When good news meant heat and light:
Winter Alongside by Frank F. Farrar
His friend Tim Pouch was diffident in introducing us to the writings of Captain Frank Farrar. Tim, whose good works are remembered elsewhere in this issue, had told us that the Mate of a ship he'd sailed in in World War II had taken up writing about his adventures. " Probably you don't want to be bothered with this," he said. But we said we did. As we parted, Tim thrust a sagging mass of manuscript into our hands. " It was all long ago," he said. " It means something to me, but I don 't guess it would to anyone else." Well, no, Tim-the writings of Frank Farrar who was your mentor and protector when you were a scapegrace young cadet aboard the Liberty ship Cyrus J .K. Curtis are good news for all of us, we think, and in all seasons. Particularly, perhaps, in the face of hard times such as Captain Farrar remembers here. This is another Frank Farrar, a spunky kid who only years later became the stalwart deck officer Tim Pouch knew in World War II. I' ve mentioned , before , the old rust buckets I sailed on during the great depress ion of the th irties and how bad things were. _ Our ex istence was tolerable because we had grow n up in that era and didn ' t kn ow anything different. There was one time, though, that the d irect effects of the worldwide economic slump came home to roost. I was an AB on an old shipping board , West Coast-built fre ighter. I think she was the SS West Calumb. She docked in Brookl yn, the cargo was di scharged and the crew paid off. The Chief Mate announced that due to lack of cargo , she was to be temporaril y laid up. He offered the job of shipkeeper to another AB and me. The Second Mate was to be in charge. The vessel was shifted to an obscure berth way out in the wilds of Brooklyn . Her boilers were blown down and the black gang paid off. There remained just us two ABs and the Second Mate . It was midwinter--cold and snowy. There was no light or heat, and the deserted focsle was like a black tomb . We tried to make do with one kerosene lantern . The Second Mate brought his new bride aboard. His room was about the size of a small bathroom , but they too made do. Wi ll y and I were in a hell of a fi x. The lack of heat was the worst. We swiped extra blankets from the empty bunks and pi led them on us. My head got so cold that I took to sleeping with an o ld Navy watch cap . Our pay had been cut to forty bucks a month , out of which we had to feed ourselves. The Second 's wife had fired up the galley stove , so they were doing good , but she wo uldn ' t let us use the stove , damn herl Then, to add insult to injury , we two were required to work on deck eight to fi ve , six days a week. That damned Second Mate decided that we would chip rust underneath the cargo winches. There we were , on our hands and knees in the frozen snow bang ing away with chipping hammers. Once an hour he ' d leave the warmth of the galley to check on us. After the first fe w days he separated us, one on the forward deck and one on the after deck. When it came to noontime , Will y and I would huddle in the crew ' s messroom , back aft , and eat a couple of cans of sardines and a nine cent loaf of bread . We had no way to wash , so after a few days we were filth y, pl astered with rust and dirt . At knock-off time it was already dark and bitter cold. The pair of us ,would head down the gangway and up to a cheap , crummy cafeteria . I usuall y had bacon and eggs with a double order of rancid fri ed potatoes. That forty bucks had to stretch for a month . That lousy Second decided to let us kn ock off at noontime on Saturday , not because of any consideration fo r us. It was
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so that he and the new bride cou ld head way up to the Bronx to spend the weekend with her fo lks. His last words each Saturday would be , "Now yo u 're not to leave thi s shi p except to eat; and then one at a t ime! " As soon as he was out of sight , we headed fo r Manhatta n , our dirty clothes in a shopping bag. After the fi rst week we were both pretty ripe . People on the bus gave us a wide berth ! We headed for 25 South S treet- the Seamen' s Church Institute, a world-famous place known to seamen fro m all over the world . And it was run by a n equall y fa mous person, Mother Roper. Twenty-five South Street was a large many-storied building that housed a multitude of amenities for seamen . A private room cost thi rty-five cents. Of course , it didn ' t have a window and was the same size as a solitary confi neme nt cell , but, all important , it was warm and clean. As soon as we checked in , we headed fo r the showers, carrying our fi lthy work clothes. A good half hour under the hot water washed away the grime and eased tired muscles. Then we scrubbed our dirty clothes. And then to bed. Ah, clean sheets and plenty of heat. Supper was in the cafeteri a, and the food was great. T he cost? Practicall y noHiing. The evening was spent in the library reading roo m . It would do credit to a pu blic li brary , but with the emphasis on things maritime and religion. Sunday morni ng we wandered up and down South Street gawking at the ships tied at the many piers. Sunday noon featured a big dinner, courtesy of Mother Roper. Late afternoon saw us reluctantl y headin g back to Brookl yn. We had to get back before Mr. Brooks or he' d have a fit . It was some letdow n to craw l into that bl ack, cold fo csle. Such was our ro utine for several weeks. Spend the evenings
.SEA HISTORY , WI NTER 1986-87