Showing posts with label Ships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ships. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 25, 2026

The Clock in St. Mark's Square - Venice, Italy


Someday I hope you will all travel to Venice, Italy and see this clock. Built in the 1490's it is one of the most extraordinary in the world. And considering when it was built it is still a marvel of engineering and architecture. In 1998 it was cleaned and all the beauty of the facade was made visible again. Big difference from what it looked like in the 1970's when I saw it.

I was watching an old Italian film called "The Assassins" from 1952 in which the clock is shown. Piqued my memory. I do not recommend the film, only the clock, located in St. Mark's Square in Venice.

There is a great Wikipedia article about this clock and the family who maintained it from 1497 until 1998. 500 years. One family, one clock. They actually lived in the tower! There are 2 different links, both worth reading.

To me one of the most extraordinary aspects of the clock is the astronomical feature, which involves 5 planets and the Sun. This was 40 years before Copernicus proved that the Earth revolved around the Sun. And 100 years before the Catholic Church banned Copernicus! 😂

And here are the 2 "Moors" who actually strike the hours. They are located several stories above the actual clock face.


Also of interest is the fact that this extraordinary clock also pre dated the 1707 Scilly Island disaster, in which a British fleet was lost due to the need for understanding the principles of "arc to time". 

In 1714 Parliment passed the Longitude Act, which offered a big reward for anyone who could solve the problem. Still, it took another 57 years for a man named John Harrison to accomplish this feat. Without his accomplishment it was really an educated guess as to where your ship actually was. Even today's sophisticated Navigation Satellites owe a huge debt to Harrison's H4 timepiece.

Thursday, March 31, 2022

Man of War



Man of War Sailing
(Painting by Christopher J. Guise)

It's a sunny bright morning
the ship's under full sail.
and if Neptune is happy
the bilges won't need to be bailed.

The cook's been up
since way before dawn,
and the smell of the coffee
erases all yawns.

There are lines to be spliced
and painting needs done,
all under the rays
of a bright shining Sun.

A ship under sail,
is a sailor's delight.
And if all works out well
t'will be a bright moonlit night.
  

Wednesday, March 30, 2022

The Midwatch


The Midwatch

This poem is based on the painting "Crescent Moon" by Montague Dawson.

The sails are all creaking,
there's a shroud o'er the moon.
The crew is all sleeping,
under a full mast and boom.

The day's work is done,
hatches battened down tight.
All troubles are gone
'til morning's daylight.

The ship rocks on the ocean
It sways beam to beam.
Not a sailor's awake,
all lare ost in their dreams.

Monday, September 3, 2018

Dimensions

How deep is the ocean
from the top to the bottom?
From where the water is fresher
to where things are forgotten?
Where old ships and sailors
lie in cold sand - never rottng...
How deep is the ocean
from the top to the bottom?

How high is the sky
until you finally reach heaven?
Is it five miles or more-
is it further than seven?
How long to get there -
I go to sleep at eleven.
How high is the sky
until you finally reach heaven?

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

The Sanko Prestige Meets the USS Milwaukee

On the night of January 3rd, 1980 the USS Milwaukee was berthed at the Destroyer and Submarine Piers in Norfolk, Virginia. The Sanko Prestige, a Malaysian flagged oil tanker, lost steerage in the channel of the James River and hit the Milwaukee. Her bow struck our port quarter abaft of the beam. That's a fancy way of saying the left side and rear. It was also where I slept!

The berthing quarters below mine were for the Deck Departments 1st Division and it was wiped out. So were the Chiefs Quarters.

I had been out on liberty with Dennis Langlands and Ron Tabb and we were just coming down the pier when the Sanko Prestige hit. We raced to the bridge, where we proceeded to make preparations to be towed to an anchorage should the need arise. With 7 million gallons of fuel we needed to be as far from the shore as possible should there be a fire aboard.

In the engine room men were attempting to get boilers on line from "cold iron." This usually takes 12 hours. They were on it in minutes! When Captain Page arrived 20 minutes later from his home in Virginia Beach the ship was ready to answer all orders.

Here is what Mike Metcalfe of E-Division has to say about that night- "I had just gotten aboard after Xmas leave. We made a McDonalds run. I was drinking my shake when this Crazy chief came running into Eng. berthing and told us all to run for our lives!!! We all laughed until the Collission alarm sounded...one of the scariest 5 minutes of my life...and then the relief...when you realized the 7and 1/2 million gallons of fuel we were sitting on didn't blow. That crazy Chief saved a bunch of lives that night. Some of the guys were in their racks, and when it was over...their racks were outside the ship. It all didn't happen the way the papers said, but we were back to sea after a month in Newport News shipyard. They did however miss a giant dent on the starboard side where the ship hit the Pier, and cracked it too. (right through the shore power disconnects.) NAVY...it sure did have it's moments."
Mike Metcalfe, EM2, E-Div, STREAM Div. 78-82

The night was hectic and trying- but the whole crew pulled together and did what they were trained to do. It was a moment of immense pride for a hard working crew. And you know what? It worked. And in 4 weeks we would be back at sea refueling the fleet and battling a major storm. Man, I loved that ship!

