chapter 6

Conakry, Guinea “Women on a ship are bad luck… and the stowaway” After a short overnight voyage North up the West African coast, we were now taking on a Pilot and entering the port of Conakry, in Guinea. The Captain was very impressed with the African Pilot and their new harbor tug. The approaches into the port were clear, and the basin provided good room to maneuver. All was going well and we were about to come starboard side to the dock, when the Captain asked the Pilot, "What the hell is that tug doing?” It had our bow mooring line attached to its deck so it could tow us around and into position. What it was doing now, was pulling really hard on it and the mooring line was extremely taught. In Guinea they speak French, and the Pilot spoke into his radio in thick Creole, turned to the Captain, and said, "Tug broke, only stay in reverse.” The tug was in reverse pulling really hard on our mooring line, which is braided nylon with an 8-inch diameter. "That's fucking bullshit!” the Captain yelled at the Pilot. "You better get them to stop pulling before they break that line.” The Pilot yelled into his radio, and then the Captain yelled again at the Pilot, "I know what you're up to, you piece of shit, tell that tug to stop, now!” The mooring line was very taught and you could hear it cracking as it was getting tighter and tighter. From the ship to the tug there was about 200 feet of line out. Then, with a loud 'POP' that echoed throughout the basin, the mooring line broke. Miraculously, the tug stopped pulling and heaved in the 200 feet of our mooring line, came to our port side, and gently pushed us in. "I want that damn mooring line back, you understand me?" the Captain said to the Pilot, in a very intimidating voice as he pointed his finger right in his face. "Yes, sure, no problem, okay,” was the Pilot’s response. Shaking his head in disgust, the Captain said, "You're all alike.” Apparently, this is a common ploy around here. You see, the tug will pull really hard on the line, it will break, then they bring it onto the tug, and after docking the tug goes away somewhere in the basin and keeps the mooring line. The average cost of mooring line is five to ten dollars a foot, and they just snagged 200 feet of it. The Captain tells me to do nothing else

but keep an eye on the tug with binoculars while the ship finishes tying up. Part of the tug's disappearing act comes while the ship is super occupied tying up and lowering the gangway. I kept my eye on them and watched them tie up to a small slip about 4 docks over. I pointed them out to the Captain after we were all secure alongside. "Get Hawse and the Bos'n and meet me at the gangway,” the Captain instructed. "Roger that, Captain.” I alerted them and we were standing by at the gangway when the Captain came out the door with a big wooden club in his hand. He also handed the Bos'n and Hawse each a billy club from the security locker. Now, Hawse is a big ole boy, hence his nickname, and the Bos’n, Orlando, is a black man and a martial arts expert, plus, the Captain looks like a Viking. The Captain told me to standby at the gangway and monitor the radio in case they called, and, "Do not let anyone onto this ship until I come back. Nobody. No exceptions. You got that, Johnny?” “Yes, Sir, I got it. Nobody comes aboard, no exceptions.” Then down the gangway the three of them went to get our mooring line back. Now, the ship profits, if all goes well, close to a million bucks per voyage. So fighting over a piece of mooring line is something most Captains are not going to do, Captain Holdsworth is a different story. He would say things like, “You got to show these assholes who is in charge, or else they will walk all over you… you can never trust these pieces of shits, they must be treated like dogs, all they understand is an iron fist.” The three of them had a good walk, maybe about half a mile to the small slip the tug went to, and from the gangway we watched them disappear down the docks out of our view. Most of us were at the gangway at this point; Nick, Yague, Romeo, Jim Barr, the Chief Engineer, and a few others, all anticipating just about anything, standing around and waiting for some sort of resolution. Monitoring my radio with great diligence, we all speculated on what would happen as we discussed what we would do in turn, hoping the Captain and the boys would be safe. Time seemed to pass slowly, and then looking down the dock the Chief Engineer pointed, "Here they come.”

Leading the way, with his big wooden club in hand, the Captain had three rag-tag scrawny Africans dragging our mooring line down the dock, with the Bos'n and Hawse bringing up the rear. Every African worker on the dock moved out of his way like he was parting a black sea, and all of them looked at him in pure astonishment. I am sure this was as the Oldman wanted, allowing the locals to take in what would be the outcome if they tried stealing from his ship. When they got to the foot of the gangway, on the dock, the Africans turned to go. The Captain raised his club and pointed up the gangway, yelling, "You fucking Africans took it off my ship, now put it back on!” He was not messing around and they could see that. So, reluctantly, the three men put the length of mooring line up on their shoulders and walked up the gangway with it. Mooring line is very heavy, especially wet, and the length weighed at least 200 pounds, if not more. The entire African workforce on the dock all gathered around and watched this display together. At the top of the gangway, after the mooring line was aboard, the Captain pointed his club at the three Africans and barked, "Now get the fuck off my ship you pieces of shit.” They turned and quickly got down the gangway and out of dodge. "Let's get to work and offload this cargo!” As the Captain turned to us now, I am thinking, Wow! That was impressive. “Yes, Sir!” We all responded quickly and began cargo op's as if nothing happened. First thing, I met Henry, pronounced “on-ree,” the African Load Manager overseeing the work gangs and Jim at holds 3 and 4. All of the African workers spoke Creole-style French, and at the time I was pretty good at speaking French, so I did so with the workers. In this retelling, however, I will write in English, though I spoke French with them the entire time. Jim informed Henry and me that we would be offloading the remaining bags from the tank decks of hold 3 first, then hold 4 after 3 was finished. So Romeo, Yague, Nick, and I lifted the deck hatches off hold 3 and the work gangs began loading the bags into cargo nets, hooking them to the crane, and hoisting them ashore. Just as we were beginning to go, the Chief Mate called me on the radio and told me to come back to the after RO/RO deck with Yague and Romeo to help finish the offload of the vegetable oil. We got there and he said to me, "Captain wants it all discharged today so he can sell the plywood to the agent

and buyer ashore.” Henry was there with 6 additional African workers, and the Mate continued, "Henry's workers will stack all the plywood on pallets and you three will make sure no one fucks with them, got it?" he looked directly at me with a stern face. "Roger that, Mate, we got it,” I replied back. Romeo and I looked at each other and smiled as we had experienced the chaos plywood can cause around here and didn’t intend to repeat such an event. As the 5-gallon cans of vegetable oil went ashore on big trucks out of the RO/RO decks, we watched as the additional workers stacked the plywood on pallets. Yague took them by forklift to a secure staging area to be offloaded by crane 5 later on. This was a big job and took all morning and into the afternoon, as there were about 2000 pieces of 1/4 inch plywood. At about 1400, the Oldman showed up and said to me, "Looks good down here. At 1500 meet me at the gangway so you can escort the agent and the buyer down here and show them the plywood.” "Roger that, Captain.” “Also, lift the engine storage hatch off so the engineers can bring up scrap metal we are going to sell as well.” “Aye, Aye, Captain. Got it.” Yague hooked up the stores crane, we lifted off the hatch that goes deep down into the engine room, lowered the hook down into it, and started lifting out pallets full of tied down metal, lots of old copper, brass, aluminum, and stainless steel. The Captain and Chief Engineer do not get paid overtime, they get a very high base wage, about 18-20,000 a month, and the company lets them sell the scrap plywood and metal and keep that money as a fringe, not French, benefit. All the metal was up and now out of the engine room, stacked next to the plywood. Romeo and Yague stood guard and I went up to the gangway to meet the Captain and buyer. After I got there, within a few minutes, the Captain showed up. "That's them, there,” he said, pointing at a very nice full-size Toyota truck with crew cab, making its way down the dock toward the gangway. Out of the truck stepped three well-dressed men in casual business attire and a woman in a bright floral print dress with a colorful head wrap. The men wore gold watches and the woman gold jewelry. They came up the gangway, two

men, then the woman, and the last man behind. The Captain shook the two men's hands, then the lady’s, and then the last man, as they all came aboard onto the gangway deck. After small greeting gestures, the Captain said, "It's bad luck to have women aboard, have her wait here at the gangway while the Third Mate shows you the plywood and metal, then we can negotiate a price in my office.” The three men smiled and chuckled, she did not, and one man replied, “Oh, Captain, she is the buyer.” "She's the buyer?" The Captain was astonished and sported a dumbfounded look upon his face. “Yes, Captain.” "My apologies, Miss,” the Captain backpedaled while bowing his head down slightly. She acknowledged with an expectable head gesture, but with a look of annoyance on her face. Two men went with me while the other man and the women went with the Captain to his office. I showed them the stacked plywood, they looked at it and inspected it, and then we did the same with the metal, while one man was writing down what it was and how much of it we had. I took them to the Captain’s office were, to my surprise, the Captain and the woman were smiling and enjoying a cup of coffee. "Standby at the load for my radio call to offload if we make an agreement,” he said to me. "Roger that, Sir,” I replied and headed down to the staged loading area in hold 5. The call from the Captain came down, "Third Mate, start sending the loads ashore.” "Roger that, Captain, start sending the loads ashore." We began slinging loads of plywood and scrap metal ashore onto large flatbed trucks, each with an armed two-man security guard detail. It’s only plywood, for crying out loud, but after I got to figuring it out at two bucks a board, it was worth 5,000 dollars, and that's like a million bucks for an African. Anyway, we connected the crane hook to the first load and I looked up at Romeo in the crane, giving the following signal- I extended my first finger out and closed the rest of my hand into a fist, I then lifted my hand and arm over my head and twirled it. That's the signal to bring up the load, and up

it quickly went and away to the waiting armed-guard trucks. We lifted 28 pallets of plywood, 100 sheets each, and 14 pallets of scrap metal. It took us over 3 hours. The Captain told us we did a good job and thanked us, that's all we needed. Midnight came and I was relieved by Mel. I crashed hard, anticipating a big day next finishing the offload and heading back to Houston, Texas. The next day came and 1200 found me on the bridge to relieve Mel. He informed me that the only hold to finish was 4 center. There were about 2000 bags left, and when the last load finished I was to inform the Captain. After our relief, I headed out onto the deck and Romeo began closing hatches with me. About 1600, all the hatches were closed and secured for sea except the hatch were the last of the cargo was. About 500 bags remained, and they were working really hard to get it all offloaded by 1700. Romeo and I took a break and had some coffee. Just before 1700, we went onto the deck and found Henry there, overseeing the load. "How's it looking, Henry?" I asked him as I looked down into the cargo hold. "That's the last load there,” he said as the last bags were being placed into the cargo net. The load came up and swung offshore to the waiting truck. I confirmed, "That's it, no more bags at all down there?" “Yes, John, no more bags, cargo finished,” he answered. We both smiled, very happy with this news. Yeah! Awesome! Whooo! As we had our mini celebration ceremony with high fives all around. I told him and Romeo I was going to the bridge to log the time and inform the Captain. As I turned to leave, I miss-stepped and fell right off the deck hatch. Now, the deck hatches are raised up 15 feet and below is nothing but a hard steel deck. I suddenly, to my surprise, began falling face first toward the deck below. Fortunately, the number 5 crane pedestal is mounted really close to the hatch deck, and as I fell I extended my left arm out and grabbed a piece of the external emergency evacuation ladder to stop my fall. I was wedged in between the crane and the hatch with my left arm stretched way out. Romeo and Henry helped me back up. "Are you okay, Mate?” Romeo and Henry were equally concerned. "Holy shit, that could have been really bad. I can't believe I just did

that. I am fine, but my arm is all fucked up and my shoulder really hurts,” I answered. "Can you lift it up?" Romeo asked. I tried, but couldn't. “No, I can't lift it. I need to lay down for a few minutes.” I laid down on top of deck hatch 4, starboard. My adrenaline was up and I needed to calm down and get a hold of myself. I told Romeo I was going to lay here for a few minutes, and for him and Yague to close the hatch cover. As they did that I laid down on the steel hatch cover of hold 4 starboard, with my left arm resting across my lower chest. I heard over my radio, "What the fuck are you doing, Third Mate?!" the Captain was yelling. I looked up at his cabin window and he was there, overlooking the deck and me laying down as I replied, "I almost fell off of the hatch deck and my arm is hurt pretty bad." "Is it broke?" “No, it’s not, but I can't raise it and it hurts really bad when I try to." "Don't think you are going home, Johnny, this ship is leaving in the morning and you are coming with us,” he barked. "I am not going to do that, Captain,” I reassured him. "Is cargo finished?" “Yes, Sir, last cargo ashore 1710,” I informed him. "After you get done laying around, you and Romeo come to my office." “Yes, Sir, be there soon.” On our way to the Oldman's office, we stopped by the ship’s hospital and put my left arm into a triangular bandage to support it in its resting position. If a sailor gets hurt overseas, and a doctor ashore determines he is unfit for duty, that sailor gets flown home and receives their base wage until the ship returns to the U.S.A or he becomes fit for duty, whichever comes first. We entered the Captain’s office, "What the hell happened out there?" he asked. "I stepped off the hatch cover and wedged myself in between the crane and the hatch. Blew out my left shoulder,” I explained. "Did you see it?" he asked Romeo. “Yes, Sir, he stepped off the hatch but got wedged in between the crane and the hatch. We lifted him back up,” Romeo confirmed.

With a witness to the accident, and my left arm unmovable, the Oldman knew I could easily go ashore, get an unfit for duty, and fly home. I had been aboard the ship now for two months, most of that time with him as Captain. He knew me pretty good, I loved the deck, I was not afraid to get greasy or dirty, and I had become a go-to asset, however, he wasn't sure what kind of a pussy move I would make here, or if I was going to make one. "I am not going to sail short, your sailing with us, Johnny. In Houston, we'll send you ashore to get your arm checked out.” I easily could have said no and that I wanted to see a doctor now, and he would have had to meet that request, but I responded, "I wasn't planning on leaving, Captain, but my arm is fucked up, and that's no joke.” He loved that attitude of toughness and ship loyalty, so he replied, "On the way back we got to knock out the Coast Guard hit list on the remaining safety equipment. Romeo will help you out, just keep your arm in the sling and do not hurt it anymore, okay?" “Yes, Sir,” we both responded. “Now, go meet Henry and make sure all the workers are off the ship, then raise the gangway, and do not let anyone aboard except crew members, no exceptions. If there is doubt, call me, got it!?” “Yes, Sir,” we both responded again. Then he continued, "Tomorrow morning, at 0700, it will be all hands for stowaway search and then we are scheduled to depart at 1100, so get a good night’s rest.” “Yes, Sir.” "Dismissed, get back to work.” We turned and started out of the office, but when I got to the door he added, “Johnny.” “Yes, Sir?” "Good job, Johnny,” he said, rather nicely. "Thank you, Sir,” I responded proudly and left the office. Romeo and I went out on deck and found Henry at the gangway with all the African workers waiting in a line ready to be checked off the list as they departed. After we confirmed all the workers were ashore and accounted for, I shook Henry's hand and bid him farewell. Romeo and I lifted the gangway 10 feet up off the dock and kept to our instructions to only lower it only for ship’s personnel. We also started a roving watch along the main deck

to ensure no stowaways tried to sneak on up the mooring lines or climb up the outboard side with grappling hook and rope. At midnight, we instructed our reliefs on the night duties. I went to bed tired, and with a hurt shoulder. At 0700, we all gathered on the bridge and the Captain instructed us on the stowaway search plan. With a hurt shoulder in a sling, I was not able to climb around the cargo holds, so the Captain had Romeo and I search the house from the main deck up. We were instructed how to lock up spaces that had been searched and cleared, and what spaces would not be locked so that we could get around after the search was over. Basically, the whole ship was locked up after the stowaway search was over except access to the bridge, engine room, and fore and aft mooring decks. At 1100, we brought our mooring lines in, slipped off the deck, headed out the harbor channel, and set out to sea on a West-Northwest course, full ahead, bound for the U.S.A. The sea was calm, I stood the 0800-1200 watch daily, and began fixing hits with Romeo that the Coast Guard gave us before we had departed. The days passed, and the morning of the fourth day, as I was on the bridge standing navigation watch, while Romeo was standing lookout, he said, "Mate we got a stowaway coming down the deck.” "What, where?” I rushed to his side, "Right there,” he pointed onto the deck. Sure enough, there was a scrawny, dirty, ripped up jeans and t-shirt, no shoes African walking down the starboard main deck toward the house. “Fuck,” I sighed. I went to the phone and called the Oldman in his office. “Captain, this is the bridge,” I said. "What is it, Third Mate, everything alright?” "We got a stowaway, Captain.” "A stowaway, where?” he was irritated, to be sure. "Coming down the main deck, starboard side, toward the house.” "Keep your eye on him until the Bos'n and Chief Mate get him,” he said. “Yes, Sir.” The Captain showed up to the bridge, super pissed off, with his wooden club in hand. A few minutes later, the Chief Mate and Bos'n brought the

stowaway onto the bridge. He was very scrawny, looked dusty, smelled like shit, and was obviously weak from not eating or drinking water for probably the last four days. Without hesitation the Captain shoved the wood club up under the stowaway's chin with one hand, and with the other, grabbed his ragged shirt and lifted him up, placing him on a table just next to the door that goes out to the bridge wing deck. "Where were you hiding, you fucking African piece of shit?!” the Captain yelled at him. He was shaking his head and looked very confused, “No,” was his only reply. "So help me, I will throw you over the side if you don't tell me where you were hiding,” the Captain threatened, as he lifted him off the table and started to drag him out the door to the weather deck and the ocean. "No, no, okay, help, okay, okay,” he muttered, half terrified. The Captain dragged him onto the bridge by his neck. It should be noted, that on the bridge we have a lot of book publications, and we had this old basic pine coffin along the after bulkhead that we stored them in. We all never really gave it a thought, it was just a wooden box we stored books in, but it was a coffin none the less. And the Captain sat him right on it. The stowaway had an absolute look of shock on his face as he looked and felt what he was sitting on. The Captain tapped the coffin with his club and then placed it right on the stowaway’s face. “Johnny, you speak French, right?" “Well, a little, Captain, I know words and phrases and stuff,” I replied cautiously. "Then use those words to tell this fucking nigger I will smash his head in and toss him over the side if he doesn't tell me where he was hiding, and if there are others.” I didn't really have to say anything, as the Captain’s message seemed to be clear to him, but I used my basic French to communicate the message anyway while the Bos'n and Chief Mate, along with the Captain and myself, had him surrounded sitting on the coffin. Each time I said something to him and he responded the Captain would clench his teeth, look as pissed off as possible, and tap the coffin. The stowaway was shaking and crying. He spoke in a crackled terrified voice, saying things like, 'no others, only him, help, okay, me only, promise,' and basic words like that. The Captain continued yelling, the stowaway was shaking and crying more and more, and then the

