Playing Fair and Being Kind

The SAAB is in great shape except for the rust coming out on both rear fenders. I need to repair these spots this coming summer in Waldoboro at a new acquaintances body shop on Rt 1. I suppose the rust is there to keep reminding me of the car’s age. As I do with the SAAB, I tend to think I’m indestructible. I’m 75 years old now and I forget sometimes (often) that there are limits. The rust spots on the SAAB and on me (the liver spots, the saggy neck, the deep wrinkles around the eyes, the paunchy belly, the droopy ass, the bent back, the groans while crawling out of the car, the cracking voice, the dim eyes, the loss of hearing, the sore ass, the achy knee and shoulder, the gray hair, the constant need to pee, the bristles in my ears and nose, etc.) are there to remind me to limit the abuse. Thank gods!

These are the things I think of as I roll along the highway. U.S. Rt 27 leaves Spring City and climbs slowly up the Tennessee River valley to Harriman. It connects to I 40 which takes one to Knoxville. There I 40 continues further east until it makes a huge dog-leg to the southeast toward the Cherokee National Forest and the Great Smokey Mountains which divide Tennessee from North Carolina. I am grateful to be driving during daylight along this stretch. Once up on the border divide the road dives for the Atlantic Ocean a couple of hundred miles away. The grades and curves are fun to go screaming through. I feel young again!!! Dicing it out with the semis and the other drivers; letting the SAAB drift out to the left as I pass a big rig going around a right hand turn. I let the tires scrub a little as we reverse direction and dive through another sharp S-turn to the left. No one’s going to pass me! (O.K. I exaggerate. Please indulge me.) This is a part of the trip where I need all of my faculties for sure. I am amazed at the length of the down grades; it seems one could just let the vehicle roll on to the coast.

Along the way I am thinking of the people I know in the Charleston area. Some I would love to find, some I hide from. I spent over 3 years stationed there beginning in 1968. My first duty as a newly appointed Naval officer was at the old Charleston Naval Ship Yard. South Carolina had a powerful U.S. Representative, L. Mendel Rivers who propelled the 1st District of South Carolina, Charleston, into a center of military greatness. The money poured in during the 30 years that ‘L. Mendel’ was in office. I worked at the shipyard during those years and watched great things come to the area.

One of my favorite people of all time is my old pal from the shipyard days Carroll Selander. Carroll was one of a couple of dozen Progressman who worked for the shipyard. His job was to follow the progress of work on the Navy ships being overhauled or repaired. My job at the same time was Ship Superintendent. There were about a dozen ship superintendents for submarines and maybe 8 or so for surface ships. My duties were to make sure the ship and the shipyard followed the contracts of overhauls and repairs. Carroll and I worked side by side, Navy and civilian, to make sure all went well and according to contract. We shared every minute together for the length of the overhaul and repair of this one project.
The specific ship we worked together on was the USS Sea Lion (LPSS 315). Sea Lion was a diesel submarine with a great history from WWII. It was old and becoming a relic of the past, so to speak, but it was being converted to a troop carrying vessel and would be necessary in the near future. The major job of this repair cycle was to open the hull above the engine room and remove one of the engines for replacement. The whole shipyard package with ship’s crews work was scheduled to complete in 12 weeks. No shipyard job was ever completed on time. It seems the planners and schedulers always saw things through rose colored glasses.
This all happened in 1969, a period of time during the Vietnam War when the military was at full screaming-for-money strength. Nothing was denied the military. Warships were all the rage. The Cold War was peaking. Submarines were high-pri (high priority) stuff. The problem Carroll and I had was the issue of Sea Lion being lo-pri stuff in the shipyard. Charleston Naval Ship Yard was working on nuclear powered submarines as well as fast-attack submarines at the same time that Sea Lion limped into the yard for a mere engine replacement. We had our work cut out for us. We needed to keep the various shops that were involved with the engine replacement continually focused on the work; we needed to keep gentle pressure on the general foremen of the various shops; we needed to wheedle, manipulate, massage, and threaten the yard personnel into getting the job done on time. We damn near did it.
With 2 weeks left on the schedule we were 4 days ahead. Unheard of! Carroll and I were careful not to gloat but we did have shit-eating grins on our faces as we realized we would be the first team to make a schedule. Then the proverbial feces smacked into the ventilation system. The new engine was in place, test run complete, and the hull patch fitted into place. The welding went smoothly on the patch. The welding was completed. The non-destructive testing began. Radioactive test photos of the welds indicated the welds were clean and good except…except there were cracks discovered in the older welds from previous constructions within 6 inches of the new welds. The standard at that time stated that any defects discovered during repairs within 6 inches of the new work had to be addressed. Those welds would need to be repaired. O.K. Let’s do it. Welds repaired. New Radioactive testing showed that the new welds of the old welds were wonderfully done except there were other cracks now showing up in these new regions of welding and testing areas. Hmmm. O,K. Let’s do it. More old welds now within the new area of concern were gouged out and re-welded perfectly. New Radioactive testing showed that the new welds of the old welds were wonderfully done except there were other cracks now showing up in these newer regions of welding and test areas. You get the picture. We were repairing Swiss cheese manufacturing from 1943. (It was more gross than that but I’m saving that for another story elsewhere.) Back then there were no testing methods to find these types of imperfections in the hull manufacturing processes. We had bought a job that was impossible to do.
The schedule slipped into eternity. By the time we got the final welds repaired, with multiple variances from the Bureau of Ships in Washington the old schedule was well gone by. We finished the job two weeks late. Par for the course at the shipyard. Carroll and I were ruefully happy to be done with the Sea Lion. The skipper gave us each autographed photos of the submarine. I kept mine for all these years but I can’t look at it without grimacing. 