Monday, April 21, 2014

"Dark Invasion" by Howard Blum (2014)

If you believe; as I do; that the only thing new is the history you don’t know, then this book will astound you. It’s like reading today’s newspaper; underscoring the fact that precious little has really changed in the last 100 years since these events occurred.  

Terrorism, espionage, germ warfare, piracy; in short; anything which you can find in today’s paper can be found in this book which recounts the events of the 2 years preceding America’s entry into World War One. Germany’s undeclared war on the United States mirrors everything which the Islamic terrorist of the 21st Century would like to accomplish.

If you lose track of some of the aliases and names while reading this book, don’t worry, author Howard Blum pulls everything together in an ending which rivals the best that Hollywood has to offer in the way of fiction. The big difference, of course, is that this story is true.

With the same wide ranging and highly charged style which marked his earlier book “American Lightning”, Mr. Blum introduces the reader to an astounding cast of characters; comprised of diplomats, Professors, stevedores, watchmakers and even J.P. Morgan; the American financer who once bailed out the country with cash during a recession. There are policemen, detectives and politicians; some good, some bad; but all part of the plot to keep American munitions out of the war against Germany by whatever means necessary.

The bombings were simple enough; compared to the planned anthrax and horse plaque attacks which were planned by German diplomats, along with scores of German seaman who found themselves stuck in a foreign neutral port for the duration of the war.

The story also involves a Harvard college professor named Muenter, who killed his wife and left his children, taking on a new identity in New Mexico.  He remarried under the assumed name of Frank Holt and began a new academic career in foreign languages. He was soon at the top of his profession. He also became an important component to the larger story.

At the same time, Detective Tom Tunney; in New York City; is on the trail of the mysterious bomber who has been successfully sabotaging the American war effort.  At the direction of the Police Commissioner he is able to tap phone lines, use force, and whatever else may be necessary to stop the sinking of ships by explosion after the ships have been at sea for several days.

During the summer of 1915 there were scores of ships sunk as a result. The devices ranged from a small “cigar” bomb; which was a small lead container divided in half by a small sheet of copper. Chemicals were added to each side that ate the copper sheet away. When the chemicals combined they produced a white hot flame. Planted among cargo they were devastating.

The German ships which were interred in the harbor on both sides of the river made for ideal recruitment for the network needed to plant the explosive devices on the American ships. And with the help of German diplomats and shipping executives, the operation was well funded and there was serious money to be made for the bored German seamen. One ship, interred at Hoboken, was actually converted into a bomb factory, with every member of the crew taking part in some way. Irish stevedores; with no love for England; were also a reliable source of operatives.

There were also plans to blow up various landmarks around the country. One of the first successes Detective Tunney enjoyed was the arrest of the men who planned to blow up St. Patrick’s Cathedral. That effort was foiled by two detectives dressed as scrub-women, who watched the bomber plant the bomb before tackling him.

Detective Tunney successfully infiltrates the Brescia Circle; a group of radical immigrants; and before too long finds himself involved with the German Abteilung IIIB spy network headed by Heinrich Albert, who was also the Commercial Attaché to the German Embassy here in the United States. From this lofty position he was able to recruit and co-ordinate not only the ship bombings, but also the germ warfare program. There is even a plan to restore Mexico’s exiled President Huerta to power in exchange for his help in de-stabilizing the Mexican border. His reward was to be the restoration of Texas and New Mexico to his country.

The germ warfare was designed to sicken the horses which the United States was supplying to all of the nations at war; with the exception of Germany. This is the same thing that caused Japan to form the Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere, which led to the Second World War. Sanctions don’t work well without force to back it up. This is a lesson which should be heeded by our own politicians today. There is no teacher as adept as knowing history.

Paul Koenig was the German shipping magnate who ruled the waterfront in New York and New Jersey. He was loaded with cash but when his nephew didn’t show up for work one day due to an illness, he was docked $2.52 for the day. Infuriated at his Uncle he would become part of the events which unraveled the madness.

It was the same with Heinrich Albert. He was too cheap to spring for a $1.75 taxi ride; opting for the elevated train instead. He fell asleep on the train and left his briefcase; which held documents summarizing all of the sabotage that had been done up to that point; and also gave insights into what was still being planned.

But of all the characters in this story, none is more fascinating than Frank Holt, the former Professor Muenter. After killing his wife with arsenic and leaving the children with his in-laws, he sets out to reinvent himself. With his love for the fatherland and his talent for languages, he is looking for a way to serve the cause. In a 48 hour period during the July 4th weekend in 1915 he not only successfully plants an explosive in the Capitol; he then heads to Long Island and the home of J.P. Morgan.

