301. CARTOON TIME
One of the greater
sights I ever saw
was the collection
of battleships and
war-craft in Philadelphia
harbor. I don't know
the ins and outs of it
all but, back in the
mid 60's, seminary
days and all, crossing
the river right there,
you'd see a bevy of
serious, military
watercraft just
idly sitting. Old
style, real battleships;
battleship-tenders,
like my father had
been on in the South
Pacific in WWII.
A battleship-tender
was just that, and
did just what that
said - it 'tended'
to battleships.
Just like a truck
that re-supplies a
supermarket,
these smaller
versions of
battleships do the
same for ships.
They look about
the same as the
battleships they
supplied, in form,
same for ships.
They look about
the same as the
battleships they
supplied, in form,
but they were
smaller and way
more fleet and more
swiftly manueverable.
They would ferry
supplies around, to
the other battleships
in the fleet. Regular
weird stuff, like toilet
paper, corn flakes,
magazines, peanut
butter, bags of flour,
sides of bacon, you
name it. Everything
a floating town of
Navy guys needed.
Re-supply ships,
with guns. I forget
the millimeter of
the guns, but they
were pretty big-bore
units. My father was
always proud of his role
as a 'gunnery-captain'
to some arrangement
of four, long-gun
cannon type, rotating
and movable-to-aim
battery emplacements
on board the ship.
In addition to the
truck-like deliveries,
back and forth,
they also had to
fend off the Jap
planes that were
always strafing
and trying to sink
them. So he said
the guns got
awfully warm
on some days.
Planes shot down
from the skies,
bullets whizzing
around. But he
said the worst
were the kamikaze
planes - guys
intent on suicide
or something who'd
just aim their planes
down to your ship
and crash it, for
the God of Japan
or the Emperor,
or one of those
usual bizarre
war-story things,
even like we still
have today -
Muslims beating
their chests to kill
for God, Americas
on 'Jeopardy, and
all that. Wait, no,
that's not war stuff,
is it? Those kamikaze
guys (I don't know
how his shipmates
or he could tell
what was what,
but it made a
difference
somehow) had
to be, if at all
possible, picked out
of the sky and blown
to smithereens in
the air, before they
could hit and do
you some real
damage. My luck,
if I was there,
would have been
to blast the stupid
plane and all, and
then have it the debris
come down on the
ship anyway, in a
worse fashion.
Anyway, two
more things
on this count.
First, another
part of my father's
task also, when
they'd have to
pick dead bodies
up and get them
off these ships
they supplied -
sailors who'd
gotten killed and
stuff, his other job,
where he first got
an interest in
upholstery actually
- his later life-work
- was to sew these
dead guys up in canvas
body-bags, using a
large, curved needle
to sew the heavy twine.
A chaplain or whatever,
would do a cursory
service and they'd
dump these guys, in
the bags, over into
the sea. With a
salute and services
and all, not just
heaving them. I
guess they were
weighted or something,
so they didn't just
float around. That
would be a real
mess, really making
war on the sea a
true pain, for the
living anyway.
I used to figure
it as Charlie Chaplin,
instead of a 'chaplain,'
and a real funny
scene ensuing
when none of these
bags would sink,
and Charlie would
go out there and
be stepping on
the bags, one from
the other, trying
to make his way
back or something.
I never told old
Dad that one; he'd
probably have
gotten mad. And
then, lastly, about
1960, my aunt,
his oldest sister,
somehow, through
the Navy Department,
had gotten for him,
all framed and nicely
done up, as a surprise
gift, on, I think it
was maybe his 45th
birthday, or something
like that, a large,
maybe 3 foot by 4
foot, enlarged black
and white photo of
his very ship, clearly
staged and all, afloat
on the sea somewhere.
My father lost control;
he was like crying
and tearing up and
bubbling over this
for days. I really
think the guy re-lived
the complete best
instances of his
life in front of
and through this
picture and that
ship - it was
amazing the
effect it had
on him.
-
I never knew
what to make
of it, and now l
longer see that
sort of thing
anywhere around
there. Philadelphia
Navy Yard, and
places like that,
I've visited and
photographed
and walked around
and all - even to
the extent of an
open-house tour,
jitney-bus ride
through there a
few Summers
back. But, no
matter what I've
done I've never
been able to recreate
the jumbled assortment
of those days' emotions,
spying all those big,
gray ships, on the
water like that. It's
happened in other
places too - but
different feelings
for different
locations; you
know how that is?
The first few times
I spent some long
afternoon hours
waltzing through
Laurel Hill Cemetery,
atop Philadelphia,
same thing - I was
just taken away
with spirit and
emotion. Amazing
places. Laurel Hill
was one of those
first, bucolic, agrarian
kind of rest and respite
cemeteries for families
and visitors to visit
their dead, spend
the day, enjoy the
rural scene, foliage,
vistas, plantings
and monuments.
People even picnic'd
for the day amidst all
that scenery. It became
so popular, in fact,
that by whatever the
year was, let's say
1890, they had
overflow crowds
and all - to the
extent that, below it
and around, they
extended and opened
into what is now
Fairmount Park,
another absolutely
beautiful and expansive
place. No one connects
the two anymore, and
most people don't
even think of them
together in the same
thought but - yes,
for sure - the one
grew out of the other
as sure as a fingernail
grows out of a finger -
and in the reverse
order of what you'd
think. But, it's a
funny and deeply
philosophical quandary
type thing - for a
thinking human anyway.
Most people just blur right
through it, never thinking.
What takes pre-eminence
- Death, or the Eden in
which Death is presented?
In the original Garden
of Eden story, death
was not yet an
existent concept.
Only after the betrayal,
the apple, the 'Original
Sin' (if it wasn't sex,
it was a forbidden
apple)? Seduced by
a demon named
Satan? By those
standards, Eden
came first. But here,
in this Philadelphia
graveyard and park,
Death came first,
along with its
bucolic place,
and the Garden
only came later.
Very confusing,
and twisted over
on itself. Good
thought though.
-
When you're five
or six, the big
temptation is in
stealing or not, a
candy bar from
Murray's candy
store, all 14 cents
of it (my day,
heading way back,
1958). Or if you
do, successfully,
the challenge is
'living with yourself.'
I never had any guilt
over things like that.
The Grab 'n Go model
store always worked.
The nascent 'repetitive'
criminal type, a'borning,
would do it again and
again. Other kids
do it once, perhaps
- and get their fingers
seared with guilt, and
a hangover from which
they don't return,
about that which they
just did. There's not
much talking about
stuff like this. Recidivists
are born, not made?
Who knows. The
train's on the track,
and it ain't never
getting off,
-
Quarrel and conflict;
I always hated both
of those; plus I really
hated the people who
were always prone to
either of them - and
I had come from a bunch
of people with both
always at the ready.
If it was blue, it
was green, round it
was square, too hot
it was too cold. I
could never win.
There were days at
home when the
simplest things
would take on the
absurdity factor of
a cat chasing a cloud
shadow. I mean to
the craziest extent :
the phone rings, once.
That's it, one assumes
the caller gave it up
that quickly, or
realized a mistake.
OK. But no, the
ensuing home argument
had to be five minutes
of 'the phone rang -
the phone did not ring.'
I used to walk my 12
year-old head away
just to say 'where's
Hanna-Barbera when
you need them?' (That
was a cartoon-studio,
I guess in Hollywood,
which used to churn out
all those children's
cartoons when I was
a child and ripe for
cartoons : Tom and Jerry,
and the rest; though
I can remember
Popeye being a
Fleischman Studio
project. I don't know.
I thought they made
margarine, not spinach.).
Boy, that was a failed joke-run.
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