January 1, 1971

     I am aboard the S. S. Carrier Dove, formerly the S. S. Java Mail that was owned and operated by the American Mail Steamship Company until she was sold to Waterman, her present owner. We are docked at Chittagong, East Pakistan, our last port of this voyage. The unloading of the more than one thousand tons of steel we brought here is about completed.

     It is early in the morning, about four, and I just had my regular morning coffee with the gangway watchman, Gilbert Bertrand. After saying the traditional Happy New Year to our good and competent baker, Bill Jones, I returned to my cabin to listen to my tape recorded music from a South African station.

     The thought came to me that I should tape the story of this my last voyage. Just before the ship sailed from New Orleans, Ruby asked that during this trip I write my life story and give it to her for Christmas. I have started this task and, even though I have written enough to fill two regular school notebooks, I doubt I can finish it during the voyage. So, instead of attempting to complete the book, I will tape record the events and happenings of this voyage.

     It is not an unusual voyage. I would call it an ordinary one. Although I have seen many interesting places, witnessed violent and historic events and been involved in enemy actions during the last World War, I can say the good Lord has guided me safely home from every voyage. I believe and pray that this one will not be an exception. So let me begin my story.

     After two weeks of undergoing some minor repair work at the Galveston shipyard, the Carrier Dove crewed up on September 3. The entire crew was shipped from the Houston SIU hall. We sailed two hours late from Galveston to New Orleans because our radio operator was not aboard at the scheduled hour of sailing. It took that much time to get a call to the Houston motel where he was staying and for him to arrive to board the ship.

     The following day, we docked in New Orleans and loading of the ship began immediately. We stayed in New Orleans for over a week. During this time, most of the men in the steward department were either fired for cause or quit of their own accord. Of the original nine steward department personnel who shipped from Houston, only the chief cook, Stanley Freeman, and myself remained aboard. We crewed up again in New Orleans, but we still sailed a third cook short. The third cook, who was dispatched from the New Orleans hall to replace the one from Houston who quit, was drunk when he reported for work and I let him go after five days. It being Saturday, we were unable to replace him.

     As the ship was going to the Middle East, a trip that would last at least four months, I decided that I would not tolerate any gas hounds in the steward department. I knew it would be advantageous to get rid of them before we signed foreign articles because when these undesirable characters get on the articles, it is hard to get rid of them. It is even more difficult once we have left the States. As this would be my last voyage before retiring from the sea after 44 years of faithful service, I firmly resolved that I would weed them out while the weeding was good.

     During our stay in New Orleans, my trip almost came to an end. After taking on our voyage stores most of the day, I was exhausted and went to bed early. About midnight, I was awakened by a loud knocking on my latched door. I opened it thinking that it might be important: somebody with a telegram or a hurt man or some emergency. Before I could get my eyes open good, I heard a fireman by the name of Le Fleur demanding night lunch. Some service men had been working on the crew's ice box below and the crew's night lunch had been placed in the officer's ice box on the top side. Le Fleur had just come aboard and was not to go on duty until 8 in the morning. He went to the officer's ice box and when the night mate saw him, he told Le Fleur to get the hell out of there. Not taking the time to explain to the mate that the crew's night lunch was there, as per the sign on the board, Le Fleur came directly to my room and almost broke down the door to get me up.

     This man is in his late twenties or early thirties and weighs about 250 pounds. When I got through lecturing him, he should have felt like a 50 pound weakling. That is, if he had the decency to listen. I told him if his parents had not taught him basic fundamental human respect for his elders and the rights of his coworkers, I would try to do it in a few minutes. That this vicious practice aboard many American ships of the crew demanding like overlords or kings to be served by the Steward Department any time of the night should not be allowed and I was not going to allow it on this ship.

     He threatened to report me to the union. I told him I would help him do it in the morning. That if any of his friends could help him in this matter, to be sure to bring them aboard before he makes the voyage because neither he nor anybody else was going to abuse the Chief Steward nor any of his men, nor trample on any of their union rights. Furthermore, if he, or anybody else, had the attitude that members of the Steward Department are his personal lackeys at his beck and call, he would receive a free education in how to respect the rights of others or my name is not Phil Reyes. This fireman is only a B man, indicating that he has not been sailing long. It is disheartening that so many undesirables are admitted and sometimes even invited to join our organization.

     It is a sad commentary that with all the progress trade unions have made in recent years in elevating the dignity of its people, our union has neglected, either on purpose or by oversight, to protect the Steward Department, especially its nominal head, from abuse and violation of their rights by their own shipmates. I can state without fear of contradiction from the old timers of the steward department that the position of Chief Steward nowadays has lost its former prestigious and attractive status. Many old time and highly competent Chief Stewards stopped sailing in this capacity for being subjected to the very thing I went through that night in New Orleans. Now, on with my story.

     We sailed - short a third cook - from New Orleans for Baltimore. A couple of days later, in conformity with our present shipping rules, I promoted our pantryman, Joe Edwards, to third cook. Though he had not been sailing in this capacity for long, the promotion proved to be a good one. He is a dependable, conscientious and diligent man. The harmony and efficiency of the galley gang attests to this statement.

     After five uneventful days, we docked in Baltimore where we loaded unfinished steel at Bethlehem Steel Corporation's sprawling plant at Sparrow's Point. During the three days we were here, two messmen quit and I fired one. The fireman, whom I offered a free education in human relations, decided not to avail himself of my generous offer. He quit in Baltimore and paid his own way back to New Orleans.

     While we were in Baltimore, we were honored with a visit by a group of educators from our Piney Point educational and training establishment headed by its president, Bob Mathews. Our good Captain, Joe Thomas, gave us his full cooperation in entertaining our guests. We prepared a sumptuous lunch for the group, but their arrival was delayed and they boarded the ship three hours late. Our third cook fixed them some delicious sandwiches. With the refreshments provided by Captain Thomas, I am sure they enjoyed their visit. They toured the entire ship before departing.

     From Baltimore we sailed for the Army port of embarkation at Bayonne, New Jersey, where we loaded Army cargo.

