i finished this as Maureen and i are belatedly winging to Boston for a weekend in Newport, Rhode Island and with friends and family in Boston and Vermont, a tale unto itself. The last section of this post has been written about before, notably in my book Steel Decks and Glass Ceilings. But it is an essential part of my tale of the sea and me. i could not omit it here.

And now i was an engineering midshipman. I would remain that way until we pulled back into Newport over a month later.

We did make a liberty port in Bermuda. i don’t recall very much about that first time there. i knew i loved the place and hoped to return (to my surprise, i did return on two other ships later, much later). i also remember the command had forbade enlisted and midshipmen from riding on motor bikes, and that it was a long and expensive cab ride from our pier into downtown Hamilton. i met a very pretty black-haired British young woman. i don’t recall how it happened but i had dinner with her and her parents in a beautiful white house on a hill overlooking the island.

Engineering was a new deal. The operations and weapons department had three section watches and so did the midshipmen. But engineering was on four sections, which meant they didn’t have to dog the 1600-1800 watch to rotate the personnel through the different watches. For six weeks, i and the other midshipmen remained in three sections with no dogwatch.

So, for six weeks, i arose around 0320 and relieved the watch at 0345, first in main control and then in the after fireroom. The morning watch was the shortest watch in order for the off-going watch standers to eat in the morning mess. After chow, i went to quarters (0750) and began my workday at 0800. We had the long noon mess beginning at 1130 and running to 1300. i often skipped the meal and got in a good nap, going back to my assigned engine room or fireroom.

The workday concluded at 1600. Since i had the next watch, i was let loose at 1515. But i had to be back on watch at 1545. Since there was no dogging the 16-20 watch, i was there until 1945.

A sane person would have immediately hit his rack. But i was not a sane midshipman. i would not catch more sleep because the crew’s movie was held in the DASH hangar at 2000. We did get about 15 minutes for chow. i would sit or lay on my side with my head propped up by one of my arms to watch the old movie, usually an oater, getting out between 2130 and 2145 and hit the rack at taps, 2200.

The next groundhog day would begin again around 0320…for six weeks. The watches in main control were not bad, almost fun. i stood mostly by the big board with dials and arrows under the huge blowers blowing air, if not cool air, directly on me and the other watch standers. Toward the end, i learned a lot and even took the two big wheels for the two propellers to respond to the lee helm orders from the bridge to alter speed. Oh, it was hot, real hot, probably whacking at 100 degrees. And it was humid…no, not “Humid.” Steamy would be more accurate. Steam plants in those days had many leaks, and it was suffocatingly steamy and hot in the engine rooms.

The same could be said for the firerooms, only worse. Our watches were stood on the boiler flats on the lower level by the fittings that fired the boilers. It was tough work. Even worse, every hour, the messenger of the watch, moi, would have to crawl up on top of the water tanks, and slide on the crawl space to measure the amount of water at the cap allowing access to the the tank.

It was good training they said. For what i wondered.

* * *

Somewhere throughout this ordeal, i became friends with a BTFN, that’s Boiler Tender Fireman. He was about 6-2 with red hair. He had been promoted to first class petty officer three times, only to be busted all the way back to FN twice, his current status. He had been in almost 16 years.

One evening after the movie was over, the fireman and i walked across the torpedo deck. On a FRAM II destroyer, this was the 01 level space with Mark 32 torpedo tubes on the port and starboard sides. It was between the hangar deck aft and the forward smokestack. He and i talked a bit. Apparently, i had gained his favor.

He said, Let’s go down to the mess decks. I want to share something with you.”

Again, the brilliance of this midshipman struck and i said yes. We proceeded below to the empty mess decks. The fireman walked by the mess line and grabbed two slices of white bread. Then, he walked up to the soda dispensing machine, grabbed two paper cups, and added ice and coke, leaving about two fingers of space at the top. He handed one to me and took the other. i followed him up to the midship passageway on the main deck. He broke material condition YOKE by opening a hatch, ushering me out, then closing and battening down the hatch behind him. He nodded and motioned for me to join him as he sat down on the deck against the bulkhead. i sat opposite him with my back on the safety lines above the gunnel.