Bos'n said, "Look Captain.” The Bos'n nodded his head toward the stowaway’s crotch and we all looked down. He had pissed himself. Convinced that he was the only stowaway, the Captain said to the Bos'n, "Have him show you where he was hiding and search the area. Make sure there aren't others and that this piece of shit isn't lying like they all do. Got that?" “Yes, Sir,” he replied. "Then put him in the brig.” “Yes, Sir, got it.” The Bos'n and Chief Mate left the bridge and took the stowaway with them, then the Captain turned to me, "Plot a course for Dakar Senegal, we'll take him there. Use the speed based on our average for the last three days. Call me when you have an ETA.” “Yes, Sir," and with that, he turned and left the bridge. "Holy fucking shit, that was fucking crazy,” I said to Romeo. "I know,” Romeo was shaking his head in disbelief. "Do you think he would have done it, you know, throw him over the side?" "I don't know, he might have,” Romeo responded in a tone that suggested he thought it was possible. "I know, I was almost convinced, but he wouldn't really do that, I mean… it would be murder." "He could have told us to leave the bridge and thrown him over without anyone seeing it,” Romeo countered. "That fucking guy is a real badass, and I wouldn't put that past him. Wow!" With a sigh of relief that it was over, I said, "Let's get back to business.” "Roger that, Mate.” Then Romeo went back to his watch and I plotted a course to Senegal, though I had no idea where it was. Turns out, Senegal is just north of Guinea, and we made a South by East course there. Along the way, I was wondering why we didn't just take him to the U.S. and turn him over to authorities there, after all, this will put us 6 to 7 days behind schedule. The answer given to me by the Chief Mate was that the company would be fined 50 grand and expected to pay all costs associated with repatriation. He also told me the Oldman would be able to payoff port officials in Africa to take custody of the stowaway for probably 1

or 2 grand. During the transit, the stowaway stayed in the brig and we all took turns standing guard. His name was Andre, we fed him, he was able to take a shower and, of course, we gave him clothes and shoes. He seemed to be very concerned about being turned over to the authorities in Senegal, and I couldn't really make out why with our broken French and English. What I did make out was that he had a wife and two daughters, he was jailed because of situations resulting in the political issues of Guinea, he escaped the country to seek a better life for himself and his family, he had three missing fingers, scars on his face, arms, and hands, and walked with a limp. Andre was 25 years old. A few days later, we were laying offshore of Dakar, the main port of Senegal, waiting for the port authorities to come out to the ship and pick up stowaway Andre. Hawse and I lowered down the gangway to 10 feet above the water's edge and we looked out for the port authority boat. Soon we saw it making its approach, and the Bos'n along with the Chief Mate brought down Andre to the gangway deck. The port authority boat was very nice, painted in light gray with black trim, machine gun mounts fore and aft, horns, lights, and radar. The men in the boat were sharply dressed in military green attire and they tied off to a bit along the hull. We lowered the gangway down to two feet off their deck. Immediately, the Africans on the boat pulled out huge snake skins, 15 feet long and 2 to 3 feet wide, trying to sell them to us. We were not interested, we are here in a very serious manner, but they would yell up to us stuff like, "No problem, take now, good deal, come down, look,” as they insistently held up the snake skins. The Captain gave the Bos'n an envelope and he escorted Andre down the gangway to the waiting authorities on the boat. They handcuffed him, took him below deck, accepted the envelope from the Bos'n, and gave one last try at selling snake skins, naturally, and cast off their lines. "How long until he gets home do you think, Captain?” I asked. "A couple years,” he shrugged. "A couple of years,” I said questioningly, "Why you think so long? Guinea is down the road.” "He'll probably get a judgment of a couple years for being illegally in Senegal and sent to a work camp as a slave." "That's not right. He didn't cross the border from Guinea into Senegal,

we brought him here to be repatriated to Guinea,” I said, kind of disappointed in humanity. "That's fucking Africa, Johnny, eat or be eaten.” With that, I ended my first voyage to Africa. We crossed the North Atlantic in 10 days and found ourselves in familiar territory, back home in the good old U.S.A. For me, that was a Taco Bell on the way to the doctor. Next voyage we are going to East Africa, rounding the Cape of Good Hope to Mombasa, Kenya, and Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania.

Chronicles of a Merchant Mariner Introduction Chronicles of a Merchant Mariner

These chronicles are true stories from my 20-plus years as a United States Merchant Mariner. It is by no accident that I became a Merchant Marine. I've loved the sea all my life, and up until joining at the age of 24, I’ve always worked on the water and studied the ocean. I've lived in Kauai for two and a half years ,was a scuba diving instructor, a big wave surfer, and a certified boat deckhand. I was always a fan of Jacque Cousteau and I read books about old sailing stories and oceanography. I wanted to see the world, I wanted to experience diverse cultures of people, and I wanted to experience all the oceans in their tranquil glory and powerful might. I needed challenges and I needed adventure, and I found it all in the Merchant Marines. Mother Ocean does not relinquish her true self upon you until you have paid some dues, nothing at sea is easy, but over time she will become your most trusted companion. I have seen her in a fitful rage conjure up seas over 30 feet high aimed directly at us, one after another, for days and days. Yet, there have been many days at sea that when you look out on the ocean it is so beautiful, that it is intoxicating, sometimes to the point that you can forget where you are, and where you are is on watch making sure the ship is safe. Not much time for lollygagging or skylarking on a ship, we got work to do sailors let's "turn two". Time for watch, or loading and unloading cargo, docking and undocking, maintenance of the deck and all deck equipment, training and being constantly vigilant. Let's see the world and get there by sea! Among the sailors I knew there would be fights and there would be arguments, I also knew that most of the time it would be intellectual, and I would learn a lot from others through experience, good conversation and laughter. That we would form a brotherhood of the sea, with strong bonds, that could reach the bottom of the Marianas Trench itself.

Chapter 1 U.S.N.S Antares, SL-7 I wasn't supposed to sail aboard the U.S.N.S. Antares as my first ship. I was supposed to be aboard a cruise ship in Hawaii, the M/V Constitution, with my girlfriend, Lisa. We joined the Merchant Marines together. Lisa was going to start working aboard the cruise ship as a cocktail waitress, and I was going to be an Able-Bodied Seaman (AB). It was a Friday afternoon, and we were enjoying our hotel room in Honolulu while waiting to board the cruise ship on Saturday morning when the phone rang. It was the Union. The representative explained that a major crisis had just broken out in the Persian Gulf. Iraq had invaded Kuwait. The U.S. was manning all merchant ships and loading them with the weapons of war to bring to the sandy shores of Saudi Arabia, and invade Iraq if needed. This was my first ship, so I had no choice. In the morning I’d be going to the airport, while Lisa went off to enjoy her cocktail waitress job aboard the cruise ship. I was pretty bummed

out, to say the least. We were both looking forward to having a great time aboard the cruise ship. I knew the Chief-Mate personally from surfing with him in Kauai, and we both knew the Chief Steward from eating at his Italian restaurant, which was also in Kauai. He liked us both and promised Lisa an evening position. The Chief-Mate assured me of an early morning/evening watch standing position. We both had looked forward to spending time in the sunshine to surf, swim, and snorkel every day on a different Hawaiian island. After the plane ride to Jacksonville, Florida, the agent picked us up from the airport and took us to the ship. It was an SL-7 and I was quite impressed at its size. They were made by Sealand to be the fastest merchant ships, as well as the largest multi-cargo ships, in the world’s merchant ship fleet. She was about seven feet shy of 1,000 and had a beam of 110ft, two 60,000 horsepower steam engines, and could make, I was told, 38 knots across the Atlantic. Now that's getting underway! Soon, however, Sealand realized that the fuel cost/time thing wasn't working out and they weren’t making money by going faster. So, they sold them to the US Military Sealift Command, or M.S.C., at a total of seven ships, hence why they are called the SL-7. The US has them in reserve in case they need to get a lot of equipment somewhere really quickly, as they did in this case. They were painted grey and the MSC named each one after a different star, like Antares, the bright red star in the constellation of Scorpio. They were nice looking ships with a forward house and an after house. The forward house is where the deck department stays, and you have the navigation bridge high up over-looking the bow. The after house is where the engineers stay with the engine rooms down below. In between along the centerline the ship had two twin pedestal 40-ton cranes and a helicopter deck. The after house is also where the steward department stayed and the ships galley is located. It’s very important to know where the galley is! On the Antares, I was with my good buddy, Clark West; we had served in the Navy together. He cooked up the idea several years after getting out of the Navy that we should join the Merchant Marines. He told me about all these opportunities, the good money we could make working overtime, and how we could have it all saved and come home after three or four months at sea with a very large amount in our pockets, especially back in 1990. He was my best friend and I was happy to have him alongside with me as I was now working aboard my first merchant ship.

We ascended the long steep gangway and checked into the deck department where we met the Bos’n. He was a salty fellow, in his midthirties, named Mark Hutchinson, and he informed us that the ship suffered a major engine room fire during exercises in the Pacific Rim Pac one year prior and was therefore not able to get underway. It was a steamship and the copper pipes that radiate the steam couldn’t hold pressure without bursting since they had gone brittle in the fire. He told us that the engineers and a specialist from Norway were working on the problem. We all hoped the ship would be getting underway in about a week or so, and in the meantime, we would be preparing the ship for sea until the engines were fixed and we could load cargo. I found that a typical day's work on board a merchant ship starts at breakfast between 0700 and 0745, work starts at 0800, and we go until 1130 when we break for lunch from 1130 to 1300. This is great because you can take a nap for a whole hour after you eat lunch. Then, we work from 1300 to 1630, dinner break from 1630 to 1730, and overtime is from 1730 to 2030, for which you get four hours paid if the Bos’n and Chief Mate are game. Clark, myself, and some of the boys on the ship were young, I was only in my early twenties, and we went out and enjoyed Jacksonville in the evening time on the beach right along the Inter-coastal Waterway, partying with the sailors and vagrants in the salty bars up and down the coastline. It was a fun time and we were already making bank getting 4 hours of overtime a day and every hour worked on the weekend, which comes out to 24 all as overtime, Cha-ching! After 10 days, they finally built up enough pressure and figured they could hold it so we could set sail. Everyone that knew that ship from the Captain-down didn’t wear a look of confidence. They would kind of shake their heads, muttering, “Well…. we'll see if she'll hold.” We departed the St. John’s River fully loaded with Army equipment and headed out into the Atlantic. I was now on watch hours, and being the least experienced AbleBodied Seaman I was assigned to the 0800 to 1200 watch, so is the least experienced mate, the Third Mate, that way, the Captain can keep his eye on you. You stand watch from 0800 in the morning until 1200, you work overtime from 1300 to 1630, and then you come back on watch at 2000 to 2400, midnight, and that’s your 12 hours. Everything's going fine, I am standing watch as lookout and helmsman. We were out there for 4 days making good speed and never even brought it

fully up, we only steamed about 22 knots. Then she blew. Well, not only can we not make way, but now we can't make fresh water either. Adrift with the ‘Not Under Command’ lights up, red over red (“the captain is dead” is how you can remember that), with the day shape of two balls in a vertical line high up the mast ( the captain has his balls strung up in the mast, is how you can remember that), the ship is fucked, no power and adrift, not a good thing. After 2 days, the water ran out and we had to lower buckets over the side and take salt water showers out on the deck. The water line was about 45 feet down and you had to raise this 5-gallon bucket up 45 feet full of water; it was very heavy, and we would use this technique for toilets and dishwashing as well. The good news is, we got paid extra money for that on top of the already great money we were making, so for me, it wasn't really a problem. We were underway again after 4 days adrift, steaming slowly so as not to build up too much pressure and have the copper tubes burst. We were almost halfway now, in the very center of the Atlantic, working to maintain the pressure in the copper tubing, plugging steam leaks constantly, breaking down and getting underway, breaking down and getting underway, over and over again. This was a futile exercise and the Captain gave up and called an ocean-going tug from Rota, Spain. There's a US Navy Port located on the Atlantic coast of Spain just North of the Straits of Gibraltar, so it took the ocean-going tug 5 days to get out to our location. Like I said before, we were dead center in the middle of the Atlantic, South West of the Azores, adrift with no fresh water….. back to the bucket trick. As the tug finally approached us, I was very surprised that the Bos’n had chosen myself and Clark to go down into the foc’sle and help rig the tow line. This is no little tow rigging, this is for a thousand-foot ship and the ocean-going tug itself was probably 150ft, it was a big beast. The tow line, called the hawser, had a diameter of 10 inches of double braided nylon and had a thimble spliced into the eye. We attached a 150-pound shackle to it and a chain that attaches to a pad-eye welded into the deck, each link of chain weighed 90 pounds. We faked out the hawser on the deck so it could run out smoothly as the tug would come ahead and take it. We fed the bitter end to the tug through the bullnose and they attached it to their deck. The tug began coming ahead slowly, taking out the faked down hawser. I was very stoked to be aboard this ship, my first ship. We had been aboard maybe a little bit over 30 days and now I found myself in the foc’sle, selected to rig the towing

hawser with the Bos’n and my best friend, Clark. The tug came ahead slowly, taking out the 10-inch double braided nylon towing hawser, which ran out smoothly. As it came to the end where the thimble was it was just a little bit too big to fit through the bullnose. The whole tension of the line came up between the tug and the ship, it was 1200 feet long and the entire towing hawser was out of the water in between us and the tug. That's a lot of strain, big time, and the Bos’n told us to take cover behind the winches, while the tug was pulling hard. Finally, the thimble squeezed through the bullnose with a loud ‘POP!’ Sparks went flying as the sixty feet of chain now ran out like a mad beast, uncaged for the first time. As it came to the end, all three of us were focused on the pad-eye welded to the deck to see if it would hold. It came up so tight that it vibrated like a guitar string, and then after a moment, we felt the ship lunge forward and the hawser slacked a bit. It held, and we were now under tow with a huge sigh of relief. To say the least, that was a very exciting experience for a young seaman like myself. We all looked at each other, shaking our heads as our ears nearly exploded- It was all steel 360° around us because the forward mooring deck was located one deck below the main deck. The bangs and booms that echoed in our heads from the steel smashing and pounding together rang like the giant bell atop Big Ben. We checked the rigging and the Bos’n reported to the Captain that we were all okay and the rigging was good and strong. The Captain came down after a bit, while we were cleaning up the mess, to inspect the damage. It was immense, with big chunks of steel folded back going out of the bullnose and everything was dented and scraped up the whole way along the deck to it, all from the sixty feet of chain that ran out uncontrollably. The Captain then inspected the pad-eye a little closer and discovered it had suffered a crack at the weld. He ordered the Bos’n to assign an AB to stand watch down there the entire time as we were towed to Rota. Then he called the Chief Engineer and had him send down old Stanley, the ship’s welder, a good old boy from down South Louisiana. Stanley had been welding his entire life and had been aboard the ship for 10 years as the welder, he looked to be about 60 years old and was a real hoot of fun. After the Bos’n and I helped old Stanley bring his welding rig down into the foc’sle, we watched him put down one of the finest welds I've ever seen. He drill two small holes, one each at each end of the crack, to prevent the crack from getting longer, then he grinded out the crack into a V shape. The weld