     September 24

     After one day at Bayonne, we shifted to Port Newark where we were visited by our union patrolman, good old McCauley, and two seniority upgrading enrollees who briefed us on the newly signed contract. It embodied a very substantial raise in wages and, most important, a fifty percent increase in the operators' contribution to our pension fund: the fulfillment of our Pension and Study Committee's recommendation. We also signed on foreign articles.

     At Port Newark, we replaced our baker who came aboard in New Orleans. His was a pathetic case. He is one of our oldtimers, nearing pension age. I doubt if he will live long enough to enjoy it. He started his alcoholic performance in Baltimore. I gave him a chance to sober up and did not fire him for sentimental reasons. I have a soft spot for those who sailed in the Second World War. I will soon join that elite group of pensioners myself. But this baker could not pull himself out of his alcoholic trip. It ended in his total incapacitation and eventual admission to the U. S. Public Hospital in New York. He was replaced by our present baker, Bill Jones. All the crew agree that the change was for the best and, without exception, everyone has enjoyed the products of his efficiency.

     September 25

     We sailed from Newark for Sunny Point, North Carolina.

     September 27

     Early in the morning, we docked at Sunny Point where we loaded ammunition for Ethiopia, Jordan, and Iran. We lost two men, both from the deck department. One wanted to pay off for personal reasons. The other claimed the bos'n kicked him in his privates during a drinking party.

     September 29

     We secured the proper replacements for the two deck men and sailed from Sunny Point. When we sailed, the weather was overcast and there was intermittent rain. After a couple of days, we had sunny weather which lasted until after we crossed the equator. Then we had cold weather and high head winds.

     October 9

     One of our firemen, Joe Brodeour - a man in his late fifties - has been sick. Joe is emaciated, weighing only 115 pounds. He was taken off his watch and advised to go to bed where he stayed for over a week. When I went to his room one morning to see how he was getting along, I found him lying in bed, his mouth hanging open. He was not breathing. When I picked up his hand to take his pulse, he woke up. I told him I thought he was dead and I was checking for a pulse. He laughed and said he would outlive me. A few days after this, he got up from his sick bed and said that he was all right. That son of a gun went down to the engine room and started standing his watch again.

     October 22

     We arrived in Durban, South Africa, to take bunkers. As soon as we arrived, Joe Brodeour and three other men who needed medical attention were taken to the doctor by the local agents. Brodeour was advised by the doctor to enter the local hospital as he was still afflicted with pneumonia. So to the hospital he went. He was the first casualty of the voyage.

     October 23

     We sailed from Durban. Early in the morning, another Waterman ship, the Citrus Packer, docked a short distance ahead of us. She was on her return trip to the States. I know Captain Lombard and many of her crew, but I was not able to board her as I did not learn of her docking during the night until shortly before we sailed.

     November 1

     The first several days out of Durban were not so enjoyable as we had high head winds and cloudy skies; but after a few days, we had beautiful weather. We reached the Indian Ocean and finally the Red Sea. We docked at Assab at ten this morning.

     I am not very good at describing things, but I will try my best to give a general idea of what we seamen sometimes have to endure when we reach port. It is the erroneous conception of most that a seaman's life on land is nothing but milk and honey, with all the pretty girls to play with, money in unlimited supply, and wine in neverending flow. This is not the true picture. Those who have sailed the seven seas and seen a thousand and one ports in a lifetime of sailing can attest to this statement. Anyhow, here is the picture of Assab.

     The panorama is dominated by an imposing Coptic church which is seen in the distance. The countryside is bare. As far as the eye can see, there is no vegetation. The country is nothing but desert, sand, and rocks. I wonder how the people of this area can live, even with their low standard of existence. Concrete and stucco buildings, all white and pink, can be seen from the ship.

     The harbor is small, with two solidly constructed piers both of which can accomodate three large ships on either side. Before our ship was tied up and secured to the dock, a minor mishap occurred. Because of the current or wind velocity - I'm not sure which - our approach to the pier was too fast. Our stern hit one of the cast iron bits that the ships are tied up to and knocked it out of its foundation. Our ship was not damaged, but this minor mishap will no doubt cost Waterman Steamship Company hundreds of dollars for damage to the pier installation.

     November 3

     We were supposed to be here only one day but we sailed two days late at 11:30 AM. Every member of the crew was glad to get away from Assab. There was nothing much the port could offer in the way of entertainment. The bars, except for one called the Seamens' Club, are of makeshift construction and do not even have electric fans. The drinks are not cold. In some places, they are not even iced. There is no restaurant which caters to the western palate. There is no movie house where one who does not have a taste for night life or drinking joints can while away his idle moments.

     When any of the crew went ashore, he was met at the pier gate by swarms of unemployed, idle native parasites who wanted to guide him to the few joints in their village of two narrow streets. No amount of threats or cussing (which perhaps they did not understand) made them leave. They followed us all over the place until we took one of them.

     They offered everything from changing American dollars into local currency to a native damsel to hashish. Anything that could part us from our American dollar - they offered. And if one succombed to their sales pitch, two to one he was gypped. I wonder why, with the many American ships which have come to this port, no one has ever written to his trade union publication amd exposed these undesirable and unpleasant features of this port.

     November 4

     At 9 AM we arrived at Massawa, another Ethiopian port. From a distance, this place looked a lot better and larger than the last port. But the terrain is the same: barrenness, dust, and desert-like land. The main part of the city is right outside the pier gate and one has no trouble finding his way around. It is an old city with some imposing and ornate buildings. The most beautiful of these is the emperor's summer home which is within walking distance of the dock. The town hall and other main government buildings are likewise near the dock area. The people seem to be more prosperous, having a higher standard of living than the people of Assab. The main industry, as could be seen from the ship, is saltmaking by the natural process of evaporation.

     One of the port's large and imposing buildings is the American Service Club which caters to the members of the American Forces assigned to NATO. This club graciously welcomes the American merchant seamen. It is the usual kind of recreational place for seamen. Free movies are shown several times a week. The western type drinks and food served are the best in the area. Since the prices are fixed and reasonable, we do not have to be concerned with being overcharged. American currency only is used here, although the waiters and other employees will accept Ethiopian money for gratuities.

