The lad walked
into the office of the marine towing outfit dressed in the cleanest
jeans he could find, a button down shirt and some worn, but
presentable deck shoes. His hair was pulled back into a neat pony
tail and he had put on his best confident face. Sitting in the
office were an old man and a young woman. The old man was in a soft
parlor chair facing the door as he walked in so the lad gave him a
nod for a greeting and turned his attention to the young lady at the
desk.
"I spoke to you
on the phone yesterday?" he asked.
"That's me. What
have you got there?", she responded.
"It's a resume'
I've put together". When she heard this she laughed. He looked a
little confused and didn't know what to say so he just queried, "You
don't get many of these here, do you?"
"Hell. We don't
get any. It's nice though. It should answer most of my questions."
She read it for a minute. While she was reading, the lad was aware
now that the old man had been looking him over. He didn't look over
but could see the old man's head moving about as he scrutinized the
potential employee. The lad wondered what the old man did around
here and wondered why he didn't have anything better to do than just
sit around sizing up the visitors. Then he realized that she hadn't
asked him anything for a while. She was still reading and flipping
the three pages as if looking for something.
"No tugboat
experience?"
"No," he
answered, "but there's a lot of time on the water in there. Ships
and fishing boats. You saw those, right?"
"Oh yeah, I saw.
Tell you what. I'll keep you in mind for a call if I can't find our
regular hands. You're working now so just sit tight and be ready to
come in if you take the call. Thanks for coming in."
"Sure." He tried
to think of more to say to get her to talk to him more. He froze.
"No problem. Appreciate your seeing me." He turned and nodded to the
old man again. This time he got a nod back. He made for the door and
gave one last look at the young lady. She gave a closed smile and
sat there still until he closed the door behind him.
She turned and
looked at the old man until she had his attention. "Well? What did
you think? He seemed like a pretty good guy."
"He did. Good
looking boy, but green. Pretty green. Maybe he should cut his teeth
with some other outfit and then we'll give him a call."
"Maybe you should
train him and keep him for yourself. How hard is it to keep a good
hand lately?"
"I know. As long
as I've been in the business I haven't seen it like this. Days
before I owned tugs, they was lining up to get aboard one. Now I buy
a boat or two and I can't keep 'em long enough or sober enough to
work every day."
"That's the point
I was going to make. Maybe you should let this one try a day with
the little tug and see how he does." The old man let out a quick
sigh. "He could be a keeper." The old man looked at the young lady
with no expression. After a few long seconds, she knew what to do.
"I'll see what the jobs look like tomorrow and call him in." She
smiled at him to try and get him to smile back. Nothing. "Don't
worry. I have a good feeling about this one."
While the two had
been discussing the lad's future, he was on his drive home. He was
worried that the interview hadn't gone too well. He smoked a few
cigarettes and worried that he looked like a college boy in his
clothes, that the resume' was a stupid idea. He worried that he
hadn't been assertive enough; maybe they thought he was weak. He
thought that maybe this tugboat idea wasn't such a good idea after
all. Maybe he could find a ship. Maybe his new wife wouldn't mind
the months away from home, but it would have been nice to work a
schedule that was easier on their home life. Maybe he could get used
to a day job if he really tried.
Once at the house
he told his wife that all had gone pretty well and he would check
out some other outfits in the area soon. They had some dinner and
watched a little TV. He would have to call his temporary agency and
let them know he would be available in the morning. He reached for
the phone. His hand was an inch away from it when it rang.
"Hello?"......."Oh. Yeah. I could be there."......."Captain's name
again?" He scribbled on an old newspaper with a broken pencil.
"Little tug at the main dock. Got it.........No. Thank you........I
will. Thanks again. Bye."
He turned and
looked at his wife, smiling broadly. She could tell by the look on
his face that the outfit had called. She knew that they would call
him. He was good at finding work. She knew this before he left the
house that day. She knew that when he drove away, he was driving off
to his first tugboat outfit.
The lad
was to board between 0600 and 0630 so the boat would be
ready to shove off at 0700. He woke early without the alarm
clock and drank coffee with a cigarette on his porch until
it was time to drive down the yard. His drive took him
through neighborhoods he didn’t pay any mind to on his drive
down to the interview. Then it had been light and while the
surroundings were far less than inviting during the day,
they were absolutely hostile after dark. He would never be
down here in previous days. This was surely no place for the
car to break down.
He pulled
up to the gate and, just as the young lady had promised, it
was dummy locked- only appearing to be locked. He opened the
gate and after he had driven through, he stopped to return
it to its former state, supposedly sealing the yard from the
hostiles outside the tall chain link fence. He drove past
the familiar trailer that served as the outfit’s office. A
rutted gravel drive took him around a short bend to the
dock. He found a parking place, turned off his engine and
sat for a minute to have another cigarette and look at the
surrounding yard.
This
place looked not much more pleasant than the neighborhood
outside. The grass was grown up all around the fence line
and there were occasional scrubby bushes growing in the
debris of old iron parts that probably came from large
machines from past days. There were a couple of shipping
containers and large tanks. The boom of a barge crane stuck
up from the dock. He could see a barrel with the remnants
of a fire in it, evident by the dull glow from the top.
Beside the fire was a figure, a little disheveled man
smoking a cigarette, staring into the barrel. The lad would
have to pass him as he walked down to find the boat. Might
as well do it now.