he laid down was like a work of art the way the liquid layers flowed, stacked perfectly. He welded up this small crack, but a crack none the less, on a very heavy strain, with engineering perfection. The way the watches would work on the tow to Rota would be as follows: One mate as the navigation officer on the bridge, and that mate had two AB’s. One would stand as a lookout and one was a helmsman, which was normal. Since we didn't need a helmsman, because we were under tow, the helmsman would act as the lookout from the bridge and man the helm if needed, while the other AB would stand watch the four hours down in the foc’sle to make sure nothing went wrong with the rigging or that pad-eye. The ride to Rota, Spain, was pretty chill for me, I was either standing watch on the bridge for 8 hours a day or I was down in the foc’sle standing the “rigging watch,” as we called it, which was super awesome because you sat down on this big coil of mooring line that was kind of soft and read a book, every half hour you would check the crack that happened in the padeye and report by radio to the bridge. It would go like this: I would call into the radio, “Bridge, rigging watch.” The bridge would respond, “Bridge, go ahead.” “All is well.” “Very well.” I would then commence to sitting down with a cup of coffee, maybe some snacks from the galley, and I got a lot of good reading in. We didn't go very fast, remember we were supposed to be one of the fastest merchant ships in the world and could make 38 knots with two 60,000 horsepower steam engines, that's huge for a ship! Instead, we made 6 knots, at best, and 8 days later someone called out… "land a ho!" I'm joking, nobody says that anymore. We spotted land on the radar before we could see it. After a short while, we turned to starboard on a North-Easterly course into the port of Rota. We shortened the tow line and made fast two harbor tugs, then we let the ocean-going tug depart. The harbor tugs, with the assistance of the harbor Pilot, who's a specially qualified navigator having local knowledge that may be necessary to ensure safe passage, pushed us gently alongside the pier. We made fast our mooring lines and lowered the gangway. We received our shore passes from the Captain and headed down the now ready gangway. All hands ashore! Yes, we do say that. Clark and I went ashore in the little beach town of Rota, Spain. It was a

nice place with cobblestone streets, old brick buildings, small restaurants, and shops lining the narrow streets. We walked around tasting a variety of local foods and beers, noticing that there were a lot of pretty girls in that town and they all seemed quite friendly. We got a cab and asked the driver where a good place to go dancing and drinking was and he recommended a small little pub that played live music, served food and had dancing on an outside dance floor right on the beach. It was called the Rum Dance, and he said they specialized in rum drinks. Perfect, let’s go! He said it was just 15 minutes North, so we headed out. The cab driver was really cool and we asked him to have a couple of drinks with us, which he did, and after he left Clark and I danced the night away with two beautiful Spanish girls. We awoke in the morning, shaking off the rum, blurry eyed, and heads spinning in this little apartment building with the two beautiful Spanish girls. Clark looked at his watch and, “Fuck, John, it’s 0730. We're going to be late for work.” We said our quick goodbyes, grabbed our backpacks, put our shoes on, and ran out the door. Somehow we made it to the ship on time, but not with a second to spare. As we ran up the gangway, the Bos’n and the Chief Mate were standing right there at the top. “You guys have a good time last night?” the Mate asked us. “Yes, Sir, we sure did,” Clark answered for both of our pounding heads and dehydrated bodies, but we couldn’t keep from having smiles plastered on our faces. The Bos’n ordered, “Go change into your work clothes and meet us on the foredeck, ASAP.” "Yes, Sir," we responded and rushed off. We met the deck gang, the Bos’n, and the Chief Mate, up on the foredeck and the Mate informed us that we would be offloading all our cargo onto the USNS Capella, starting that afternoon after she moored alongside us. He informed us it should take about four days, and after that, the ship would remain in Rota for repairs and we would all be discharged, paid-off, and sent home. The men who sail onboard merchant ships are a mixed bag of everything. You could have the smartest guy you've ever met, tall muscular and handsome, a nice going person, and you could have a total scumbag that is dumber than a rock, a short fat slob, that has been a wiper or ordinary seaman for 10 years because they can barely read. You have every different color of person, you have every different size of person, their backgrounds

and even their country origins are all different. Men can be from Massachusetts and Maine, they could be from Louisiana, they could even be from Montana, they could be from Kenya, they could be Mexican, Filipino, Indian, German, you name it. It's a microcosm of the world on a ship like that. At lunch that day, an incident happened with two very different types of men. One was a German cook of about 30, and the other was a black man from the Bronx, stationed as a QMED (Qualified Member of the Engine Department), he was also about 30. Well, as we were all sitting there eating lunch in the mess room, through the door from the galley comes rushing out the short fat German cook, with a knife in his hand, running toward the sitting down QMED eating his lunch. I would have gotten up and ran, I can run pretty fast with someone coming at me with a big knife, but not this badass from the Bronx, built like that movie star, LL Cool J. He got up as the German was running at him, knife in hand, grabbed his chair and swung it, legs first, right at the German’s face. The chair struck, pushing him down, knocking him flat on his back with a loud steel to head sound, ‘BOOM!’ As the knife released from his hand, the QMED dropped his knee into the cook’s chest and punched him in the face, knocking him almost unconscious. The QMED then got up calmly, as the cook lay bleeding from his head and face in a full daze, gasping for air. It seemed scripted, just like out of a part of Jack London’s “Sea Wolf.” I looked right over at Clark and said, “Wow, remind me not to fuck with that guy.” Both men were fired and had to pay their own way home from Spain. After lunch, I found myself in the Captain’s office. “You don't have a passport”, he exclaimed. “Yes, Sir, I know. The Union told me I wouldn’t need one, that we were just going from Jacksonville to Saudi Arabia, and that we wouldn't be going ashore. We were supposed to be offloading equipment, turning around, and going back to Jacksonville.” “Well, I've made arrangements for you to go to the US Embassy in Madrid this afternoon. You'll be spending two nights there, and we have made a special MSC request to speed up your passport process. They should have it done within 2 days.” He continued, “The agent will be here in an hour to get you, pack up your things. Here's all the paperwork you'll need at the

embassy," then he emphasized sternly, "Don’t lose it!” "Yes, Sir", I acknowledged smartly. “The agent has all your arrangements and accommodations. You understand everything?” “Yes, Sir.” I turned around, smiling from ear-to-ear. I'm going to Madrid for two days, on the company's dime… Hell yeah! That evening I checked into a hotel room, money was provided to me for food, and I was still receiving my base pay back on the ship, so before I left the ship I took a few hundred dollars draw off my pay from the Captain. The next morning, the agent came and took me to the Embassy where I filled out some paperwork and gave them the Captain's paperwork, which included a special letter signed by the MSC Admiral himself. They told me that it would take 48 hours to process and that I could come back in the morning in two days with the agent to retrieve my passport. Two days in Madrid to see the sights, cruise around and enjoy my time. What an awesome prospect, and seeing as the way I got there and the position I was in, I found it very surreal. I couldn't help but smile again as I walked everywhere, taking pictures, eating good food, and enjoying the nightlife. I was free to sleep in and not worry about being late to work. The two days passed and I got my passport, headed back to the ship, and the next day found the entire crew, with a few exceptions like the Captain, Chief Engineer, and a small selection of others who would stay aboard during the shipyard repairs, at the airport boarding our planes for different destinations back home in the US. Upon landing in Honolulu, Clark and I went immediately to the Union Hall and told them what had happened to us aboard the Antares. We requested to get onto the cruise ship, they said no problem, because all the senior and experienced men had gone to the war transportation effort, making big bucks on those government ships just like we did on the Antares. Government ships are top dollar, and a cruise ship paid about half of that, so being undermanned and full of a bunch of inexperienced misfits, Clark and I got the watch standing jobs directly from the Union. We were assigned the most important watch, the 0400 to 0800, which is the watch that steers the cruise ship in and out of every port in the state of Hawaii during its one-week journey navigating around all the islands. Perfect!

Chapter 2 M/V Constitution, Cruise Ship It was a Wednesday afternoon when we were assigned the ship from the Union Hall, and by Thursday afternoon, Clark decided he didn't want the job after all and went home to his wife, Rebecca, in Kauai. I stayed in Honolulu for a few days, until Saturday morning, when the MV Constitution came into port. To my surprise, the Mate and AB on watch at the gangway seemed very excited and happy to see me. I didn't make much of it, but after a few days, I realized that, in fact, the war effort had sucked away all the best sailors, and as I mentioned earlier, inexperienced misfits were now manning this great cruise ship. The AB on watch was Marshall Allen, who would become a good friend of mine, and he told me I would be assigned with his watch on the 0400 to 0800. Then he took me to our quarters forward under the bridge. I made myself comfortable in my stateroom, unpacked my things, and asked Marshall how I could find Lisa. He showed me down to the steward department quarters, I knocked on her door, excited, and she opened it up. We were very happy to see each other, to say the least. She looked beautiful and I caressed her face and kissed her softly. My arms wrapped tight around her and I felt her warm pulsing body press against mine, then I took my hand and slid it under her… Hold on, this isn't a romantic Harlequin novel, for crying out loud, this is a story of tough and adventurous sailors of the world. I was on the 0400 to 0800 watch, so I got up at 0320 and prepared to show up on the bridge as the helmsman at 0400. Once there, I would respond to the orders given by the Mate on watch, or the Captain, as to what course to steer or what rudder angle to hold, as we went into six different Hawaiian ports over the duration of one week. Either I or Marshall will be steering the ship in and out of all the ports in Hawaii, the AB who is not steering will be getting portholes, deck hatches, ladder wells, and gangways ready to be opened and lowered as soon as the ship is made fast alongside the pier. At 0800, we're both off all day until about 1545 when we had to be back to steer the ship out of port or secure it for sea. At 2000, the night watch takes over and handles it at sea until we get up and start another day. The ship was scheduled to leave Honolulu on Saturday evening and

spend Sunday lying off the leeward shore of Maui, in between Molokai, Lanai, and Kahoolawe. It was winter time and the humpback whales gathered there and put on quite a show all day, breaching out of the water, flipping their great tails from side to side, and splashing about. Monday morning we will be positioned at the sea buoy in Kahului, Maui. We would spend the day in Maui and most people would go to Hana, to the seven sacred pools, which are seven separate waterfalls that terrace down from an upper fall and pool, which is about 60ft high, down to the next set of falls and pool, so on and so forth, seven times. The falls and pools get smaller and smaller as they cascade down from the tropical green narrow valley to the sea. The last waterfall is about 10-15ft and it pours right into a little brackish pool. Ocean waves roll gently into the pool and you can jump off from the last waterfall right into the ocean. Pretty fun so far, right! Tuesday morning would see us at the sea buoy in Hilo, Hawaii. There you have the most active volcano in the world, it's easily accessible, and it’s only an hour away from the ship. Most people went and did that sort of sightseeing, Marshall and I surfed, sorry secret spot I can't tell you. Tuesday night was extra cool since we would lay offshore of the volcano, about a mile, coming ahead slowly down the island’s East side where you could see the lava rivers flowing down the 4000ft mountain all the way to the sea, in a big glowing red steam-explosive spectacular. This was a great night for the crew because we all gathered on the after mooring deck and the snacks for the night from the steward department was pizzas. They threw out pizza after pizza, and it was a great place for the crew to see the volcano just like the tourists that were in beautiful dining rooms, up on the Promenade deck with the Captain, viewing the volcano through giant glass windows while eating prime rib and lobster, I’m sure. Wednesday morning we dropped the hook in the anchorage of Kailua, Kona, where myself, and most of the tourists and crew, enjoyed the crystal clear blue waters of the most beautiful tropical reefs in the state of Hawaii. Popular activities included scuba diving or snorkeling, parasailing, sailboat tours, and surfing lessons. Wednesday evening we got underway and sailed overnight all the way to Lihue, Kauai, and the port of Nawiliwili. We would be there Thursday night and all day Friday until evening, then we would get underway again, and Saturday morning would bring us back to Honolulu. There we disembarked the passengers, cleaned up the ship, and made ready to board new passengers in the afternoon. At 1900, we would depart

Honolulu and begin another epic one-week journey around, what many say, are the most beautiful islands in the world. All the talk on the ship amongst the crew was about the Captain, John Holmes, but everybody called him “Johnny the Wad” because he had the same name as a famous 70’s porn star who was rather well endowed. We’re fucking sailors here, give me a break. So anyway, when you go into Nawiliwili you approach it on an Easterly course of 090. The wind in Hawaii is usually blowing Northeast or East, and normally the ship would have the winds astern. As you clear the first breakwater to port, with a rocky shore 100 yards dead ahead, you make a 90-degree course change to port 180, or South. Now, having the breakwater to port and the rocky shoreline to starboard, in a channel that is only 100 yards wide, remember, this is a 60,000-ton ship and her beam takes 1/3 of the channel width, and you now have the wind on your port beam. The channel is short, about three ship lengths, but very tight, before making a 90-degree course change to starboard, back to 090 and into the large safe basin. What happened to the Captain a month prior was a source now of post-traumatic stress- It had been blowing very strong, about 45 knots a gale, and he choose to go in instead of remaining offshore at sea. As he turned the ship to port 180, he put the wind on the port beam and it pushed the ship onto the other breakwater to starboard, he barely clipped her on the keel but didn't run aground. Like Captain Cook said, “A miss is as good as a mile.” The Captain was most certainly inches from full catastrophe, and by the skin of his teeth kept the ship safely afloat. Needless to say, as I'm on the bridge my first time steering into the port of Nawiliwili, Captain Holmes was a bit tense, even high-strung. Rightly so, as he had at the helm myself, who remember, is the most experienced AB on the ship and, oh yeah… I have no experience! This beautiful ship was the last of the great Trans-Atlantic Ocean ships in the golden age of ocean liners. She had a long sleek bow with a foredeck made of teak, the bridge overlooking the foredeck was rounded with shiny brass portholes. All the decks and hand rails were made of teak as well, in slim beautifully elegant lines. Aft of the smoke stack the ship started to terrace off in design, as deck after deck got longer and longer, so it had this nice angular look fore and aft. On the bridge, as you steered the ship, you stepped up onto an elevated teak deck and the wheel itself was 4-feet in

diameter, made from solid brass, shiny of course, and you turned this big heavy wheel port and starboard at the Captain's commands. The bridge itself was a result of true maritime art, with fancy rope work as floor mats or intricately wrapped around a stanchion, that’s a post on a ship, painted, trimmed, and shined perfectly. To top it all off, everyone on the bridge was in their best dress white uniforms. The ship was painted bright white with light blue trim, stunning shiny brass portholes, and doors made of rich mahogany making her a luxury ship, inside and out. Just like a good woman should be. You don’t want the looks of Cleopatra if it comes with a heart of Cruella D’Ville, you know, the one who killed all those little puppies in that Disney movie. The ship boasted that it was chartered out by the lovely and famous silver screen actress, Grace Kelly, when she left New York to marry Prince Rainer the 3rd of Monaco, in April, 1956, where she became Princess Grace of Monaco. The ship was adorned with memorabilia from that charter, including many pictures of the famous actress in elegant dress surrounded by the high society of the time aboard the vessel. I could imagine the conversation between Grace and Prince Rainer… She would come out of her luxury dressing room at the Ritz Carleton, in a long silk gown, and Prince Rainer would be reading the paper smoking his pipe. Grace would fret, “Oh my, just how am I going to get all my belongs to Monaco, and how are all the hundreds of people who absolutely love and adore me going to get there?” He would reply, “Don't worry my dear, we shall charter the MV Constitution, it’s 700ft long and can accommodate 1,000 passengers.” “Oh darling, you are so smart.” Then they would shoulder hug and cheek kiss one other. One thing I remember poignantly about that ship was how we surged back and forth in Hilo Harbor. The predominant swell direction in the state of Hawaii is Northerly, from giant storms that are produced up in the Bering Sea and in the North Pacific, by Alaska. Swells pulse down to Hawaii, and by the time they get there after traversing over such a great distance, the waves are very large. Hilo is a North shore harbor, it's a big bay, and what they did a long time ago to mitigate the swell was to put a breakwater right across the mouth of the bay, from East to West, leaving only a narrow channel for entrance. So you can sail in, make a left hand turn to port, and already be

right in the basin. Over the winter, all that water from the North would come in with those big waves, and it would be funneled through the channel so that all the energy would come surging right into Hilo Bay. The water would rush, large amounts would come up and press the ship onto the dock, then all that water would retreat and pull us off the dock, and we would go back and forth smashing into the pier, rising and falling 10 to 20 feet, again and again. The watch had to tend the gangway constantly and we nearly lost the gangway God knows how many times. The ship would pull away from the dock maybe 20 feet and stretch our mooring lines, which were 8-inch braided nylon lines made to stretch and hold immense amounts of tension. Sometimes, as the ship was pulled away from the pier by the surge, we would stretch those lines so tight that they would bust, it was more like a burst than a bust though, and you could hear the pop throughout the entire ship it was so loud. The only thing that sucked about my watch was the Mate on watch with me, he was the First Officer, Bruce Frasier, everyone referred to him as Frasier. He was a tall guy, blonde hair with a beard, and extremely pompous. He thought he was better than literally everyone else. He was a big-time bragger too, always telling you about how much money he had or was making, what houses he was going to buy, and how the people that rented from him were all pieces of shit, you know, that kind of guy. So, it’s my first or second night on watch, it was a very big bridge and it had a radio officer’s room adjacent to the chart room, and after my eyes had adjusted, I was walking around on the bridge when I looked over in the corner and there was this guy, sitting on a bucket in the far corner of the radio room. I pointed this out to the Mate, “There's this guy in the corner of the radio room sitting on a bucket, you know about that?” He responded, “Yeah, that's the fire watch AB, Stinson, I don't trust him, so I make him sit on the bucket in the corner while he's not doing his fire rounds.” I couldn’t help but think, wow, what a jerk. As for me, Fraiser couldn't harass me too much because I was either steering the ship in and out of port, or I was away from the bridge getting the ship ready for the passengers to go ashore, or securing it for sea in the evening. The rest of the deck gang though, they all hated his guts. When he was out on deck he could order and push them around, like they were little peons. Other officers, when you see them on deck during normal working hours, would be in khakis, but Frasier always wore his summer whites, no way he’s getting dirty, he was above that… what a prick!