He motioned for me to hand him my plastic cup. He placed the two cups on the deck, pulled out the bread slices, placing one over each cup. He reached into his dungaree pocket and pulled out a medium size bottle of Aqua Velva, the blue aftershave lotion. With some ceremony, he opened the bottle and poured about two fingers of it on the bread. The liquid filtered through the bread filling the cups with ice and coke.

He explained the bread filtered most of the ingredients but the alcohol would go through. He then made a toast. i tapped his cup with mine. As he was downing his delight, i moved the cup toward my mouth. But when his head was raised downing his concoction, i tossed the contents over my right shoulder into the briny deep. i acted as if i had actually downed it, wiping my sleeve across my mouth.

He didn’t catch me. We remained good friends for the rest of the cruise. But i did manage to avoid him after the movies after that night.

* * *

The after-movie moments provided me the opportunity to experience something that has been with me for the rest of my life, sixty years.

The movie that night starred John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara in “The Quiet Man.” i had not seen it before and was blown away. i lingered in the hangar deck until the IT gang broke down the camera and left.

i walked across the torpedo deck but stopped just aft of the port torpedo tubes. i turned and looked out toward the horizon. The sea had flecks of small white caps. There was a million stars in the sky. The full moon was glowing white. It cast a path of moonlight across the sea surface from the horizon straight to me. The declining bow waves splashed past me with swooshes. The sound of the boilers from the forward stack passed over my head. Except for the bow waves, it was silent to me. i still do not know what it was. i used to think i imagined it, but it has happened since.

It felt like the moon and the sea had risen up, entered me, and grabbed my heart(?). i was moved. i stood silently for several more minutes before realizing i needed to go below to be in my rack for taps. i made it and lay there for some period of time, thinking about what had happened but having no answer.

It had no impact on my plans to get my degree, serve my three years and get out to be either a civil engineer or preferably a sports writer. Yet, even today, i look at the sea and think of that moment by the port life rails of the USS Lloyd Thomas (DD 764).

Perhaps it had claimed me for a career at sea.

i’ll never know.

This is the real part 6 of my serial book. i hope i haven’t confused too many folks with my gaffe.

i was beginning to get the hang of being on a Navy ship.

i don’t recall how it happen but i befriended a petty officer, a second class cook. He was one of the few black sailors on the Lloyd Thomas — i don’t recall any names of anyone on that cruise, although if i try real hard i might come up with some of the names of the midshipmen. The cook had been in 18 years, it was tough to get promoted back then, and was looking forward to going home when he retired (sic: you “completed active duty service” was what really happened as one, even officers, didn’t really retire with the pensions back then. One had to get a new job, start a new career. He was going home. As i recall, his home was a small town in Illinois.

Another second class petty officer i met was a BT, that’s “Boiler Tender” for old hands, and “Boiler Technician” for the newer sailors. This guy also had 18 years of service. He had made it up to first class three times, had been busted a bunch of times, and sort of settled in to being a second class until he got out. i still can see him one evening. He was sitting on the bottom edge of the hatch on the starboard side of the main deck. The hatch opened a small chamber where the deck hatch to the to the after fireroom was in the forward part of the chamber. It was designed that way so the deck hatch would not be subject to waves. i was walking forward on the main deck when i spotted him. He didn’t have the watch, taking a cigarette break and getting cool on the weather deck before going back down to the fireroom heat to work on a pump.

He, the cook, and a large number of the crew were single and lived on board. He told me he didn’t go ashore much, he liked his job, had no family, and never had any luck with women. It struck me he had landed in his briar patch.

* * *

During operations, there was a plan to transfer all of the midshipmen to the USS Intrepid (CV 11). She was the flagship of the flotilla on the cruise. Early one morning, they high-lined our 21 midshipmen over to the carrier. They had set up tours through the ship. True to form, another middie (i cannot remember his name right now, but i believe he was from Ole Miss) and i wandered off from the group. Also true to form, we got lost in the vast number of compartments and ladders on the huge ship. After the noon mess, we were to be transferred back to the Thomas, again via high line. When they mustered us by the high-line station on the hangar deck, one deck below the flight deck, where aircraft are stored and maintained. The muster revealed two midshipmen were missing.

We had finally gotten our bearings and were headed to the hangar deck when they passed the word for Midshipman Jewell and whatever-his-name-was to report to the hangar deck immediately. The announcement came from the 1MC, the loudspeaker system that broadcast throughout the ship. Relieved but a bit embarrassed, we rejoined the group and fell in line, the last two in the line.