He
climbed out of the car and gathered his cigarettes and a
lighter. He made sure to get his keys and check the door
locks. He looked for one more task to perform before he left
his car to look for the boat. There was none. It was time to
shut the door and walk on down to the dock. As he made his
walk into the earliest of dawn he could now see the dock
better. The wheelhouse of a tugboat was peering over the top
of the barge that served as a floating dock. That would be
his. He was amazed and walked toward it easily as if he were
drawn toward it. Then he was aware of the creepy man by the
fire barrel staring at him. He nodded uneasily to the
glaring figure and then continued his walk to the gangplank
that led to the dock barge. He kept walking toward the tug.
When he
got to the edge of the dock, he could see that he would have
to step down to the bow and then jump a little down to the
pile of line on deck and then step to the deck itself. This
needed to go smoothly. There was no need for any excitement
on his first boarding. He stepped, balanced, hopped,
gathered his footing in the line, and then walked easily
down the deck. He was aboard his first tug. She was only
sixty two feet long but it looked every bit of a hundred
from the way he saw it. What a mess she was. It was
beautiful to the green eye.
The first
thing he noticed was the rough texture of the hull and the
houses. She had been painted a lot over the years but it
wouldn’t be long before the rust would win its race to the
surface. Lines were piled everywhere in heaps. There were
cables running along the waist that looked out of place but
had a purpose somewhere as there was a matched set- one on
each side. He climbed up to the boat deck to get a look
around up there and to inspect the wheel house. After he had
reached the top of the ladder and stood up on the deck a
door opened on the main deck. He looked down in time to see
a man climb out of the galley.
"Jeez-iss", he whispered to himself. He was looking down at
the skinniest man he had met in years. There wasn’t a bit
of the man to be missed for he was standing in his jockey
shorts, the sun reflecting brightly from the underwear, and
his skin which was the same color as the underpants all
over. A thick mane of shaggy hair topped off the figure and
gave him the look of a cartoon lion.
"You
coming down or what?" the skinny man cried out in a high
pitched sing-song kind of voice. "There’s no coffee up
there." He had obviously entertained the daylights out of
himself for he started laughing and never stopped even after
he ducked back into the galley.
"What the
hell is he supposed to be around here?" the lad asked
himself as he climbed back down the ladder. He climbed into
the galley door to find the skinny man pouring a cup of
coffee from a Mr. Coffee machine. In the small galley, he
was face to face with the man. What a friendly face it was
too. What a relief. He had met his first boatman.
The
skinny man stood at the coffee maker, trying to sip coffee
that was too hot to drink. He winced every time he put the
mug to his lips but he was persistent. Try after try he gave
it and continued burning his mouth until he finally got a
big sip of coffee to go down. He smiled with satisfaction
and offered the lad some coffee, pointing to the mugs
hanging on hooks over the sink. Then he exited through a
door leading forward. The lad sipped the hot coffee more
carefully than his new crewmate and looked around the
galley.
The room was no more than ten feet or so wide and maybe that
long. Another watertight door was opposite the one he had
entered with. In the center of the room, mounted on the
forward bulkhead was the galley table. It had bench seats
along each side and a television set was mounted above the
table as high as the low overhead would allow. Against the
after bulkhead was a kitchen stove with only three burners,
a sink with a few cups and some plates in it, and a
refrigerator. He carefully opened the door of it and peeked
in. There were a variety of condiments in bottles and jars,
a Tupperware pitcher, and some lunchmeats packaged in
plastic wrap. The freezer held a few packages of meat and a
large plastic tub of ice cubes. There were about ten ice
cube trays stacked to one side. In a wooden cabinet on the
port side, there were many canned goods and a couple of
loaves of bread. While he was looking in this cabinet he
noticed a narrow wooden door in the corner. He didn’t bother
to open it but he did wonder where it led.
The forward door opened and the lad turned to see the skinny
come back into the galley. Now he was wearing work clothes-
jeans, a holed t-shirt and high top basketball sneakers. He
retrieved his now cool cup of coffee and sat down to the
galley table where he reached for an ashtray and his
cigarettes. The lad was relieved to see this so now he could
sit and have a smoke himself. The skinny man lit a Marlboro
and the lad could see that the fingers on his right hand
were disfigured. They were all there, but the tips of the
index and middle finger were deformed and bulbous. They
looked like the fingers of the alien movie character E.T. He
noticed that the skinny man could use them well enough but
when it came to delicate work like holding his cigarette, he
had to move it back to the second knuckle to get a secure
grip. When he took a drag, it looked like he was covering
his mouth up to cough. There was now telling what had
happened there but the lad made a mental note to make sure
he avoided an injury like that.
They talked for a few minutes. It turns out that the skinny
man was living aboard the little tug. He was down on his
luck and the old man was charging him far less than he would
pay for even a local dive to stay there. It was starting to
sound like the skinny man did a lot of drinking and the lad
figured this didn’t help his current shortage of luck. They
traded stories and the lad learned that the skinny man had
been in the Iceland Coast Guard. Interesting work and good
service for men who liked to drink much. Drinking was a
theme with the skinny man.