Most ships have six AB's, two on each watch, three AB’s doing day work, and a Bos’n who handles all the work that is required on deck, such as maintenance, repairs, and cargo loading. This ship, because it was a cruise ship, had six AB’s for the watch standing positions, six AB’s that did nothing but day work, and there was 3 fire watch AB’s. The lowest deck department entry level position is an Ordinary Seaman (OS), referred to as, “The Ordinaries.” We had 6 Ordinary’s for general purpose work, and finally, the man in charge, the Bos’n. I got to know a lot of those guys well, the 3rd Mate, Ray Mancino, Marshall, myself, and Lisa went out and explored Hawaii almost every single day together, we were the four amigos. I boarded the Antares in early August and by the end of September was on the Constitution, I remained aboard through October, November, and half of December of 1990. About 2 weeks before Christmas, Marshall said to me, “Why don't we go to San Francisco and ship out of the union hall and see if we can catch a tanker and make really big bucks?” It was a good time to go catch a tanker, because most of the experienced men were out on the big time paying government jobs and it was getting close to Christmas so a lot of them would hope to be getting off for the holidays. In the Union there are three different levels of seniority, one of which is C-book, the lowest, and that’s what Marshall and I were. After 2 years you get a B-book, and then you're a Middleman, and after eight years in the Union you get an A-book, then you’re a Senior Member. When you're sitting in the Union, and the Union Patrolman calls out a job, you go up to the counter and bid for the job, whoever has the most seniority is going to get it, and if there's an issue between, let's say two or three A-books who want the job, the one that has been waiting in the Union Hall the longest gets it. So as a C-book you're at a big disadvantage, but again, seeing how everyone is out at war and it was nearing Christmas, Marshall and I bought our plane tickets and headed for San Francisco despite being lower in rank. This was a big gamble, paying my own way there, paying for transportation, and having to pay for my own food and accommodations while we waited for a tanker to become available. I was a little bit nervous, I'm not going to kid you, but nothing is saltier than packing your sea bag, heading for the Union Hall, and sitting there all day waiting for jobs to come up on the board. If nothing comes up at the end of the day you go to the Seaman’s home, which is usually right across the street from most Union Halls, and you spend the

night there with the all the other sailors playing cards, drinking rum, and hoping the next day brings a ship. San Francisco here we come!

Chapter 3 M/V Willamette, Tanker Ship Sitting in the Union Hall, I realized that this is where the saying, “Waiting for my ship to come in,” truly originates. Blessedly, it didn't take Marshall and I long to get a ship, and we were only in San Francisco for three days. We really lucked out because Ray Mancino, the 3rd Mate from the Constitution, had gotten off the ship a couple weeks before Marshall and I did, and he invited us to stay at his apartment close to the waterfront in San Francisco. It was a good time, Marshall, Ray and I went out to these nice clubs and restaurants. I know, everybody's saying, Where's Lisa? What happened to the four amigos? Well folks, unfortunately, Lisa and I broke up.

It was a bit of a bummer, but it all worked out in the end. Lisa saved up all that money she was making as a cocktail waitress and got herself a boob job, she's now the Chief Steward on the ship! Hmmm, are a girl’s boob size proportionate to the amount of money she can make? Marshall and I were assigned to the M/V Willamette, a tanker ship, an old scow of a tanker, 850 ft long, about 75,000 gross tons, and she carried multi-purpose cargo including jet fuel, diesel, gasoline, crude, acetone, and other chemicals, among other things. A filthy pig she was, with hoses and cleaning equipment everywhere, oil shining on the deck, and rust bleeding from her hull. I always liked being on a ship, stepping through the hatchways, going down a ladder through a deck scuttle, and all the nautical things that go with really any ship. No matter how much of a pig she was, I could see her beauty. Marshall and I checked into our quarters, we each had our own small room, but the AB’s in the deck department shared one bathroom which had four toilets, showers, and sinks. After I unpacked my things, I got my work clothes on, found the Bos’n, and we immediately got to work. I would soon come to learn a new way in which one makes money, remember, earlier I described the hard money, the middle money, and the easy money, but now I'm about to learn the meaning of what seamen called “blood money” on a tanker. The monetary pecking order amongst ships in the Merchant Marines is basically this: Lowest-paying ships, such as the cruise ship and oceanographic research ships, and to tell you the truth, most of those oceanographic research ships were really disguised Navy spy ships, but don't tell anybody. Proceeding up in the pecking order, there are general cargo ships, then tankers and container-ships, and at the top of the pecking order, for pay anyway, you have military government ships in times of war. We got the ship ready for sea and two days later sailed Northbound for Seattle, Washington. A huge storm was traveling South from Alaska, and we were making the same speed as the storm. We were also the same distance South from Seattle as the storm was North from Seattle, projected to meet it head-on when we arrived. We had to step on it, the Captain ordered full ahead and told the Chief Engineer to give it all she had. We sailed as fast as we could, making about 22 knots which is very fast for a tanker, but we weren't loaded and we were light, we barely beat the storm front to Seattle by about 3 hours. We were all tied up at the fuel dock when the Mayor announced that he would be closing the city the next day and for everyone to

get home immediately. The fuel dock shut down, and we sat there as this immense storm came in, apparently dumping more snow in a 24-hour period than at any other time in Seattle's history. I can believe it because all we did for two days was shovel snow and chip ice off the deck and railings. Finally, the fuel dock opened and we took on bunker C, which is a type of fuel that is just one grade above regular crude oil. It's very thick fuel oil and we're going to take it all the way South through the Panama Canal, then North through the Caribbean, and to its final destination in Houston, Texas. The Willamette departed Seattle on a Southbound course following the great storm, which continued to set temperature and snow fall records as it tracked down the West Coast. First in Seattle, then in San Francisco, then in Los Angeles and San Diego. For days the ocean was a bit rough and the ship pitched and heaved moderately, until we cleared Baja, Mexico, and the storm fizzled out and turned inland. One day the Bos’n, which by the way is short for “Boatswain” and sometimes we referred to him as “Boats,” anyhow, he gathered us all up on the flying bridge, that's the deck that’s above the bridge where the mast is. On the mast, protruding outward port and starboard are yard arms where we hoist flags and lights are mounted as well as every kind of antenna imaginable. The Bos’n was there with all the AB’s and the Radio Officer, his name was Eli Updegraff. He pointed to the top of the mast and the starboard yardarm and informed us that out on the very end of the yardarm was an antenna that was not working. The Radio Officer wanted to know if anybody thought they could go up there and fix it. Of course, nobody wanted to, but I looked over at Marshall and he looked at me with a slight nod of his head, suggesting that I was the one to do it. I said, “I’ll do that Bos’n.” Replying that was fine, he had one of the ordinary’s, Eugene, help him get the gear I would use to go aloft while Marshall would rig and tend the safety line from the top of the mast. I went with the Radio Officer to the radio shack, as it’s called at sea (come to think of it, I think that’s where Radio Shack got its name from, those bastards.) So, Eli and I went into the radio shack where he unpacked a new antenna from a box, it's just a small little antenna, a single post of hollow aluminum, maybe about 3 feet high, and it had a coaxial cable hook up to it. He showed me how to hook it up and how I would secure it to the top of the yardarm and presented me all the special tools I would need. He was a cool old geeky kind of a guy, with a happy easy-going attitude and a big smile. He

was from upstate New York, grew up a farm boy who tinkered with electronics whenever he could. You can learn a lot from those kinds of guys. Okay, at this point we need to digress for a moment as there is a shit load of gear here and it all has nautical terms that can seem like a foreign language to anyone who isn’t already familiar. I was overwhelmed by the sheer immensity of the gear, I had only read about doing this in a book, but I kept my composure of confidence and helped rig. First, we took a messenger line with a monkey fist attached to the end- see what I mean about terminology? The messenger is a thin length of line, maybe a ¼ inch, a monkey fist is a knot that is tied into a ball shape, and inside the ball is a heavyweight, usually a couple of heavy steel nuts. You attach the monkey fist to the end of the messenger and hold half of the messenger in one hand and the other half with the monkey fist in the other hand, and with a hard toss, you heave it a good distance, up to 150 feet sometimes. In this case, it had to go up and over the yardarm that was 25 feet overhead. The Bos’n let Eugene heave the messenger, he was a big boy from Alabama, always wore blue and white pin-striped farmer Johns with a white t-shirt and greasy old ball cap. Eugene heaved it up and over the yardarm while the other end was attached to the block and tackle that would be used to secure the rig aloft. The block and tackle are made up of two three-wheel pulleys, wheels are called sheaves and pulley configurations are called purchase, and in this case, we had a threefold purchase. Run through the threefold purchase, was the line that would hoist me aloft, called the gantline, made of 1-inch nylon. We took the bitter end of the gantline, that’s the very end of the line, and attached it to the eye spliced into the Bos’n’s chair. A Bos’n’s chair is what I would be sitting in as they raised me aloft, it's a 2x12 cut two feet long with two holes drilled alongside each end, and a line weaved through the holes to a spliced eye. You then attach the gantline to the Bos’n chair eye with a knot called a “double becket bend,” which is taking the line through the eye, wrapping it around the eye, and back under itself (that’s a single becket). We wrapped it three times, which is called a triple becket, and heaved it on the messenger as it raised the threefold purchase and gantline aloft to a cleat in figure-eight patterns. A cleat is a double-ended horn that you can wrap a line to, and then we secured it. The Bos’n told me that before I went up it was my responsibility to ensure that all the gear was in good order and rigged properly. I looked around and kind of got the gist of what we were doing, made sure the lines

were secure and knots tied well, really faking it as best I could. I told him it all looked good to me. As I sat in the Bos’n’s chair, with my tool bag and antenna tied to it, the Bos’n asked, “You know you get overtime for this, right?” I was astonished, “You get overtime for going aloft?” Uhh ooh… Cover blown! The Bos’n then asked me, now bewildered himself, “You have been aloft before, haven’t you?” I explained, “Well, no, not exactly, but I figured it was better than chipping rust and painting.” He shook his head and looked around at the rest of the deck gang and judging by their, let’s just say, age, physical condition, guts, and overall desire to do this dangerous task, he realized I was all he had. He patted me on the shoulder and turned to the line tenders, who were all in position, and shouted, “Bos’n’s got the deck!” Then all the line tenders called out in unison, “Bos’n’s got the deck!” Now, no one talks and all orders are given by the Bos’n, he and only he is in full control of the deck. The gantline was attached to the Bos’n chair and run through two purchases with three sheaves in each, so 6 times back and forth, and then the other end of the gantline was wrapped around a winch that Eugene would operate, at the Bos’n’s commands, to raise me up and lower me down. I had on a harness attached to a line led up to the top of the mast that would be taken in or slacked by Marshall as I went up and down. I gave the final thumbs up signal to the Bos’n and he ordered Eugene to start raising me slowly. As I felt the gantline tighten and my feet leave the deck I had a sinking feeling in my heart, and it almost took my breath away. Up, up, and away I went. I got it together quickly and trained my eyes up at the yardarm and gantline, not looking down. They hoisted me up until I had the yardarm a little bit above my head and I could take the clamps off the old antenna and put the clamps of the new antenna on, then securing the cable to it. It was a great experience and it took me probably about half an hour. Every time I looked down on the deck more and more people gathered around, the Captain was there, and the Chief Mate was there, all watching me perform this job, that was dangerous, and nobody else had wanted to do it. Since then I always enjoyed going aloft, and on all the ships I would be aboard in the future I would always volunteer for any aloft jobs. You are usually in the spotlight, you are far away from the Mate on deck, and you can

call your own shots is the kind of deal. You can get some good brownie points with the Captain, Chief Mate, or Bos'n, and I mean it’s nice to have those, but you don't want to kiss their ass for them. No, no, no. What you want to do is make sure that they know that you're the man and that they need you. “Where’s that AB who can do anything?” “You mean Gibbons, Sir?” “Yes, Gibbons, get him on the double.” It was aboard the Willamette that I received my first taste of doing navigation work. I was on the 0800 to 1200 watch with the Third Mate, Ralph Ortolano, and he was a King’s Point graduate. To become an officer in the US Merchant Marines many men and women go to maritime colleges, you take a 4-year college education, and at the end, you come out with a Bachelor's in science or engineering, and you have an officer's license either as a navigation officer or as an engineering officer. There are only a few schools around the country that do this, on the East coast you have Maine Maritime Academy, Massachusetts Maritime Academy, and the State of New York Maritime Academy, down in Texas we have Texas A&M at Galveston, and on the West Coast you have California Maritime Academy in San Francisco Bay. These are all private state colleges that you pay for, as you would for any University, when you graduate, however, you get to go work on a merchant ship and make a whole bunch of money right out of college. There's one Maritime Academy that's a little bit different than the others, and it’s a government-sponsored college just like Annapolis for the Navy, West Point for the Army, and the Air Force Academy for the Air Force. It’s called King's Point and it’s a US Merchant Marine Academy where the government pays for you to go there, just like they do for those other schools. When you graduate from these schools you're supposed to pay the government back for your education, by enlisting into the US Armed Forces for a designated time of usually 4 years. When you get out of King's Point you're expected to join the US Merchant Marines, but there is no real designated time frame, it's crazy, but you can get out of King’s Point and immediately go out on a merchant ship and make a lot of money, or not ship out at all as there is no real enforcement body to ensure that even happens. Ralph never shipped out after he graduated, he got seasick and didn’t like that, unless it was dead calm he was seasick on the Willamette all the

time. He graduated from King’s Point and went on to become a lawyer. Because of the war, the government contacted him and it went something like this… "What the fuck, Ralph, you haven't been out on a ship since you graduated and we paid for your top-notch education. So we're going to need you to leave the District Attorney's Office in the City of Los Angeles, and put some time in on merchant ships while we're having a manning crisis due to this Iraq war conflict.” At the time it was called Desert Shield. Ralph was a very frail and timid Italian, he was a vegetarian, he always wore his khakis with a shiny brass belt buckle, and he had very thick nerdy glasses and a ball cap with the King’s Point insignia on it. He didn't want to be on the ship at all and he was just trying to satisfy his government scholarship requirements. He was very intelligent and quite proficient at navigation and compass correcting techniques. He showed me how to correct a compass by taking an azimuth, which is a bearing of the sun. You line up the letters C-D-M-V-T, which stands for Compass Deviation Magnetic Variation and True. Then, with some calculations, you get the compass error. You can correct for that, for example, if you have a 1-degree East error, you steer 1-degree more to the West to compensate. Over the course of a long passage at sea it comes into play, and being off one or two degrees could be hundreds of miles at the end of a long-distance track line. The letters are put on a piece of paper and the memory technique we use to remember the acronym is a nautical saying, “Can Dead Men Vote Twice at Elections?” “At Elections” means you would add an East error or subtract a West error to correct the gyro compass. If you want to correct the magnetic compass you use the technique the opposite way by remembering “True Virgins Make Dull Companions, add Whiskey.” “Add Whiskey” represents need to add a West error, and therefore, subtract an East error. “Deviation” is a known compass correction each ship has based on the amount of steel that's around the compass. The main magnetic compass is mounted on the flying bridge, where steel is only underneath it, not all around it, and it is mounted to a binnacle that has magnets mounted on either side to compensate for the iron effect on the compass. “Variation” is for corrections in the Earth's magnetic field. On every chart, there's also a compass rose, and in each rose is a variation correction for that area in the world when the chart was made. One of the corrections made is to add up how many years it has been since the chart was created, and then apply a yearly correction to the