     The night life here in Massawa is far better than Assab also. Near the ship, there are numerous bars that serve cold beer and soft drinks. The best is the Palermo Club, atop a five story building. Owned by an Italian, this place offers a variety of drinks served by hostesses who are better dressed than the ordinary population. None of the hostesses asks for drinks like the barflies in the States do. When offered a drink, they will have only gin and orange juice. It costs two dollars, or eighty cents our money, half of which goes to the hostess. Outside of this, Massawa cannot compare to any good time port of South America or Europe.

     November 12

     The second fight of the trip occurred in Massawa. It was a bloody one. As I mentioned earlier, we loaded ammunition in Sunny Point. There are no smoking signs in all parts of the ship. A messman who had had a few drinks was coming aboard with a lighted cigarette and the bos'n, the ship's bully and the ship's delegate, saw him. Without any preliminaries, the bos'n cursed the messman in the most unprintable seaman's jargon. When the bantamweight messman replied in like manner, the bos'n, who carries about two hundred pounds of muscle, started working him over. The messman was knocked out. His face was a bloody mess and his right hand was broken. This fight was witnessed by the Ethiopian stevedores and watchmen and some of the crew. They made no effort to stop the uneven fight until after the messman was knocked out. I was in my room and was not made aware of the event until after the messman was taken to his room. I was then called to minister to his injuries. We sent him to the doctor and I had to assign another man to perform his duties. As this was only the second of the seven ports we were to make, I feared there would be worse incidents to come.

     As every seaman knows, the true character of his shipmates does not appear until the first or second port. Those who have been deprived of exhilirating substances, such as alcohol or dope, during the crossing voyage can readily avail themselves of these articles in most ports in this part of the world. Because I am the ship's reporter and secretary, as provided for in our contract, I decided to use my capacity to minimize, if not stop altogether, this type of incident. I called the bos'n and the messman into my room and told them that, regardless of who was at fault, I would report to the union and would demand that the captain report to the Coast Guard any more misbehavior among the crew. As the two men had sobered up enough to realize the consequences of my threat, they agreed to make up. They shook hands and left my room, seemingly on good terms.

     The following day we sailed from Massawa for Aqaba. After my afternoon siesta, I got up around three. The ship was running at a reduced speed. I was told by one of the black gang that we were running with only one boiler. The following day at nine A. M. the ship stopped running altogether. This lasted until four that afternoon when we resumed the speed of five knots an hour. During this time, most of the engineers and the black gang personnel were working almost continuously in the engine room attempting to correct the situation.

     Early the next morning, the ship stopped completely again. We had to use the emergency generator for our lights. Sometime after breakfast, we heard a small explosion on the second deck. Seconds afterward, the chief electrician came down and informed us that the emergency generator had cracked and the ship's personnel could not repair it. All electric power was off. This put the entire ship in total darkness. No fans were running. We had no power in the galley to cook. Fortunately for us, it is winter and the Red Sea is seasonally not too hot.

     The entire engine department was in the engine room with flashlights, trying to get the main generator working again. About nine thirty, the chief engineer - in a state of complete exhaustion - was carried out of the engine room to his quarters. Several minutes later, he was followed by the rest who were led by the first assistant, Bruce Roger, who was on the verge of exhaustion. The temperature in the engine room was above 120 degrees and Mr. Rogers, who was then in command in the engine room, ordered everyone out to let the engine room cool off.

     To compound our predicament, the icemaker had broken in Assab and we had resorted to using our shoreside supply of ice. As there was no power, there was no running water at all. I instructed my department to pour fruit juice in plastic buckets and cool it with some of our fast diminishing ice supply so the engine gang could have something to drink. The cooks had started preparing sandwiches for our lunch. That was now out of the question.

     The general talk was about when a tugboat would be called and that if one was called, it would take more than 24 hours to reach us. The question then arose as to which port we could go to that offered facilities for repairing large ships such as ours.

     After the black gang had rested, Mr. Rogers called the second assistant, the chief electrician, and a foreman to go back to the engine room with him. He did not want the whole engine department this time. Sometime before twelve, we heard the hum of the engine generator. The stack belched smoke. At about twelve thirty, the lights came on again and before one, we were on our way - at a reduced speed - to Aqaba.

     Our first assistant, Bruce Roger, is an old timer and was a chief engineer long before our present chief even had his third license. Personnel are hired nowadays according to their place on the list in the union hiring hall and not according to ability, capacity, or experience. Very little consideration is given to the background of a man when he is hired, even in a supervisory capacity. This is one of the defects of our present hiring system in Maritime.

     The trip from Massawa to Aqaba that normally takes a ship like ours three days or so to make took seven days. We arrived at Aqaba after breakfast. Aqaba, Jordan's only port, is within sight of and across from the Israeli port of Elat. In fact, at night we can clearly see the lights of that city. Before the Six Day War in 1967, visitors coming to Aqaba could travel to Jerusalem and to the capital city of Amman. But, now, we are restricted to the confines of the port and our crew did not see anything outside of Aqaba. Aqaba's view is more refreshing than that of the Ethiopean ports of Assab and Massawa. The country, even though hilly, bare, and sandy, is a lot cleaner. The people look better fed and better clothed.

     Just before getting into port, in compliance with port regulations, all our cameras were turned in to the captain and locked up in his room. Picture taking in the port was not allowed. There are many modern buildings and there are many others in different stages of construction. The public market place, or bazaar, was recently completed and the main part of the city is being torn up for urban renewal. The newly constructed highways are wide and spacious and well lighted, similar to our freeways. There is one large modern hotel where most Europeans and Americans stay. Most of our crew went there for refreshments and souvenirs.

     One interesting and noticeable aspect is the almost complete absence of women in the streets. In most streets and public places, we saw only soldiers or men in their Arab garb. There were a very few women. In the marketplace, the men were doing the shopping and the selling. This is the custom of the country. The woman stays at home and dares not leave it without her husband's consent - a very admirable and desirable custom, we think. But, our American women would passionately disagree with this view. In fact, they would probably even advocate and fiercely fight for the opposite: the men at home and the women in the streets or in public. At least, this seems to be the trend nowadays.