"Well? I better get her started up before the skipper gets
here. He hates to wait," the skinny man said as he was
putting his cigarette out. He got up from the table and
disappeared through the door in the corner before the lad
had a chance to try and follow him. He listened to the
clanking a banging sounds coming up through the deck. Soon
an engine turned over and started. It was a bit loud and he
could tell it was a medium sized diesel engine. Then the
lights went out. In only a second or two, they came back on.
The boat was now on generator power. After a minute, the lad
was brought to his feet, startled by a loud noise that
sounded to him like an elephant trumpeting a warning inside
the boat. The lad had no idea what it was, just that it had
made engine work. The sound happened one more time and
although he jumped a bit, he wasn’t as shocked as the first
time. The skinny man reappeared and waved him to follow.
They went back outside and the skinny man clambered up to
the dock, disappeared for a minute and returned with a shore
power cable coiled up on arm. As they stowed in the forepeak
companionway door, the lad asked him, "What the fuck was
that?"
"It’s the cable that gives us power at the dock," the skinny
man answered.
"No. I mean the loud-ass noise from the engine room when you
started those engines."
"Oohhh!" laughed the skinny man. "You never heard air
starters before?"
"Nope."
"You better get used to them. There’s a lot more noises than
that around here." Then he talked to himself a bit. "The old
man can find ‘em green, he can."
They continued coiling up the cable, the skinny man
chuckling the whole time about the air starters. The lad
didn’t want to be called green out loud, and he certainly
didn’t want to be laughed at, but he could see there would
be more questions as the day went on.
After the power
cable was wound up and stowed, the two lit another cigarette
and stood around waiting for the skipper to show up. The lad
looked around some more and peered into he companionway to
get a look at the space below. It was a little dark, with
only the glow of incandescent bulbs to light it but he made
out piles of line and boxes of parts. There was a small
chest freezer on one side and he could see the end of a
workbench.
“Is that the forepeak?” he asked.
“That’s what that is. We keep just about everything in
there. I’ll show you later.”
The lad nodded and continued inspecting the small tug. As he
was looking up at the pilothouse he could see the reflection
of a Ford truck pulling up to the edge of the dock. He
turned and joined the skinny man in watching the edge of the
dock. Soon a man appeared. He looked young, maybe in his
thirties. He was well dressed compared to the two aboard,
wearing khaki pants, a colorful polo shirt, and clean deck
shoes.
“Good morin’, jemma-nems,” he called out in his best local
accent. He was smiling and made the hops easily down to the
deck carrying a duffle bag over his shoulder. He went
straight to the lad and extended his hand. “You’re our new
hand. Follow the skinny guy’s lead and you’ll do all right.
Then to the skinny man, “OK. Let’s get goin’.”
The skinny man started walking down the deck. The skipper
started climbing the forward ladder to get to the
pilothouse. The lad suddenly realized he needed to follow
the skinny man. When the skinny man saw him he made a motion
that indicated that he was going up to the dock. “Take off
that stern line, I’ll toss it in.” He climbed up and was
quickly at the cleat holding the eye of the stern line. The
lad took the turns from the bitts and the skinny man lifted
the eyes off. “Just give it a good sharp tug when I toss
it.” The lad did just that and the line flew into the boats
and landed in a heap in front of him. A neat trick he
thought of it. “Get the head line next,” he called down to
the lad. Figuring that a head line must be the same as a bow
line he headed forward. The same technique was used to
remove it and then the spring line was taken in.
The skipper held the bow of the tug against the dock for a
second or two longer to allow the skinny to board again.
They backed out of the berth, turned slowly, and when the
bow was pointed across the river, the engines eased up to
speed and they were underway. The tug pushed its way to the
middle of the river and took a left to head under the big
bridge. The city was getting closer now. He had been on the
water long enough to have sailed this harbor but he had
never been this far up the river. Now he could see the other
side of the city. He remembered viewing the tugs from the
concrete shoreline and now he knew what he had looked like
to the crew of those boats. The tug stopped and the engines
were idling. They were sitting still in the water so he
could continue looking at the city scene.
He realized he was alone and looked around a bit till he saw
the skinny man and the skipper talking in the pilothouse.
There wasn’t much animation. The two would occasionally
motion toward a nearby shipyard so it became obvious that
the job was going to be over there. The shipyard sat across
from the city and was full of people moving about on the
ships and docks. There were countless barges with such a
wide variety of equipment and ship part on them; he couldn’t
imagine how anyone kept track of it all.
The skinny man tapping him on the shoulder and waving him in
to follow as he hurried to the stern interrupted the lad’s
thoughts.
“We have to get the pushing gear ready. It’s going to be a
bunch of barge shifting for these guys”, he said jerking his
thumb toward the shipyard.
Without a clue as to what was to be done, the lad followed.
The skinny man
took the lad to the stern where there was a small towing
winch only about two feet tall wound with cable only about
three quarters of an inch in diameter. It really was a small
power winch by standards. The end of the cable was attached
to one of the cables running down the length of the tug that
the lad had noticed on his way aboard. It was now that he
noticed the other side had the same cable but this one was
shackled to a length of rope. The skinny man went to the
engine room and started another generator. When he came back
up, he used one of the levers on the winch to pay out cable
and directed the lad to pull the new slack forward toward
the bow.
“Don’t drop it over the side!” he cautioned loudly. “It’ll
get caught in the wheels!”