I called Carroll on the phone during my trek through the Great Smokey Mountains. I stopped at one of the lovely and handy rest areas along I 40 and phoned him up. He told me that it would be convenient to meet at the Hardees located at the corner of Ladson Road and Dorchester Road in Ladson, our old neighborhood.
I arrived in Charleston the next morning and I headed straight for the Air Force Base. They have a room available at the Air Force Inn and I take it. I have time to clean up and check e-mail messages before heading out to meet Carroll. We’ve agreed to rendezvous at 10 A.M. at Hardees.
As I walk into the restaurant that morning I suddenly realize I won’t know who the heck I’m looking at. Carroll told me he meets here every Monday at 10 A.M. with a group of men from all walks of life; some shipyard guys, some military retirees. I’m picturing a bunch of gray haired men with bent backs and tin horns up their ears. When I walk in I notice one guy in particular. It’s Carroll. He’s looking my way and there is a recognizable expression on that old, bearded face that makes me grin. We recognize each other. Or so I think.
Carroll and I sat together for about an hour and shared the experiences of the last 44 years to try to catch up. Let’s see I was 30 and he was 34 at the time. Now we are 75 and 79 respectively. LOL! For the first 15 minutes he had me confused with someone else until he realized I was telling a different story than he expected. After we straightened it all out we had a few good laughs and lots of people to gossip about.
After an hour of so we are talked out about things and we agree to make this an annual event. Carroll invites me to stay at his house hereafter. We part with a warm handshake and a look of respect for each other.
I left Carroll at the diner and went for a solo ride through the old neighborhood to see what it looked like. I found the first house we ever bought. 111 Monroe Drive. I was surprised to see pink Oxalis growing and blooming in the front yard by a tree. I put those in and they have survived nicely. I saw in the backyard the brick patio I built all those years ago. It still exists. My fingers bled and burned at the sight of it. What a job that was. I over built it by mistake; I made it for driveway use instead of outdoor sitting use.
I saw my sons Scot and Mark crawling out a window as part of a fire escape drill we came up with. Lots of laughing and scrambling over window sills. I saw Gwen running a large circle in the big back yard with 10 black lab puppies chasing her. She may have been three years old. They’d catch her and trip her and mug her so much she couldn’t breath and I’d need to rescue her from the lapping mouths of all those frisky puppies.
I left the neighborhood; no one was home in the house. The neighborhood is run down; fences leaning and gaping, inviting creatures of all sorts to come or go as desired. I felt a little sad and also glad for the Oxalis. A fine moment to think about.
I return to the Air Force Base. There is no wifi at the Inn today because of cable problems. I use the wifi system at the base library to look up possible routes and destinations. Afterward I make a trip to Walmart to buy a foam mattress pad for the pokes and sticks I’ve been suffering in the SAAB. After repacking the car to include the mattress pad and refueling all is well. I’m off to Savannah, Georgia.
Happy days and trails to all from Don Jorge, man of the world. I’m planning my next jump. Talk to you soon.