Death of a Wooden Shoe - U.S. Coast Guard

hear even below deck. I doubt that anyone fell asleep again that night. I swore
Sully to secrecy about the wreath, pan, spoon and the drummer. He kiddingly
threatened to tell. I kiddingly promised to bury him if he dared.
June 24, Wednesday; Nanok.
Hot diggidy shit!
We got our skipper today! He is Lieutenant (j.g.) Magnus G. Magnusson (Res.)
Immediately and automatically he became "Maggie" to everyone.
We guess Maggie to be around sixty years of age. He mentions that he has a
wife and several children and hails from Winchester, Mass. Some of the crew say
they met him yesterday. Staneczak said Maggie had called to him from the wharf
and was wearing civilian clothes at the time. He had asked Stan the whereabouts
of the Nanok and Stan replied: "This is it."
Looking disdainfully at the wooden shoe, in a foreign accent and curled back lip
he muttered a disgusted, "Jeezusskryst!!" He did not come on board or identify
himself. He spun around and left.
Today he returned. In just minutes the guy takes over. His arms are loaded with
fresh, brand new, tag-filled G.I. clothing, including several skipper hats piled atop
his head. We wonder if he has had any Coast Guard training whatsoever. It was
common knowledge that any serviceman wearing anything other than his official
uniform could get himself locked up in the pokey. How come he arrives twice
wearing civvies?
As there was no one to introduce him to the crew, and since he showed no proof
of identity, spoke with a foreign accent, and didn’t even wear a uniform, I had a
fleeting thought that, good Lord, he could be the enemy! Since Talledo accepted
the man "as is," who was I to think such thoughts?
Maggie (if not an enemy in disguise), is the most encouraging piece of equipment
on board. The man is a tough, powerful, stubborn-looking Norwegian (so we
hear). He is said to have been born and raised in Iceland. We would later learn
he owns a fleet of fishing trawlers similar to the Nanok. He has some thirty-seven
years of North Atlantic sailing experience built into his medium-sized frame. He is
said to be a lifelong personal friend of Rear Admiral (Iceberg) Smith.
Maggie is thin of face. Brine sea spray has rimmed his eyes with white circles
around blue, tempered-steel pupils. He has a square, cast iron jaw that juts
forward of his chest. The sea must be made of his salt. He impresses me as
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