The lad heard and nodded and then began pulling the cable up
the deck. When it came tight he set it down and made his way
back to the stern where the skinny man was arranging the
soft line end of the other cable onto the stern bitts at the
rail. When he was satisfied with his preparations, he took
the lad up to the bow. Now he could see that they were
approaching a barge at the shipyard. Two men in coveralls
were standing still on its stern waiting for them.
While the skinny man was busy setting a line on the bow
rail, the tug eased up to the barge and there was a loud and
deep squeaking noise as the thick rubber fenders rubbed
against the painted steel of the barge. The deck stopped
under the lad's feet and he swayed for a second to hold his
balance. Without speaking to each other, the skinny man and
the bargemen set to work. The skinny man passed the line he
had been preparing through the large chock ring on the bow
and the bargemen placed it on the cleat in the center of the
barge’s stern. When the line was up, the skipper eased off
of the barge and in a few little bounces on and off the
barge, he had the bow centered on the width of the barge.
The skinny man made the line off in quick and sturdy figure
eights on the H-bitt in the bow of the tug. When he was
finished he turned to the lad.
“Stay here. When the skipper turns the tug toward these
guys, pass them up the cables.”
The lad nodded and the skinny man disappeared to the stern.
He looked down to the eyes of the cables and saw that each
one had a short piece of line spliced to it. He was prepared
to do this job. The tug started drifting to the port side so
he grabbed the line on the port side cable eye. The man on
the barge clapped his hands and extended them as if to
receive something. The lad coiled up the line a bit and
tossed it up to him. The man pulled the eye up and over the
side of the tug and began to pull it toward him hand over
hand. The lad knew that he should guide the cable over the
side so it would fall suddenly and jerk the man over the
side. The skinny man had earlier secured the cable to the
stern bit so he motioned for there to just let the cable go
all the way over the side; it wouldn’t get away. The man on
the barge finally reached the cable eye and laid it over the
bit on the corner of the barge. Now the skinny man put more
turns on the bitts and the skipper stepped out the side door
of the pilothouse to watch him as the stern of the tug now
swung slowly to starboard. As the cable came tight, the
skinny man eased out some of the line to allow the boat to
keep swinging. The lad saw what was happening. They were
trying to get the tug in a straight line with the barge.
When this was accomplished, the skipper waved and the skinny
man made the line fast. Now he took a position on the other
side of the stern where he could see the lad on the bow.
The men on the barge asked the lad for the other cable eye.
He obliged and then heard the skinny man yelling again. He
saw him waving at him to step inside cable and realized that
he might have been trapped between the bulwarks and the
cable as it paid over the side. Once the barge men saw that
he was out of harm’s way, they began pulling the cable. This
pull would be further than the last so it took both of them.
As they pulled, the skinny man paid slack with the little
winch. As before the cable eye was laid on a bitt at the
corner of the barge and the cable was tightened with the
winch bringing the cables on both sides to a point known as
“fiddle string tight”.
The bargemen disappeared up to the head of the barge and
there seemed to be a lull in the action.
“What now?” he asked the skinny man.
“Not much for a few minutes,” he replied. “Those guys will
handle the lines on the barge. They don’t like us up on
their barges much. They say that things come up missing when
we’ve been up there. Not to mention all the lawsuits that
usually happen if the tug guys get hurt. No hair off my ass.
We can wait here till the cables come back in.”
The two sat where the skipper could see them if he needed
them and they smoked cigarettes and drank some more coffee.
Then the cables came in. Then the cables went back out.
After more cigarettes, the cables would come back in. And
then? The cable would go back out. This continued until the
lad lost track of the time and the number of barges he had
made up to. He felt very comfortable with this procedure now
and didn’t have to be reminded of anything.
“You’re doing pretty good,” the skinny man told him during
one of their breaks. Most guys don’t pick this up on the
first morning.”
The lad thought about that for a second, wondering how
anyone could have difficulty with a few simple tasks.
“Thanks. I don’t look like a goof then?”
“Oh, no!” cried the skinny man in his singsong voice. You’re
probably going to work on tugs for a while.
The lad smiled. That’s all he wanted was to work on tugs.
For a while? That was a bonus. It looked like he had just
received some sort of seal of approval. Pretty good for one
morning but there would be many other mornings to test his
skill.
He smoked his cigarettes, slung his cables, and watched the
ballet of barges in front of them.
After a morning
of moving barges around the lad was a little tired, not so
much from physical labor, but all of the general activity
and excitement had worn on him a little. He sat in the
galley smoking and having a cold, incredibly sweet iced tea.
The side doors were open and it was bright in there with a
cool breeze blowing across the room. The skinny man came in
and hopped down onto the settee across from him. He had a
big smile on his face and he lit a cigarette, smoking it
with his funny fingers as if he was having genuine fun.
“Headed to the bay,” he said. The bigger tug lost an engine
and she’s limping in with her tow.”
“What do we have to do?” asked the lad.
“We’ll prob’ly just put up a line or two and help her in.
It’ll take the strain off of her one engine. The most help
we can give is when gets to the dock. Then we’ll need to do
the docking since she can’t move around so easy.”
“Should we get ready?”
“You bet. We should get ready for lunch.” He found this,
too, to be funny as it could be. He was laughing his cartoon
character laugh the whole time he was rooting in cabinets
and assembling a set of pans and a cutting board on the
counter.
