USCGC W325 Halfmoon
Staten Island, New York
June 21, 1956: a.m.
Dawning darkly overcast, barely able to see the Statue of Liberty in the foggy distance, holding a cup of coffee and eating the last of his jelly roll, he sat on the bench seat along the port bulkhead staring out the dirty, waterspecked window of the Staten Island Ferry.
Docking in another five minutes, with the type of liberty aboard the Halfmoon—“port and starboard”: one weekend on, one weekend off; one night on, one night off—it would be thirtysix hours until he could make this journey, in the opposite direction, to go home to be with Marsha again.
United States Coast Guard Cutter Halfmoon (W325) was permanently berthed in the huge Coast Guard facility on Staten Island. The sprawling base is located directly adjacent the New York City Staten Island Ferry Terminal.
Three hundred, eleven feet in length, USCGC Halfmoon had a complement of 137 enlisted men and officers.
The official duty designation of the Halfmoon is that of a “weather ship,” meaning that at various times throughout the year the ship steamed to designated nautical coordinates in the Southern Atlantic Ocean to patrol within a set geographic boundary. The function of a weather ship is the recording and forwarding of changing weather and sea conditions and, of course, to offer help to any vessel in need of assistance.
The period of patrol was usually thirty to forty days “out,” with a usual inport period of sixty to ninety days.
The patrol stations, either coincidental or, according to the swabbies, more then likely planned, always seemed to be off frigid Newfoundland in winter and tropical Bermuda in summer.
The next patrol, scheduled to depart Staten Island on July 30, 1956, about five weeks from this date, would be putting into Bermuda for nine days, giving both the port and starboard liberty sections a weekend ashore.
Never having had a real honeymoon, Mitchell had requested and been granted a two day leave commencing on the Monday following his weekend liberty. Marsha was to fly there to meet him, thus giving them a belated a four day honeymoon in Bermuda…
But something strange had happened the last time Mitchell had spoken to Rhea that made him wonder if their honeymoon would ever come to pass.
It was more or less a one sided conversation.
* * * *
“Mitch,” having said goodbye, handing the phone to him, “mother wants to say hello to you.”
“Hi, Mom!” Nothing strange here so far, because whenever Marsha spoke to her mother, Rhea usually asked to say hello to him. “How are you?”—the usual greeting for someone that hadn’t the slightest idea of what to say to someone when the only thing you had in common was that she happened to be the mother of the woman you’re married to. “How’s Dad?”
“Fine, Mitchell.” Speaking softly, conspiratorially, “Is Marsha nearby? Can she hear what I’m going to say?”
If either of them expelled gas in the bathroom the sound would reverberate through the one room apartment.
The phone in the kitchen, at that moment, watching him, Marsha was sitting on the sofa. But in a one room apartment? “Uh, no,” looking at Marsha, “I don’t think so.”
“Mitchell, if my daughter asks what we’re talking about, tell her… tell her that we’re planning some kind of a surprise and I told you not to say anything. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure, Mom,” turning his back to Marsha, who by that time had been looking at him questioningly, “I promise!” He “covered” himself because he knew that the split second he hung up Marsha was going to question him. Mitchell also knew that he was a very bad liar and that, so far, he hadn’t been able to put anything past his wife.
“Mitchell, I don’t want to say anything to Marsha because I don’t want her to get her hopes up, but maybe—maybe—something’s going to happen soon to get you off the boat.”
“Huh?” said a little too loudly. Glancing at Marsha, he turned his back to her again.
“When you were gone last time…”
He’d been on one patrol since their marriage in December and was well aware of how lonely Marsha had been for the five weeks he’d been away. If it wasn’t for her job and having Aunt Ida directly across the street, she would have gone to Chicago then come back when the Halfmoon returned.
“When you were gone last time, my daughter was miserable and I’ve got this, uh, friend who knows someone who knows someone. You know how it is here!”
Chicago had always been one of the most political cities in America, and its mayor, Richard J. Daley—considered a “King Maker”—one of the most powerful politicians in the country.
The Coast Guard, being an official branch of the armed forces in time of war only, coming under the department of the Treasury in time of peace, was always weary of politicians and budgets and budget cuts, because when there was a budget cut, it was usually the Coast Guard that got the worst of it. Consequently, in the Coast Guard, if one had “P.I.,” Political Influence, it almost always worked.
Outside of basic information, Marsha had said very little about her mother, therefore Mitchell had no idea of how much or what type of “pull” Rhea had.
“Anyway,” going on, Rhea said, “I’ve got someone working on getting you off the boat and into headquarters.”
His mind was too jumbled at this news to correct her with the “you can put a boat on a ship” thing.
“But listen! Just keep your mouth shut about it and don’t say a word to anyone, even Marsha!”
Thinking, Yeah, sure! Fat chance! he said, “Yeah, sure, Mom!” Looking at Marsha, knowing she was going to pounce on him for information the split second he hung up. “Sure… I, uh, promise!”
It never occurred to him that he’d be transferred off the ship. He was positive he’d be there till discharged. But H.Q.! he thought, I’ll love it! I’ll be home every night and get S &Q (substance and quarters) money for living off base.
“Okay, then, Mitchell. Mum’s the word. Right?
“Right.”
“And keep practicing your typing!”
“Yeah, Mom, sure, and, uh…” Thanks? Is a “thanks” enough for what his mother-in-law was trying to do for him? Well, actually for her daughter, but what affected Marsha affected him. “Thank you!”
The split… the very split-split second the phone was hung up, “What was all that about?”
“Uh…”
“What were you and mother talking about?” said a little too loudly.
“Nothing!” said a little too quickly.
“No! You weren’t talking about ‘nothing’! You were talking about something!”
“She made me promise. I can’t tell you!”
“What do you mean, you can’t tell me?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“I can’t tell you!”
Smiling slyly, “Oh?”
Oh, so well knowing how to get to Mitchell, slowly, watching his eyes watch every deliberate movement of her fingers, slowly, Marsha began to unbutton her blouse.
“That’s not fair!”
“Tough shit!”