     In Aqaba, I saw bags of flour piled on the open area of the pier with no cover from the elements. The bags were marked with the handshake sign - denoting a free gift from the American people. Hundreds of bags had burst and the flour had spilled and was unusable. Somewhat distressing is the fact that one of the longshoremen foremen told us this was cargo that this same ship delivered here last trip, five months ago. These thousands of bags of flour are just rotting on the pier.

     November 13

     We sailed for Djibouti in the French Afars, the former French Sumaliland.

     November 17

     We docked at 7 AM. As it is wintertime, the weather is temperate and enjoyable. In the summer, these ports are the bane of American merchant sailors. Djibouti, a typical North African port, is the last bastion of the French Foreign Legion. Since we were scheduled to stay here only a day, most of the crew went ashore to shop and mail letters. One well-known feature of this port, where most of the inhabitants of this small French Colony live, is the absence of custom duties on most imported electronic appliances. It is amazing how many appliance stores there are in this small port. They must have done a good day's business the day we were in. Over half the crew bought tape recorders, radios, cameras, and other gadgets - all of them Japanese-made.

     The several places catering to western palates are better than those in the last three ports we visited, but the prices are high. A simple lunch of shrimp and fried potatoes with a little salad and two cokes cost over five dollars. The cooking can not compare with American places that charge similar prices. We are used to these inflated prices. Many of these countries have two prices: one for the natives and other nationalities, and one for Americans - especially seamen.

     The crew spent most of their leisure time in the bars in the European section of the port city. There are no bars in the native section.

     The first assistant and I took a bus tour of the native section which comprises about three quarters of the city. The native section is nothing but hovels, dumps, and mud houses made of discarded boxes, tin, and other materials. There is no sanitation as we know it. At some points, we had to place handkerchiefs to our noses because the native odor was so overwhelming. Goats and pigs roamed at will. Children in every stage of nakedness and filth were everywhere. It is more like India than any other country I've seen. Poverty is rampant. Street beggars - many of them children - are everywhere. For anyone, even a tourist, one day in Djibouti is enough.

     November 18

     When we sailed at 8:15 AM, it was a relief to be on the ocean again, breathing the fresh and sweet air of the open sea.

     November 23

     We are anchored in the Iranian port of Bandare Shahpur. It is a small port, just large enough to accomodate half a dozen ships. This is the Iranian naval base and, when we docked, I saw several war vessels tied in at another dock. From the pier, we can see modern three and four story office buildings - about three or four of them - and the new modern pier installation. Further on, there is a large sprawling refinery. The progressive work that the Shah of Iran is doing for his people is evidenced in the industrial plants seen afar and the construction of similar projects nearby.

     However, behind this facade, the common people - the great majority of them - are still living in medieval conditions. I cannot help but marvel at the great contrast of these two civilizations, modern and ancient. The people are still living in the conditions of a thousand or more years ago. Without paved roads, without drainage. Only mats or makeshift materials between them and the dirt. Television antennas are all over the hovels and mud houses.

     The Iranians seem to be a proud people. They do not bother us like those in Assab and Massawa and they do not high pressure us into buying their merchandise.

     A touching incident happened here. Our first night, the chief cook, Stanley Freeman, and I went ashore to the village. He was shopping for a piece of jewelry and I was just looking around. While Stanley was looking in the jewelry shops, I stopped in a bakery shop where men were baking their native staple food. It looked like an oversized tortilla, about 12 to 14 inches in diameter. After they spread it thin by spinning the dough in the air, they threw it in the oven - not on the flat bottom part, but up in the curved top part. The dough stuck to the top of the oven and when it was done, it fell to the floor of the oven. It took about five minutes for one portion to get done.

     I stopped, fascinated by their dexterity and the volume of business being done. Over half a dozen men were working in the shop. An unbroken string of people were buying the bread as fast as it was baked. One of the men invited me inside to get a better view of the operation. They offered me one of the breads and a cup of tea. When I declined, they insisted. Though I couldn't understand their language, I could understand their intent. In my best sign language, I patted my belly, conveying to them that I was full and if I ate more, my belly would be much bigger - this indicated by stretching my arms wider. They all laughed. When I left, I felt honored. We discharged the rest of our ammunition cargo here.

     November 25

     We spent Thanksgiving in the traditional way. In front of us was a Danish ship which docked the day before Thanksgiving. I was returning to my ship from the post office, when I met a couple of older American ladies, tourists from the Danish ship. They asked if I was the custom officer. I answered with a question - did I look like a native custom officer? The both laughed and said I spoke perfect English. I told them I should because I was an American and the chief steward of the American ship docked ahead of them. They said they had not noticed the flag and therefore did not know that ours was an American ship. They kidded me about the rusty condition of our ship as compared to the one they were riding.

     I found out that there were six of them, two couples and these two ladies, all in their retired years. Before I left them, I invited them to come over to our ship for Thanksgiving dinner. They accepted. The next day in my preoccupation with preparing for the holiday dinner, I forgot the ship behind us until one of the messboys mentioned to me that he had talked to a couple who were passengers on the Danish ship. I then remembered my invitation to the two ladies. I told the messboy to go right away to the Danish ship and invite all the American passengers to come to our Thanksgiving dinner as guests of the captain.

     He ran to the ship and in a short time returned with four of them: the two ladies and one of the couples whom I had not met. I took them to the saloon and introduced them to the captain and the other men there and told them that the captain had invited them to dinner. When they saw the menu, they asked if they could have it to show the other American couple and the crew of their ship. They wanted the crew to see how an American ship feeds on holidays. We not only let them carry the menu for that day, but gave them several daily menus. They were amazed at how good we eat on our ships. They ate the entire course.

     After the meal, we gave them some pies and cakes and slices of turkey to carry to their ship. When we showed them the rest of the ship, they said it was a shame that our ship was so old and rusty compared to the Danish one. I told them they should write their congressmen and senators on behalf of our Merchant Marine. They said they would not only write them, but they knew their senator personally. These good people come from Chicago. I hope they made their comments good.

     Before the Danish ship sailed the next day, the American passengers sent our captain a couple of bottles of holiday spirits. As their ship pulled away from the dock, the six of them were at the rail waving goodby to us.