Once there he intends to speak with him; he wants Mr. Morgan to stop financing the Allied war effort; but he brings along 6 sticks of dynamite and a revolver just in case JP needs persuading.  He is beaten and captured by the servants after shooting Mr. Morgan. Morgan survives, but Frank Holt only lives for a few more days in the town jail, where he is either killed by 2 gunshots to the head, or he jumped from the top bar of the cell door, dashing his skull.

There is so much more to recount about this book, but it really needs to be read to be enjoyed thoroughly. I think it is to safe to say; from the Black Tom Explosion to the Zimmerman Telegram; that Mr. Blum has covered it all.  He has a style which makes you wish he had been your history teacher in high school. He writes with a sense of urgency which is easily felt by the reader. As Detective Tunney races against the clock to avoid one disaster after another, you can almost hear the clock ticking. Or, is that a bomb? 

Saturday, April 12, 2014

"It's Only me" by Robert Williams (2009) - The E book Version

In 2009 I wrote a short memoir called; appropriately; “It’s Only Me.” It consists of 30 chapters, with photos, written during 30 sessions of approximately 1 hour each over the course of 4 months. I posted it here as I wrote it; which means that it has never been posted in one spot all at the same time.

I suppose I could do that now, but that would be one long post! Instead I am going to post it here as my version of an “e-book.”  The real purpose for this post is so that I can have all 30 chapters in one spot. If anybody actually reads it; well, that’s always a plus!

 





























Thursday, December 19, 2013

"The Christmas Song" - Mel Torme and Judy Garland (1963)


No Christmas can be complete without this classic, which was written by Mr. Torme when he was just 19 years old. This version is taken from the 1963 Judy Garland Christmas Special. A portion of the following is reposted from last year. The rest I just thunk up…

Everyone knows the version of “The Christmas Song” by Nat King Cole. You might have to jog people’s memories with the first line, “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…..” but for the most part, everybody knows the rest of the song. That’s why I chose this version to post. It’s from a 1963 television special, but it is performed by its composer, the marvelous Mel Torme. And, as if that weren’t enough of an attraction, he is joined by the legendary Judy Garland in delivering one of the most beautiful versions of this iconic song.

This is the time of year to kind of relax and reflect back on where you’ve been and what you’ve done; not to mention where you’ll be next year at this time. One thing’s for sure, you won’t get through the holidays without hearing this song. Some things never change.

Mel Torme was only 19 years old when he wrote this song; others would follow; but had he never written another, it’s almost enough to say that that song alone would have fulfilled his destiny. Enjoy this by the fireside if you can…
________________________________________________
The "New" USS Milwaukee LCS-5


The "new" USS Milwaukee, LCS-5, was launched in Marinette, Wisconsin the other day. This is the 5th vessel to bear the name Milwaukee, beginning with the first Milwaukee in the Civil War. I served as a Quartermaster aboard the 4th USS Milwaukee, AOR-2, a fleet replenishment "oiler" in the 1970's. 

The new ship didn't seem to want to cooperate, taking 10 blows from the champagne bottle swung by Mrs. Leon Panetta, wife of the former Defense Secretary, before sliding down the ways for her first taste of the sea.

For a better video, with some more background about the ship, go to this link, which is a broadcast from Milwaukee about the ship's launch. For some reason it would not load here correctly.


Fair winds and following seas to all who will be sailing her!

Monday, July 8, 2013

"Eighty Days" by Matthew Goodman (2013)

To really understand this book, and what this journey meant at the time, the reader must be made aware of Jules Verne; the first “science-romance” author; and his fabulous writings in the 1870’s, including “Around the World in 80 Days”; and how that book came about. Though the story itself is fantastic; that book involves only technologies which had already been invented; unlike his other works “Journey to the Center of the Earth”, and “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea”, which both relied upon new inventions which were still decades away. His hero, Phileas Fogg, embarks upon his journey as the result of a dare, or wager, made at the local club where he plays whist.

Much to the author’s credit; not only does he supply that background, but he also provides ample background to the story of Ms. Bly, working for the New York World and her race around the world with Elizabeth Bisland, working for Cosmopolitan Magazine. This information really gives an extra dimension to the book, as well as offering a glimpse of what the times were like for women in the days when these two daredevils made their separate journey’s, each traveling around the world in opposite directions.

The feat had been accomplished before, by men who were working their way around the globe. But this was the first trip to be made by a woman, traveling alone, and for the express purpose of traveling, rather than working; though both women were employed in their separate endeavors by their respective publishers.

Embarking from New York; Ms. Bly by steamship to England; and Ms. Bisland by train to San Francisco; the two set off on a journey that each hopes will beat the 80 day’s envisioned in the Jules Verne novel. Filled with all of the charm and mystique of the era, along with wonderful descriptions of what each women saw on her journey, make this book both a history and a travelogue. Some of the countries that these women visited would be erased by the First World War, and some even came back into being after the Cold War. At any rate, the book is crafted in such a way that it would be impossible for any reader to come away from this book without having gained something from the experience.