A high-line is a ship-to-ship rig used to transfer cargo and personal. For personnel being transferred, they are seated in a bosun chair. The chair hangs from a device with rollers that rides on the high-line and is pulled by the inhaul or outhaul line from one ship to the other. With a personnel transfer, the inhaul/outhaul lines are required to be manned by personnel, not using a motor winch or other mechanical source for pulling the lines. It was a safety measure, supposedly, but pulling a man or two men in a bosun chair between two ships on such a requires rigorous effort by the line handlers. Destroyers would muster an “all hands” working party, i.e. every one on board not involved in replenishment stations, to man the inhaul/outhaul lines. It still required a lot of physical effort.

i think the other late middie’s nickname was Mo, and i know he received his NROTC commission as a Marine. i later met him for a drink when he was stationed at the Naval Weapons Station in Yorktown, Virginia. We were the last of eleven personnel transfers back to the Lloyd Thomas. We were situated in a double bosun chair. For those who might remember, such a transfer would be considered a Disney Land “E” ride.The double bosun chair was used for several more years until two admirals in one double bosun chair, were dunked during a transfer. Soon after, the double chairs disappeared from Navy transfers. Hmm…wonder why?

But they were still around when Mo and i were transferred. It had been a long day, and very, very tiring for the Thomas line handlers. Our chair was lifted up, the signals were given. Mo and i glided along the 120 feet between the ship quite nicely, the two of us unaware the line handlers were exhausted. When we were about twenty feet from our landing area, our chair stopped moving. The line handlers had stopped pulling. They were worn out. Mo and i dangled there about forty feet from the swirling Atlantic between two ships.

It seemed then and has increased over the passage of time that we hung there for an hour or so. It was more likely to been five minutes, if that, before the working party regained enough strength to haul Mo and i in our chair to safety.

There are several other incidents with high-line transfers my tale of the sea.

I was glad this one was over. Mo and i vowed we would stay with tour groups on any other such events involving high line transfers.

to be continued…

Leaving Nova Scotia, the battle group began exercises on the way to Bermuda, our other liberty port. i got my first taste of non-judicial punishment, but it was shy of a step.

The midshipmen who returned late on our last night in Sydney went to XOI. The XO meted our our punishment rather than sending us to see the captain for Captain’s Mast as required by UCMJ. Of course, i had no clue this was not proper. We were required to have 10 hours of “extra duty.” So after the evening mess, i performed duties for two hours, menial tasks that were usually not very pleasant. One was to clean the rudder equipment compartment just below the fantail. That particular task was not difficult. The space was already pretty clean, but it was terribly noisy. The big gears creaked and moaned every time the helmsman on the bridge turned the helm that changed the rudder angle. The gears drove the massive twin rudders just aft of the ship’s propellers.

So, being a 3/c middie and already established as a king nap taker, i climbed up on top of the big gear box and went to sleep in spite of the noise. i woke up before my extra duty period was over.

* * *

It is only a faint recall, but at some point in time, i wondered why the rules for midshipmen was different than the rules for the commanding officer. i do think the incident affected me throughout my Navy career. i tried, mostly if not all successfully, to not break any of the rules and regulations that i expected my subordinates to follow.

i again was learning about the Navy, but what i was learning wasn’t on the Navy’s list of learning objectives. i realized that almost the entire crew were caucasian. The two or three blacks on board were cooks. At the time, the only rating Filipinos could hold was steward. Stewards manned the wardroom, providing food services and butler type services for the officers, such as shining shoes, making racks, and collecting then returning the laundry.

* * *

i was essentially working as an enlisted man. i was transferred to my final department, Engineering; somehow i spent over six weeks in the department, a much longer time than in the other two departments.

i was first sent to main control. One of two engine rooms, main control was the brains of the propulsion system. The control board received orders for speed changes via the engine order telegraph signals from the lee helmsman on the bridge and released the proper amount of steam into the turbines, then to the reduction gears that in turn rotated the propeller shaft to the correct number of revolutions. Main control provided the power for the starboard shaft while the after engine room provided the port shaft’s power.