     November 26

     We have suffered the second casualty of the voyage here in Bandare Shahpur. Ever since we arrived in Assab, one of the firemen had complained about his chest. The captain sent him to a doctor in Massawa who said he could find nothing wrong with the man. I honestly believe this man just wanted to go home. He had been complaining about not being able to get along with his watch engineer. The captain told him that as the doctor could find nothing wrong with his health, he definitely would not pay him off. We were already one fireman short.

     When we arrived in Iran, he asked again to be sent to the doctor as his chest pain was still giving him trouble. He demanded to be relieved of his duties. He told the captain that he was willing to pay his own transportation to the States if he could be paid off here, stating he had received word that his mother was in the hospital with a heart attack and this was aggravating his own condition. The captain acceded to his request. This fireman was paid off, rendering the ship two firemen short now. One of the electricians was assigned to stand the six and six hour watch. The captain wired for two firemen from the States to join the ship in Karachi, Pakistan.

     When the cargo destined for Iran was discharged, it was discovered that some of the ammunition that was to be discharged in Ethiopia was still aboard. I do not know who made the error on loading the ship in the States, but we had to stay in Bandare Shahpur an extra day to decide what to do with this Ethiopian cargo. After many telegrams and telephone calls, the cargo was finally unloaded to be transshipped to Assab, Ethiopia, by rail.

     November 28

     After taking bunkers in another dock, we sailed from Bandare Shahpur, Iran, for Karachi, West Pakistan. For two weeks, the news has been full of the cyclone which hit East Pakistan and killed over a quarter of a million people. It caused so much damage that the United Nations was taking an active part in the relief program. Our last port will be Chittagong, East Pakistan, where this disaster took place. I have been anxious to get on our way so I could personally see the havoc caused by this disaster. December 3

     We reached Karachi in West Pakistan and dropped anchor outside the harbor. Incidentally, this is Felipe, Jr's, birthday. On this day in 1935, I was chief steward on the S. S. Afoundria. While we were entering the port of London, I received a telegram from the late Mr. Harry Fagan, Waterman port steward, saying that my son had been born. At this very time, Felipe is on another ship as a second assistant engineer.

     So here we are in sight of Karachi waiting with many other ships to enter the harbor.

     December 9

     We stayed at anchor for six days during which time we were not allowed to go ashore, as per port regulation. We whiled away our time fishing. At night, the engineers rigged up cluster lights on the poop deck and we caught enough fish for several meals. Our wiper, Joe Saboy, got the prize catch - a seven pound red fish. One day we ate our supper on the poop deck. We had fried fish and hush puppies and soft drinks. Yes, I mean soft drinks. The ship was alcohol dry by this time and there was no means to obtain any. Those who participated in our first picnic enjoyed it all the more by the absence of liquor. After six days at anchorage, we heaved to and docked at around ten oclock at night.

     December 12

     Before leaving Karachi, we had a blackout. The chief cook and I, for the first time during the voyage, went ashore shopping. When we returned in the evening at six, we were told that the plant had been lost since 330. For what reason, I do not know.

     Karachi, the capital city of West Pakistan, has a population of almost three million people. Although ancient, it has a number of modern commercial and government buildings. The Intercontinental Hotel is the most modern, but I would not recommend it to any one on a limited budget. A six ounce bottle of CocaCola cost us 26 rupees - $2.60 black market and over five dollars legal exchange. And this was in the regular bar, not in the club. One who is addicted to sightseeing should not miss the native bazaars and museum. Though there are many modern buildings and installations, the city has the atmosphere of the ancient. Poverty is evident everywhere.

     December 13

     We did not have lights or running water for the whole night, until six in the morning.

     One obnoxious custom of the people here is the system of "baksheesh". I call it, "give me". From the highest strata of society to the lowest, they are addicted to this practice. As it is imbedded in their national makeup, I doubt if any amount of social or economic progress could eradicate it.

     This baksheesh is the lowest system of graft I have seen. The street beggars have to pay the pier guards to be allowed to enter the confines of the port. The peddlers who might make a few cents selling their products aboard ships must pay their baksheesh to the company ship's watchmen. Even the bumboat peddlers have to pay for coming alongside before the watchmen will catch their lines to tie them up to the ship. I have seen this with my own eyes.

     Everyone has to be given something for doing anything for you. The government officials, particularly the customs officers, are the worst. Every time they come aboard they ask for jams, soap, linen, matches, coffee, milk, cigarettes, candy, and even my personal belongings - like shirts and socks. The customs officers are the worst, as I said. The first day, when they cleared the ship on entering, the customs officers came aboard with a subordinate who was carrying a large bag. It is their right and prerogative to enter and inspect any compartment on the ship. The only compartments they enter are the store rooms and the ice box. They ask for anything they see and like. Sometimes, they start cramming their bags before you say yes or no. Then they go to the linen locker and if they find new linen, they bum you for towels or sheets. The soap was just grabbed - several bars - and put in their bags. They are the most shamelessly open grafters or extortionists I have come across. I think they are assisted by their government which perpetuates a useless and pointless custom system.

     Upon arrival, we were given three sets of six page store lists. We were to list on them all the items aboard with their counts or weights. It is an impossibility to list correctly all the thousands of items and their weights. This is where these customs officers will get you if you do not go along with their baksheesh system. They can fine the ship for a faulty declaration and the fine might cost more than what they would take from the store rooms and our personal suppy.

     I have the reputation of possessing an almost inexhaustible supply of patience and understanding, as well as compassion. But after several days of being subjected to baksheesh, I almost ran out of all three. When we leave Karachi, I will be a much happier man. If the people who bum me so much were the poor and penniless beggars, I would not feel this way. But they are the better clothed and the better paid people of the country.

     Two of our black gang personnel were put in jail, alledgedly for possession of prohibited articles. After a day's negotiations, involving of course their system of baksheesh, the men were released and returned to the ship.

     Our departure from Karachi has been delayed one day by the stevedores' work stoppage. It was not a strike or a holiday. Their union contract provides that when a member is killed by accident, the entire port is shut down for one day. I did not find out what would happen if more than one man is killed, if every man would be accorded one day each of stoppage.