With women’s rights on the run in the present, sometimes it’s enlightening to look back and relearn the obstacles, and struggles, which women once faced in almost every walk of life. Just ask Nelly Bly; all she wanted to be was a news reporter. If you want to know who won the race you’ll have to read the book, or look it up. I may be many things; but a spoiler is not one of them.

Monday, April 29, 2013

"Moby Dick" with Gregory Peck (1956)



Many people over the years have asked why Moby Dick is an essential part of American literature. I’m always amazed at the question, since the story is not only a biblical analogy of good versus evil in the most classic sense; but also a uniquely American story; written by Herman Melville, one of our nation’s first native born authors of note, and a former sailor to boot.

In addition it is also a thinly disguised political tale which centers about the killing of a white whale. This whale represents the evil of the white race. Indeed that evil, embodied by the whale, had already cost Ahab a portion of his body, just as the coming Civil War would cost the nation a portion of its own. The righteousness of the Abolitionist Movement; when juxtaposed against the evil restrictions of slavery; both resemble the destruction wrought by Moby Dick, as Ahab and his fellow human beings attempt to destroy an evil which they themselves have created.

I’m not the biggest fan of any film version of this classic novel, as nothing could ever live up to the imagery and tension of the book. And, I’m not a snob in that respect. I do believe some books are better presented as movies; not often; but sometimes. A good example would be Hemingway’s “To Have and Have Not”, which sucked in book form, but when re-written for the screen, shone like the sun. But, if you have to watch any version of Moby Dick, then this is the one which I recommend the most.

From the acting to the direction, and the short appearance by Orson Welles as the Preacher, this movie does the novel some justice. Although it appears to have been made cheaply, if you ignore the sets and concentrate on the acting, then you will be quite satisfied with this screen adaptation.

A few of the original monologues have been excised, or altered in some form, but that does not really hurt the overall message which Melville was trying to impart. Basically, good; when taken too far; can become as evil as that which you are trying to destroy; and in the end, you wind up destroying only yourself. That’s heavy stuff, but true. And, by the way, I still don’t know what it is about this book that turns people off. 

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Working A Winch

The photo above was taken aboard the USS Neosho in the summer of 1977. The ship was berthed in Norfolk at the time the photo was taken. Although it is a bit grainy and worn; it is, after all, an old Polaroid; you can see the buildings in the background to the right of my shoulder. We had just come back from somewhere; I don’t quite remember where; and were “slushing”, or greasing the wire cables which held the hoses for the re-fueling rigs. This was known as PMS, or the Planned Maintenance System. But there is a story behind the photo. There always is. 

Only 2 weeks before this photo was taken I was unable to engage a steam winch. For the uninitiated, engaging a winch refers to the action of  grasping the iron lever firmly, and with all resolve, moving that lever into a position where it will allow the winch drum to be attached, or “engaged to” the cog, or flywheel. This “marriage” allows the winch operator to let out; or take in; as much cable as necessary for whatever task being performed. It is a very basic concept, and as old as steam power itself. But, somehow, in spite of the gargantuan arms you see on me in the photograph; I was never able to perform this basic function successfully. Until one day at sea, not long before this photo was taken.
I was stationed on Rig 8 for re-fueling duties; which ran the gamut from laying out the lines necessary for the work, as well as a lot of line handling, or “heave-hoeing”. It was hard work, and we were all expected to know one another’s jobs on the station to which we were assigned. But, for the life of me, I could not engage that winch drum! This was a source of embarrassment to me, and I suffered some small amount of ridicule as a result, which is only to be expected aboard ship, where everyone is expected to “carry their weight”.  I needed to learn to engage that winch, or die trying. And one day I was about to do just that when my salvation came from a most unexpected source.

I don’t recall the name of my “Rig Captain” at the time, but he is the one pictured below with the crew of Rig 8, wearing the white helmet signifying his position. If you look closely you will notice that I am giving him the finger, without his knowledge. He was a hard drinking type of guy, and if he had been drinking the night before, he could be a real ball buster on station. But, on this one occasion, I was to see another side of the man; one that bespoke of a false façade covering a soft heart.
Seeing me attempt to engage the winch for the 4th time was too much for him. We were now the only rig not “flying” during the re-fueling, and until that winch was engaged, we weren’t going to be pumping any fuel at all from Rig 8. This meant, of course, that one of the other rigs would have to take up our slack. That was an unforgivable offense aboard ship.

As my benefactor stepped towards me I expected the usual verbal lashing he was famous for; or a swift kick in the ass. I braced myself for a squall. But, to my surprise, he was smiling at me, and in a low, confident voice assured me that I could certainly engage that winch. Without offense, I shall try to recreate the vernacular he used, speaking as he did, with a New Orleans accent. “Lookit here Willie, this is a machine. You’s a man. That machine is ‘sposed to do what you say it do. I knows you can do it. You jus’ has to let the machine know that you know you a man. You do dat, and dat machine gonna do jus’ what you say it to do. Now go and handle that bitch again, and remember, you the man.”
All eyes were on me as I stepped up to that winch for the 5th time; which is probably a fleet record; and I gritted my teeth as I sunk that winch into gear. The “ka-chunk” sound of the cog being engaged never sounded; or felt, so good; either before, or after that day. I had finally beaten the machine! But I had also learned a valuable lesson about both myself and other people.