On my first work day in the holes (our name for the engineering spaces), i was immediately the target of a joke. i should have known, but i had’t caught on to the fun the enlisted were having. The Leading Petty Officer (LPO) stopped my while i was surface cleaning a pump. He told me the space was out of relative bearing grease and directed me to go to A gang (the auxiliary equipment work group and get some from them.

i responded aye, aye, climbed the ladder to the main deck and headed aft to the auxiliary shop. “No, we are all out. The shipfitter’s shop should have some. i acknowledge and headed forward in the main deck passageway, when it struck me: there is no such thing as “relative bearing grease.” Relative bearing is the direction in degrees to a ship or an object. i whacked myself on the forehead for not catching it early and mulled over what i should do. Being a championship napper, i turned around, headed aft, down the ladder to the midshipman berthing. i found my rack and crawled in.

About an hour later, a third class machinist mate from main control shook me awake.

“What are you doing here,” he demanded.

i explained i had been all over the ship looking for relative bearing grease and was too embarrassed when i couldn’t find any to return and face the music.

We went back to main control. All of the machinist mates were pleased i had seen through their ruse. We had a good laugh and went back to work.

* * *

To be continued…

It was time for me to learn…and i did. Oh, did i learn, but most of it was not what was the learning objectives the Navy had in mind.

Of the 18 midshipmen from a mixture of good college programs, most of us were more focused on good times. i, to be honest, didn’t have a clue.

The first department to which i was assigned was Operations. CIC was fun. Tracking contacts on the radar, learning how to determine maneuvering board solutions for contacts’ Closest Point of Approach (CPA), and working out maneuvers of our ship getting where it should for formation steaming was not work. It was flat fun. Learning how to stand behind the glass status boards and writing backwards was almost a game.

i loved my time on the signal bridge with the signalmen. Being midshipmen and therefore unwisely undaunted by regulations, the evening (2000-2400), mid (0000-0400) and morning (0400-0800) watches often found me and my middie buddies climbing into the signal flags basket, a canvas bag about six by four feet that held the signal flags, most of which were about two-feet square, hung on rods at the top of the bags. It was a dank but fairly comfortable place to sleep even if was against all watching standing regulations.

Before we reached our first first liberty port, i was reassigned to Weapons Department. Nearly all of my time there was uneventful. The best part for me was standing lookout on the bridge wings, especially in the night watches. The dark, deep hole of after-steering was the most joyless watch i think i ever stood.

Just before we reached our first liberty port, we finally rendezvoused with the other ships and were close enough for the destroyer that had my seabag refueled from the oiler and in the process transferred it by hi-line. When we then came along the oiler for fuel, my seabag came across by hi-line. i think i hugged it. i was not infatuated with those camel leather boots and was glad to return them.

Finally, we reached Sydney, Nova Scotia as the summer rolled into July. All of the other ships continued east about 250 miles to Halifax. This is where i learned about the old Navy. By the time i reported to my first ship as an ensign, quite a bit had changed.

The big event was Canadian Independence Day on July 1st. It was a Monday, and the Sydney folks had a great day. i was one of the six midshipmen assigned to be escorts to six young women who were the hostesses of the parade. It was a fine moment. Think of a small town July 4th parade in a small town and you’ve got a pretty good idea of what it was like. We dressed up in summer dress whites and made picture-perfect escorts.

Being a midshipman didn’t make much of a splash with the young lady i escorted. After the parade, i and several of my middie buddies headed to the nearest bar and called, “Mabel, Black Label,” the commercial ditty for Carling’s biggest selling beer at the time. One of us had gone elsewhere, met a girl who introduced us to several more Canadian lasses that evening. We spent the bulk of the remaining liberty running around with these ladies. That, of course, was truncated as we stood a 24-hour watch every third day. Our liberty expired at 0100.

On the penultimate day in our first port, we conspired to have more time with those ladies. One of our first-class midshipmen would be standing the mid-watch as Officer of the Deck (OOD) on the quarterdeck. He agreed to our not returning on time and not reporting us for UA. We planned to come back to the ship around 0230 to 0300. Off we went. The captain had been the CO of a submarine and disdained running with the wardroom. When he went on liberty, he would go with a bunch of chiefs. He too took off with his CPO buddies.

It was a Friday night. The town held its usual weekend dances in the dance hall in the middle of town. Sailors being sailors made a beeline to the dance hall after a day of a lot of calling out Mabel for Black Label. The CO and his chiefs had found a cozy bar on the edge of town to toss ’em down, although i expect the fare was whiskey and gin, not many Black Labels. We were in a nice home outside of the city proper, actually having a quiet, nice, evening with our new lady friends.

