Summers on the Mississippi (Pt. 2)

By far the highlight of the day was the noon meal where all ten or so of us congregated in the galley and feasted on good Lousiana cooking done to perfection by certain of those crewmen who prided themselves on making everyone fat and happy with a huge meal each day. We all chipped in a dollar or so, groceries were procured, and the good smells would start hitting us about 11. I can honestly say that I had never before, nor have I since, experienced such an intense appetite for, and enjoyment of, food. We would be famished and just stuffed ourselves, all the while listening to the ribald jokes, crude comments, bragging, laughing, tales of sexual exploits, real and imagined, and every other kind of talk you could imagine that would impress and intoxicate two know-nothing college kids from the suburbs who had lived pretty sheltered lives.

The crew knew this, and as I said, they hounded us mercilessly: mock insults, disparaging remarks, every imaginable cuss word and foul piece of language that you thought could be uttered, and more. But fortunately, they took a liking to us, and we got along great. In fact, it was, up until that time, one of the best experiences I had ever had. I was really pretty green in those days, having spent the better part of two years with my nose in books, lying on my spartan bed in a dorm room studying, walking to and from classes, keeping largely to myself, but never imagining what lay ahead of me that first summer on the fireboat.

All these years later, I can see certain of those crew members now — big, fat, distended bellies squeezing through the narrow doors to the galley or the head, torrents of curse words whenever anything struck them as stupid or messed up, and, of course, toothless Carlos who was about the most comical character I had ever met in my life up until that time.

I did this for two summers, in 1971 and 1972, and with the same crew and the same co-worker. We painted that whole boat. I remember finishing up at the end of the day, cleaning all the paint off my hands, t-shirt soaking with sweat, tired and ready to go home, but satisfied with my lot that summer on the Mississippi. I guess at times I thought I was some kind of modern-day character out of a story by Mark Twain from his book Life on the Mississippi. We really got into the whole adventure aspect of the job, its pure novelty. It was like nothing we had ever done before, and we would surely never do anything like it again.

Here is what I wrote in my journal about the experience:

From my journal, June 24, 1972, age 21

Working on the fireboat again this summer has lifted me up and I feel very much the way I did last summer. In fact, in many ways this whole summer seems a duplication of last year. On the boat this month I seem to have forgotten everything about school, and this past spring semester has faded into vague recollection. Time is going by too quickly, but it is good to be at ease once again.

I learn a lot from the people around me, especially how sheltered my existence has been. I am realizing more often lately that I have been so single-mindedly preoccupied with myself that I have almost forgotten what it is like to have long-lasting experiences. I really have isolated myself, and only when I am around people so different from me do I realize how really inexperienced I am, how school and studying have driven me into a shell.

Sometimes I feel painfully inadequate when I discover, at my own expense, how little I know…But I manage to easily merge with the crew on the boat and understand them because they are so fundamentally decent. Behind all the crude humor are truly down-to-earth people who wouldn’t want to hurt you for anything..

Their lives seem to center around the most basic human drives, and I suppose sex becomes almost a sort of folklore topic that is always discussed with unabashed frankness. Novelty and imagination never wear thin in this area, and I am often convulsed in the general laughter of their stories and never-ending anecdotes. Even the new hand, a 19-year-old wiper in the engine room, can hold his own with the most seasoned deckand, seemingly.. Among those I work with the most happy are the most natural and spontaneous. One instinctively rises to meet their optimism.

And this is what I wrote not long after the job concluded at the end of that second memorable summer:

From my journal, August 26, 1972:

This is an exceptionally beautiful late summer afternoon — skies are richly blue and clouds sharply defined. It is also two days until the start of school, and already a week has gone by since leaving the fireboat for the summer. I was rather gloomy and dejected that day because I hated to see this summer end. We had a farewell party on the boat. It was sad saying good-bye to everyone. Hector is one of the gentlest, best-natured human beings I have ever known, and Carlos, well, he is unforgettable and unquestionably the funniest, most comical character I’ve ever encountered. I wouldn’t trade the experience of knowing them and some of the others for anything.

(Written July 10, 1999)