variation. Ralph also introduced me to the chart, how to measure latitude and longitude, and how to put down a fix of the ship’s position. Well, after a long transit South I got my first look at the world-famous Panama Canal. I think everyone on the planet knows what the Panama Canal is, if not, you should look it up. The canal has three sets of locks, each on the Pacific and Atlantic sides. A two-step flight at Mira Flores and a single flight at Pedro Miguel lift ships from the Pacific up to Gatun Lake. Then a triple flight at Gatun lowers them to the Atlantic side. All three sets of locks are paired, that is, there are two parallel flights of locks at each of the three lock sites, making it possible for ships to transit in both directions. We passed underneath the Bridge of the Americas, which is literally a bridge that spans the canal and connects North and South Panama, basically connecting North and South America, it’s a very strong bridge. We took on a Panama Canal Pilot and began to transverse the canal system, the only place in the world that when a Pilot boards a ship they have complete control over the ship. Let me give you some context. Let’s take some other port around the world, anyone you want, you take on a Pilot and that Pilot comes aboard seen as a local expert on that particular harbor. He gives the orders to the Helmsman and the Navigation Officer as to how to steer and navigate during the passage in or out of the port. At any time, if the Captain feels the Pilot is putting his ship in jeopardy, he can simply announce on the bridge, “Captain has the con, Pilot is relieved.” All the ship’s crew members on the bridge, in unison, will respond, “Captain has the con.” At that point, the Captain issues all orders and the Pilot cannot overstep him. The Pilot is merely an advisor, however, in the Panama Canal, when the Pilot comes aboard and announces on the bridge, “Pilot has the con.” Everybody in unison responds, “Pilot has the con,” and the Captain cannot relieve the Pilot and take over command of the ship until it is completely clear of the canal zone. I heard a story once of a Captain who thought that a canal pilot was going to run his ship into another and insisted to his crew that he would take over the Pilot's commands. The crew agreed and basically mutinied the Pilot, but the Pilot called the port authorities and tugs from his radio, so the tugs met the ship and ordered them to anchor. They were not allowed to complete their transit until the ship’s company paid a $50,000 fine. Before the Constitution I really had no helmsman experience and I was

thrown into it, however, on the Constitution I got a good deal of experience. Nothing was going to prepare me for the experience I would get being a helmsman steering an 850 foot ship through the narrow channels and lock systems of the Panama Canal. Steering as per the Pilot's commands must be extremely detailed, if the Pilot gives you a course to steer of 310 you better steer 310 and not 311 or 309, so it's very tense and very focused, your eyes don't come off that compass for one second while you're on watch. As helmsman we would usually do one hour on and one hour off, and I couldn't wait for my hour to be finished. While I wasn't steering the ship, I was able to take in the scenery and the views of the Panama Canal. It was completed in 1913, all around was beautiful jungle and I saw a few howler monkeys up in the trees. I would howl, and they would howl back at me, not really sure what we were saying. After a day that started at 0500 it finally ended at 2100, and we left the Panama Canal astern, entered the Caribbean Sea, and set a course northbound for Houston, Texas. About 5 days later, we took on the Pilot and entered the Houston Ship Channel, that's the channel that takes you past Galveston all the way up to Houston. The Houston Ship Channel is an interesting place, where Pilots perform a maneuver with each other called the Texas Chicken. At times the channel is so narrow that the banks are too shallow to accommodate two very large ships, so both Pilots will be in agreement with each other as one is coming down the channel and one is proceeding up the channel. The two ships will come directly at each other, dead ahead, and at the last moment both Pilots will turn their ships to starboard and create displacement of both ships, pushing the water onto the banks surging it between them to pad the pass, port to port, so close to the other ship you could swing from a rope and board it like a pirate of the old days, Arrr. It's a long transit up the channel, about 4 or 5 hours, and finally we made it to the fuel docks where we offloaded our bunker C and took a slope barge alongside to clean out the ship’s cargo holds, of which she had six separate. We loaded diesel in the forward two holds,1 and 2, and kerosene heating oil into the after holds 3,4,5, and 6. Finally, we set a course for Boston. We caught the Gulf Stream northbound and made a good speed of 18 knots to Boston. As a Merchant Mariner, as they say, you will end up going everywhere, and I have been everywhere, for an hour, for a day, for a week, or for a month. We were in Boston for 12 hours, and I had three hours off. So Marshall and I walked around Boston for a few hours, got some pizza and

beer, headed back to the ship, cast away our mooring lines, and set sail once again. This is also where the saying,” Time is money,” comes from. It originates from shipping because if a ship is sitting and doesn't have any cargo, not only is it not making money, it’s losing money. We set sail South, back to Houston, Texas, to load a very special cargo of MTBE or Methyl TriButyl Ethylene, which basically is liquid ether. To get ready for the MTBE, the company flew out six additional AB’s to sail from Boston to Houston with us, because unlike when we cleaned out the fuel tanks in Houston where we had the port facility personnel doing it and we assisted, here we will clean out all six cargo holds of diesel and kerosene oil till spotless while we are underway Southbound to accept the MTBE. It's super clean and can't have any impurities in it whatsoever. The whole way South we did what’s called "butterworthing" and "tank mucking." A Butterworth machine is a round device much the same size as a 1-gallon jug, made of brass, with nozzles all over it, and it spins around at high speed squirting out high pressure hot soapy water. You attach the Butterworth machine to a hose and a tending line, lower the hose and the machine down into the hold through a round scupper on deck called Butterworth holes, then you raise and lower it up and down for about 2 hours. It's extremely heavy and it takes two or three guys to raise and lower it. The hot water and soap under pressure start cleaning the bulkheads, the walls on a ship, down to the deck where the oily water flows to the after end of the hold. From there, the oily waste water is pumped out to the ship's tank designated for slop and waste, these are not our shit tanks, those are different tanks. After butterworthing for a couple hours, you go into the big cargo hold that's 50 feet high, 90 feet wide, and 100 feet in length, with a hose at 100psi and a suicide nozzle. It's a cone-shaped nozzle made of brass, and it squirts water 200 feet at high pressure, two or three guys have to hold on to it. If it gets away from you it's going to flop around like a wild python, and if that brass nozzle starts swinging around it's going to destroy stuff, hurt somebody, or God forbid, kill you. With the hose and nozzle, you go get all the little nooks and crannies that the Butterworth machine couldn't reach. After doing that for a while all the oily water is on the deck and you wash that aft to the hold draining area, called the rose box. It's the final mucking part that's really hard and nasty. In the holds are baffles, baffles are bulkheads with holes in them, running fore and aft to prevent the out of control sloshing of the liquid cargo as the ship rolls port and starboard, and

there are beams welded to them and the deck, running port and starboard. We spend a lot of time deep down in the hold sweeping up the corners of the baffles and beams on the deck, getting into each little corner with rags and oil absorbent pads. The good news is, blood money pays well, and that was a week of butterworthing and mucking in which I made a shitload of green money. Turning red into green. We arrived in Houston on, believe it or not, one of the coldest days in the history of the city. Light snow dusted the ground and the ship. We were loading liquid ether, MTBE, but since the weather was abnormally cold and we were going to transport this fuel, which is highly expandable, to a very warm area close to the equator, the Panama Canal no less, the Chief Mate had to make special loading calculations for this. He calculated that he needed 10 feet of expansion room for the MTBE and he gave it 12 just to be safe. The computer model, primitive at the time in 1991, confirmed his calculations and we backed that up with continuous soundings. Sounding is when you drop a brass tube-shaped weight on a measured line down a tube into a tank and when it hits the bottom you raise it up noting where the liquid level is on the measured line, that tells you how much liquid is in the tank. He told me, that the MTBE cargo would expand while we were in the Panama Canal because we would be sitting still or barely moving for two days (when the ship moves through the water it is cooled) and he was concerned about sitting still in the hot equatorial sun. He was a well-seasoned Chief Mate, aboard the ship for five years, and had made over 30 Panama Canal transits. The ship would transport the MTBE to Los Angeles to be used as a fuel additive because it burns very clean, and as anyone knows about Los Angeles, they have a serious smog problem. Stepping forward in time, Los Angeles and the Southwest will realize the bad side of the MTBE, it causes Leukemia… Hello. After we sailed through the Caribbean Sea, we arrived again at the Panama Canal, from the Atlantic side this time. It's typical to sit at the anchorage anywhere from 12 to 24 hours before being able to begin transit through the canal, as there's a very long line of ships waiting for this same activity. We found ourselves approaching the 24-hour mark when we took on the Pilot at the anchorage. We slowly motored up the channel to the first set in the three-tier lock system of Gatun. As we were in the second lock, the Chief Mate reported to the bridge while he was on deck, through the hand-

held radio, that there was a cargo leak coming out of one of the deck hatches. The Captain was on the bridge and spat, “A leak?! shit!” and he rushed over to the bridge windows overlooking the deck. Everyone on the bridge heard him while we were secure in a lock being raised, we were standing by, so we all rushed to the window as well. Overlooking the deck, we saw the Chief Mate by a hatch cover pointing to the leak as cargo (MTBE) was squirting out onto the deck, melting the paint. The Captain ordered him to turn off his radio and bring all crew members, who were out on deck, aft into the house and secure all door wells and hatchways on the way. The Captain then turned to the Third Mate and told him to secure all radars, radios, and electronic devices. The Panama Canal Pilot immediately notified the Port Control Authorities of the situation. There was a ship in the locks next to us, remember they’re double locks so ships can transit both ways, and that ship was ordered to secure all of their radars, radios, and electronic devices, and to secure all their deck covers, hatchways, and door wells too. Within several minutes massive fire trucks hooked to hydrants began spraying large amounts of cool water onto the deck of the ship. There were four fire trucks on each side of the ship, port, and starboard. Water was flooding the ship's main deck and rolling down the side of the hull. We succeeded in shutting down operations at the Panama Canal at Gatun Locks for close to two hours, and after it was confirmed that the deck hatches were not leaking the MTBE anymore, certainly a good thing, we proceeded along again while running the ship’s fire hoses over the deck the whole way. You know who paid for that whole operation? Not the Panama Canal Commission, I can assure you of that. The company paid a heavy bill that day, to put it lightly. Deck hatches are about 4 feet wide by about 6 feet long, in an oval shape with rounded ends, and you have 1 ½ inch studs with a nut and a locking washer every 2 inches all the way around it. The whole thing is put down with a cork and rubber gasket that is 1/8 inch thick and torqued down in an X pattern. So, when this MTBE is squirting out of the deck hatch, that means that inside the ship the expansion pressure must have been, I don't know what PSI, but pretty great. It seems terrifyingly scary, but I'll tell you everyone at sea is well-trained, we're very disciplined and regimented, everybody knows their jobs, and everyone kept cool and calm. Nobody screamed like a bunch of little school girls when a cockroach goes walking by them, there are no cockroaches on a ship, by the way. We sailed out of the Mira Flores locks

into the Pacific Ocean and set a course Northbound for Los Angeles, California. Smooth sailing all the way to Los Angeles…Yeah, that didn't happen. The Willy had more in store for us. We sailed North from Panama not far offshore of the coast, in the shipping lanes. Three days from Panama you pass by a place in Mexico called Tehuantepec Bay, pronounced:“to-wanna-peck.” The Captain informed us that the bay produced very strong winds due to the wind being funneled down from the mountains into this bay where it rolls offshore with a great ferocity, up to 150 miles offshore even. He gave us two days warning and told all the mates to monitor the weather and be prepared for a storm. Well, we all kind of took it rather lightly, we figured there would be some heavy winds, 30-40 knots, and the seas would be rough,10-15feet. This local phenomenon can most certainly produce some of the most raging seas any mariner has ever encountered, we call the phenomena a Tehuantepec’er, pronounced: “to-wanna-pecker.” As we approached the Southern point of the bay within an hour the winds got to 35 knots, within 2 hours they were 45 knots, and in 3 hours they were 65 knots right on the verge of hurricane force. The seas swelled to 30 feet and we were getting pounded hard. Tankers have a long flat main deck with hatches and nozzles here and there to accept or discharge liquid cargo, then the house goes straight up and that's where we steer the ship and where the engine rooms are. Our bow is punching through 30-foot waves, right through them, and those waves roll all the way down the main deck and hit the house and splash so high up that it would hit the windows on the bridge 50feet above. The whole ship would shake as we punched through another wave, that wave would roll down the deck, and then smash into the house shaking the ship again and again. She also rolled from port to starboard 25-30 degrees. We all had our life jackets on and everywhere we went we carried our survival suits with us, bagged up and ready to put them on at a moments notice. In such heavy seas the autopilot doesn’t work, so we steered by hand through the storm. Marshall and I came up to watch at 2000, it was really bad and we were being pounded hard, the Captain told The 3rd Mate, Ralph Ortolano, to maintain course and speed, he said he would be down in his room and to give him a call if we needed anything, or at any time for any reason. As soon as he left the bridge, Ralph grabbed a bucket and threw up in it, then he laid down right on the settee and informed us he was too seasick and proceeded

throwing up again. He told me he couldn't stand up for the whole watch, it was impossible, he had been throwing up for the last 3 hours and was terribly weak. He showed me how to monitor the radar and he taught me earlier how to put down fixes on the chart, so I did that for him until we got off watch. He had to be carried down to his room. Fortunately, the morning saw us past the Northern point of Tehuantepec Bay, and within hours it calmed down to barely a breeze as we continued on a Northerly course passing the Southern point of Baja, Mexico. We’re almost home to Los Angeles. It was a clear calm day, super glassy out, and the water was deep blue. Marshall was at the helm and I was standing lookout out on the bridge wing, when I saw a spout and called out, “Thar she blows!” Marshall, Ralph, and the Chief Mate who was up on the bridge doing cargo calculations grabbed some binoculars and headed to the forward windows of the bridge as we all looked to starboard at a pod of maybe 10 to12 whales. I informed everybody that they were sperm whales. Sperm whales are easy to identify from their spout because their one blowhole is on the front side of their head and to the left, the spout doesn't go straight up like other whales, it goes out to their left side at a 45-degree angle. Then the Chief Mate said excitedly, “Look, there's one over on the port side!” We all looked over to the port side and saw a single whale swimming to the other whales we had spotted on our starboard side. We watched it getting closer and closer to the ship, quickly realizing that this whale was on a collision course with our bow. It drew closer and closer, and Marshall said, “Oh my God, it's going to hit the ship.” The whale swam as fast as it could, on a course that would bring it head to head with the bulbous bow of the ship. It hit us square on the bow, but we didn't feel a thing, the ship didn’t even shake a little bit. The motionless sperm whale came down our port side, right along the hull, as we all ran out to the bridge wing which sticks out beyond the hull by about 15 feet. We stared, as the elegant creature floated towards us. It passed right underneath our gaze with a huge gash in its head, bleeding out of its gaping wide open mouth like it was moaning in agony. As the whale passed motionless beneath us, we turned around, facing aft, watching the giant drift past the transom into the prop-wash astern, turning the water blood red as we kept steaming North. Now, the Chief Mate thought Ralph was a pussy bitch, he was, but he

had an interesting and cool side to him too. The Chief Mate started digging into Ralph, the timid vegetarian, making accusations that Ralph could have done something, and Ralph just absorbed it. In Ralph’s defense, it happened within 5 minutes of spotting the sperm whale to port, we thought at first the whale was going to cross our bow, not ram into the bow, so after we realized that, it happened in a minute. What was Ralph to do? Turn to starboard into the main pod or turn to port into the single whale? Neither is a good option and he kept course and speed. The Chief Mate was an artist and drew a lifelike cartoon of Ralph, larger than life, on the bow of the ship with a harpoon in his hand ready to throw it into the sperm whale. He posted it in the mess room, we all thought it was funny, Ralph did not, and neither did the Captainhe made the Chief Mate take it down. It’s March 1991, I have been at sea for seven months, on three different ships, and I’ve had two weeks off. It’s time to take a break. So I spent two full months off at home in Kauai, surfing, diving, and enjoying the islands’ laid back lifestyle.