“What’s for lunch?”
“Hot dogs. Can you cut up some onions?”
“Sure. Point the way.”
The skinny man showed the lad where the onions were stowed.
They were actually beginning to grow. He moved the cutting
board to the table and got a dull knife from the dish rack.
They didn’t talk while the meal was prepared. The lad was
concentrating on mincing the onions as fine as the dull
knife would allow, and the skinny man was trying to get a
malfunctioning can opener to open a can of chili he had
pulled from the cabinet. He succeeded in opening the can and
dumped the messy contents into a small pan. Then he went to
work on the can of pork and beans. Before long, the stove
was alive with simmering pans of hot dogs, beans, and chili.
The galley smelled like a home now.
“Why don’t-cha run up and ask the skipper what he wants on
his,” the skinny man suggested.
The lad hopped right up and headed for the door. He took the
few steps outside to the side ladder and scurried up it like
he’s been in that boat for years. He moved forward on the
boat deck and toward the pilothouse door. As he entered, he
lost his train of thought for he was distracted by the array
of equipment crammed into the little space.
“Hey! How’s it going?” cried the skipper, glad to see him.
“What do you think so far?”
The lad was still scanning the new surroundings and barely
realized that the skipper had spoken to him. He snapped out
of it in a second or two. “It’s going pretty good so far. I
like it.”
“You and the skinny man getting on alright?”
“Oh, sure. He’s been a lot of help. We’re doing fine.”
“He’s an alright fellow. Just don’t develop any of his
habits for complaining and laying around on the job. Just
between you and me, that one.”
“Ok. I gotcha.” He had already seen that the skinny man
could try to hate his job if you let him talk long enough
about it. “What do you want on your hot dogs?”
“Mmmm. Hot dogs. Again.. Well? I guess some onion and
mustard and just a touch of relish. Bring me three? If
there’s enough.”
“Plenty. I’ll be right back.”
“And a soda if there are any,” the skipper yelled from the
door as the lad ran back to the galley.
“OK!” He yelled back over his shoulder.
When he got to the galley there was a paper plate on the
table with three hot dogs on it. All three had mustard,
onion, and a little relish on them. He looked at the skinny
man with a puzzled face. “Why bother running me around if he
already knew?” he thought. Just then a hatch in the overhead
opened with the sound of scraping plywood. The skipper could
see down and skinny man handed him up his lunch. There was a
brief discussion about the iced tea instead of sodas. The
hatch closed and the skinny did a little eye rolling before
he sat down to the table. With his ring finger and pinky, he
handled the spoons to slather his hot dogs with chili and
serve himself some beans. He began to eat with great energy.
When he noticed the lad wasn’t sitting yet, he turned and
looked at him. Barely able to talk with his mouth crammed
full of food, he pointed to the opposite settee and spat
out, “Wit. Wet num.”
The lad had to smile. He got over to his side of the galley
and got a plate ready with some hot dogs and beans. He ate
greedily when he realized that he had only been having
coffee and cigarettes all day. Sailing down the river toward
the bay on a nice summer day with a good lunch, at a good
job, was making him glad he had taken this chance. He was glad to
be here. There would be some down time until they got to the
bigger boat. Maybe he could find out about his new
crewmates.
As the little tug
steamed down the bay, the routine came to a relaxing, slow pace. The
two deck hands smoked and rested a little, occasionally checking on
the captain to see if he needed a drink or a snack, or even a break
from the wheel. They pointed out boats they liked and buildings they
recognized. The conversations were fairly idle until the lad finally
asked the skinny man about his fingers.
“Well?” he started, “You know those cranes in the yard? That’s what
done this to me. I was helping the old man do some pick-ups around
the deck barges and things was going pretty well. The brakes don’t
work so good on the hook cable’s brake and I had my hand on top of a
post to keep my balance while I bent down to pick up a strap. The
old man saw that I had the strap in hand and let the hook fall to
bring it down to me so I could hook that strap up. The hook fell and
hit the post that my hand was resting on. When I stood up, I saw
that my finger tips were trapped under the pile of big chain links
that weight the hook on the end of the cable. Lucky they didn’t pile
on my whole hand.”
“Wow. You’re lucky you didn’t lose the fingers. Couldn’t the doctor
do anything more for them?” asked the lad.
“Ahh!” The skinny man waved the question off. “The old man’s doctors
are quacks. He didn’t do a thing for it but clean it up and give me
some bandages and ointment. They said I waited too long to come down
there and the healing had already started this way. I was only a
week late. They could have tried something else. They’re supposed to
be doctors, ain’t they?”
The lad had been listening but was thinking about his own matters at
the same time. He began to wonder if he were going to be safe here.
He knew that a small company might not have the some kind of
benefits and services, but he expected to be taken care of if he
were hurt. What he really pondered was the character of the
characters he would be sailing with. Again, he had some doubts about
his career selection.
“I gotta know,” said the lad finally. “Why didn’t you pull your hand
out when the chain started piling up on your hand?” He half expected
the skinny man to come back sharply in defense of his seeming lack
of common sense.
“I would have, but I can’t feel ‘em no more.” The skinny man wiggled
his deformed fingers in the air while he said this. It was like he
could show the lad how very little feeling he had in them by waving
them around in front of his face.
