My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
51
“I still think you’re
wasting time, Harriman,” Jiggs scolded me on the monitor as I had breakfast in
the Nose.
“The Navy’s agreed to let
me repaint Seaview here in Naples before we head to Spain. We’re good for the
money and manpower, they know. We’ll pay for the paint, and supply the man
power.”
“You can’t fool me. You
just want to be near Crane.”
“Jiggs...”
“Nelson-Crane,
Nelson-Crane, Nelson-Crane! Damn it, man. He’s still a Crane!”
“Even you know that sea
water might damage our hull without the protection of paint.”
“Balderdash, and you know
it. Your hull’s a titanium alloy. Nothing can damage it. At least not
for a couple of months. You should
be back in Santa Barbara. Ames told me you have seventeen prospective new
clients for your services and they’re getting antsy waiting for any proposed
dates. They might go elsewhere if you delay too long. You really want to forgo
that kind of income?”
“If their proposals are
worth looking at, I can wait, and they can wait. It’s not as if there’s a
surfeit of oceanographic businesses out there that have my resources.”
“Don’t get too big for your
britches, my friend. There are a number
of universities and oceanographic agencies with deep sea submersibles.”
“True. But we have
something they don’t have.”
“Granted, you have the
flying sub.”
“I meant Lee.”
“Did you finally talk him
into resuming command, then?”
“Not yet, but there was
something he said that makes me think he’s at least considering it. Seriously
considering it.”
“Well, I hope so. I might
have a few grievances with his command style, but I haven’t been able to argue
with the results. So, where’s the prodigal son off to now?”
“Greece.”
“Part of the tour or off to
see that Grecian girl you told me about from the Zeraff affair?
“Both.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Sharkey
interrupted, “but um, we were kind of wondering...the guys called from the
paint shop on the base. They want to know what color you want, since this is
gonna’ be a full paint job in the dry dock here.”
“Good God, sailor,” Jiggs
sputtered. “Where's your brain? All U.S. Navy subs are gray.”
“Begging the admiral's pardon,
but Seaview's a civilian boat and they got
lots of colors in stock here. For boats, shore properties, and the like.
And…they got…lead based red.”
I buried my head in my
hands, then said firmly, “No.”
“But...”
“I said no. We are not
going to paint her red.”
“But it’s a real nice red
sir,” Sharkey insisted, “I saw it. Almost matches the skipper’s little red car
back home....”
“We are NOT painting Seaview
red just to please some fantasy Crane has about a Corvette Red Seaview!”
“Ah, Harry?” Jiggs said,
“you called him Crane too.”
“I can call Lee anything I
like! You can’t. Chief, tell the men to purchase Navy Gray.”
“But maybe a change would be
nice," Sharkey insisted.”
“We may be civilian for the most
part, but I don’t think the Navy Reserve
would appreciate red, yellow, purple, green or any other ridiculous color!”
“But red might help to get the
skipper back….”
“Even you know that a man
like the captain wouldn’t consider what she looks like in making that
kind of decision, now, do you? Get going. Gray.”
“Aye sir,” he answered
sadly and fled.
“A red submarine,” Jiggs
laughed.
“A career submarine officer and Crane wants a red submarine....”
“Corvette Red,” I corrected.
“I understand there’s a difference.”
“One day you’ll have to
include his obsession in your memoirs, if you haven’t already. But make sure
you classify your book as fiction. Nobody would ever believe some of the things
you’ve been through, especially with Cra...Nelson–Crane. Happy now? So, what’s
the cook going fix for you today?”
“Considering we’re still
offshore Italy, and Lee’s off to Greece, I’m not sure.”
“Well, tell Cookie to lay
off the pasta. You’re getting fat.”
“I am not!”
“Looks like you’ve gained
at least ten pounds.”
“Dry dock’s ready for us,”
Chip called from the Control Room.
“Very well,” I answered
via
the intercom, then, "well, Jiggs, they’re waiting for us. At least you can rest easy
in that Seaview will come out in plain drab old Gray.”
“Thank goodness.”
As I sat alone on my ‘porch’,
Seaview secured as the water was being pumped out of the soon to be ‘dry’ dock, I couldn’t help feeling
a wee bit guilty. (Did I just sound like an
Irish leprechaun?) It was just too ridiculous to let myself feel that way. How
many times had I told Lee that his dream of a red Seaview was utter nonsense?
Absurd. Totally absurd.
Just
because Lee wanted it, it didn’t mean I
should cave into his request. I’m his business partner as much as he is mine. But
I built her to a few Navy specs, so my decision to keep Seaview a Gray Lady
has more clout than a fanciful dream of his!
Of course I want him to be
happy, and I damn sure want him to resume command. But I can’t sacrifice my
principles just because the men think it could help sway their skipper back.
Seaview is Gray Lady and will
remain so.
“Begging your pardon,”
Cookie interrupted my musings, “but what harm would it do, I mean, painting the boat
red? The Chief says you still have time to change the paint order and….”
“Enough!” I roared. “I’ll
hear no more about this! When we reach Spain, we will meet the captain with a
gray boat, is that clear?”
“Yes sir. Er…we’re
gonna’
pipe him aboard as her master, then?” Cookie asked, excited.
“Unknown. Very well, what
do you have planned for lunch?”
“Grilled Cheese Sandwiches.”
“Not very ethnic,” I said,
raising my eyebrow, “considering where we are, is it?”
“Yeah, well, the skipper
always likes…er…liked em’….”
Yes, Lee always liked them.
God willing, he will again, aboard as her captain.
I gathered my composure and
headed to the Wardroom. But the men’s words had hit a nerve. Who would care,
really? The Navy might laugh at us, but we had few official dealings with them.
I was the reason we wouldn’t paint the boat red.
Me.
Words from the past began
to haunt me. Words I’d said myself. About being Lee’s ‘friend, enemy, partner,
rival, big brother, blood brother, and that sometimes I’d like to bash his head
in.’
Yes that pretty much summed
up our relationship, only now I was his father as well.
And just what would be so
bad about a red submarine? It would make Lee happy, that was a given. Could I
in all honesty refuse him that?
Yes! Damn it, yes! (Thank
God I came to my senses before I succumbed to my feelings.)
“Excuse me, sir,” Chip
asked, rising from his seat in the Wardroom, as I entered, “you okay?”
“No, Lad. No I’m not,”
I
said, running a hand through my hair.
“These will cheer you up,”
Chip said, indicating the platter of hot Grilled Cheese Sandwiches on the
table.
“Looks wonderful, Cookie,”
I said, hiding the fact that I had no appetite for the guilt I still felt about
my correct decision. And it was a correct decision, I knew that.
Wasn’t it?
