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The Morrell Survey: Part Three
By Roland Schultz |
Late January on the lakes is not the most opportune time for conducting a survey operation, but with the Board of Inquiry eager to produce a report of their findings, the operation was scheduled to proceed with little regard for the time of year. Wind, waves and fields of pack ice would constantly hamper diving operations, and drive the Bramble off station near a dozen times over the next several weeks. During such conditions, the Bramble would take shelter at Harbor Beach, Michigan, tied up to the harbor's north breakwater, a long narrow jetty of poured cement and dolomite rock that fails to connect with the shore. As a result, liberty for the crew was restricted to strolling about this grand promenade which was little more than a manmade narrow finger of land jutting out into the lake, shrouded in ice from wind and spray.
The morale of the crew was in a constant state of decline as a result of the frustration created by the weather and the inability to move forward with the mission. "Open Liberty," upon a wind-blown jetty that constantly echoed the sound of ice grinding against rock within a stones throw of the shore only compounded the problem. Tempers grew short in the lowers ranks, and more than one crewmember developed a shiner in the form of a black and blue eye that he reported to his Division Officer as a result of losing his balance during the roll of the ship and "Walking into a door."
The mood among those aboard employed by Ocean Systems Inc. finally reached its own limits as well. Being civilians, and free of the ship's Commanding Officer's jurisdiction when in port, they would commandeer one of the ship's small boats and make their way ashore through the recently broken ice of the harbor to a bar. There, they would nearly buy the place dry, and return to provide for the crew, while keeping within U.S. Naval Regulations by holding it ashore on the breakwater. As a result of the outside air temperature, the CO justified the dispensing of this anti-freeze in keeping with the spirit of this rather unseasonable picnic.
The hardhat divers aboard were normally employed in diving operations working on oil platforms in the Gulf. They were of an unusual lot, and not of the sort that you would normally find teaching Sunday school, or singing in the choir. They were of a tough bunch, and looked after one another as if they were all blood brothers. Before a dive, however, they each seemed to withdraw into themselves, and it was a relatively simple task to deduce who was scheduled for the next dive by observing their composure. Many a time, while standing anchor watch, I would view one of them standing alone on the forecastle, gazing off toward the horizon. I often wondered if it was just the sight of daylight that they found so captivating.
One evening while standing such a watch alone on the bridge, I was visited by one of these divers just prior to his forthcoming descent and met the most unforgettable character of my life. On this rare occasion, rather than seeking solitude, he was looking for someone to tell a portion of his life's story, and it was I who was chosen to listen - like it or not!
The guy was short and built like a fireplug, with a constant cigarette hanging from his lip. He had worked as a diver most of his life and had served in the Marines, participating in the invasion of Iwo Jima during WWII.
Following his discharge, while returning home by train, he paid a visit to the club car to order a beer. He was refused on the grounds of being underage. His actions of punching out the bartender and destroying nearly half the coach before being restrained are just a sample of this story.
His delivery seemed to indicate a sincere desire to have an attentive listener, and I commented that I thought of him and his group as being a rather tough bunch. The reaction that followed was not what I had anticipated. Much like his actions of taking apart the train's club car, he developed a strange look in his eye, and became caught up in my feeling as a very significant and personal topic.
Suddenly he was very much in my face, hammering on my chest with a rigid finger that soon transformed itself into a fist over my heart while frog marching me across the bridge until my back was against the bulkhead. Becoming rather vocal, he shouted "You want to know what tough is? This is what makes tough!" From this, I was given the impression that he was reliving the Hell in the Pacific, and the events that transform common non-descript individuals into heroes.
Click here to read the conclusion of Roland Schultz's tale.
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