“Ya see?” he continued, “I was out late one night and the bars
closed but before they threw me out the bar maid sold me a bottle of
vodka and I didn’t want anyone to see me with booze in the yard so I
slid it down into the sleeve of my coat and off I went.”
He breathed, finally. Then he continued.
“I didn’t have no trouble with the locals, you know, because they
couldn’t see the bottle. They’d have rolled me again if they knew I
had that on me. They know I ain’t got much money that time of the
week. Anyway, I got to the fence and it was no problem getting’ over
it but when I jumped down, I hit the ground funny and I had to run
for a bit to try and keep my balance. Well. That’s when the night
went to shit. I fell down and the bottle of booze broke in my
sleeve. If that weren’t bad enough, some of the glass went into my
arm and I think it cut some nerves or somethin’, because I couldn’t
feel my finger tips after that.”
He finished the account in a very ‘matter of factly’ way and then
turned to the task of lighting another cigarette with his fingers.
His hexed and jinxed fingers.
The lad was amazed. How could a guy let so much happen to him with
the apathy he appeared to have for the situation. He injured himself
twice. Gravely. Yet he treated it like just another bad day. Get
help. Why didn’t he get some help?
Later, he went up to see the skipper. They talked for a few minutes
about idle subjects and then the lad was able to bring up the
subject of the skinny man.
“I don’t understand why people would let that happen to them. I
guess the most disturbing part is how others can stand by while it
happens around them.”
The skipper looked at him and could tell that he should say
something important. All he could think of was, “Look. I know it
seems rough to let these guys tear themselves up like that but it
doesn’t do any good to help them out too much when they won’t take
the help and try to improve their situations.”
The lad stared back at him for a few seconds saying nothing. The
skipper knew he had to elaborate. “The skinny man is a nice guy.
He’s a good hand and the old man needs good hands. That old man lets
him live on the tugs for next to nothing. He practically feeds him
and does what he can to keep an eye on the guy. But all the skinny
man does is drink, smoke that damn crack, and mess with those ol’
black whores from outside the gate. He brings them back to the boats
too. We probably lose more food to them than to the skinny man.”
He concluded, “The skinny man is another of the long line of hands
that you’re going to see around these little outfits. They come,
they work some, and then they go off to the next place to scrape out
a living. You seem pretty straight up and I know you care about the
guy, but you may want to keep a little room in your channel around
him. Ya know? Help him the best you can, but I think it will be
easier if you just keep your own job on course. That’s been my
experience.”
The lad looked back at the skipper and he could see that he was
probably a pretty responsible guy. He was clean and neat in
appearance. He had on good clothes for the job he was doing and for
the most part he was very articulate even when speaking with his
thick historic accent of the state, his home.
The skipper broke his concentration. “There’s the bigger boat. Go
get the skinny man and tell him to come up. We have to make a plan
for this make-up.” The lad nodded quickly many times and headed down
to gather the skinny man. It was time for more work in his little
tug.
The lad found the skinny man in the galley, reading an old magazine
while having a cigarette. He told him the captain needed to see him.
The skinny man kept reading. He made sure to tell him that the
bigger boat was in sight. The reason for the summons didn’t change
the skinny man’s indifference but at least it got him to move a
little. When the lad was sure that the skinny man was going to get
up, he left the galley to get another look at the bigger boat from
the bow. He sat on the H-bitt with his feet up on the cap rail of
the bulwarks. The little tug was small enough that he was very
comfortable in this position, with his elbows resting on his knees.
He lit a cigarette and looked out down the bay.
He could see the bigger boat clearly. It was coming into view more
and more each minute and soon he could see a group of figures on the
bow of her, grouped around a set of steps that led to the pilot
house. He soon realized that the tug was being followed by a large
object. It was their tow, a barge stacked with shipping containers
but from that distance it looked like a big box made out of
multi-colored children’s blocks. He was amazed at the size of the
tow compared to the dwarfed tug. The skinny man walked up behind
him, breaking his concentration.
“Vacation’s over. Eh?” he said. “The skipper wants to try to tow her
in. I told him it won’t work but he isn’t listening. He thinks he’s
on a big ocean rig. That little tow winch doesn’t do this kind of
work. Does he think I’ve never done this kind of work before? I
think I have. He’ll see.”
The skinny man was rambling. The lad didn’t care how they helped the
tug and tow in; he wasn’t that experienced yet. But he didn’t care
to hear the skinny man complaining about the upcoming work. He was
ready for anything at this point and didn’t need to hear anything
that would reduce his excitement. He changed the subject.
“What should I be doing now?” he asked the skinny man.
“Come on back to the winch. We’ll have to take in the pushing gear
and shorten the tow cable,” replied the skinny man, waving his hand
towards him as he walked aft along the waist.
They got to the winch and the lad watched as the skinny man moved
levers and rods to set the little winch up for retrieval. It wasn’t
really a towing winch. It was more like the deck winches that the
lad had used during his stick shipping days when he operated yard
and stay rigs. The little winch only stood about three feet tall and
had a simple braking lever with pins to dog the drum in place when
securing it. The buttons to operate it were simple too- two
directions and a stop button. The skinny man pointed to the buttons
and the lad mashed the one to bring the cable in. The drum turned
slowly while the skinny man guided the little tug’s thin cable onto
the drum as evenly as he felt like. In just a minute or so, the eye
was on deck.