You never really know who you are until you see yourself through the eyes of another person. My strength was the direct result of someone else’s view of my weakness. His patient instruction; while really angry with me; was the result of his own experience as a younger man, when he was undoubtedly unsure of himself. Either that; or the yelling just didn’t work. I will never know for sure. But, the look of content on my face in the photo above is the end result. I think about that day a lot, the day I “beat the machine”.

This story comes back to me at odd times; usually when I am struggling with myself over something. And, when I look at that picture, it gives me strength. 
   

Saturday, January 28, 2012

"Bimbo's Initiation" by Max Fleischer (1931)



This 1931 Max Fleischer cartoon captures the dangers and humiliations of "secret" initiations, which had reached epic and dangerous proportions during the later days of the "Roaring Twenties." It's amazing to me that initiations have not been banned in today's "politically correct" environment.

This is not to say that I have not been involved in an initiation, or two, during my life. Or, that I am against such practices. No one makes you partake of the rituals involved. And peer pressure is a lame excuse. Like the old carnival barker said, "To get your ticket- you pay the price." I am, after all, a "Loyal and Trusted Shellback" - a member in good standing of the "Ancient Order of the Deep".

Shellbacks are sailors who have crossed the Equator. Until the first time you have crossed that line separating the Northern and Southern hemispheres, you are a pollywog, a snipe, a lowly bottom dweller. The initiation takes a full day under the blazing equatorial sun. Those unwilling to participate in the ritual are allowed to sit the ceremony out in some other part of the ship, where they are unable to observe the festivities. There is no pressure to join, and no penalty for not doing so. (I believe that the iniation has actually been eliminated these days - and everyone just gets their card.)

I won't bore you with the details of the initiation, although I will tell you it involves copious amounts of garbage, which the initiate is forced to crawl through, being beaten with fire hoses as you walk a gauntlet of Shellbacks, crawling across the blazing metal of the main deck, kissing the Bosun's belly, and then being anointed with lube oil by the High Priest, who in our case was the ship's Chaplain. (Note the error on line 4, which shows me as having crossed the Equator at 39 degrees and 5 minutes "M" of longitude. The "M" should be a "W" for West longitude.)

The reward for all of this? Just a bit of pride at being found acceptable, along with the pleasure of having faced something which was made out to be much worse than it actually was, and come out laughing in the end. Kind of like this cartoon.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

It's Only Me- Joining The Navy

(The following was first printed here on September 9th, 2009 as part of a 30 chapter autobiography. Today is the anniversary of my enlistment in the U.S.Navy and I thought I would celebrate by reprinting it here.)

1976 was the 200th Anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. The country had begun preparing for it in 1975 with special offers and special packaging of products. You couldn’t escape it. I have often been asked if that is what lead to my joining the Navy in September of 1976. The answer is no.

My motivation for joining the service was simple. I wanted to get out of Brooklyn for good. I wanted to be away from all the drugs and also my parents. Although I had not seen them often during the last 4 years I felt as if they were a threatening presence, always lurking in the background, waiting for me to “see the light.”

In August of 1976 I went to the Recruiting Office, located on Flatbush Avenue at the junction of Nostrand Avenue. I took some aptitude tests and then had to sit for an interview. The man interviewing me was black and I think was a Chief Petty Officer.

We started with some routine questions- “Do you do drugs?” was one of the first ones-I thought he was being sociable and so pulled out a baggie of weed and said, “Yeah, wanna smoke?” I thought he was going to pass out! He asked again and I countered with, “What drugs?” I was hustled outside and he explained that I had to answer “No” to the drug question. I said that I was not interested in lying to him. He produced a Drug Waiver which read “ I have experimented with marijuana about 3 or 4 times and found it not to my liking. I have no interest in taking drugs.” I signed it and then got my contract for 4 years Active Duty. At the completion of Boot Camp in Great Lakes, Illinois I would be allowed to choose from 70 different schools. I chose “OJT” which is short for "On The Job Training" in the fleet. So I chose no school, electing to go straight to the fleet and have a look about me before choosing anything. I have never regretted that choice.

Around this time my friend Iona came by H and A Foods, where I worked, to say goodbye. She had graduated 6 months early from Madison in 1972 and I believe started Brooklyn College. She was now transferring to another school somewhere. She came by in a little green Datsun B-210 and I felt that I was seeing a good friend for the last time. It would be another 31 years until we would be in contact again.

I informed Harry and Al of my decision, which they tried in earnest to talk me out of. But when a person decides to join the service there is virtually no chance of talking them out of it. Usually it is a move made of long planning or else in desperation. Mine was a bit of both.

