Who do you trust? Have you ever trusted anyone with your life? It’s a wondrous release from fear! Quite some time ago, I was at sea. My ship was massive. Over 600 feet long, 35 feet from the plimsoll line to the keel, 30 feet high to where I was stationed. Pretty big beam too. Somewhere beyond 60 feet wide. Huge ship with two props and 8 million gallons of various fuels. Bunker oil, JP4 aviation, gasoline. An AO class fleet oiler, biggest in the fleet.

Late at night, down below laying on my bunk, I was rocked to sleep and the deck was warm. As the ship would take a slow roll, the oil below would move from port to starboard and back again. A gentle whoosh sound, much akin to the waves washing a beach. The oil was heated with steam pipes and remained very fluid, thus the warm deck. In winter sleep was achieved as soon as your eyes closed. Safe, secure and steaming towards a port over the horizon. In the middle of the sea. (When all land is unseen, you always seem to be in the middle of the ocean. )

Awakening with the CP4 announcement speaker lifted the delightful warmth and sounds quickly away. The high whistle of the bosun’s pipe was our only alarm clock followed by, “Reveille, reveille all hands turn to and trice up, sweepers, man your brooms full sweep-down fore and aft. The smoking lamp is lit in all authorized places. Now reveille, reveille” Obviously I have never forgotten that alarm clock.

I like the memory of the sound of the bosun’s pipe in my mind. As a musician, I harbor certain notes, forever. A quick sweep up with a slow drop back down. No one every figured out what a clean sweep down was. Something to do with old wood decked ships.

After a long time steaming, an illusion sometimes comes that the ship is standing still. There is a current streaming by the bow. Nothing changes, the pounding of the props and the flutter from the signal flags up on the 05 level. The water streaming by seems to be a big river, making the bow wave. It’s easier at night and you can see the fluorescent wake.

There is a powerful radar constantly circling above the third deck (03 level) and the signalmen who work up there are are told, if they ever want children, they are to stay away from that radar dish.

Danger came now and then to the huge ship in the form of other ships alongside. Hooked up with large hoses, often on each side. Pumping that fuel into their bunkers as everyone watched their heading and also moving as fast as possible to keep flight ops on the carrier beside them. The carrier was always on the port side (left). That nuclear powered carrier loafing along while our ship was at flank speed and the mess decks would shake in the stern when our powerful props broke the surface.

Once, when the ship was refueling a carrier on the port, and a ‘tin can’ (destroyer) on the right, a fishing boat came in sight dead ahead. Three huge ships, incapable of quick turning with all the hoses and rigging, we just came at that boat at flank speed. That boat passed between us and the destroyer, bouncing side to side and It just spit out at the wake of the ships. It was still afloat with what seemed like a dazed fisherman gazing back at those three huge ships just moving away from him. He was blessed, that’s certain. What a story back at Ville’ France, the fishing boats home port.

There were no ‘fiddle rails’ on the mess deck tables, so the men would put four slices of bread under their trays and then keep their food on the table. Extra work for the baker who’s oven was too hot. Way Soft bread. Norm had to explain when the lieutenant in charge of the mess deck asked him rather briskly why he took the bread just to toss it away. The galley window had a garbage can filled with bread. “Everyone does it Sir, it holds your tray from sliding off to the deck.” ‘Oh, I see’ said the LT. Not too much later, the oven got repaired the bread was pretty good. Then in rough seas, the clatter of an aluminum tray would occasionally ring out along with good humored laughter.

In the midst of a cruise, the big oiler became engulfed in a hurricane. Reeling and rocking with waves seen high above the second deck where our radio division worked. That’s about thirty feet over the water. Craning their necks, the guys in the communication division figured the waves were at least another thirty feet above them.

All hands were then in the skills of the captain and the navigator/quartermaster above, on the bridge. I was afraid and suddenly realized I trusted the old, crusty captain and my fear and worry were unnecessary. Would it help to be worried? Released from my fear, myself and my mates had a contest see which one of them would lean closest to the deck with their pea coats open and catching the wind. I won with a good 30+ degrees before I hit the deck.

Meanwhile, the deck apes were down below the main deck which was open with railings. They had secured themselves with small stuff (Navy jargon for what we call ropes) and they were just washing around down there having fun in their own way. Crazy. Another way to deal with fear.

Now, later in life, I put my trust in the Creator of my soul, King and Rescuer. It took me quite some time to realize, once again, my life was known and protected by our Captain. The course is laid in and station keeping true. Faith and trust and our Captain’s love takes the fear away. He always takes time to tell us that He will never leave us. He is for us, not against us. He is for you, He is for you.

It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator