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My Father Crosses the Equator and Wins the War

Joan Mach

    I tell you, Jeff, this is the life. Just two Blassberg men together, fishing and talking. It’s been decades since I could talk to another Blassberg man this way. Jeff pushed his grandfather’s hat from his eyes for the fifth time that hour. His grandfather took it out of his own closet and slapped it on his head that morning. Grandpa Eugene told him he would grow into it, but it hadn’t happened yet. I tell you, Jeff, your mother and grandmother and aunt are all fine women. They make bright conversation, and are pretty, virtuous, and good housekeepers. More, really than any man could wish for. But there are some things you don’t discuss with ladies. Did I ever tell you I volunteered for the Merchant Marines in World War II? We were all patriotic then. I never understood your mother’s attitude about the Vietnam War, not one little bit. No, we had escaped the Cossacks and were thrilled to live in this country. I left a few girls broken-hearted in Shelburne Falls, as I’ve told you. Still, I was determined to do my duty to a country that saved us from the Cossacks.
    We lived way out in the country in those days. No electricity, we did our homework by the light of kerosine lamps. I took a horse-drawn wagon to school. The Depression came, and colleges were accepting anyone with tuition money. Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute accepted me, one of the finest and toughest schools in the country. Let me tell you how tough RPI was. they had ONE liberal arts course, Freshman English. Your mother took three years at Wheaton to cover all the books I read for that course. I was not naturally buoyant, but you had to swim to graduate. As one professor explained it, “Why should we waste four years of our life, pounding a little engineering knowledge into your thick skulls, if you’re going to fall off a bridge and drown?” Yes, that was a scary school.
    My father sent me to RPI in Troy for a degree in Electrical Engineering. I lived with my cousin Peter and his wife Irene to save money. They loved me so much, we named you Pincus after him. My father owned a garage, so I went to school with a car. More than one girl hoped I didn’t kiss and tell. There was no Depression for me in college.
    I graduated in 1934, before the myth of the Jewish scientist permeated the marketplace. A local utility hired our top student, but the rest of us were unemployed. My father owned a Chevy dealership. I returned home to work in my father’s garage. I flew a plane, skied, and learned car repair. Some families of nice Jewish girls invited me to dinner, but all the girls seemed to look like my mother.
    Five years later, Hitler’s tanks rolled into Poland. The Jewish newspapers had screamed “Danger!” for years, but nobody paid any attention. December 7, 1941 and the US was officially at war. I tried to enlist, to fight against Hitler and help my fellow Jews, but the Army and Navy told me I was too old. Imagine that, Jeff. I was not quite 30 and as active as any teenager, fit and eager to serve.
    The recruiter for the Merchant Marines woke up when I slapped his desk. He said “You have a pressed hanky in your suit pocket. I imagine you have another in your pocket. Your shirt is spotless and your underwear is probably fresh this morning. You look Jewish and you speak like an educated man. Merchant Marine life is communal, rough and doesn’t even qualify as military service. I appreciate your desire to serve, Mr. um, how do you pronounce all those syllables?”
    I set that dummy straight, let me tell you, Jeffrey. “You need engineers, don’t you?” I asked. “You’re joking,” the recruiter replied “The Navy has been taking our engineers as fast as we recruit them. No sooner do they get their sea legs than the Navy offers them better pay and conditions, and we’re left with ships rotting at the docks because they have no engineer.” “I have a degree in Electrical Engineering from RPI.” “You’re an RPI engineer,” the recruiter’s eyes popped out of his empty head. “Class of 1934,” my father replied. “Pipe him aboard, sailor!” The recruiter pumped my right hand up and down so hard, I thought it would come off. The dummy then picked up the phone “Harry, I got an engineer here! No, I’m NOT joking. An Electrical Engineer graduate of RPI recruited from the Shelburne Falls office. Yes, you owe me $20.”
    Well, Jeff, I cut quite a figure my uniform and snappy white hat. My mother was concerned, of course. My father was really proud of me. More than one girl forgot to tell her husband how we said good-bye. The Merchant Marine sent me to MIT, the best school in the country, for an entire year. Half my class flunked out, but after four years at RPI, the course was easy for me.