I had been fascinated by my Dads time in the Navy and had also long dreamt of joining the Merchant Marine- civilians who transport goods by ship. I needed to be in a Union to work as a Merchant and to be in the Union you had to work on the ships you couldn’t work on unless you were in the Union. So you see it was a conundrum. Realizing that my best shot at getting in the Union would be as a Veteran, with sea time under my belt, I elected to join the Navy. Also, I really needed to break the cycle in which I was living.

So, on a balmy September morning, after a raucous night of debauchery, I set off to Fort Hamilton and the Armed Forces Induction Station. I was several hours late and my Recruiter was actually riding through the streets of my neighborhood looking for me. He drove me to Ft. Hamilton where I went to sleep on the long bench waiting to be processed.

I was awoken with a kick from an Air Force Sergeant bellowing, “Get up slimeball- your sleeping days are done!” I rose slowly, looked at his uniform and said, “Fuck you- I’m Navy.” And then went back to sleep. A few minutes passed and I was again awoken in the same barbaric manner- this time by a Navy Chief Petty Officer. “Get up fuckhead! You’re in the Navy now! And your ass is mine!” Standing up, and looking him right in the eye, I said- “This is still Brooklyn, and I ain’t took the oath yet, so my ass is my own!” He was pissed, but walked away, and I went back to sleep for another hour.

When I awoke I began to survey my surroundings and think about what I was actually doing. Before I could think too much I was sworn in with about 50 people and divided into groups. One group was going to Great Lakes and the other to Florida where a new boot camp had just opened. That one had women as well as men. But I was slated for Great Lakes along with a Puerto Rican guy named Orlando Cruz. So I kind of kept an eye on him figuring that if I stayed close to him I wouldn’t have to listen much and still get where I was going.

A little while later we were at JFK and I was wondering what had happened to change our travel from rail to air. I had been looking forward to the 24 hour train ride to Chicago and having one of those sleeper rooms on the train. That’s when I realized that Orlando was where the other boot camp was. When they said, “If you are going to Orlando then line up here”, he had only heard his name, “Orlando", with the word "here”, and lined up accordingly. I had followed him.

What happened next was the fastest car ride I have ever had- from JFK to Grand Central in like 20 minutes in the middle of a weekday. I am sure it was a record.

Boarding the train is still a bit fuzzy but once we were on the way everything is crystal clear. They should never put recruits on a train with decent people. It sullies the image of the Armed Forces. We spent the next 24 hours headed to Chicago from New York by way of Connecticut, picking up more recruits in every town. In between stops we made unwanted advances to every woman on board, smoked pot, drank to excess and had food fights. Going through the late summer/early fall cornfields of Indiana we tossed flaming stacks of the New York Times into the fields. We were uncontrollable and crazed.

We arrived in Chicago the next afternoon about 4 PM. From there we had to catch a commuter train to Great Lakes- about 30 miles or so. Again, we should not have been allowed to mix with normal people.

Arriving at the gates to Great Lakes was everything you have seen in the movies. People scream at you, call you foul names right in your face, spit flying in your eyes.

And this was just the beginning.....

Thursday, June 30, 2011

The Ghost Fleets

This is one of the "Ghost Fleets" which are scattered about the United States. They consist of older naval ships in need of extensive repair, and in some cases, modernization of the operating systems aboard them. My old ship, the USS Milwaukee, was part of the ghost fleet in the James River until it was sold for scrap and dismantled about 2 years ago.

The Ghost Fleet pictured above, which is administered by the U.S. Maritime Administration, sits off Fort Eustis in Newport News, Virginia, right across from the Norfolk Naval Station, which is where the USS Milwaukee was homeported during my time aboard her. It was begun in 1919, after the hostilities of the First World War were over, and the troops shipped home. With so many ships idled there was nothing else to do but "mothball" them for future use, or sale as scrap. Some of those ships were used in the earliest days of the Second World War, when the United States was supplying the British with the materials of war under the "Lend Lease Act." We were actually buying time until we could build newer ships of our own to ferry men and supplies to Europe. England, with the aid of the Ghost Fleet, bought us that time.

By the end of World War Two, when the problem of too many ships presented itself once again, the Ghost Fleet numbered well over 700 ships. And that was just in Virginia! There were other Ghost Fleets, most memorably for me the one near Philadelphia, which my parents took us to see when I was about 10 years old.

During the Korean War some of the ships were actually used in atomic bomb testing in the Pacific. Others were used for target practice, which, once sunk, were turned into artificial reefs. Some of the other vessels were sold for scrap, while in 1964, 120 of the old Liberty Ships became "silos" for the surplus wheat our government had bought as a means of price control.

When Vietnam became a major conflict some of the older ships were pressed back into service for a bit before being sold off. By the end of the war there were only about 300 ships left. Today there are only 23 of these vessels left, nested together in groups of 2 and 3. Since 2001, more than 800 ships have been sold to keep pace with the goal of getting rid of the ones that leaked, or were about to start leaking, oil and PCB's into the James River. Obviously, that goal has been met.