Chapter 4 M/V Cape Hudson, RO/RO It was May, 1991, when I boarded the M/V Cape Hudson in Savannah, Georgia. Late in the evening I was shown to my sleeping quarters where I rested until getting to work the next day. In the morning, all the talk on the ship was, “When in the hell are we going to get underway?” It appears that the stern ramp would not raise, and we were stuck at the dock until it could be fixed. Now, the stern ramp is not just some little ramp, it weighs over 30 tons, and it is raised by two big hydraulic pump motors with five block sheaves four-feet in diameter, and wire that is 3 inches thick. RO/RO means a ‘roll on, roll off’ ship, where we lower a stern ramp onto the dock and all the cargo drives on and off, such as trucks, jeeps, and tanks. So, the ramp is down on the dock and we couldn't get it up, the Bos’n told me and another AB, Bob, to go up to deck 4 where the two hydraulic pump motors are, and lend a hand to the Chief Engineer who is changing out hydraulic hoses. Bob and I went up to deck 4 and found the Chief Engineer, pissed off like no one's business. He informed us that the company had hired a specialist engineer to fly in from Sweden, who is a representative technician of the hydraulic motor pump company and he was there to solve the problem of why the two pumps won't turn on. Upon hearing this we offered, “Well, that's real good, Chief, he's going to get it fixed and we're going to get underway.” “We've been here for 2 days with this fucking asshole, he's a drunk and he will only work 6 hours a day, because after that he's too shit-faced to do anything.” He continued to inform us of the good news- that this Swedish guy, whose name is Sven, is getting stuff done, it's just taking an extremely long time. Just then, out of the door onto the deck came Sven, with shoulder length straight gray hair, having not shaved in a week, company issued white coveralls, wire-rimmed glasses, and he came right up to the three of us and told us what his plan was to remedy the situation, oh yeah, and it's 0900 in the morning and he already smells like a bottle of Jack Daniels. Power to the remote switch box turned on the two hydraulic pump motors, with a control panel that contained various joysticks, buttons, and knobs to operate the raising and lowering of the 30-ton stern ramp, the control box wasn’t

working, and Sven was bumbling around in it trying to find the problem. For the rest of the day the Chief Engineer, Bob, and I changed out the two hydraulic hoses that go from the control box to each pump, to ensure that those weren't clogged, because there is a hydraulic pressure switch that could have been blocked with small pieces of debris. While we were looking at hydraulics, Sven was chain smoking and looking at the control box with his schematics from the company. At about 1400, Sven was shit-faced and the Chief Engineer had had it up to his eyeballs. He told us to go find the Bos’n, thanked us for our help, and Bob and I departed from his enraged company. It was about 1430 by the time we found him. It was an easy-going ship as we were just waiting for the ramp to get fixed so we could get underway for Saudi Arabia and bring home the weapons of war after the war was over, or was it over… is it over now? Anyway, the Bos’n told us to go hide somewhere and not show our faces on deck until dinner. We both went to Bob's room and hung out and listen to music, Bob was a cool guy, pretty big at 6’3” and in shape at the spry age of 23 years old. He had done four years in the United States Marine Corps, which he told you about every hour at least, but I don't mind hearing those stories, I respect those guys. He had long blond hair with big broad shoulders, Norwegian by ancestry, large Viking kind of guy. When he wasn't in his work clothes he was dressed out like a biker, shit kicking boots, jeans, wallet with a chain hanging from a big thick leather belt, t-shirt of some sort, leather jacket, and a couple knives strapped in here and there, I'm sure. Some of the other cast of characters in the deck department included Vedo, he was making his own wine, because he was worried that after a month at sea he would be dry, and he would have it on reserve. Also, most seaman when they first come aboard a ship are broke, when you leave you are rich, funny how that works. To be clear, possessing or consuming alcohol aboard an American flag merchant ship is not allowed per US Coast Guard regulations. Other crew members included Scott Peterson, he was from Texas and he had spent most of his days working out on an oil rig. We had Hakeem, a young black man from Kenya, and Dwayne, a Puerto Rican from New York. Our Bos'n was a great guy, his name was Steve Franks. Because of the war, there weren’t enough sailors to man all the ships and the Union brought Steve out of retirement to ship out until the manning crisis was over. He knew his business on deck very well, he had 35 years of sea time, was 72 years old, possessed a very easy-going attitude, and there was no stress at all

with Steve. We also had three Ordinary Seamen aboard, and like the entire crew of 27, except for the Captain and Chief Engineer, we were all new to the ship. We were way up the Savannah River with the city of Savannah quite a distance away. All around us was industry, railroad tracks, and solid red brick buildings. We worked our butts off doing day work until about 1900 or 2000 at night, and then we would all go out to the local bar. Just across the railroad tracks and outside of the main gate, was the quaint little bar known as Big Jakes. We would either go there and play some pool, or we would hang out in Vedo's room and drink some of his homemade wine. We all got to know each other rather well and we were always surprised how Dwayne would try and egg Bob on into having a fight. One time we were in Vedo's room and Dwayne kept pressing Bob, Bob was a much bigger man than Dwayne, mind you. We kept telling Dwayne that he had better stop because Bob was going to kick his ass. Bob was a gentle sleeping bear, but you could tell if you woke him the beast would be unleashed. Dwayne kept saying how he's tired of hearing Bob talk about the Marines and his biker lifestyle, he said he actually wanted to take Bob on, and we just laughed at him. Seven days in, a miracle happened. The ramp was raised and it was lowered, and it was raised again, and it was fixed. We were due to sail for Saudi Arabia the next day. Bob asked me if I wanted to go out and party, he told me he wanted to go into the city of Savannah, right on the riverfront where there are nice nightclubs. Naturally, my response was, “Yeah, let's go.” We headed out the gate and made a quick stop at Big Jakes to have a few beers and play a game of pool before we went out into the city. It was early, about 1730, the regulars were there along with Kathy, the bartender who is also the owner. She told us she named the bar Big Jakes after her Grandfather, and the bar was her life. All the locals that were in Big Jakes worked around the waterfront and the industry that surrounded it, they all lived close by so they could stumble home drunk, no problem. We said our goodbyes to everybody and told them we enjoyed our week’s company with them, and then through the bar door comes in Dwayne. Immediately, to my surprise, he started digging into Bob. I told Bob we should go, it's not worth it. Dwayne really kept egging him on, so Bob said, “You’re a really brave man trying to start shit with me on the ship or in this bar room, why don’t

you step out the back door and then we will see how brave you are, bitch.” Without hesitation, to my surprise, Dwayne went out the door, Bob followed, and I followed behind them. Dwayne threw one punch at Bob who towered above him, Bob blocked the punch and followed through with his own that landed square on the side of Dwayne’s face, knocking him down to his hands and knees. I thought that would be it, but Bob started kicking him with those shit-kicking boots on. I told Bob to stop because he was going to hurt him really bad. Bob turned to me, eyebrows raised, nostrils flared, teeth clenched and told me to stand away over by the tree, I wasn't going to argue with him. I went over by the tree and watched Bob kick him a couple more times right in the ribs and a couple times in the face. He left him a bloody mess laying on the ground. Then Bob came walking up to me and I said, “Shit man, let's go back to the ship,.” “You’re crazy, fuck that, we're going out.” Again, I wasn’t going to argue. We went to downtown Savannah along the riverfront, into these upper high-end bars, partied, and danced the night away with all the pretty ladies. The next day, about 1000, the Bos’n called a meeting with the deck department and informed us that Dwayne was in the hospital and wouldn't be making the voyage, and that Bob was fired. We complained to the Bos’n, “That's not right, it's not Bob's fault, and it didn't happen on the ship, Bob did everything he could to avoid the fight with Dwayne.” The Bos’n replied, “It doesn't matter if the fight is on the ship or not, the Captain has decided to fire him.” Vedo interjected, “Well, if Bob is going to get fired, I quit.” Then I joined, adding, “I'm going to quit too.” The rest of the deck department agreed, and said they would all quit too. We were in Savannah and there were a lot of other ships available, none of us were worried we wouldn’t be able to catch another one. The Bos’n quickly realized that the ship was going to sail in about 3 hours, and if the entire deck department decided to quit that could hold some weight with the Captain. The Bos’n also liked Bob, and he agreed with us. He told us he would go talk with the Captain and let him know. He went up to the Captain’s office and told him the entire deck gang, including himself, would quit if Bob got fired. The Captain knew the predicament he was in, and Bob was allowed to stay aboard.

Down the Savannah River found me once again on the 0800 to 1200 watch with the Third Mate. His name was Tyler Jackson, and he was a smart young man, 23 years old, freshly graduated from Massachusetts Maritime Academy. We were both excited to be at sea and no longer stuck at the dock. Mid-way across the Atlantic Ocean, I got my first sighting of sargassum in the Sargasso Sea. Sargassum is a bushy brown algae that comes in yellowishbrown, greenish-yellow, or orange colors, and grows prolifically in the warm waters of the Atlantic, as attached or free-floating plants. All this sargassum bunches up in large quantities in the West central region of the subtropical gyre of the North Atlantic Ocean, that is to say, the North Atlantic Ocean currents spin in a clock-wise manner, with an eddy in the middle, and that’s where you will find the Sargasso Sea. I was amazed at its size, the amount of this drifting sea weed, and just how beautiful it was. It glistened gold in color, especially when the sun was shining on it. One patch was so big and thick it seemed as if you could get off the ship and walk on it, stretching on as far as you could see, which that particular day the visibility was 50 miles in all directions. After traversing the Sargasso Sea, the Captain informed the crew that we would be stopping in a small island in the Mediterranean Sea, called Malta, and that we would be getting some repairs done to the emergency generator there. During the weekly test of the emergency generator the First Engineer had a problem generating power from it and needed some special parts. As per US Coast Guard regulations, the ship cannot sail until it is fixed. The ship had three generators and we normally would run on two of them at the same time, with one on standby. If anything happened to one of them the standby one comes online, always keeping two active. The emergency generator is in a separate room away from the engine room. In case of an emergency we would start it up, like if the engine room, for example, went out, got flooded, or there was a fire, or some guy dropped a monkey wrench and seized shit up. There is no such thing as a monkey wrench, by the way. As we drew closer to the Straits of Gibraltar, which is the entryway into the Mediterranean Sea, more and more ships started appearing. They all bottleneck there, going in and out of the passageway. The entrance into the Straits of Gibraltar is intense as ships are coming South from Europe, North from Africa, and faster ships would come astern and pass by us. The Captain was on the bridge for most of the day as we entered and traversed the Straits of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea, leaving the Rock of Gibraltar to port

and astern. The islands of Malta are dominated by limestone formations, and much of their coastlines consist of steep or vertical limestone cliffs, indented by bays, inlets, and coves. Malta is an archipelago in the central Mediterranean between Sicily and the North African coast. People first arrived in Malta around 5200 BC. It has numerous fortresses, megalithic temples, and the ĦalSaflieni Hypogeum, a subterranean complex of halls and burial chambers dating to circa 4000 BC. One of the most notable periods of Malta’s history is what’s known as the ‘temple period,’ starting around 3600 BC. The Ggantija Temple is one of the oldest free-standing buildings in the world. Malta is strategically important as it is an archipelago in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea with a very long history of occupation. The Phoenicians and Romans both used it as an outpost from which they expanded sea explorations and trade in the Mediterranean. In 535 AD, the Byzantines integrated the islands into the province of Sicily. In 870 AD, Malta was invaded by Muslims from North Africa. After the invasion, the inhabitants were massacred, and the city and churches destroyed and looted. Malta remained almost uninhabited until it was resettled in 1048 AD by a Muslim community and their slaves, who rebuilt the city of Medina making it, “A finer place than it was before.” At least, according to them. Malta returned to Christian rule with the Norman conquest, but not before leaving a significant Islamic impact found on the islands even today. Malta remained part of the kingdom of Sicily for 440 years, and in the 16th century, the Ottoman Empire was knocking on its door, so a very special order of knights was dispatched to protect Malta. They became known as the famous “Knights of Malta,” and made the islands their domain, declaring Italian as the official language. They built towns, palaces, churches, and fortifications, all the while, enhancing their cultural heritage. Since much of the area they protected was covered around the Mediterranean region, the knights became notable seaman and would execute seaborne attacks on Ottoman shipping. Over the years the Knights’ power declined, and now enters my boy, Napoleon Bonaparte. On his way to Egypt he stopped there to get water, the Grand Master declined, imagine having that title on your gold-plated door, so Napoleon sent a division to scale the hills and surround the city. The next day a treaty was signed and sovereignty of the island of Malta was handed over to the French Republic. Talk about getting shit done quick! But, because the British were better at sea then the French, Malta became part of the British

empire soon thereafter. The islands, at first, were not given much importance by the Brits, but its excellent deep harbors became a prized asset for them, especially after the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869. The island became a military and naval fortress and headquarters for the British Mediterranean fleet. During World War I and II the islands played a significant strategic role in the success of The Allies, and after the Second World War, the islands began to seek full independence; in 1964 they achieved just that. The plan was to be there for 3 days, with the deck department doing day work and gangway watch. Upon arrival, the gangway is lowered down from the main deck to the dock, it's a very sturdy set of aluminum stairs so visitors can come and go, and the crew can go ashore and party our brains out- and that's just what we did. Bob, Vedo, and I were on the same watch, so we grabbed a taxi to drive us around the island and check out some of the local sites. It’s a very small island and you can get across it in maybe an hour or so. We got in a cab with this driver who had short brown hair, a receding hairline, the classic five o’clock shadow, tight white t-shirt, beer belly, and dark brown pants. We asked him where we should go and he recommended seeing some old temples and historic sites that are by a famous beach were tourists frequented, “Lots of women there,” he added. Naturally, our response was, “Great, let’s go!” He drove very fast in his Mercedes Benz sedan, almost power sliding out around a turn. Vedo asked him his name, and he looked over at him in the front seat stating bluntly, “Mario.” All together we laughed. Vedo then added, “You drive like Mario Andretti, you know who he is?” The driver looked over at Vedo again and smiled, then he nodded yes and stepped on the peddle, even more, rolling us quickly along old narrow roads made of cobblestone. He took us to some of the world-famous sites and then to the beach for some drinks and food. Mario was going to drop us off and we asked him if he wanted to have a couple beers with us and grab a bite to eat, to which he happily accepted. We sat around talking and laughing, he told us all about Malta, its history and his family. The Maltese are renowned for their warmth, hospitality, and generosity to strangers, a trait that goes far back in time. It was late in the afternoon now and the sun was about to set, we wanted a place to go party that was close to the ship. Mario told us about a half-mile from the ship there was a little bar called the Led Zeppelin. Well hell, that's right up our alley, let's go there! It was a great choice, and we had

the cutest little waitress serving us. Now, on my left hand where the web meets my thumb and my first finger, I have a tattoo of the capital letters L and Z for Led Zeppelin. I showed the waitress and she expressed how much she loved Led Zeppelin too. She said that she would talk to the bartender and see if she could get us a free round in honor of my Led Zeppelin tattoo, the bartender said no problem and that was the beginning of a fun rock and rolling night in Malta. At the end of the night, the three of us drunken sailors stumbled out of the bar and back to the ship. Nothing new for this ancient shipping port, I’m sure. The day before we were scheduled to sail, I had the midnight watch to 0800 at the gangway. The water around the island was clear and crystal blue, so I asked the agent if he knew a place where I could go diving. He told me his brother had a dive boat business on the other side of the island. ‘The agent’ is a ship’s representative that the company hires when in any port worldwide, their job is to assist the Captain and ship with logistics, such as airplane arrangements, bringing the Captain cash, ordering food, arranging fuel, and anything the ships need- just like the agent did for me in Spain. He told me he would pick me up and take me over the island as he had to pick up some things for the ship on the other side anyway. He picked me up at 0800 and we drove over the island while I marveled at old towering fortresses occupying most of the land, but I was not sightseeing, I was wanting to get underwater, and we had a 0900 boat departure, so in typical Malta driving fashion we sped our way there. The boat was a beautiful 35-foot Boston Whaler set up for diving and had 4 other paying customers already aboard. The dives were amazing, a bit void of fish life, but the few fish we saw were beautifully colored, plenty of shells, eels, and octopi too. Our first dive was on an old World War II supply ship that ran aground in a storm, it sat in 80 feet of water and was mostly intact resting upright, it was not penetrable as all hatches and doorways were secured during the storm and debris was scattered all over the place, making it unsafe to enter into it, but diving around and over it was awesome. Our second dive was along the coast where the limestone had eroded away due to the natural effects of the ocean and formed large caves, both underwater and along the shoreline. As we dove along the deep-water ledge, we entered cave after cave, most went back 100 feet and were extremely large. The Dive Master had a pet moray eel at the dive site and he took along a few small fish to feed Victor as he was named.