     Another incident happened. An American ship, belonging to the States Marine, was docked two ships behind us. Her captain shot and killed himself. This shows that contrary to common belief and as depicted in many romance and adventure stories, seafaring is not that good. It can drive one, even a ship's captain, to extreme depression and suicide. December 14

     We sailed from Karachi to Chittagong, East Pakistan, our last port of call.

     We stayed longer in Karachi, the largest port of our voyage, than in any other port we visited. I believe the crew enjoyed the entertainment and frivolities offered there more than the other ports. It was there I tasted the best of Chinese food at the Hongkong Restaurant - one of the best in the city. I would not hesitate to recommend it to the most sophisticated gourmet. Just before leaving Karachi for Chittagong, I had another begging call from two Catholic sisters. I do not mind these kind and selfless people so much. What they are doing is for the orphans, contrary to what some of the seamen say.

     A couple of days ago they came aboard with the indispensable large shopping bags. They accept whatever they can get, but of course they will beg you to death. They went off with two bags full of food items I could afford like rice, old cereals, powdered milk and such. They were glad to get them.

     I was told by one of the sisters that they only board the American and Italian ships because other ships, especially the Russians, do not welcome them and they usually leave empty handed. So just before we left, they begged us for a couple of chickens for Christmas. I gave them some rupees, but they still insisted on chicken or turkey. They say these items are hard to get here. I told the chief cook to give them what he thinks we can do without - without shorting ourselves. I hope these sisters and their orphans had a fine Christmas dinner from the Carrier Dove.

     December 22

     We dropped anchor outside the port and waited for our turn to berth.

     With all the news we heard about the thousands of bodies floating in the river, we assumed that some of them had floated out to sea, so while waiting at anchor we did not fish at all.

     We were not entirely devoid of entertainment though, as bum boats came alongside selling various merchandise - beer, whiskey, coconuts, vegetables, live chickens, ducks, goats, and even hashish. We had a merry time bartering with the natives.

     One of the bumboats had a live goat and I mentioned to the chief engineer that goats are good for barbecue. So, he told one of the bumboat men to bring a couple of goats. This afternoon, they came alongside with two young goats, some chickens, and ducks. The chief and some of the other men bought the entire menagerie.

     The agents had placed six native as watchmen, one of whom could speak several English words. We used him as our interpreter. So we had the goats, ducks, and two chickens.

     I noticed at once that the goats were tame. They followed the men on the ship like dogs. One day while I was eating a sandwich on the deck, the two goats came to me, just like dogs, trying to get to the sandwich. I petted them and gave them some straw from our storeroom which they ate with relish. Some of the crew gave them old cereal but instead of eating the contents they ate the boxes. Their antics evoked much merriment among the men. At one time, someone said the goats had tried to chew the rope and the chief mate and the bos'n had to chase them away.

     December 23

     I told Joe, the wiper, that I had become attached to the goats and I would rather not have them barbecued. I asked him to go to the chief engineer and offer him the ten dollars he had paid for them. I said that if he refused the offer to go as high as twenty dollars. He asked me what I would do with the goats, and I said I would give them to the native watchmen. So this has been arranged.

     December 24

     When I went to the messroom this morning for my usual coffee, one of the watchmen told me that the goats had already been butchered. When I saw Joe, I asked him if he talked to the chief. He said not yet, but he would talk to him this morning. I told him it was too late, the goats were butchered early this morning. I felt so bad about that that when they barbecued tonight, as much as I like barbecue, I did not even taste a piece of it.

     December 25

     We had the usual Christmas layout but it might as well have been an ordinary meal, because the crew ate very little. They are beginning to get restless about spending Christmas at anchorage, without being able to go ashore.

     Contrary to our expectation, we have not seen even one corpse floating or any sign of the storm which hit these parts recently. Of course, we are still about five miles or so from the port.

     December 27

     We proceeded to enter the tributary of the Ganges River early this morning. We had to enter the port at high tide because the river is not deep enough for large ships and a ship can make it only at high tide. By noon, we had docked. No time was lost in discharging our cargo of over five thousand tons of steel. Very little sign of the recent disastrous storm is visible. Some house roofs have been blown away and have not been repaired. I understand the storm hit the neighboring islands, one of which lost the entire population of over 20,000 people and every animal on it.

     A couple of ships in the harbor are discharging relief cargo. This is the main receiving point of relief aid. I understand from our ships agents that no one except government officials and people connected with the relief work are allowed to go to the devastated islands. They can be reached only by sailboats and small power boats. So my intention of seeing the ruin caused by this typhoon, now being called the worst disaster in history, has resulted in disappointment.

     There was a big hassle about money draw upon our arrival. The ship's agents informed us that only local Pakistani money is available for our draw, as per government currency regulation. In accordance with our union contract, American currency or American traveler checks are to be given as draws. We held a special meeting among the crew to discuss this situation. Our ship's delegate was instructed to demand American money as per our agreement and to inform the captain that some measure of monetary compensation will be demanded upon the completion of the voyage.

     Captain Thomas, whom I have known for almost two decades, requested at the beginning of the voyage that I assist him with his record keeping. This included the record of the crew's draws. When the demand for American money was presented, we figured what every crewmember was entitled to draw as per maritime law. We discovered that many of them had already overdrawn and only one, the chief electrician, could draw more than one hundred dollars. Furthermore, this was the eighth draw of the voyage.

     The ship's delegate had a heated argument with the captain. The local company agent and even the custom officer assigned to the ship fumed and cussed but when the money was given out it was Pakistani money. Everyone, especially those who were overdrawn already, was told to take it or leave it.

     It's easy to understand why we did not want Pakistani money given to us as a draw. We are charged 4.76 for the dollar, legal exchange. When we draw American currency, we can change this money outside the bank in the black market. In many places, it pays 9.00 rupee and sometimes more. So, if we took the draw at the legal rate, we would lose half of our money. Indidentally, I had some money with me when I left the States. I loaned most of what I had to the men and this helped the situation some.

     Chittagong, a city of over half a million, was much in the news recently when the storm and tidal wave which hit the neighboring island wrought such havoc. Almost a quarter of a million people perished.

     Those who I spoke to in Chittagong said it is a lot worse than what the government or the newspapers said. However, no sign of the devastation and destruction is visible in Chittagong. That is, except for some of the flimsily built hovels which had their roofs blown off.