I'm not sure how I feel about the demise of the Ghost Fleets. The past is always present, and history repeats itself much too often for my tastes. If it were up to me these ships would have remained in place, with appropriate maintenance to ensure their avalability in the future, should the need arise. But then again, there are "experts" who know more about this than I. I just read a lot of history. And of course, I'm not that objective, I just really loved those old ships.

Photo coutesy of kitsune @

http://www.kitsune.addr.com/

Monday, June 20, 2011

"Confessions of a Wandering Man" by Louis L'Amour


This book, by one of America's most prolific authors, was first published in 1989. This is my third time reading it. Louis L'Amour is best known for his paperback Western novels, which can be found on any ship at sea, or on any military base in the world. They are easily read, packed with excitement, and the good guy always wins. I never liked them much, picking them up only when nothing else was available to read. Still, the author himself was intriquing to me. He had, apparently, done all of the things he wrote about in his books. That really interested me. The idea that his fiction was part fact made me very interested in the man himself.

Not just a writer of Western novels, Mr. L'Amour also wrote short stories and some poetry and non-fiction. His memoir is one of my all time favorites. In it he recounts most of his adventures as a seaman, rodeo rider, and hobo. There is even a fascinating section on the difference betwen hobo's, tramps and bums.

At age 17 he was in Singapore while his high school class was holding graduation in Jamestown, North Dakota. The education which Mr. L'Amour received aboard ship, in lieu of high school, was to prove more valuable to him than any classroom could have ever been.

This book was reprinted in 2008 and contains some new photographs not seen before. They offer even more insight into the world of the author. The list of books and plays that he read while traveling, also give the reader a unique perspective on what influenced Mr. L'Amour's own writing, beyond his travel experiences.

But, the most important lesson impatred by the author in this memoir is that education is available everywhere, everyday, in some form. All you have to do is reach out for it and it can be yours.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Guest Columnist: "Aboard the USCG Cutter Cartigan" by George Copna

Of all the stories and stuff I write about, none has generated such affection and comment, as the posts concerning the old USCG Cutter Cartigan, which sat in Sheepshead Bay for many years when I was growing up in Brooklyn,N.Y.

The following is a story of life aboard the vessel on patrol in the Gulf of Mexico. The photo is of the author in 1966 or '67. I haven't changed a word, just cut and pasted the story straight from the e-mail by Mr. George Dobos,who served aboard her and has promised some more stories, which I will be only too happy to print here.


Hello Robert.

I have attached several fotos that I hope you enjoy. The painting of the two "buck n' a quarters" I got from a calendar somewhere. It is one of my favorite pictures. The bridge was all polished up for inspection. The young skinny guy sitting in the radio shack is yours truly circa 1966 or '67. The last one is the Cartigan taken off the St. Andrew's Marina in 1967 before she got her "racing stripe." The time that I was in, 1964 - 1968 was a bad time for the Coast Guard. All the cutters were aging or had aged already. The larger cutters, 311' & 327', were WWII or before commissions and some were actually old Navy vessels that the Guard got from them. These were very lean years. The modernization of the fleet began in late 1967/68 with the building of 210 ft cutters. As radiomen, we used morse code for commucations over 95% of the time. The main transmitter in the radio shack (the black box next to me in the foto) was an Army model 1944 that had vacuum tubes as big as a football. When it went out, we went to the shipyard here in Panama City and bought one just like it off of an old Liberty Ship that they were going to cut up for scrap. As a side line, Panama City's shipyard made Liberty ships during the war and they came back full circle to be cut up.

My duties as a Radioman differed depending on my rank at the time. As a RM3, during any maneuvering drills, i.e. general quarters, man overboard, etc., my station was working the engine order telegraph. When I made RM2, my billet was sound powered talker on the bridge relaying all communications to and from the bridge to all stations on the ship. There were only three RM's on the ship. Having given you a little background, here comes the first sea story.

We were on Campeche Patrol in the southern Gulf of Mexico. Our CW call sign went from NRLF to NUZY (or in English, CGC Cartigan to Campeche Patrol Vessel). The seas were flat calm, not a ripple or a wave to be seen and it was hot. Did I mention that the airconditioner only worked in the winter time? Anyway, we came across this very large tree branch shaped like a slingshot. It was clearly a menace to navigation. After much deliberation, the Captain decided that we would maneuver into the crotch of the tree, hook a line to it and manually chop it up! He sent the lowest rated seaman down onto the log with an axe. After a couple of whacks, and nothing was happening, he opted to send the XO down to see if he could do any better. The XO had irritated him because while he was trying to get this log cut up, the XO was fishing off the fantail for dolphin. Anyway, on the first swing, the XO cut his safety line and almost fell into the water. Time for a new plan. The Captain contacted District HQ in New Orleans and got permission to destroy the heinous object using our 40mm, 1944 Army single barrel deck gun.