It was a fantastic place, but at 0600 the next morning, now with our emergency generator fixed, we got underway for the Suez Canal and left Malta astern. After a few days underway through the Mediterranean Sea, we arrived at Port Said, Egypt, the Northern entrance into the Suez Canal. Just like the Panama Canal, all the ships gather to make a transit through, so it's an extremely busy port with ships anchored, ships underway, and boats everywhere. It was late in the afternoon when we anchored, and we were due to transit the Suez Canal early in the morning. I could see Egypt and Port Said very clearly from the ship, with maybe a hundred other ships anchored all around us. I thought back about my boy Napoleon, this was the very place that he anchored all his ships when he went ashore in Egypt. While he was ashore, the British caught his fleet anchored in the very spot that we were anchored and sunk Napoleon's whole entire fleet, leaving him and his huge Army ashore in Egypt for many years. Well, sadly there were no cannons firing or swashbuckling going on, but it was still incredible to be there. It got to be evening, it was deep into June, so it was rather hot. After dinner, Hakeem asked Bob and me if we wanted to jump off the stern of the ship and go swimming. Yeah, that sounds fun! It’s totally illegal and if the Captain or Chief Mate catch you jumping off the ship you would be severely reprimanded, if not fired. It had gotten to be night and both of them were in bed anticipating a long next day ahead, so we headed back to the stern. It was really dark, no moon, and the water was as black as the night. Our freeboard was about 40-feet, we were as lightly ballasted as possible to have as shallow of a draft as possible for the canal transit. Hakeem jumped and landed in the water, hooting and hollering up toward us. I said to Bob, “I can hardly see him.” “That’s because he’s black, tell me if you can see me.” And with that he leaped off the deck, yelling, “Woo hoo!” the whole way down. He looked up at me and said, “Jump, John.” Hakeem chimed in, “Come on, John, jump.” I jumped. I couldn't even see the water, I just kept falling and falling and when I hit the surface I didn’t even know it was there and I landed a little bit on my butt, smacking my lower part of my tailbone on the water, sending a sharp pain up my back. It hurt really bad and I almost seized up. I told the guys I hit hard, and I was in pain, hardly able to move. They helped me over to the stern where I looked up at the daunting ladder, it was only 40-feet, straight up! Once on the main

deck, they told me not to tell anybody I hurt my back jumping off the ship. I told them I didn’t plan on telling anyone I even hurt my back, I was going to take the pain and continue working, and that's exactly what I did. My back hurt really bad for at least a week, it got better slowly, but it took a whole month for that pain to completely go away. In the morning at 0300, the Port Authorities came to the ship. They take about an hour inspecting the ship, making sure the main engines are online, the generators are online, and that all the navigation equipment on the bridge is working and functioning properly. After they confirm that the ship is in good working order, they call into the Pilot and give the ship clearance. At 0430, an Egyptian Pilot boarded our ship, we raised the anchor and proceeded toward the entrance of the Suez Canal. They get all the ships together at the entrance that are going to transit the canal that day, unlike the Panama Canal, the Suez Canal is only one-way traffic. Ships leave from the Northern section, Port Said, in a convoy one ship after another with about a quarter mile spacing. Meanwhile, ships down in the Southern end, in the Red Sea at Port Suez, do the same thing. All the ships meet in the middle, in a big lake and that is where we pass each other. The Suez Canal is basically a big ditch through the desert, with no locks and sea level from the Mediterranean Sea to the Red Sea. We transited the canal in a Southerly direction. To the right side, starboard, the land was very green and there were small buildings all made with classic Arabic Egyptian architectural flair, with the color gold being very prominent. The land is farmed with palm trees accenting a tan sky from the sand dust in the air. On the left side, or to port, it’s all 100% sand dunes as far as you can see. The Suez Canal has a total length of 102 miles and it takes all day long to transit through it. About 2000 that evening, we let our Pilot ashore in Port Suez and entered the Red Sea, bound for Saudi Arabia. We sailed South through the Red Sea, with U.S Naval ships everywhere controlling the region, having it on virtual lockdown and in full control. We rounded the Arabian Peninsula and entered the Straits of Hormuz. They’re very narrow straits leading into the Persian Gulf and I could see land, Iran, to starboard. Here the U.S Navy ensures only the ships that they approve can go in and out of the Persian Gulf, of course, we're friendly and we waved to the Navy ships and they waved back to us and let us go by. We made the ship fast, starboard side, to the dock in Saudi Arabia. On the dock was our load of U.S Army equipment that we would be bringing back,

as the war was over, and victory was ours, I think. The equipment that we brought back was from a division out of Fort Hood, Texas, and it included Apache and Cobra helicopters, M1 tanks, Bradley fighting vehicles, rocket launchers, jeeps, trucks, and every piece of support equipment that those brave men needed. Most of it was all shrink-wrapped in white plastic, such as the Apache and Cobra helicopters, along with the tank tourettes and the rocket launching devices. It is supposed to protect them from the dust and the sand that continually blows in that region, making the sky tan with a hint of orange all the time. With our stern ramp starboard side down on the dock, the Army commenced to loading their gear onto the ship. What could be driven on was driven on, and what needed to be towed on was towed on, such as the shrinkwrapped sensitive equipment and damaged equipment from the battlefield. As for the deck department, we stood watch at the ramp, making sure that everything was okay with it and the mooring lines as the tides went up and down; we were charged with ensuring the safety of the ship while at the dock. The division that the equipment belongs to were the men who were loading the equipment on the ship. The four men in charge of loading tanks and Bradley Fighting Vehicles I got to know well when they were on break and I got to talking with them. They told me they were all together in a Bradley Fighting Vehicle. I have always been into photography and making videos, and I had a video camera with me, so I asked them if I could interview them about their experiences during the invasion, to which they agreed. I set them up on the stern ramp where you can see all their equipment in the background on the dock and took some great footage. There were a couple key points of interest, I thought, that came out of the interview. I asked them- if we had 500,000 guys, and there was a total of 1,000,000 in the coalition, then that meant the coalition supplied the other 500,000 (made up of 10 different countries)- Wasn't that confusing out on the battlefield, because all they did was put a big black V on the allied forces’ equipment, and that was supposed to be enough to tell apart friend or foe. They assured me that was not a problem, and it wasn't too hard because most of the Allied Forces were to the West and all of U.S forces to the East as they all moved North into Kuwait. Surprisingly, they said that went very well, but they did take interest in a British tank that they visited on the battlefield, noting that it had a fully stocked bar in it. Oh, those British- “Well sir, shall we have a gin and tonic before we commence to annihilating the village?”

Another point made, was how easy it was to take over the Iraqi Army. They told me that basically, they didn't fire a shot in defense, they willingly raised their hands up in surrender while throwing money into the air, and they told me that for some reason they all had boatloads of money and there was money strewn all over the battlegrounds with Saddam Hussein's face on it. The final point that interested me, was that there were dead dogs everywhere and that they didn’t really know why. Three days later, we had the ship all loaded up, all the cargo was secured for sea, and yes, we raised the stern ramp. We got underway bound for the U.S, back through the Straits of Hormuz, North through the Red Sea and the Suez Canal, through the Mediterranean Sea, and across the great pond of the North Atlantic Ocean. As we crossed the North Atlantic, during my day watch from 0800 to 1200, the Third Mate introduced me to celestial navigation. He showed me how to use a sextant and take a line of position (LOP) of the sun. On the night watch from 2000 to 2400, he showed me how to identify stars and constellations. At this point I really enjoyed navigation, I began an obsession with it, and I read or studied all I could on the subject. The best watch for an AB on the ship is usually the 0400 to 0800. It consists of standing sea watch from 0400 to 0800, and from 1600 to 2000. You can work all day, get 7 hours of overtime, and take a 30-minute break from 1700 to 1730 for dinner- all other watches can only get 4 hours of overtime a day. The Chief Mate is on the 0400 to 0800 watch so he can be with the Bos’n on deck all day, he is the only Mate to get 7 hours of overtime a day as well. One of the AB’s on the 0400 to 0800 was Derrick Bates, he thought he was the shit, and a better AB than the rest of us. He bragged all the time about how he had a 100 ton Captain’s license and that he was going to get his 3rd Mate’s license. Now, to be clear, it is not a Captain’s license that the US Coast Guard administers, it is a Master’s license. This is because, yes, you have mastered all that goes with operating a vessel, but at the same time there is only one Captain on the ship, while you are at sea he is your Master and you obey what he says without question. The license actually says Master on it, not Captain. So, when Derrick got to bragging we would call him Master Bates, he hated it, and we laughed. One day on a coffee break, we were all talking about other ships we had been on, and Master Bates started mentioning some ships he had been on out in Guam and Saipan. He said the

ships stayed three weeks in Saipan and one week in Guam. I asked what company that was, and he told me it was Amsea or ‘American Overseas Marine Corporation,’ out of Boston. They had 4 ships out there in the Mariana Islands, and I wrote that down and filed it for later use as I wanted to go there! We arrived in Houston where we unloaded all the cargo we brought back from the Persian Gulf, most of the crew got off the ship, and at least two-thirds of the crew were new. When a ship comes back from a foreign port the crew can get off if they want. Usually, if you are sailing foreign, normal shipping articles are 120 days, meaning you are obliged to stay on the ship for that length of time. If at 120 days you are still foreign, the company will discharge you and arrange for your travel home, unless the ship comes back to the USA before the 120 days, as in this case, and then you can break articles. The Bos’n left, Bob was gone, Vedo was gone, Hakeem was gone, and even Master Bates left. I suddenly became the senior man on deck and knew where everything was, and all the little quirks associated with the ship and the deck. It only took two days to offload the cargo and we found ourselves underway for Jacksonville, Florida, where we would be going to a 2 week shipyard period for repairs. On the way there, I stood the 0800 to 1200 watch again with Tyler, he was the only Mate to stay on. The 2nd Mate and Chief Mate left in Houston. The Captain notified the crew that there would be no overtime in the shipyard, the ship would be shut down and we would be staying in a hotel close by. He told us we would only be doing day work maintenance on weekdays, eight hours a day, and no night or weekend work. He also told us that it would be understandable if anyone wanted to get off in Jacksonville. Most everyone did, but I decided to stay on with the new crew. The new Bos’n quit because the new Chief Mate, her name was Margaret, yes I said her, was a woman. On deck, as he was leaving, he specifically said for all to hear, “I don’t take no orders from a fucking cunt!” On ships, there is usually a woman or two aboard, mostly in the steward department, as few women are Mates or Engineers. I liked Margaret, this was her first job as Chief Mate, and she was really taken back by the Bos’n’s response to her. I and the rest of the deck gang did our best to show her the utmost respect. Needless to say, without a Bos’n, I became the go-to guy on deck even more. Another woman was onboard now, her name was Sally, and she

worked in the galley as a Steward Assistant (SA). She was 20 years old, had just gotten out of basic maritime training school, and this was her first ship. She and I got along very well and would hang out together in the hotel. On the weekends you could find the two of us at the pool listening to Janes Addiction, our first common bond, our second was rum. The two weeks passed quickly, I was going to make another voyage to Saudi Arabia, and I really liked Sally. The quest for new adventures loomed over me like a dog demanding to be fed, and when the ship departed Jacksonville I was on the dock waving goodbye to Sally, who was on the deck of the ship waving goodbye to me. I never asked for her phone number, she never asked for mine, two ships passing in the night. One number I did have was the one to Amsea, and I was headed home to Hawaii where I would be calling them to see if I could get a job.

Chapter 5 Training for the M/V 1st Lt. Baldamero Lopez It was early September 1991, and I had been a member of the Union, Seafarers International Union (SIU), for a year. I had been on four different ships, crossed the North Atlantic three times, been through the Panama and Suez canals twice each, been around the coastal USA twice (including every Hawaiian Island), been to Spain and Malta- all while making money, having an adventure, learning seamanship, and navigation. It was all just like I imagined. At home I gave Amsea a call. The way jobs are given out in the Union is usually by going to the Union Hall, like Marshall and I did, and you bid for a job as they come up. Companies that are in the Union can hire from the Union Hall, and/or they can use preferential hiring. Preferential hiring is where they hire only the union members that they want, instead of getting new guys all the time who need to get to know the ship, need training, or could be not so good of seaman for whatever reasons. I talked to a lady

named Marie, and she told me that they do have positions available on their ships and that she would send me an application package. After review, if it all looks good, they would get back to me. Needless to say, I filled out that application and returned it by mail right away. It was 4 weeks later, into October, and the phone rang. It was Marie at Amsea, and she told me that they wanted to hire me to go aboard the M/V Lopez out in the Marianas Islands. The job started in mid-November and their shipping rotation is four months on, and two months off. I told her that sounds fine. She then told me I would have to get some special training to be on their ships. Amsea would fly me to Freehold, New Jersey, where I would attend a one-week shipboard firefighting school, with rental car and hotel provided. After the one-week firefighting school was completed, I would drive to Norfolk, Virginia, over the weekend, and check into a hotel close by the Norfolk Naval Base. On Monday, I was to attend a one-week helicopter landing school, known as LSE, which stands for ‘Landing Signalman Enlisted.’ The plane went from Lihue, Kauai, to Honolulu, from there to Los Angeles, then to Atlanta, and finally to Newark, New Jersey. The whole way I couldn't help but be excited to be getting paid for this, I received a per diem for expenses, like food and gas, of $75 a day. I was going to locations I had never been to on the East Coast while attending some training schools, and after that, I was bound for the deep Pacific. Everything was going as planned. I was waiting for my luggage at baggage claim, the last bags were coming off the ramp, and only about 20 people were at the carousel waiting for those last bags. Everyone there was a white person except this beautiful Asian girl, her handheld bag said Mauna Loa Farms on it, I presumed macadamia nuts from Hawaii. From Honolulu, I was on three different planes to reach Newark, and the likelihood that someone had been on those same three different planes was low. She was Asian and had a Hawaiian gift bag, so I asked her, “Excuse me, Miss, did you just come from Hawaii?” “Yes I did,” she replied, slightly taken off guard as to how I knew this. I told her it was her gift bag, she looked at it and realized it said Hawaii all over and laughed. I asked her, “Are you visiting someone here?” She looked like she was a local from Hawaii and I assumed she lived in the islands. “No I live here, I am coming back from vacation, I was visiting my Aunt in Honolulu.” Our bags were coming off the ramp, she would be gone

soon, and I needed to ask her for a phone number. I said, “I am from Hawaii, and I am going to a firefighting school in Freehold for a week, would you like to go out with me while I am here?” Tentatively she replied, “Oh I don’t know.” “Can I have your phone number and we can talk and get to know each other better on the phone then?” The piece of paper she handed me said Susan 212-873-5081. While extending my hand to meet hers, I added, “Nice to meet you, Susan, my name is John. I’ll call you in a day or two,” we shook hands and she told me to call at night after work. With that, we went our separate ways. Monday morning with special training paperwork in hand, I made my way to the Freehold Firefighting Training Center. It’s a large facility of about 20 acres, there are classrooms and large firefighting training structures that they light on fire and you must put out for training, including different ship sections like the galley, engine room, laundry, cargo hold, and stateroom. After checking in at headquarters, I found my seat in the classroom. Our instructor was a veteran firefighter from New York, his name was Chief Ferguson, and he was a no-nonsense kind of guy, very strict, very disciplined, and got right down to business. He informed us we would be extinguishing fires Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. In between, we would be doing book work, studying, and practicing with the equipment before using it. For most of us, it was not our first round at a firefighting school. I had been in the Navy’s and others were there getting re-certified, but we all appreciated, which you can never get enough of, more training, especially on a subject as important and dangerous as fighting a shipboard fire. We learned about the fire triangle, oxygen, fuel, and heat; by removing one of the three the fire goes out. We learned different classes of fire and primary extinguishing agents for each. First, is a class Alpha fire: any fire that leaves behind ash, such as wood, or you if you are on fire, and that is known as a Screaming Alpha. Best way to put out an Alpha is with water, thus removing the heat from the fire triangle. Second, is a class Bravo: a liquid fire, such as oil, liquid fuels, or paints and solvents. Best way to put out a class Bravo fire is with foam or CO2, both remove oxygen from the fire triangle. Third, is a class Charlie: an electrical fire. Best way to put out a class Charlie fire is by first securing power to the fire area and using dry chemical extinguishing agents which disturb the three parts of the fire triangle, so they can’t work

together, knocking out the fire. Finally, the fourth is a class Delta: a special situation fire such as magnesium or a deep fat fryer fire in the galley, and each one takes different extinguishing methods. We spent the day learning about fires, extinguishing agents, fire fighting techniques, and equipment. It was Monday night at the hotel, I ate dinner and crashed hard. Tuesday morning, at the training center we practiced with the equipment we would be using in the afternoon to put out fires and did practice scenarios. After lunch, it was fire fighting time. First, we had a metal trash can on its side, out on the tarmac, full of rags and wood, on fire. With full fire fighting protective gear on, we each got a turn extinguishing the fire with a portable 15lbs CO2 extinguisher, being careful to keep the cylinder on the ground so as not to produce static electricity, and sweeping the spray side to side at the fire’s base. Then, same fire, we used water from a 1½ inch fire hose. In teams of 3 on the hose, we used high-velocity spray and again swept the fire at its base to extinguish it. We all took turns being nozzle-man and being the last man on the hose. The last man has the responsibility of leading the hose away from the fire as the team backs out, you never turn your back on the fire. The team slides their feet back, all the while facing the extinguished fire, as the last man tends the hose. Time for the last fire scenario of the afternoon. Staged to appear as though someone dumped their ashtray into the trash can and it smoldered, caught on fire, and spread throughout the stateroom. The room itself, the mattress, and the trash can are all ablaze. This fire will be a one-shot deal. There were 12 of us in the course, and the Chief divided us up into four teams of three. In this exercise, we would all be in full fire fighting protective gear and an SCBA, that’s a ‘Self-Contained Breathing Apparatus.’ On my team, I was the nozzle-man, and with high-velocity spray, we entered the steel room with so much smoke I couldn't see a thing, but I did feel the heat. We entered further, and I could barely see a red glow in the corner, the heat was intense, I felt it on my face even through the SCBA mask. I sprayed at the base of the fire, sweeping left and right, and then upwards a little, still sweeping left and right. The fire went out and the Instructor in the room told me to back out, I told the guy behind me, and he told the last guy in line. Facing the extinguished fire, we backed out of the space while the last guy tended the hose, bringing it out as we moved. That was a very intense situation, they make it that way on purpose. What they did was light a pallet with hay bails on it on top of a metal bed frame on fire. Inside a steel room, it filled with

