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

A long, black, two-masted schooner pulled into our slip with the intention of tying
up just ahead of the Nanok. It’s pilot house apparently lost it’s communication
with it’s engine room. We see a crew member dash from the pilot house, towards
the engine room ladder aft (we later learned he was attempting to order "reverse
engine.") The vessel fast approached the end of the wharf and the building that
joins Constitution Wharf with the adjacent wharf. Too late! The wayward vessel
crashed some twenty or more feet into the building! The structure partially
collapsed onto the bow of the nameless vessel. Much effort is expended trying to
extricate itself, and finally manages to do so.
June 25, Thursday; Nanok.
We take on board a hell of a lot of Arctic clothing. We receive full-length heavy
woolen stockings, pull-over-the-head stocking caps with tails that become wraparound-the-neck
mufflers. The caps are hood-type that have slits for the eyes,
nostrils and mouth. There are heavy woolen gloves by the dozens. All of these
things have been hand-made by elderly lady Salvation Army volunteers. I have a
sneaking hunch we are going to be more than grateful to these unknown ladies.
God bless all of them.
We now know the direction the Nanok is to sail. I shiver at the thought. The idea
of Arctic duty displeases me. I am of cold blood and very compatible with warm
weather. Were it not for the "joke" of Mr. Armstrong, my boot camp company
commander, I might have enjoyed some South Pacific tropical paradise.
Just before being shipped out of boot camp, Armstrong mustered company "V"
and informed us we were about to leave. "Which of you swab-jockeys want to go
to the South Pacific?" About half of the company raised their hands, including
me. "Okay," said Armstrong, "move over to this side.
The rest of you galley punks want to go to the Atlantic, right?" There was a loud
yell, "yeaaaahhh!" "Okay, those of you that want to go South Pacific are going to
the North Atlantic. Those of you that want to go to the North Atlantic are going to
the South Pacific instead." Our load of protests were laughed at. "I know you
guys want to go as close to your homes as possible so that you can continually
pester your skipper for short and long leaves of absence. We’re gonna make it a
bit undesirable for you to do so."
We were all furious, but Armstrong was the law. He had his favorite brown-noses
strong-arm many of us individually at night for "voluntary" gift contributions. We
were told it was customary for a commander’s company to provide such a gift
when parting company... Sure!
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