The lad stopped the drum and the two of them turned to see the
bigger tug almost next to them running at the same speed. As the
skipper eased the little tug closer, the figures on the bow became
clearer. There were three of them. One was a young man with a map of
curly blonde hair blowing around in the bay breeze. He waved a quick
wave to the skinny man who threw his head back in response. The
other was a thin man with long graying hair, a gray beard, and
little sunglasses. He was dressed a bit shabbily and stooped when he
stood up. The lad thought of a marooned character from a pirate
novel when he saw him. The third man couldn’t be missed. He looked
angrily at the skinny man. He looked so angry that the lad could see
the creases in his forehead as he scowled at his crew mate. He was a
fat man. His round torso supported by skinny legs, he was bobbing
slightly and holding on to the railing of the ladder, as if he would
jump to the deck of the little tug. Why was he so angry at the
skinny man? Even his free hand was balled up into a fist.
“Look at those clowns,” the skinny man huffed. “It’s a wonder they
could make a trip that far away and come back in one piece. Who
knows what ‘Mr. Mechanic’ did to the engine.” He was on another
rant. He went on for another minute or so about each of the
characters on the bow, giving the lad a quick run-down of their
individual traits and faults. It was clear to the lad that if he
listened to anything the skinny man said that these men were
approximately worthless as boatmen. He certainly wouldn’t judge. At
this point in his career, he knew less than anyone on the scene and
his main concern was to try and look competent in front of even this
lot.
Now they were close enough to the bigger boat that the skipper was
hanging out the pilot house window talking loudly to the captain of
the bigger boat. When the brief conversation was over, he nodded to
the skinny man who turned toward the group on the bigger boat and
waved his hand inward, signaling them to throw a line over.
“No!” shouted the fat engineer. “You send your line over.”
“Fuck that!” shouted the skinny man. “We’re here to help you. Not do
all the work!”
“Just throw a line over you lazy little bastard!”
“No! I’m not pulling your heavy-ass line over. This cable is smaller
than your deck lines,” he loudly explained. “You can’t pull on a
little……..”
“Hey!” shouted the skipper. “Just send the line over. We don’t have
all morning to listen to you guys fight this out.” All eyes were on
him and he didn’t move a muscle. It was clear that he was serious.
The skinny man looked at the skipper for a moment and then bent to
pick up his messenger line. The lad could see he wasn’t happy but it
was hard to tell if the skinny man was acting out of obedience or
resignation. The messenger line was thrown across the choppy void
and the fat engineer directed the blond deck hand to make it fast to
the deck line. The big Dacron line was hauled across by the lad and
a grumbling skinny man and laid on the stern deck of the little tug
where the tow cable was made to the line with a shackle that the lad
would have considered large. With no concern for anyone around him,
the skinny man picked up the shackled assembly and threw it roughly
over the side. The short end of cable came tight with a loud noise.
The skinny man looked up to the pilot house and waved to the skipper
who had been up on the boat deck at the stern controls watching the
work. He nodded back and the skinny man went to the control buttons.
He let out just a bit of cable. The skipper eased the boat over to
get in front of the bigger boat. When the little tug was in
position, the skinny man let more cable out. The skipper widened the
distance between him and the bigger tug and the skinny man filled
the gap with cable. They worked together with no need to speak, each
man reacting to the situation at hand as he needed. This job had
been done many times before.
After the bigger tug was far enough away, the skipper shouted down
to the skinny man, “Dog her down. That’ll do it.” The skinny man
turned the little brake wheel down and then set the pin that secured
the winch’s drum into its matching holes. Everyone went to their
places again, the skipper to the pilot house and the two deck hands
to the galley.
The skinny man was telling the lad how many ways this tow could turn
bad; how “he would have done it.”: The speed of the tugs could be
different. The weather could set waves on them and stress the cable.
The bigger tug should turn off his engine and let the little tug
tow. There should be a weight in the belly of the small line. The
little tug’s skipper should…….
BOOM! A terrific noise was heard from the stern. Both men looked at
each other, wide eyed for just a second. Then the skinny man smiled
from ear to ear.
The noise they had just heard was the sound of the little cable
coming apart. When wire rope parts, it can make a sound like that of
a shot gun firing. This was the case here. After the skinny man’s
initial entertainment was over, he motioned the lad to follow him
out the stern. As he expected, the cable was hanging over the stern,
limp, slightly swaying as the tug’s quick water passed over it. He
went to the controls, set up and began to pull the cable in with the
winch. It wasn’t long before the frayed and broken end of the cable
was on deck.
The lad was studying the cable end when the skipper shouted and
waved the skinny man up the wheel house. The lad was left alone with
the cable for a few minutes. Soon the skinny man returned and began
to speak. The lad didn’t hear him though for as he began to speak,
the little tug’s engines raised their pitch and the tug started into
a hard turn. As it heeled over to meet the turn, water was forced
across the stern and wet the boots of the two hands. They retreated
to the next deck up where it was dry.
“We’re gonna make up,” said the skinny man. He saw that this meant
nothing to the lad so he explained further, “We’re going to put
three lines up and then push the barge along to help the bigger tug
along.” He added, “That’s what we should have done in the first
place,” with a confident tone, self-confirming his expertise in tugs
and towing. He went on to point to the places where the lines would
be placed to make up to the container barge. The lad listened and
although he didn’t fully understand the jargon of the skinny man, he
had an idea that he’d be able to keep up when the task started.
