Dead Space

July, 1956

Third Coast Guard District Headquarters...

...was located in Manhattan, taking up the entire third floor of an old, gray slump-stone building.

The staff consisted of a captain, a full commander, two lieutenant commanders,  one female lieutenant, one chief petty officer, two yeomen second class, one yeoman third class, three seamen, two civilian stenographer typists, and... Mitchell Lipensky.

With the exception of the two civilians, the captain, one of the lieutenant commanders, and the female lieutenant, all of the other officers and enlisted personnel at Third District Headquarters had been placed in this highly exalted duty because of  “P.I.”: (Political Influence)  because they knew “someone” or knew “someone” that knew “someone”.

Or, probably somewhat fairly unique at Third District Headquarters, because they were married to someone who is related to someone who masturbated someone.

Transferees, though, would usually have some sort of knowledge of office procedure; meaning they, at least, could type. And if those coming in did fall below the minimal skill required, if they had at least a year of active duty left in their enlistments, or committed to re-enlisting, they would be enrolled in a typing class at N.Y.C. to sharpen and hone their ability to, at least, minimally, do their jobs.

Even with “Typing 101” and his practice aboard the Halfmoon, he wasn’t near good enough, and having no intention of re-enlisting, with less than ten months remaining in his enlistment there wasn’t time enough to hone anything and after three days of a thousand starts, of overflowing baskets of crumpled forms and balled typing paper, Mitchell Lipensky was given the “all important” job of filing.

                The huge, cavernous space of the third floor was divided into two sections: the office space was warm, bright, alive, flowing with good humor and vitality, with people shooting rubber-bands and paper-clips at each other... well, at some people.

Then there was the other space, the “dead space”, the space that appeared to be...? cold, foreign. And even though the same light fixtures dotted the ceiling of the entire third floor and were all activated by pushing the same button, the ‘dead space’ seemed to loom in shadow.

The two spaces, alive and dead, were separated by a long row of steel, four drawer, gray filing cabinets that Mitchell Lipensky was put to work on with the constant filing and refilling of the never

ending stream of manila duty jackets for the men of the “active” Coast Guard, the “inactive” Coast Guard and the Coast Guard Reserve: “active and inactive”.

                Fortunately, two things happened to break the absolute monotony of the, literally, “A to Z” routine.

                First: Upon learning that Mitchell lived in Seagate and practically had to pass the Interagency Car Pool in Brooklyn when going to work, Chief Petty Officer Janowski – who had been driving a considerable distance out of his way in order to pick up and return the Navy gray “Chevy” that was allotted for use by Third District  Headquarters – gave the job to Mitchell, who really didn’t mind because he had decided it would be easier and cheaper to take the subway to Manhattan rather then drive and worry about parking. This way, rather than the pushing jam of the subway, he could drive to Brooklyn in the comfort of his car, leave it, for free, at the I.A.P. garage and drive to Manhattan with “Uncle” paying for gas. Also, to allow for traffic while picking up and returning the Chevy, he was allowed to arrive at work one-half hour later and leave for home one-half hour earlier.

Second: At about that same time, Seaman First Class Isadore Pidemkin was transferred off a buoy tender out of Boston to Third District Headquarters and Seaman First Class Salazar Hernandez – who’s work station was somewhere within the void of the “dead space”, whom nobody but one of the highest ranking officers in the “live space” had ever seen, or even heard of – was released from active duty.

Lieutenant Commander Christopher Frohlick, in charge of office personnel at Third district Headquarters, had waited to see Seaman First Class “Izzy” Pidemkin’s tying skills before assigning either Lipensky or Pidemkin as a replacement for Hernandez.

As Pidemkin had taken not only “Typing 101” in high school, but “Typing 102” as well, and as Pidemkin could type about twenty-five words a minute, about ten more than Lipensky, although, to be honest, with no more accuracy than Lipensky, “Izzy” Pidemkin was chosen to remain in the “live space” and Mitchell Lipensky was banished to the void beyond.

And so, on...

                           July 30, 1956 

“Lipensky, you go there...” Jabbing his finger in the air, pointing in the general direction of north by northwest. “...and you’ll find a room by the back stairs marked ‘Addressograph’,” Lieutenant Commander Frohlick said, “and you’ll find a man there by the name of... emmm?” Opening his desk drawer, removing a clipboard. “Ah, yes, ‘Meyers’!” Replacing the roster, he looked at the young man standing before his desk. “He’ll break you in and show you what to do... Any questions, uh,” removing the  clipboard, “Lipensky?”