The Shadow of a Dream Part 2
After graduating college with both a degree and 3rd engineers “ticket,” I moved up with the big boys becoming a junior engineer, then a third assistant engineer in charge of an entire engine room watch on the 683’ passenger ship “Independence.” The “Independence” was twin screw and therefore had two of the previously described engine rooms and two sets of weird guys hanging around doing nothing while the ship ran itself. All of the aforementioned strange cadet engine room affectations paled in comparison with the professionals who had done this 10, 20, sometimes 30 years.
I learned a whole new set of weird traits. One engineer did nothing for four hours but stand on the control platform leaning on the throttle valve legs crossed, cleaning his fingernails while constantly repeating “Oh well” in a wistful sigh. Another was obsessed with vacuum incessantly pacing the control platform tapping the vacuum gauge with every pass. One guy constantly hummed Gregorian chants while staring blankly at the revolution counter (whether we were under way or not!).
Another had a sheet metal fetish! I, personally coped by singing a lot -- you could scream at the top of your lungs and nobody could hear you over the turbine’s wail. Reading, of course, was forbidden while on watch but, sometimes I’d sneak down a technical manual for my XKE Jaguar and pass the time learning its intricate systems.
Fun on Watch
There were no heads in the engine room so peeing in the bilges onto the tank tops was the norm. Then, of course, sometimes you had to work down in the bilges which was interesting to say the least. To pass the time, jokes were played on newcomers. New recruits were sent to fetch fish for the “gland seal” (a mechanical shaft seal), attend to the handrail cooling pump (there is no such thing) and look for left-handed monkey wrenches in the shop. Then there was the fake barf bucket ploy.
Here, when one’s fellow watch stander was prone to seasickness (surprisingly, a lot of professional merchant mariners got seasick on the first day out), a bucket was made up to present to this miserable individual at just the right time. It was a special recipe which I learned well over the years: In one five-gallon bucket combine about three handfuls of ground asbestos, four pages of yellow pad paper ripped in small strips then rolled into little balls, one handful of brown scale from the bilges and about two quarts of water.
Knead thoroughly until you have a homogenous slop. Then add just enough water so the whole thing sloshes in the bucket just right as the ship rolls. When the seasick guy appeared, you’d hand him the bucket which, after one brief glance would send him running for the bilges (yeah, sorry to say, barfing was done in the bilges also).
“Excitement” on Watch
I worked on the “Independence” for about three years getting my own watch after six months. We made runs to the Mediterranean every three or four weeks and in the spring took a six-week extended tour of the Mediterranean venturing into Turkey and Egypt. Many times we ran shorthanded and I had to stand a “six and six” watch (six hours on/six hours off) for weeks. I was stone bored on every watch for the duration. On the control platform was a little watch desk above which always hung a calendar known as the “MFD Gauge.” “MFD” stood for “more (blanking) days” and showed just how many days were left until you became a real person again.
The money was terrific giving my life a great, early financial boost, the food was spectacular, the ports exotic… but the work was so boring. I can remember only two mildly exciting engine room incidents in those three years. Once, we were in open ocean running at cruising speed in the middle of the night. I was on the midnight to 4 am watch diligently working on the intricate harmony of the Beatles “If I Fell” when I was rudely interrupted by the engine order telegraph which sprang to life going from “full ahead” to “full astern.” Double adrenalin mess your pants time!
Throwing a big steam ship into a crash stop is a big deal and is not accomplished by simply throwing a switch or pushing a lever. First, the throttle for the “ahead turbine” needed to be closed and the guarding valve opened after which the throttle for the “astern turbine” needed to be opened. During the transition, if the boilers are putting out a full head of steam, you’ll pop the safety valves which would rattle the entire world and probably send California sliding into the ocean. The firemen therefore had to control the burners, feed water, etc. while all this was going on. Rather than going through this Chinese fire drill, I decided to call the bridge (even though the rule was to absolutely obey the engine order telegraph).
But I knew the caliber of the dolts on the bridge, so I cranked up the wheelhouse on the voice phone and a drowsy deckie answered. It was obvious that this guy was as tired and bored as I had been prior to receiving the “full astern” order and I knew then that it was all a big mistake. As it turned out, one of the not too swift deck hands on the bridge was polishing the brass on the engine order telegraph and simply moved the lever from “full ahead” to “full astern” to gain complete access to the dial! Wonderful.
The second exciting occasion occurred when we were approaching New York steaming up the Verrazano Narrows at full speed (26 knots) in a dense fog in an attempt to massage the captain’s ego by arriving at the pier exactly at the scheduled minute. This was a rather common occurrence on time arrivals and departures were a very big deal. It was an early Friday morning and I was on the 4:00 AM to 8:00 AM watch. I was on the control platform happily swinging from an overhead ventilator trying to get the lyrics straight for the Beach Boys complicated “Shut Down.”
Suddenly, the ship started bouncing violently and I heard the rpms take a dive. I knew immediately that we had run aground but, strangely, I had received no signal from the bridge to stop engines. I cranked up the bridge. “Do you guys know we’re aground?” The answer was something like “Huh, what, impossible!” The deadhead Bozos on the bridge didn’t have a clue that we were firmly entrenched on a mud flat!
Next month in the last exciting installment, you’ll learn more about steam engine rooms and of my untimely retirement from the sea.
(Reprinted with permission of Regina Fexas.)
If you would like to read more of Tom's pearls of wisdom, tune in next Friday -- "Fexas Friday."
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Tom Fexas (1941-2006) was one of the most influential yacht designers of the last quarter of the 20th century. With the narrow Wall Street commuters that were built in the 1920s and '30s always on the back of his mind, he wanted to design boats that were at once fast, comfortable, seaworthy and economical to operate. Over the years, he and his firm designed over 1,000 yachts for some of the most prestigious boat builders in the world, including Choey Lee, Palmer Johnson, Grand Banks, Mikelson Yachts, Burger, Abeking & Rasmussen and many others.
Even though toward the end of his career he only designed megayachts and superyachts, including the remarkably influential PJ "Time" in 1987, he is best remembered for his first major vessel in 1978 -- Midnight Lace -- which became a series of 44-52-footers. They were light, narrow, and fast with relatively small engines. He was also influential in the boating community because of the monthly column he wrote for Power and Motoryacht, which began in its very first issue in January 1985.