Roman had served in the U.S. Navy for over twelve years. He had joined before World War I and quit when he got married in 1920 or 1921. After my twenty first birthday on September 12, I decided to join the Navy and told Roman of my decision.

     In those days, the entry wage in the U. S. Navy was $21 a month. The great majority, if not all, of the Filipinos in the Navy were in the Steward Department even those who were born in the United States.

     Roman advised me to join the Merchant Marine if I wanted to follow the sea as my career. The entry wage for a messboy aboard a merchant ship was $42.50 a month twice the Navy's. Moreover, Roman reasoned, I could quit a ship, if I did not like it, and find another one.

     I was trying to decide which of the two services I should join, when a Filipino seaman who had just made a trip from France took a room at Roman's. He had just quit his ship and Roman suggested that I try getting his job. The fact that I had been seasick on the voyages to Honolulu and to Los Angeles had no deterring effect on my decision to become a seaman. Or, at least, to try it. I decided to apply for the job.

     In those non union times, merchant seamen went from one ship to another looking for work. (Now they wait their turn in maritime union halls.) My first effort was successful: I was hired as a saloon messman aboard the S. S. Cranford. The Chief Steward, named Clark, was impressed by my fresh, clean appearance.

     Since the ship was undergoing repairs at a dry dock, it would not sail for several days. My second day on the job, the officers told the chief steward that they finally had a professional and competent waiter. The third day I had the opportunity to do two men's work, when the pantryman showed up late for work and was fired. His job had been to carry the food from the galley to the pantry and wash the dishes. He was replaced by one of Roman's boarders, my former roommate. Now we would be roommates again. He was an old hand at sea. Luck was still with me.

     It was the middle of October when we sailed from New Orleans. By the time the ship reached the open Gulf, I was already seasick. I was not able to serve breakfast, so I was switched to the pantryman's work until I got used to the pitching of the ship. While I was in the height of my sickness, I just stayed in bed all day. I swore then that this would be the end of my sea career. But once we arrived in Le Havre, France, and I sampled the life seamen enjoy while in port, I changed my mind about quitting.

     While we were in France, the popularity of Americans was at its zenith because of Lindberg's recent historic non stop flight from America to France. From Le Havre, we went to Antwerp, Belgium, which was no different from the first port as far as a seaman's life was concerned.

     On our return trip, I was seasick again this time for several days. When we returned to New Orleans, I realized that I had lost a lot of weight. Roman noticed it also and suggested that I quit the ship and have a good checkup.

     Just before Christmas, I entered the Marine Hospital in New Orleans where seamen were entitled to free medical services. After a week's confinement, I was discharged. The doctors did not find anything wrong with me.

     I now had a marine discharge a document given to every seaman at the end of a voyage certifying his service aboard an American ship. I could use this document in finding another ship's berth, and landing one would be much easier.

     About the middle of February, I found a job as a crew messman on the SS Independence. It was going to the Far East, including the Philippines via Honolulu. I was happy to get this job.

     We loaded our cargo in New Orleans and Gulfport, then went through the Panama Canal and on to Honolulu. The Pacific Ocean was much calmer than the Atlantic had been and I was not seasick at all during the entire voyage. When we stopped for bunker in Honolulu, I visited the Halls. They were happy to see me looking so good. I also visited some of my old friends at the Leahi Hospital.

     I became popular with most of the crew because I took in washing and ironing after my regular hours, just for tips. There was no washing machine aboard ships then.

     When I had been confined in the sanitarium in Honolulu, I asked Mr. Hall to give me a typewriter and I learned to type. This helped in my rapid shipboard promotion. When the Filipino chief steward found that I could type faster than he did, he asked me to type his menus and reports.

     He promised me that if I would learn to bake bread and pastries, he would promote me to baker. This position paid $80 a month: almost double my messman's wages. This promise inspired me to help the baker by cleaning the galley and the pots. There were only two men in the galley: the chief cook and the baker. After I finished my regular work, I would go to the galley and help them. This endeared me to the two cooks and they taught me most of the galley work. It was not difficult for me to learn, because I had already learned much of the fundamentals of cooking when I was in the Philippines. I learned fast and before the end of the trip in June, I was able to bake bread, biscuits, and plain cakes: the main requirement for a baker.