    After graduation, they sent me to Pascagoula, Mississippi. They were building ships for the war effort. I had never traveled outside of New England. They had separate bathrooms for White and Colored, and the heat and mosquitoes were fierce. Still, I had enlisted for the duration and was determined to fight for my country.
    I walked into the office of the shipbuilding plant and found a goddess. Blond hair and blue eyes, she was doing her bit for Uncle Sam at a typewriter. She did not remind me of my mother, but of several famous movie stars sent to entertain the troops. A good lover doesn’t show his hand too soon, Jeff. I politely told her my name and business. Then, I asked her her name “It’s E.V.,” she replied. Only two initials for a name? Less like my mother every minute. I asked around about her, and she had no reputation. No wedding ring, either.
    I asked her out, surprisingly nervous. We ate dinner together in a seafood restaurant. I stuck to fried fish, a remnant of my kosher upbringing. She dug into shrimp and something called hush puppies. I learned she was a Baptist from a large, blended family in Laurel, Miss. She’d tried to go to Junior College until her scholarship ran out. She was impressed by my RPI degree, my uniform and my stint at MIT. I realized an Orthodox Jew from Shelburne Falls, Mass. and a Southern Baptist from Laurel, Miss. had no future together. We parted friends, just friends. I am a lover, and I know how to treat a lady.
    Where was I? Oh, yes. Well, the Merchant Marine was dangerous. We supplied the fighting ships. We had one tiny gun in front of the ship and one in back, and the Japanese loved to follow us to the big ships. We also made good targets for them, because we were slow and virtually unarmed. I was an engineer, so I shared a room with only one other man. The enlisted men slept in bunks, just stacked up on top of each other. I could use the officers’ shower, which had a door. The enlisted men didn’t even have that much.
    I wrote E.V. every day. She wrote me every day. The only place I had privacy to read those letters was in the toilet. The mail officer started handing me a piece of toilet paper with her letter. They thought that was funny, and made jokes about it. Still, we wrote. I never told her how we crossed the equator.
    Sailors love and fear the equator. To cross it means you’ve survived, and know a little about sailing. Until you cross the equator, you’re a polliwog. After you go through the ceremony, you’re a tadpole. Multiple crossings make you a Shellback.
    Before the ceremony, the tadpoles tried to scare us by telling us we would face the wrath of Neptune. The day the captain determined we would cross the equator; all the pollywogs woke up to find their clothes missing. “All hands on deck!”, came the command. Jeff, I’d never even seen my brothers naked after they were out of diapers. It was a shock. But I was a sailor, and “All hands On deck” was an order.
    I’d never seen anything like it. The captain wore a beard and pretended to be Neptune, king of the seas. The youngest polliwog had two coconut halves tied together and hung around his neck, to look like Neptune’s “queen.” Neptune ordered us to kiss the “Royal Baby,” a greased pig, or walk the plank. They let the pig loose among us, and most scattered for cover. I, however was the greased pig catching champion at the Franklin County Fair three years in a row.
    It’s not that hard to catch a greased pig. You grab at the neck and hold on. As you cut off its air, it struggles, then calms down. I grabbed the Royal baby, and straddled it on its back. I bent down and planted a kiss in the air above its ears. The polliwogs cheered, but Neptune cursed, and shook his rident. Nobody was supposed to be able to catch the pig. Instead we all kissed the pig as I held it quiet.
    Finally, Neptune declared us the worst group of polliwogs to disgrace the Seven Seas. He lifted his trident and pronounced us all tadpoles. Everyone went down below to shower and dress, and all hands ate the officer’s rations that night. I still have the certificate that says I crossed the equator.
    Jeff, you understand there was none of this nonsense about women serving on ships. We were a team of men. We were here to help each other. After we crossed the equator together, we were sailors on a common ship with a common goal. Before this, I was the “smart Jewish engineer.” After it, I was “the man who caught the pig.” I crossed the equator several times. I’ll show you the pictures I took the second time we crossed it.
    The Merchant Marine changed me. Everything I knew, I could use to survive. I had it in me to overcome any obstacle. When I got back, I proposed to E.V.
    Look, your mother’s just a girl and wouldn’t understand this stuff. This is just between us men, OK? Jeff nodded, and pushed his cap up again.

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