     Chittagong is a contrast to Karachi. There are more slums here and the people look poorer and raggedier. More beggars roam the streets and public places here than in Karachi, too. The roads are pockmarked with holes. Except in the main part of the city, one has his guts shaken like a washing machine when he rides one of the typical modes of transporation: the three wheel taxi and the bicycle rickshaw. During the time we have been here, I haven't seen one conventional taxi.

     I inquired if I could go to the devasted area and was told that no one except government and relief officials are allowed to go there. Transportation to the neighboring islands where the calamity took place is very primitive.

     The custom of baksheesh is more prevalent here. Even beggars have to pay the government guards at the gate before they are allowed in the dock area. Since arriving here, I have been subjected to this baksheesh system so much that everytime some native approaches me, even to ask a question, I unconsciously say I do not have any more to give.

     I went to the city after lunch to do some shopping and I saw a sight that almost made me sick. I did not know the significance of the drama I was witnessing. While riding on the main thoroughfare, my rickshaw driver had to stop because of a large crowd in the middle of the street. In the middle of the crowd stood a local police officer, immaculate in his white uniform. He was talking in a supercilious manner to a raggedy man with a large bundle on his head.

     Even though I did not understand the language, I could not misunderstand the situation. The worker, or peon, was catching hell from the officer. The poor man must have violated some kind of law. After several minutes of gesticulation and talk, the poor man was in tears. He then prostrated himself on the ground, his head almost touching the toes of the police officer's white shoes. The officer picked up his right foot and placed it on top of the man's head. I feared that the officer was going to stomp the man's head, but he didn't. He just put his foot on the man's head. Then the man got up, put the bundle back on his head, and went his way. The crowd dispersed.

     I was overcome with pity and frustration, as I was not able to help the poor man. How I thank God for our good USA. Nothing like that can happen in our country where the dignity of man is respected by everyone.

     I learned the meaning of that drama later tonight when Mr. Bruce and I went to a local movie. We saw an English picture, "Gunga Din". Almost exactly the same drama was enacted in one of the scenes. A slave who had displeased his master prostrated himself and was forgiven by his master placing his foot on the slave's head. So this ancient custom, I believe, is still observed in this part of the world. This settled my mind somewhat.

     December 31

     There was a news item in a Pakistani paper that the Pakistani government has informed the United Nations that the surviving victims of the recent tidal wave disaster would require the government to supply them food for at least a year, as all the crops were ruined. Then, in the same paper on page one is a large picture of a big stack of rice destined for these same people. It lies out in the open and has rotted because of neglect.

     January 1, 1971

     Last night, instead of staying aboard to greet the New Year, the first assistant and I attended the gala opening of the newest hotel in Chittagong. After supper, he asked me if I wanted to go to the Aquabi Hotel. It was just recently completed and is the most modern hotel in Chittagong. I had no plans, so I agreed.

     When we arrived at the hotel, we were asked if we had reservations and we answered no. The head waiter said we could not go in as there was no table available. The baksheesh system worked miraculously. When he was given two large rupee notes, a table and two chairs appeared magically and instantaneously.

     We had a sumptuous dinner, drinks, and entertainment. The place was lavishly decorated. Everything was in western style. The food was excellent and the music superb. One thing we noticed was the presence of very few women. Out of over 125 people, there were only eleven women. I think several of them were Americans. The rest were English or Europeans, guests of the hotel.

     At midnight, the orchestra played "Auld Lang Syne" and the guests applauded and wished one another a happy new year. There was no yelling or noise makers like we have in the States. Half an hour after midnight, the crowd started to leave. So, we left, too.

     Our taxi driver was told by the uniformed guard that he could not enter the pier gate. This would have forced us to walk almost a mile to our ship. The sight of a couple of rupee notes voided whatever rules they may have regarding the entry of commercial vehicles to the docks after midnight.

     January 4

     One of our messboys developed diarrhea a couple of days ago. He was sent to the doctor and given some medicine. We completed discharging our cargo on the second, but we could not take any bunker because there was no berth for us. So, we had to wait until the third.

     Early this morning we sailed for home via Durban where we will take bunkers again. One of our deck department men was left behind in Chittagong. Now we are short two men in the deck department. Several men reported with diarrhea. They blame it on the water. I blame it on the green beer they drank in Chittagong, because none of the nondrinkers had any diarrhea. The crew messman has not been able to work since the day after sailing from Chittagong because of his condition. I have to help in the messroom.

     January 10

     The crew messman turned to today. But, after supper, the electrician came to me and reported that he saw the messman vomiting and spitting blood on deck. When I asked the messman about this, he admitted that this was the fact but he was feeling a lot better. The bos'n, the ship's delegate, insisted that this man should not handle food until he has seen the doctor and and the doctor pronounces him free of any communicable disease.

     I reported this to Captain Thomas. He told me that he is running the ship and if the messman says he is well enough to work, he should turn to. That every time this messman does not work it costs the company money paying overtime to the other messman for doing extra work. Sutherland, this is the messman's names, said he is well and can do the work. So he continued to work despite the bos'n and the electrician's beefs. These two are now agitating the crew, but Captain Thomas is taking a firm stand and Sutherland continues to work.

     January 14

     The first assistant told me that the ship had developed a leak and the three pumps are continuously operating to pump out the bilges. We will have to undergo some repairs in Durban, South Africa where we are going for bunkering purposes.

     The majority of the crew is not siding with the bos'n and the electrician with regards to the crew's messman continuing serving the men. I stopped listening to their gripes after I told these two that I am following the captain's orders in not forbidding Sutherland from waiting on the crew. If the doctor in Durban pronounces him to have some kind of communicable disease, I will then make some changes. But until then, I shall run my department as its head and no ship's delegate is going to tell me what to do. Furthermore, the captain said as long as the messman feels able to work, he is going to work in his assigned duties.

     January 15

     We arrived today in Durban. Instead of docking at the oil docks for bunker, we docked at the sugar dock where a gang of shoreside shipyard workers came aboard to repair the leaks. Sutherland and another man from the deck department were taken by the ship's agents to the doctor for medical attention. Both returned in the afternoon without any letter or prescription from the doctor. They said that the doctor would send the reports to the ship by the agents.

