My
Journal
By
Harriman Nelson
93
“When
are they gonna’ finish, sir?” Sharkey asked wearily as we watched from the
dock. The recording crew was growing
just as frustrated as Lee said his lines for the umpteenth time.
Oh,
he’d hadn’t said or done anything wrong. Not at all. It was the lighting, the
sound of an ambulance and jet aircraft in the background, and even some bird
droppings splashing on Lee’s shoes, shirt, and hair at times, not to mention on Seaview
herself, that had prevented complete ‘take’s. Things that neither Lee nor the
filmmakers could control. I’d already forgotten how many times Lee had had to
change.
“Actually,
they have enough shots,” Patterson was saying, “all they need to do is a little editing, and
voila, you already have your recruiting video.”
“Is
that so?” one of the film crew said, having overheard.
“You
know, he’s right,” the ‘director’ said. “It’s a wrap! Captain? We’ll take it
from here.”
“But I
haven’t gotten through my lines completely yet.”
“No
matter. Like your crewman here reminded us, all we need to do is a little edit
job. We’ll probably have the commercial in the can tonight.”
“Well,
if you’re sure,” Lee said, hesitant. “I just don’t like to leave things
undone.”
Just
then a seagull made a perfect splat on the cameraman.
“But I
see your point,” Lee quickly said. “Harry? Sharkey? Pat? It’s all over. We can
all get back aboard now.”
Indeed, all of the crew
would start to come back from shore leave soon, as we planned to sail early this evening.
Lee
said his goodbyes to the camera crew as they packed up their equipment and
finally left.
“Would
you believe this is my last clean uniform?” Lee said as he joined me on the
deck. We were about to go below when a shore
patrol car drove up.
“Now
what?” I asked fearing an emergency mission.
“Mom?”
Lee asked, surprised, as the driver helped the passenger to emerge, and hurried
down the gangplank.
“Lee,
sweetie,” she said, “I know I agreed to come out to visit next month, but I got
to thinking, why wait? And it’s not as if you’re on any kind of job right
now…”she broke off as she saw my scowl. Lee saw it too, and raised an inquiring
eyebrow toward me.
“I’d
be delighted if you’d accompany us on our way home, Mrs. Crane,” I lied, saving
my skin.
“Are
you sure? I mean, I might be in the way.”
“Nonsense," I said, inwardly
groaning, knowing she would be.
“Thank
you. By the way, Lee, I’m most anxious to see the ship’s cat. I even brought her
a toy. One of those pointer things. The cat sees the speck of light and tries
to catch it. Great exercise. A little active play like this and she should get
her feline figure back in no time.”
The
little toy was very popular with the cat and the men using it to play with her,
in between her matronly duties with the kittens, of course.
I
decided on dinner in the Observation Nose in honor of our guest. It wasn't anything special. Just Mac & Cheese. Just
like the skipper had requested earlier.
Our meal was interrupted by Sparks turning on the monitor. It was Ames, letting us to let us know that the recruitment
advertisement was coming on one
of the national broadcast companies.
Naturally I had Sparks turn on the split screen….
The
commercial began with a panoramic view of the base, and busy harbor.
Then a man in simple khakis left a dockside warehouse, the camera following until the
man, nearing Seaview’s gangplank turned....
“Oh,
hello. I’m Captain Nelson-Crane and this is the Seaview. You may have heard of
us.”
Riley,
drafted for a bit part, approached him, and handed Lee a clipboard which he
signed, and the crewman departed with his boyish grin that was sure to be bait
for the younger age group.
“Normally,
Seaview’s job is research, but,” Lee continued, walking up the gangplank and
saluting the colors, “as Navy Reserve, we also put in official work.
Sometimes,” he added as he walked along the deck toward the nose, stooping down
to check one of the plates being ‘welded’ by another bit player, (not a talking
part), then standing up to return toward the conning tower, “the
assignment is ordinary, like assisting in a military preparedness drill,
checking out ocean topography or participating in government sponsored experiments.
Sometimes, our task may be something more vital, like being on full alert and
combat ready when the need arises. Whatever your job in the Navy Reserve, be it
as an office clerk, computer programmer, a deckhand or even as an aviator,
executive officer or commander of a
submarine, know that your
job, normally for only a few weekends a month or a few months a year, you’ll be
a valuable asset in helping to defend and protect your country and the free
world. You may not receive fame and fortune, or even praise for a job well
done, but you’ll be a bone fide hero nonetheless. And who knows, you might
even be called to
serve aboard Seaview herself,” he concluded, flashing his sunshine
smile, and patting the conning tower’s bulkhead, before ducking into its hatch.