Then, hell broke loose, maybe not all hell, but it apparently was close. The local boys did not appreciate the sailors making runs on their women at the dance hall. It became tense and got worse. Finally, a sailor and a town boy threw some punches. It quickly escalated into a brawl and got worse. Soon, all downtown was a brawl, nasty. The local police attempted to quell it, but unsuccessfully. The ship and the town declared Lloyd Thomas’s liberty was cancelled. All liberty.

The midshipmen on their lark and the captain and his buddies were blissfully unaware.

We actually called off our soiree a bit early, returning to the ship around 0200. To our dismay, our conniving abettor no longer was the OOD. The executive officer, in the absence of the commanding officer had replaced the middie with a lieutenant department head to have an experienced officer in charge.

We were caught. Unauthorized Absence (UA). The XO was livid and made sure we were put on report. Even today, i wonder how he was dealing with his boss still not back, location unknown.

Several of us decided to stick around on the main deck as sailors were still straggling back from the town-wide brawl. We were amazed as the steady stream of sailors came across the quarterdeck, every one of them with some evidence of a fight. Our favorite was a third class petty officer. He stumbled across the brow using the hand rails to keep him upright. He reported to the quarterdeck, was written up, and proceeded aft to his berthing. We stopped him, actually because we were worried about him. He was in his sock feet. His face was bludgeoned. His uniform was bloody, muddy, and his white blouse was ripped to shreds. In addition to his shoes, he had lost his dixie cup and his navy blue scarf. We asked him if he was all right and asked how he fared in his fights.

His reply: “I came back, didn’t I?” He turned and headed for his rack with no further comment.

Thinking we had reached the zenith of entertainment, we started to disburse when two cabs pulled up to the brow. The captain and five chiefs piled out of the cab. The stumbling chiefs were holding their CO up as the they reeled across the brow. The XO frantically tried to convey the seriousness of what had happened. The captain, rolled his eyes when the XO told him all liberty had been cancelled.

“Bullshit,” the CO resisted. “Liberty for all hands!”

The exec, realizing this was not a good place for further discussion, had the chiefs escort the CO to his in-port cabin, and rescinded the edict resuming liberty.

The next morning, many hung over bodies, including the captain, set sea detail. i was on a detail with first division on the forecastle. The ship got underway and began to navigate out of the narrow channel. A medium size Japanese fishing vessel was anchored on the edge of the channel. i do not know what happened, but some conning errors occurred, and the Thomas veered toward the craft. The crew was on the weather decks, many eating their breakfast, when they realized the destroyer was headed for them. i watched in amazement as the big ship sideswiped the smaller fishing vessel. The vessel’s crew scrambled. Chopsticks were flying. Many of the crew ran to the port side and abandoned ship with an assortment of dives and jumps.

i was not into international law, international relations, any news that did not involve sports, not to mention we were on our way out to sea for another month or more. So, i don’t know what happened to the collision aftermath except for our ship, it was very minor. Nor do i know what were the ramifications, but i do know that captain remained there for the duration of our cruise.

It was a different world and a different Navy.

“For those of you, probably a very few, to relate: “The Adventures of Remo Williams” continues.

The continuation of Chapter 2:

i assumed i was over the hump with the hijinks of the sailors dealt to midshipmen. It was not over that day and would not be for almost half the cruise.

When the Lloyd Thomas cleared the bay, we and the other ships headed south. i’m guessing there was an exercise for the USS Intrepid (CV 11) flotilla requiring going south. i did not know at the time, and the concern was far from my mind, at the time, but our first liberty port would be in Nova Scotia about three weeks away.

