By Douglas Pugh
I was working at the Firestone foundry in Trenton, Mich., making truck tire rims at piecework wages when I got the call.
If I could get to the Seafarer’s Union Hall in my hometown of Alpena, Mic., by 8 a.m. the following morning, I could ship out as an ordinary seaman aboard the bulk cement carrier Paul H. Townsend.
I did, and I was.
At the time, Alpena housed the world’s largest cement plant. A fleet of bulk carriers delivered its product to ports across the Great Lakes.
Sailing on a Great Lakes freighter was a grand adventure, one I shall always remember.
I sailed aboard the vessel Paul H. Townsend. Most of our trips were to Duluth, Minn. Sailing across Lake Superior in June, July, and August was unforgettable. I was told November crossings could be unforgettable as well, but not always in a pleasant way. So, I decided to catch the June-August cruises and book passage back to school in September.
As indicated, I shipped out as an ordinary seaman, specifically as one of two engine room wipers. Wiper is a job classification that requires no further description of its duties beyond what the name implies. After sailing in this classification for a couple of weeks, an opening occurred for in an able-bodied seaman position.
In normal course, this job would have been filled by the senior wiper (there were two), provided he or she was qualified. But in this case, neither the senior nor junior wiper was, as they were unable to meet the literacy requirements.
I could, so I got the job and a raise; an early payback for my ability to read.
One of the wipers — I’ll call him “Bill” — was an affable fellow in his mid 30s who performed his wiper duties well, but who was otherwise often ineffective.
Bill liked sailing to Duluth; he had a girlfriend there. As soon as the ship was secured, he would go off to see her. But when he returned, he would be both broke and despondent. Without money, his girlfriend would see him no more.
The ship’s engine department crew hated to see Bill hurt. We advised him to consider courting a different lady, one with a broader slate of acceptance criteria.
Bill didn’t say a thing, but we could tell he listened.
We alerted Bill to the fact that he needed to pay closer attention to his grooming — a challenging area for him. We advised him to consider purchasing nicer clothes and advanced the proposition that ladies prefer a fellow who not only dresses well but also smells nice.
Bill listened.
When we were next in Alpena, loading for a return trip to Duluth, Bill left the boat. No one knew where he went, but we soon found out.
It was a fine summer evening, and I was serving my four-hour watch when who should appear at the top of the engine room stairs but Bill. He was wearing one of the broadest smiles I have ever seen on a man, and rightfully so, for he was resplendent in a brand new suit of clothes.
The suit was not a current style, one resting on a back rack for a considerable time, but it fit Bill reasonably well, and the salesman sold him a new white shirt and a tie that matched.
Bill wore a new pair of shoes, and they shone.
After the initial shock of Bill’s entrance wore off, the entire engine room crew gave him a resounding round of applause.
Bill made no reply. He couldn’t.
He was barely able to remove the clean white handkerchief from the pocket of his brand new suit to wipe away the tears that flowed into his broad, proud smile.
Bill, the finest suited suitor I have ever known.
Doug Pugh is a retired judge from northern Michigan. He and his wife are wintering on Fripp Island and are pleased to be there. He can be reached at pughda@gmail.com.