We issued a notice to mariners as to what we were doing and then went to General Quarters. After backing off a safe distance, the order to fire was given. Slow fire. After coming nowhere near the target, the Captain ordered rapid fire. As the gun fired, the ship recoiled to the port and started rolling to the starboard, the gunners firing the entire time. Here's where it gets interesting. As they were firing, they were walking the shells back towards the ship and instead of hitting the target, they were coming closer to hitting ourselves. Needless to say, the Capt. ordered a cease fire because we weren't doing any good. We ended up taking a broom stick, putting a lifevest light on it and tacking it to the log. We chartered its path and issued another Notice to Mariners and let it go on its way.

More stories to follow later.
George

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Coast Guard Cutter Cartigan Revisited

On January 20th, 2010 I posted a little piece about the old US Coast Guard Cutter Cartigan, which used to sit, when I was a kid back in the 1960's, in Sheepshead Bay, which is in Brooklyn where I grew up.

It was a beautiful ship to me, and, as I wrote in that post, no small influence in my going to sea several years later. I got 3 comments on the piece, on the blog, but have also continued to receive e-mails from people who have had a connection with the ship in one way or another. This comment was posted to the blog yesterday eveing and I thought I'd share the unusual story, as well as the link to the photos taken by Mr. Petersen, which show the ship being removed from the Bay. And Mr. Petersen is right, that old girl gave them one hell of a fight. Thanks for being there with your camera and sharing these photos with us.


Robert Petersen has left a new comment on your post "Coast Guard Cutter Cartigan WSC-132":

"Hi, A few years ago, I was employed by CUNY at Kingsborough Community College. I recall how one very foggy morning I heard the loud chugging and saw the large dark silhouette of some type of crane barge. Little did I know that this barge was charged with removing the Cartigan.

I was so grateful to have my camera that day because the most peculiar thing happened. The Cartigan put up one hell of a fight.

Hanging by the spread slings from this crane barge, the Cartigan was being taken against her will around the tip of the College to where the school's beach was located. I thought they were a little too close for comfort and wasn't too shocked when the next day a second crane barge showed up to help the get unstuck. Believe it or not, this barge got stuck as well.

Eventually, a third barge showed up and was finally able to free the other two barges. Yup, the Cartigan sure put up a fight."

If you would like to see the rest of these remarkable photos taken by Mr. Petersen, try this link;

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?id=1625214418&aid=95792

Sunday, November 7, 2010

"Brooklyn Steel - Blood Tenacity" by Frank Trezza


It's unusual for me to review the same book twice. As a matter of fact, this is probably the first time that I have done it. But Mr. Trezza was raised on East 17th Street between Avenue S and T in Brooklyn. I was raised on Avenue R between East 13th and 14th Streets. We both used to eat the Italian bread on the way home from the bakery, while it was still warm and soft. We played in the same streets.

So, you see, I've got to give this book another shout out! It is seemingly short, being less than 200 pages, but packs a wallop that will stay with you even after you have finished reading. It is the story of a young man searching for a vocation and finding it in the shipyards, and later working aboard foreign ships. Mr. Trezza and I have both walked the same streets and made some of the same journeys in our lives. That we should come to meet through this blog fascinates me no end.

The book is at once the story of the early 1970's and making career choices, as well as the story of the implosion of the American shipbuilding trade through the abuses of both the politicians and the Unions themselves. It is also the story of a working man, striving in changing times, to keep pace with it all.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

"Seized" by Max Hardberger


This book is a page turner. Every word rings true, from the Foreword to the very last page, this one will have you amazed at what takes place where ships are concerned. Written in an informative and quickly paced manner, the author offers up a treasure trove of adventure on today's high seas.

Having been a Third Officer myself, I identified with every port of call in this page turner. The phone calls summoning you back to sea, the leaving of friends and loved ones, it's all here.

Mr. Hardberger has some fantastic stories to tell. This is a man who steals ships back from unscrupulous shipyards for a living. When a ship is put into drydock for a repair, the ownwer gets an estimate of the cost. In most countries there are laws pertaining to cost overruns. But in some third world countries there are no rules. Anything goes. Such is the case with a ship that Mr. Hardberger takes back from a shipyard in Jamaica, where the owner was given an estimate of $300,000 and the ship is being held for $1 million.

Assembling a crew and an ocean going tug, the author sneaks into the shipyard at night. Carefully calculating the wind, current and tides he cuts the mooring lines and lets the ship drift out into the channel and on into International waters, where they are met by the tug and crew.

This is just one example of the ingenuity and daring that is required of this sort of work. The author also emplys the use of his wife and family in this account of his work. This lends some real humanity to the narrative, as we can all identify with being away from our loved ones and the tensions that often accompany such absences.

The dangers aboard ship are not ignored here, as the author describes the perils of lines under tension and the injuries, and sometimes deaths, that can accomany a single mistake.

This is a perfect read for anyone who is wishing to lose themselves in tales of the sea. And the fact that they are true and contemporary, make the reading all the more exciting. Well done, Mr. Hardberger!

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Transformations

On September 29th, 1976 I left my house looking something like this.


10 weeks later I returned, looking like this.

And 4 weeks after that I left Brooklyn looking like this.


On my way to this.

USS Neosho AO-143