The little tug had come about full circle and was running with the
barge, maintaining a wide gap between the two. The skipper was
staring a point on the barge as he used throttles handles and the
wheel to guide the little tug in. Slowly it drifted in towards the
barge. The closer it got, the louder the sound of the water between
them was, rushing through the gap the two vessels like a raging
mountain river. Before too long the suction created by the rush of
water caught the little tug and it moved, with some force, the last
foot it needed to touch the barge. With the sounds of thick, wet,
rubber squeaking and grinding against the flat steel hull, the tires
and fenders of the little tug hit and it came to a sudden lurching
stop. The lad felt the deck shifting under his feet.
The skinny man was on the bow with a wooden ladder. The lad went to
him to help position it from the tug’s deck to the edge of the
barge’s deck. When it was firmly in place, the skinny man held onto
it with both hands and stared at the lad. The lad wasn’t sure what
to do now and looked quizzically into the eyes of the skinny man,
only inches from his own. He suddenly realized what was supposed to
happen. As he made his realization, the skinny man confirmed it by
pointing up the ladder with one hand and talking loudly, but
unintelligibly. The lad could barely hear him over the din of the
rushing water and the in-close cacophony of the tug’s fenders, but
it was obvious that he was to climb up the ladder, across the
whitewater void, and onto the barge.
The skinny man leaned in and yelled into his ear, “I need to make
the lines up. You just put them on the cleats where I show you.” The
lad was now shocked. He shook his head. The skinny man looked at him
sternly. Then he looked up to the wheelhouse. He could see that the
skipper was being patient now but that patience would wear thin
quickly. He looked back at the lad and the face he was told him that
he couldn’t push a green hand so hard. He made his decision and
started up the ladder.
The skinny man was on the barge in no time and yelled down pointing
to a line on deck. Waving his hand upward, he told the lad to send
up the first line. The lad quickly made a messenger to the large eye
and tossed up to the skinny man who dropped it easily onto a large
cleat some feet back. Then he pointed to the quarter bitt and
twirled his finger so that the lad could see where to make off. He
did this easily enough and then the skinny man walked up to the bow
of the tug and pointed down to the line on deck, again waving up.
The lad passed this line and the skinny man walked forward a few
feet and dropped that eye onto another cleat. He walked back to the
lad and yelled out through cupped hands, “Dip it!”
The lad looked puzzled.
“DIP! IT!” the skinny man yelled again.
The lad knew nothing about dipping a line and the skinny man was
obviously getting angry for this is why he wanted to stay on deck.
“Drop the line,” he heard a loud voice from say from behind him,
turning to see the skipper standing above him in front of the wheel
house. “Just drop it. In front of the bitt,” he yelled again. The
lad did that.
“Now. Reach under and pull it under, back to you.” The lad did this.
Now he was holding
“Good. Take that bight and push it over the top of the bitt there,”
he said pointing to the left upright.” The lad saw what he was after
and dropped the line over the bitt.
The skipper smiled and gave the lad a thumb up signal. “Now make it
off on the other end,” he yelled and then retreated back to his
controls in the wheelhouse.
The lad looked up to the skinny man who pointed toward the stern in
exaggerated motions. He made his way back there quickly. He
automatically reached for the line on deck when he got there. He had
already figured out how the make up was supposed to work. After he
passed the line up to the skinny man, he waited to hear where to
make it off. The skinny man pointed to the capstan and made circles
in the air with his finger. For a second the lad hesitated but then
he jumped into action. He was going to figure how to run it right
there, right then.
It looked easy enough. Pull this thing out to make sure the drum
didn’t turn. There’s the button. Was the power on? He tested it.
Yes. The skinny man had left the right generator running. It turned.
He went for his line and started to run it around the little capstan
on the towing winch. The skinny man was yelling. He turned around
and saw him pointing to a spot on the stern. He had forgotten to
lead the line to a cleat on the deck for a better pulling point.
This wasn’t a big deal and he corrected it quickly. Then he put
another turn on the capstan and turned it on. The line was pulled in
and was coming tight. He controlled the amount of pull and turned to
the skinny man who held up a fist when the line was good and tight.
Reaching for the stop button, he quit his heaving and then made the
line off to the bitt behind him.
He looked up and the skinny man was calmly walking away. Figuring
the job must be finished now, he walked his way to the galley door,
stopping before he went inside to see the skinny man climbing down.
They met in the galley and the skinny man suggested that they go up
to the barge and look around. The lad felt like making the climb now
that the tug was secured to the barge.
He climbed up and walked around the containers carefully. He went
forward to see the bigger tug at the far end of her towing cable. He
looked at the containers piled four high and lashed down with heavy
rods. When he got to the stern, he sat down on the deck and lit a
cigarette. The skinny man emerged from around the corner of the
containers and sat down beside the lad, lighting a cigarette.
It was quiet back here and they smoked in silence watching the wake
of the barge. The lad smiled to himself. He knew how to make up. For
now, he was a little more equal to the man beside him. He knew there
was more to learn, but this was still a satisfying moment. The bay
water hissed by the moving barge for a while as he enjoyed the
moment.