“The
United States Navy Reserve,” the announcer said as the official icon appeared
on the screen. “Where the heroes are. See your recruiter for details.”
“Okay,
Sparks,” I said clicking the mike, as we all applauded, “turn if off…. Well
done Lee.”
“I
would rather have seen the bird poop get you,” Joe said.
“Oh
they have that saved,” Chip said. “In fact, I asked them to email me the streaming
video of the outtakes.”
“They
were all outtakes,” Lee complained.
“I
mean the ones they didn’t use.”
‘Oh.”
“I’d
like to see them, Lee,” Mrs. Crane said sweetly.
Lee sagged then,“Chip?
You might as well broadcast them through the boat. Will be good for a laugh," then, pondering, "you know, they should have
left some of
that bird poop in the commercial. Truth in advertising…”
Indeed,
the scenes they didn’t use were funny and went well with dessert.
We had
a very contented crew as we sailed into the night. It was after midnight when I
saw Lee and his mother talking in the Observation Nose. She was in her
nightgown and robe, curlers in her hair, (I supposed she’d had a hard time
getting to sleep.) Lee was in his PJ’s and robe, so it was possible she’d persuaded
him to sit up with her awhile.
“May I
join you?” I asked, “I guess I’m still too hyped up from yesterday and today.”
“The
water’s still hot,” Lee said, indicating the carafe, mugs, and the packets of
cocoa mix on the sideboard.
“I’d
better not…Doc weighed me earlier. I won’t even tell you the results.”
“He
weighed me too,” Lee said. “I lost a few pounds.”
“Well,
being tortured and hurt will do that to one’s appetite. You, my boy, need a
vacation from your vacation. Don’t stay up too late, son. Goodnight, Lee, Mrs.
Crane.”
As I
headed to my cabin, I could hear laughter from the Crew’s Mess. The men not on
duty and not asleep were watching and re-watching the outtakes. Yes, as much as
they loved their skipper, it was always a kick to see the ‘old man’ with egg on
this face, even if it was really bird poop.
We’d decided to take
the Panama Canal route instead of the polar express, as an accommodation
to Mrs. Crane as per the captain. (She’s been claustrophobic at times but has
overcome most of the hysteria.) Still, a little insurance ain’t a bad thing.
If things stick to schedule, Seaview
will
probably arrive in Santa Barbara about the same time as the freighter reaches
Los Angeles. I could hardly wait for Lee to introduce his mother to ‘Sophia’.
More than an hour after returning
to my cabin, I still couldn't sleep so I decided on a light snack from the Wardroom, but I saw
light from under Lee’s cabin door, and knocked.
“Shhhh,”
Mrs. Crane answered, opening up the door, “Lee was letting me go through the scrapbooks, they’d help
make me sleepy he said….but I’m afraid they put him to sleep instead. I didn’t
have the heart to wake him to help me take these to my cabin.”
Indeed,
he leaning against the pillow propped up against the
bulkhead on his bunk, sound asleep.
“I’ll
help you with those,” I said, and picked up the stack of scrapbooks, as she pulled
a blanket over him.
As we
turned off the light, we both looked at our sleeping son. Neither of us had a
blood bond with him, but oh, how our hearts
were bound with his. May it ever be so.
I pray
that never again will Lee or I be at odds with each other again, by word,
thought, or deed. But I’m also realistic enough to know that’s pretty much
wishful thinking. I just hope we both have enough love and respect for each
other to get through the rough spots that are bound to happen again every now
and then.
I have
no doubt that reporters will still hound him for awhile. But soon, just as Joe
said, hopefully his fame will recede, and his life will be his own again.
His
life.
Lee’s
life has been a whirlwind of ups and downs, incredible experiences, and more acts of
valor than I can easily count.
It may
be, that when I’m finally laid in my grave, (God willing not for a long time),
all anyone will remember of me will be found in my journals. This one included.
Of
Lee, though, I’m sure, all anyone will have to do to remember him, is
to say or hear his name, Captain Nelson-Crane,
America’s Hero.
The
End
Harriman
Horatio Nelson