     My sea career almost came to an end in the Panama Canal, because of a dispute over ice water. I was serving all the deck and engine crew in two mess halls. Since the ship had no water cooler in the messrooms, I had to go below deck to get the ice water. It was cooled by the ice machine that refrigerated our fresh food and meat provisions. A single faucet was the sole source of supply.

     When we passed through the Panama Canal, the natives boarded the ship to take over the work of the deck crew while passing through the locks. They went to the ice compartment and helped themselves to the ice water, as usual.

     At the noon meal, the drinking water I served was cool not ice cold, as was expected. One of the crew members ordered me to go back to the ice machine and get ice water. When I told him the drinking water on the table had been taken from the ice machine only moments ago, he cursed me and called me a "goo goo": a derogatory name used against Filipinos. I did not say anything because he was bigger than I was.

     I just went straight to the galley, filled the tureen with boiling soup, and, stationing myself behind him, poured it on his head. Then, I made a run for the Captain's room the man storming after me, raving mad and dripping spaghetti soup. I told the Captain what happened. In those days, captains were partial to the Filipinos aboard ship.

     The Captain went to the messroom to investigate; and the crew took my side especially my laundry customers. Besides, the man was a trouble maker. He was not even liked by his own roommates. I was not disciplined, but I watched my step until we returned to the States in June.

     The man was badly scalded. Lucky for us both that he had a cap on when I poured the soup on him. He was sent ashore to a doctor, then placed in the ship's hospital until he got well. He quit the ship when we paid off in New Orleans.

     The six month voyage was a complete disappointment to me. I did not get to see any of my brothers or sisters. I had written them of my coming, but a week before our arrival in the Philippines, the captain received orders to go to Cebu, Iloilo, and Pulapandan not Manila.

     When the Independence returned to New Orleans, the baker quit and I was promoted to second cook and baker, just as the chief steward had promised. Roman was so proud of me. Very seldom could one be promoted to baker after only two voyages and with less than a year's sea experience.

     We loaded cargo in New Orleans for the Far East, then went to Mobile to pick up some more cargo for Japan, Shanghai, and Manila. We would sign articles, the contract between the ship and the crew, in Mobile where we would also be paid for our coastwise cruise.

     The night before we signed articles and received our pay, the chief steward called me to his room and asked me for $40 as a contribution for a gift to a company official. I assumed it was for the port steward. I refused and, knowing what the consequences would be, I quit the ship.

     "Payola" was a bad feature of the shipping industry in the old days. Though it is a federal statute that paying for shipboard employment is a federal offense punishable upon conviction with a fine or jail, this practice was prevalent then. It is still practiced to some extent these days, with the number of recipients of the "contributions" having grown to include some union officials, as well as the shipboard superiors.

     Another reason I quit the Independence was the poor shipboard conditions. Even in those days when it was difficult to obtain shipboard jobs, one voyage on a Far East "copra" ship was enough. Copra bugs were everywhere, even in the ceilings, and they would fall on your food.

     In the absence of seamen's unions, living conditions aboard our American ships, particularly the freighters, were not attractive. Complaints of the crew often resulted in their instant dismissal at the termination of the voyage. The Independence was such a ship.

     The chief steward, though not a licensed officer, occupied a prestigious and important position and, often, he was closer and more intimate with the captain than any of the officers. Any man who complained about the food was deemed a "trouble maker" and more than likely would be fired at the end of the voyage: reason given "work unsatisfactory". There was no recourse, as there was no trade union nor any governmental agency, such as the National Labor Relations Board, to go to for help.

     I was now a full fledged qualified baker, according to the discharge that I received for my coastwise work. Docked across from the Independence was the SS Antinous, a Waterman ship which had a Filipino Steward Department. I went aboard her, as it was the custom among seamen to visit neighboring ships, expecting to find a former shipmate. I did not find anyone I knew on the Antinous, but I did find another job. The second cook baker had just quit the day before and the chief steward, a Filipino, was looking for a replacement. Luck was with me again.