The efforts to find me some clothes would not reach fruition until the next day. i was stuck in my service dress khaki worn for over 72 hours, sweaty, smelly. i had taken off the cover, tie, and blouse, but it was still bad.

i went to the organization meeting for midshipmen and was assigned to operations for my first department. The midshipmen were to spend time in operations, weapons, and engineering during their cruise. i went down and aft to the midshipmen berthing, and while the other middies were emptying in their seabags in their small lockers below the three-tiered racks (beds) i was depositing my discarded blouse, cover and tie in mine.

i had the lower rack of three one row off the centerline. For those who weren’t on Navy ships in the 1960’s, the racks were aluminum frames not quite three-feet wide and about six feet, six inches long. A piece of canvas had grommets where hemp 1/2 inch lines went through and laced the canvas to the frame. the bedding was about a 2-1/2 inch straw mattress with a sheet bag. A sheet, pillow with case, and a tan or grey wool blanket completed the bedding. The canvas sagged enough, especially if the middie above was large, enough where one could not roll over. If one wish to switch positions, rolling over was impossible. You had to get out of the rack and crawl back into the desired new position.

It was time for the evening mess on the mess decks. The mess decks were forward on the first deck. One entered into the chow line, cafeteria style, collected the fare on a metal tray and found a seat on the metal table and chairs. This first mess at sea, perhaps because the midshipmen were there was a bit different than most of the menus. The fare was greasy pork chops, pork and means, and mashed potatoes. i i’m sure there was more items but i don’t recall.

What i do recall is after all the middies had gone through the chow line and found a place to sit, we were treated to a parade. About a half dozen sailors had assembled somewhere near the chow line and handed out sardines from a can. About four sailors tied the sardines onto a string. Then, they paraded through the mess decks making sure the midshipmen were watching. They held the sardines above their heads, dropped them into their mouths, swallowed and announced the sardines were much better the second time around. Then they would pull the sardines out on the string and continued the process as they strolled my the mess deck tables where the middies sat.

Once again, a large numbers of midshipmen lost it and headed for the weather decks or barf bags. Perhaps my aroma was like an invisible shield. The act did not disturb me. Shortly after the mess, i went back to my rack. i was scheduled for the mid-watch (0000-0400). It had been one hell of a day.

It was not over.

About 2315 (11:15 pm for landlubbers), the messenger of the watch roamed through the midshipmen berthing, awaking those who were to go on watch. That meant me. i put back on the stinky uniform, and headed for midrats on the mess decks. The midrats (or midnight rations for those going on the midwatch) consisted of greasy grilled cheese sandwiches and coffee.

i gulped mine down and headed to CIC to arrive in time to relieve the watch at 2345. Unknown to this greenhorn, sitting on a ship facing forward or aft was the worst for dealing with the sea rolls. Of course, the radarmen on watch sat me on one of the view radar repeaters facing forward, not toward port or starboard.

Combat Information Center was always at darken ship with only red lighting to retain night vision and have clear vision for watching the radar repeaters. The repeaters were dark, machinery grey, four-foot high, 2 1/2 feet cubes with a dark green circular screen on top. The radar sweep emanated from the center and swept around the circle. If blips occurred on the screen, they were “contacts,” surface ships. i was determined to do a good job and sat focused on the screen.

By this time, we were off Cape Hatteras. i learned later that the sea around the cape was the worst for bad seas. It certainly was that night. We were taking on some serious rolls. i felt a bit queasy.

That’s when the radarmen decided to achieve their goal of getting me sea sick. They all lit up cigars and walked by my station, blowing the smoke into my face as they gave me instructions on what to watch.

It was 0100 in the morning. i smelled to high heaven in clothes i had worn for three days in hot weather. i was rolling with the ship in a dark warm space after being subjected to fake barf and sardine swallowing and re-swallowing.

And finally, i was beginning to feel sick, sea sick. i could feel the need to vomit swelling up. i could feel my innards coming up. And then, i told myself i was not going to give these guys the pleasure of me succumbing to their efforts.

i swallowed whatever was coming up, and and stared at the radar screen.

i did not get sea sick. i made it through the mid-watch. The next morning, the crew had assembled enough uniforms to give me something to wear until my seabag finally arrived. The one thing that stood out was the only available shoes were camel leather boots one sailor had bought during a visit to an Arabian liberty port in the Mediterranean. They had a distinctive odor about them, but that aroma was certainly tolerable after four days of smelling me.

i had passed big test. To this day, i am convinced my refusal to become sea sick has served me well. On ten ships, in some of the worst seas possible over 14 years of sea duty, i was never sea sick. i even cared for shipmates and cleaned up the mess they made.

And if you are going to become a mariner not getting sea sick is a wonderful thing.

i was then ready to learn about being a sailor, a crazy, mischievous sailor, but a sailor none the less.