Playing Fair and Being Kind

Part of a series that I began some time ago. I pay my respects to departed friends here. I also spend a few words on people I did not like at all while they were alive. I take advantage of them here as well. This one is for Georg Ellis, a good pal and another deep submersible pilot.

George Ellis, Electronics Technician Master Chief Petty Officer. George and I knew of each other long before we met. He was a pilot on Trieste II DSV-2 and I was a pilot on Sea Cliff DSV-4. Both deep submersibles were assigned to Submarine Development Group 1 in San Diego, California. I suspect that George regarded me as kin. He and I shared a characteristic of being able to observe with a keen sense of presence what the other was up to and from which direction we approached situations. George and I spent a few afternoons at the local bars in and around San Diego. We attended a planned luncheon scheduled one afternoon on Shelter Island, San Diego. It was for a group of rare men; deep submersible pilots. The DSPA. Deep Submersible Pilots Association.

George described what we did thusly; he said we were “Princes of the Deep”. In fact, there was no easy way to describe to a landlubber what it was that we were engaged in. Not many knew of deep submersibles. Small, self-operating, independent submarines that could operate independently at great depths in the ocean. When we arrived at the luncheon on Shelter Island there was only one other attendee. That was the last one ever announced to my knowledge. We were rare indeed. More so now because most underwater work these days are performed by robotic submersibles. No more pilots.

George was a thinker. Quiet, reflective, disciplined, demanding would be some of the adjectives I’d give to him. George was also humble, self-effacing, quick witted, and once he found you and liked you that was it. You were his friend, confidant and pal. That’s where and how we categorized each other. We didn’t reach that point right away. Only a few years later after we had both retired and within a few years I found a job at Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute (WHOI) in Massachusetts. I applied for a job as a pilot on Alvin in Woods Hole and was given an airline ticket to Mazatlán, Mexico. The Alvin, WHOI’s deep submersible, was there performing services for various university marine biology programs.

I arrived a few weeks before the whole crew took off for Massachusetts and other home destinations for the month of December. I was left aboard as the new guy to augment the relief crew of watch standers who would stay aboard during this period. I discovered George was on board as one of the certified pilots. We were both openly happy to see each other again. This time we were on the same crew and easily found the common areas we enjoyed with each other. During the next few months, we spent some time wandering through Mazatlán, sharing stories about our Navy days, and going over the specifics of the Alvin and how it differed from its cousins, the Sea Cliff and the Turtle.

Several issues came up in regard to the duty of being a submersible pilot for WHOI. The pay was o.k. but the long hours were taking a toll on my body and I was not as young as I thought I was. My eyesight was also causing me some grief during my turn being the pilot. Regular bifocals, which I used while driving the Alvin, were not well suited for the job. Many of the gauges and meters were above the viewport. In order to clearly read the values indicated I needed to tip my head back too far for comfort because the higher power lenses are on the bottom of the eye pieces. That and the mechanical manipulators on Alvin had controls different enough from Sea Cliff to where I was never ever really proficient at using them for bottom sampling. I just couldn’t get the hang of the switches and the directions for controlling the things well enough. I decided to quit the job about 5 months into it so during a visit to San Diego I left and stayed in California for a while before driving back to Boston.

 By this time, George and I had made our peace and were ready to move on from each other. He was staying and I was ready to settle down ashore. We enjoyed this brief connection. We discovered our likenesses and our compatibilities. We grew close in just a short time. I will always appreciate George’s laid-back presence, his professional attitude, and his great wealth of irreverent humor.

I lost track of George. Never spoke with him again. Once in a great while I would make a search on-line to spot any news. Finally, about five years ago I found an old notice on the Trieste II website about George. Here is a copy of what was written:

That was it. In a way I was disappointed but at the same time I understood that was George being his own man. He alone was happy with his adventures and that was good enough for him.

Goodbye, old friend. You are a good pal and a good running mate. Thanks for the fun in Mazatlán and in the Sea of Cortez. Rest you oar, Shipmate. I’ve got the watch.

March 29, 2020