     Tonight our ship's bully, the bos'n, went to the maritime club with some of the Carrier Dove's crew. After a few drinks, the bos'n had an argument with an elderly South African man. It resulted in a general free for all. The management of this club made it known that no crew member of the Carrier Dove would be allowed in the following night. I understand there was a gang of native toughs who were looking for the bos'n and those involved in the fight. The bos'n did not go ashore, fearing the consequences of his first night's escapade. The others did not even go near the club.

     January 17

     We sailed from Durban after seven this evening. We were supposed to sail at 630 but the deck department had a lot of trouble. When they started to hoist the gangway at 630, it was discovered that one wiper was still ashore. If the deck department had not had trouble getting up the gangway, this wiper would have been left behind. A taxicab pulled to the side of the ship at 700 just as the gangway was about to be hoisted up. Out came the wiper, drunk, with the taxi driver right behind him demanding his fare. Fortunately, I still had some money left, so I went down and gave the driver all the South African money I had left. It was more than sufficient for the wiper's fare. So, this wiper was saved from being put in jail in Durban. I understand that all foreign seamen who are left by their ship in South Africa are confined in jail until the day they are repatriated.

     January 25

     Sutherland, the messman, could not turn to this morning. He said he is very weak, but is not spitting blood. He has lost almost twenty pounds since we left Chittagong. I knocked him off and reported the fact to Captain Thomas. The Captain told me that he did not receive the doctor's report on Sutherland's condition before we sailed. This report was supposed to be delivered to the ship the day we sailed, but did not arrive. So the captain and I agreed that as long as Sutherland feels he cannot work we should assign another man to his job. The electrician and the bosn's agitation against Sutherland working in the messroom stopped when I told some of the men that I ordered Sutherland to stay in bed until he feels better again.

     February 5

     Tomorrow morning we will pick up the New Orleans pilot and the trip will soon be a memory. Sutherland felt well again two days ago and I turned him to again. The crew is in high spirits, as is always the case when the trip is almost ended. The bos'n and the electrician have stopped their agitation. Every sign points to a peaceful and quiet pay off. I am glad it is over. If my plans materialize, I think I will have sufficient sea time after this voyage to retire with my union pension.

     Looking back through the many years of sailing, I can truly say that God has been exceptionally kind to me. I have made many friends in the profession and though I had rough going at times, I still can look back with fervent gratitude to the Almighty, that He made it possible for me to immigrate to this country of opportunity where the limit of one's achievement is within one's capacity for success.

     I have always been active in the maritime union I happened to belong to. My loyalty to the people who pay my wages has never wavered since my early days. Now that I am about to leave the industry, I can truthfully say I earned everything that came to me. I am one of the few who can proudly say that in times of economic adversity I worked for the company without pay during the ship's idle status, keeping her clean and shipshape during the layup.

     I have been appointed as an official, even though in a minor capacity, in both maritime unions I belonged to and I am leaving a legacy to the last one, the SIU, for I instituted the feeding system in 1955 which is now observed on all SIU ships. The SIU stewards department guide which I wrote is still part of the agreement between the union and its contracting companies and will remain there, I hope, as long as our union exists.

     Though my name will not even be mentioned in the chronicles of waterfront history, I contributed a great deal to its formation. I was always active and loyal. My records in both unions will affirm this. We seamen really have come a long way. The sacrifices of my shipmates and friends make it possible for me to look forward to my golden years with serenity, contentment and security. To them I owe eternal gratitude.

     But there is a sadness in my heart when I leave the sea which I love so well and which has sustained me and my family so abundantly. It is the picture of the present American Merchant Marine.

     When I first joined it in 1927, ours was the greatest and first in the seven seas. Since the clipper days, it showed its greatest moments in the part it played in the Second World War, and no nation even dared to try to match our greatness. We had the fastest, the most efficient and the cleanest ships. We seamen were proud of our ships.

     But what has happened in the intervening years? We are no longer number one, not even number two. We are number six. Most of our ships have degenerated to the rust bucket category. When we enter foreign ports, ours, in many cases, is the ugliest ship in the harbor - dirty, unkempt, and old.

     Though some will not agree with me, the fact is, we American seamen have contributed a great deal to the sorry state our ships have come to. In our scramble for big pay and easy money, we have lost the old pride we had in our ships.

     In the ports we touched, there were Japanese, Russian, Philippine, Liberian, English, and many other ships. Most of them were modern but some were as old or older than the Carrier Dove. Everyone of them looked better than ours. Why? Because they took pride in their ships. The pay has no comparison. Our messboy here makes more than the captain of the Filipino ship I visited in Karachi. His ship was spic and span inside and out.

     Why do I place a part of the blame of this condition on our seamen? Because, first we have lost pride in our ships; secondly, we have become addicted to easy money - that is, money we do not earn. The conduct of most of our men on this ship, especially the men in the deck department, is an example of this.

     In most of the ports we have visited, not even fifty percent of the gang worked daily. And when they did, many of them were handicapped by the previous night's shore activities. They started work late and knocked off early. No one in the deck department can truthfully say he has done a full day's work in any port we have been. And so, our ship, when she left the last port of Durban, was a sight that none of us could be proud of. But, after we left Durban, the chief mate turned every deck hand to - on overtime, of course - to clean the ship. When we enter the port of New Orleans tomorrow, she will look spic and span. The entire outside of the ship was painted, including the rusted parts.

     This could not have happened when I was on the old Antinous in the late 20's and early 30's under the command of a genuine master mariner, the late Captain Duncan Stewart.

     This, in all probability, will be my last voyage. It is fitting that I shall wind up my sea career on a Waterman ship because I contributed much to this company during my lifetime. Most of the good and lasting friends I have are Waterman men.

     I am listening to the New Orleans radio station. Before long we will pick up the New Orleans pilot. For the last time, I shall ride up the Mississippi River where, 44 years ago, I viewed it for the first time when I started my career at sea. So with sadness for leaving the sea for good, I shall look forward to my golden years of retirement with a wealth of memories that I can never lose. Good night.