black smoke quickly and grew very hot. I will skip ahead here for a moment and tell you that while aboard a few ships in the future, I was involved in actual shipboard fires. You have to be confident and well trained to fight them, and that is why they make these training fires so real, intense, and hot! At the hotel room after I ate dinner I couldn't wait to call Susan. At 2000 I finally made the call. She answered, and we talked like two high school kids for hours, laughing, and giggling on the phone. We just got to know each other, I told her more about my life as a Merchant Seaman living in Hawaii, and she told me about hers, working in New York as a paralegal and living in Hoboken, New Jersey. I asked her if she would go out with me on Wednesday night, she said she didn’t know and gave me a list of reasons why. I countered each one, until finally, I said, “Look, we have been on the phone for hours enjoying each other’s conversation. It will be the same on our date.” Again, though it seemed to be against her will, she declined despite not wanting to since she fancied herself as a good girl. “I don’t know,” was all she could offer. “How about this,” I pressed, “If I can guess your nationality we go out, deal?” Intrigued, she said, “Okay, guess.” “Pilipino.” Astonished, she said, “How did you know that? Nobody ever guesses that!” I told her I had lots of contact with many Asian people living in Hawaii and knew the difference amongst them. She reluctantly agreed and told me her address and directions to get there. We settled on 1900 for a pick up at her place, Wednesday night. Sweet! Wednesday we learned more about class Bravo fires, liquid fires, and how to put them out. Now, water will put it out, however, it takes a lot of water because the fuel for the fire is liquid and it spreads around, and it gets very hot. The main reason water as an extinguishing agent on a Bravo fire aboard a ship needs to be of concern is stability, it takes so much water it could compromise the ship's stability. CO2 works as well, but again, it takes a lot of it and re-flash is a problem. So, the best extinguishing agent is foam. It smothers the fire, removing the oxygen from the triangle, and because the foam has to mix with water, it cools it as well. We practiced with some of the equipment we would use to put out a Bravo fire on Thursday afternoon. On most ships, there is a foam pumping station, it gets activated and foam is

mixed with water as it comes out of the nozzle. That’s a great system, however, if the pumping station goes out, or the ship doesn’t have one, or the fire is out of reach of the foam pumping station, we use a portable foam system. Basically, you put a small educator onto the hose end and then the nozzle, an ‘educator’ is a tube that has a large passage to a small one, and the small one has a tube that goes into a 5-gallon bucket of foam. As water passes by the educator, it sucks foam out of the bucket and mixes with the water, coming out of the nozzle in a soapy bubbling foam that lays thick on the liquid fire. The tube that goes into the bucket is called a Donkey Dick, the top of the portable foam bucket has a small round hole on top of the cover that it goes into. We practiced putting the Donkey Dick into the hole so we could get white foamy liquid to spray out the end of the hose. Now, playing with the Donkey Dick all afternoon was fun and all, but to be sure at 1900 sharp I knocked on the door of the address Susan gave me. She answered, looking so beautiful, her hair was black and shiny, her lips were pink, and her eyes were so dark and exotic I felt like I was in another dimension. She suggested we go out for Indian food, I was hungry and so was she, so off we went. We cruised into the city along a street that had many different restaurants, all one after another, in quaint old brick buildings with large windows that faced the street. We went into one, it was small and only had about 12 tables, all except for one were full, so we snagged it. The food was great and reminded me of Thai food, but different, very delicious and interesting. Susan and I chatted about all the small stuff a girl and boy talk about getting to know one another. After dinner, we walked around the city and she showed me some of the sites. It was getting late and we both had a big day next, so I drove her home. On the way there she made it clear, “I have two roommates and we are not allowed to have guests over.” As she was putting the key in the door I was standing right behind her, placed my hands on her shoulders and asked if I could kiss her goodbye. She opened the door, where I knew I was not allowed to follow, stepped inside, turned to face me, and thanked me for a wonderful time. I told her I enjoyed it very much. I thought that was going to be it, there was a line in between us that I could not cross and she seemed a million miles away, though it was really only about 3 feet. I reached out my hand to shake hers goodbye, but instead, she leaned out, crossed the line, and kissed me right on the lips. She then returned back across the line and said, “Same time tomorrow night, alright?”

“It’s all I’ll be thinking about until then.” She smiled and closed the door. Take deep breaths, John! Back to reality, it’s Thursday morning at firefighting training and we are preparing for the extinguishing of class Bravo fires. Out on the firefighting tarmac, they have a steel plate 3 inches tall and formed into a square, 60x60 feet. It basically forms a pool, 3 inches deep, and it's filled with flammable liquid that they light on fire and we are supposed to put it out. Inside the fire pool, they have a valve manifold used as training props in the extinguishing of the Bravo fires. In the first scenario they take a 5-gallon bucket and fill it with kerosene, spill kerosene all over the deck and around it, then they light it up. Individually, fully dressed again in full firefighting gear, we take a 15-pound CO2 extinguisher and by sweeping side to side at the fire’s base we end the kerosene fire. The next fire would be the valve manifold, they pour about 20 gallons of light fuel oil all around the manifold and in a team of three, we will extinguish the fire with a 1 ½ inch firefighting hose, sending a man in to secure the valve at the manifold. These exercises are done with water, even though foam is the best extinguishing agent for a Bravo fire, but straight water is also effective. The reason we practice with water is threefold, one, foam lingers and is hard to clean up, two, foam is expensive, and three, if you can put out a Bravo fire with water, which is difficult, you could easily do it with foam. As a side note, you might not always have foam available and the precaution when using water on a Bravo fire aboard a ship is, once again, compromising the ship’s stability by adding huge amounts of water onto a floating vessel. Okay, this fire is hot, the 5-gallon bucket thing with CO2 was fun and easy, this is far from that. The Bravo fire pool was divided into sections, all within a 3-inch lip, the valve manifold was within a 20x20 foot pool, and they filled it with about 20 gallons of fuel oil. They lit it at the manifold and in two teams we went in. Stepping into a 20x20 foot pool, a 1/2 inch deep in fuel oil which is on fire is a mind-clearing exercise. Guaranteed, everything you had in the back of your mind is gone now, and all you are thinking of, and I mean all you’re thinking of, is not burning alive. I was the nozzle-man on team 1, a three-man team. Team 2 was also a three-man team, except they had a fourth man at the back of the hose so that once they were at the manifold he could secure the valve. Remember the fire triangle? The purpose was to remove the fire’s fuel. Here we go. I am sweeping with a high-velocity spray coming out of

the nozzle left and right at the base of the fire, sweeping the liquid flames side to side and containing its flanks from spreading. The fire team next to me, team 2, is doing the same. We had to work very hard sweeping, it had to be done very fast, no lollygagging on the sweeps, back and forth as fast as you can. We got to the manifold with all the flames extinguished and continued our high-velocity spray at the valves while the fourth man, on team 2, advanced to the manifold, protected by staying within the spray of two hoses. To be sure, after all these exercises we were all wet, but this guy was deep within a double spray, which put out 100 psi each, and he was soaked all the way through in a firefighting suit that weighed 25 pounds dry. He secured the valve and we backed out of the scene, never turning our backs on it, shuffling our feet backward in sync while the last man tended the hose coming out. Funny how a day goes sometimes. You can find yourself at one place for one poignant moment, and a few hours later find yourself in a completely different place and situation. Thursday night, after a day of fighting fires from hell, I found myself in a climate-controlled movie theater, with my arm and shoulder snug against Susan’s. We sat there, kind of leaning on each other, watching City Slickers, eating popcorn, and laughing our butts off. At the end of a most wonderful night with Susan, I was back in familiar territory, at the line I could not cross, with her on one side and me a million miles away on the other. She said, “Same time tomorrow? Its Friday night and I can stay out longer.” “I think that’s great.” She smiled and said, in a bewildered tone, “I really like you John, and I can’t believe I am saying that after such a short time of knowing you.” I smiled wide and said simply, with my eyebrows raised and a questionable look in my eyes, “Destiny?” I then smiled wider and looked right into those dark exotic eyes that could steal any man’s heart. She took the step, the one I was hoping for, across the line and came over to my side. We stood there in the hallway, bodies pressed, face to face, looking deep into each other’s eyes. We kissed deep and long. Tomorrow night then, yes tomorrow night, and she stepped back across the line and closed the door. As I mentioned previously, for most of the guys, save a few, we had prior training and experience, and had done very well on our Friday morning written exams. At this point in my career I had been to firefighting training in

the US Navy, and in the Navy my primary job was firefighting. To be sure, all crew members aboard a ship are firefighters, it might not be their primary job, but it is their secondary job. In the Merchant Marines, we have training once a week, usually Friday afternoons. It’s called ‘fire and boat drill.’ First, the general alarm is sounded for a continual 10 seconds or longer, and everyone goes to their assigned damage control locker, known as a ‘DC’ locker. Normally, there are two, but sometimes there are three or four DC lockers. Once there, the word is passed down to the Officer in Charge of the DC locker and we fully suit up and haul gear to the scene of the simulated fire, simulating all steps necessary to extinguish the fire. Of course, we put it out every time, and after stowing all that gear the alarm would sound for abandon ship, which is 7 short blasts followed by a 10-second blast of the ship’s general alarm. We would go to our lifeboat stations and simulate launching them, abandoning ship. After lunch, we had the last training fire to put out. It would be a laundry room fire, and Chief Ferguson told us it was going to be hot and very smokey, and he reminded us to stay low as we entered. Thick black smoke was billowing out of the steel hatch that we entered, we stayed low, and progressed down a narrow passageway that got hotter and hotter with every step. There were three different hatchways leading into three different rooms as we went forward down the hot and dark passageway, visibility was zero, you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face, so it was very difficult to find the fire. We advanced and searched each room until we finally felt intense heat from one and saw the raging flames climbing up the bulkhead and gathering along the overhead (in nautical terms, a ‘bulkhead’ is a wall and the ‘overhead’ is the ceiling). As we crouched down, we applied the water spray sweeping side to side and upwards to cool the fire and extinguish it. It took a while as the fire was in the corner of the room and spread along two bulkheads. Once we extinguished one side of the bulkhead we would start fighting the fire along the other side, but the first side would re-flash and we would be back to square one fighting the first spot. It took very quick sweeping motions and a lot of determination, but we finally put out the blaze. After we backed out, we cleaned up and stowed all the gear. We all appreciated the time spent at the firefighting training center and the great job the instructors did. After receiving our certifications, we departed the facility. At 1900 sharp I met Susan for our Friday night date. We went out to dinner and had some beers at the oldest Irish pub in the city. I loved the place

where Susan lived, it was an old firehouse, the part on the left was where the fire trucks parked and was now one big apartment, and the part on the right was, where the firefighters had slept and eaten, it was now several small apartments. Susan lived in one of them with the dreaded roommates. It was the end of the night and it was very late, we sat in the car out front of the firehouse kissing. I told her I thought the firehouse was cool. She explained the inside to me and I was fascinated by it. She offered, “My roommates are asleep, if you’re quiet I will show you the inside and we can hang out in my room for a while.” “Great,” I was stoked. The inside was all wood floors with old wood cabinets that boasted architectural flare from the early part of the century. We closed the door to her room and sat together on the bed, in between long deep kisses, she showed me pictures and her prized possessions. It was Friday night and I knew this might be my last time with her, but I couldn’t imagine that. I said, “Would you like to go to Virginia with me this weekend?” “Drive there with you?” “Yeah, we can leave tomorrow morning and spend Saturday night there and Sunday evening I will take you to the airport and pay your way home.” In a questioning tone, she replied, “And are we going to sleep together in the hotel room?” I responded sincerely, looking right into her eyes, “Yes, but that doesn’t mean sex. I promise I will be a gentleman, just as I have been these last nights.” She smiled and tilted her head to the side like she was curiously interested in my offer. I continued, "It will be a great drive down the coast, we can listen to music and stop for lunch somewhere on the beach, and Sunday we'll cruise around Norfolk.” Again, she smiled, and the look in her eyes told me she wanted to go. "This might be the last time we see each other for a while, I really like you a lot, Susan, and I want to spend as much time with you as possible.” “I really like you too, John, and I want to spend time with you as well.” I reiterated, “I will be a gentleman, I promise. Come with me, Susan, it will be all good.” She looked me right in the eyes, our noses almost touching, face to face, and she simply said, “Ok, I’ll go.” Then we kissed for what seemed like forever. The drive was so much fun with her sitting beside me, we listened to

music and sang together, we followed the coast, stopped for lunch at some small little beach pub, and made it to Norfolk by evening. In the hotel room that evening, while she was taking a shower someone knocked on the door, I answered it and it was the hotel maid service bringing 4 extra pillows. I put them on the bed and when she came out of the bathroom I said, "The maid service brought the extra pillows that you called for, do you like to sleep with so many pillows?" She answered, "No I just wanted them to have a barrier between us tonight". We slept in the same bed, with a pillow wall in between us. I didn’t care as long as we were together. Sunday, after a long breakfast, we cruised the city and viewed some historical sites. Sunday night, at the airport, I told her I would be back in a few months and I hoped I would be able to see her again. She assured me, “I’ll be right here, John.” I kissed her goodbye and she turned and boarded the plane. I was happy and sad, I took a deep breath, and went back to my hotel room. I smelled her on the pillows all night long and dreamt of our reunion. Monday morning, I approached the gate to the Naval Base and handed the Master at Arms my paperwork. He gave me directions to the LSE classroom and passed me through. We were all sitting at our desks and the HTSC (Hull Technician Senior Chief), came in. He informed us that the training facility had no power, seems the base was having generator problems, and he told us class was canceled for the day and to show up 0800 sharp in the morning, we would make up anything we missed then. I spent the night talking to 'you know who' on the phone, and Tuesday morning found myself back at my desk in class. The HTSC came in and said the class was officially canceled, the problem with the generator wasn’t fixed. I went to the hotel room and called Marie at Amsea and she told me she would arrange travel for me back home, so Wednesday morning I boarded a plane for Hawaii. Thursday afternoon, Marie called me and informed me I would be going to LSE training in San Diego at the Naval Base there on Monday. So, Sunday night I flew to San Diego and checked into the hotel. Monday morning again, and I was waiting in a classroom when the instructor came in, he was an AVSC (Aviation Specialist Senior Chief) and we got right down to business. During the week we learned a lot from books, lectures, and we practiced scenarios on a staged mock helicopter out on the tarmac, set up as a flight deck. On a flight deck everyone needs to know their jobs well and how the flight deck is choreographed so we don’t trip over each other, ensuring we are as effective as possible. We learned about all kinds of

different Naval helicopters and each one’s specific characteristics. In the flight control room, overlooking the flight deck, there is a Flight Deck Commanding Officer who communicates with the helicopter pilot and the Officer in Charge of the flight deck, known as the LSO (Landing Signalman Officer). Everyone on the flight deck has color coordinated gear on to indicate their position and job on the flight deck, the LSO wears yellow. We learned all the different colors and how to perform each one’s job. Purple is refueling and cargo. Green is choke and chains- that’s when the bird is secure on deck and the wheels get choked, by big wedges, and it gets chained down to prevent sliding as the ship rolls. Red is the firefighting team, and finally, the men in silver are in special fire proximity suits, they perform pilot and crew rescue if needed. As the week progressed, we practiced all the flight deck positions, taking turns with each, out on the flight deck tarmac with an H-46 Navy helicopter. That’s the big one with two full blades that spin horizontally. It doesn’t have the back small blades like most helicopters do, called a rotor, which spins vertically. This bird is huge, it’s the second largest helicopter in the Navy. We practiced landing the bird, securing it to the deck, loading and unloading cargo, and removing the chokes and chains and sending it on its way. We also practiced in-flight refueling and cargo ops. That’s where the helicopter hovers over the flight deck, it does not land, and you send up a hose so it can refuel in flight, or, it hovers and lowers down cargo or raises up cargo by a small winch and crane. All these exercises are very intense and loud, these H-46 helicopters are really big and put down a lot of wind, so you have to stand or crouch solid or you will be blown away. On the flight deck, when it is active, we raise safety nets around it, so nobody gets blown over the side of the ship into the ocean. Friday afternoon and our last practice exercise of the week was focused on a disaster, simulating the helicopter crashing onto the flight deck. The scenario would be a helicopter that crashed on deck, spilling its fuel, and bursting into flames. This fire is big, I don’t know how much fuel they poured around the steel mock helicopter shell, but it was a lot, and it got big and hot fast. With flames souring twenty feet high, we formed into three firefighting teams of three each and attacked the roaring blaze head-on. I was nozzle-man on one of the teams, and in between my team and the other team, we had an applicator team. An applicator is a pipe 12 feet long with a 90degree bend at its end that puts out low-velocity spray in a wide pattern, it

attaches to the nozzle and is held out and over the two main fire fighting teams to protect them from the intense heat. Sweeping side to side with the 1 ½ inch fire hose in a high-velocity spray I felt the heat from this Bravo fire, not only on my face through the SCBA mask, but penetrating through my firefighting suit as well. Fed by the light breeze that was blowing, the flames leaped and swirled around the mock helicopter like a swirling fire monster. These flames did not want to retreat and as we swept side to side the flames backed five feet for every one minute of intense sweeping. The mock helicopter was about twenty feet away and it took us almost five minutes of fighting this beast to get to it. We had all the flames contained and after a short moment the flames fully extinguished. I was exhausted and hotter than all hell in my firefighting suit and SCBA. Backing away, still facing the fire, we concluded the exercise. That evening, I boarded a plane for home to Hawaii, and Monday morning boarded a plane for Guam to begin a four-month tour aboard the M/V Lopez in the Northern Mariana Islands. Guam is where the deepest spot in all the world’s oceans is found, it’s called Challenger Deep, in the Marianas trench just offshore of Guam, it’s over seven miles deep. Please join me in my next set of Merchant Marine Chronicles as I head deep into the Pacific aboard the M/V Lopez and several other ships. Destinations include Guam, Saipan, Korea, Japan, Singapore and Indonesia.