As The Old Man Turned

by Joe Roche


The old man said, "Stop the car, I'll walk the rest of the way." The younger man
silently obeyed.

The old man got out of the car, leaning heavily on his cane, began the long walk
down the deserted pier. Halfway down the pier he stopped. The younger man
watched as the older man seemed to straighten up and uncurl his body that had
been racked the last few years with rheumatism. The younger man got out of the
car and slowly walked down the pier, until he stood about ten feet behind and to
the side of the old man. He was worried about him. The old man hadn't been the
same since his wife of fifty-six years died two years ago. He thought his
request to visit this place was strange, but he took him here anyway, without
question. He loved the old man and would certainly do anything he asked. He
looked out to sea, wondering what the old man was looking for.

The years dropped from the older mans eyes as he watched the tall, strong young
boy walking down the pier, in his summer whites, with his seabag jauntily thrown
over his left shoulder with an arrogance that only is afforded the young. The
young sailor was looking for his boat. When he found it, he crossed the brow,
saluted the ensign and the topside watch and reported aboard his very first duty
station. It was 1944.

The young man was told to go below and ask for the COB, who would assign him his
bunk. After the COB introduced himself he pointed to a bunk and told him, "That
would be his world for the next patrol." He then introduced him to his new boss,
who threw a white apron at him and told him change out of his whites, since he
wouldn't be going anywhere for the next few weeks.
The next few weeks turned into two months of mess cooking, trying to qualify and
his first war patrol. During which, his duty station was to sit in the mess hall
and use a stop watch. If they were attacked by the Japs, he was to time and
count the depth charges.

One patrol led to another and then another and by the end of the third patrol he
finally received his coveted Dolphins. It was about three weeks after his fourth
patrol that he woke up one morning with terrible pains in his abdomen. He could
barely get around. He took some good-natured kidding about trying to get out of
work, but by nightfall it was clear something was very wrong and he was rushed
over to sick bay. After a preliminary examination it was determined that he had
acute appendicitis and would have to be operated on.

It was while he recuperated that his boat went back to sea. He was angry that
she went to sea without him and he missed being with his friends and crewmates,
but he understood. After all, there was a war going on.

After his recuperation was over, he was given a new set of orders to another
boat and immediately went to sea. It was while he was at sea, he found out his
first boat was long overdue and was assumed lost.

The old man's eyes clouded up and his memories of so long ago faded once more to
a place that he hadn't visited in such a long time.

As the old man turned, the younger man saw a single tear run down his cheek and
was overwhelmed with sadness for his grandfather. He wanted to do something to
make it allright for him, but in his heart he knew he couldn't. That what ever
the old man was going through, he and only he, would have to deal with whatever
was bothering him.

On the long trip home, the younger man said, "Poppa, what was it that made you
so sad back there on the pier?"

The old man never spoke to anyone, including his wife, about what had happened
during the war. But he told his grandson. He told him because he finally
realized that his story needs to be remembered by people, so these things wouldn't
repeat themselves. He told his story. His grandson listened without
interruption. He thought of his Poppa, a kid going away to war.

"Hell, at that age, I was getting ready for four years of fun at college,"
thought the younger man.

Two days after they returned home, the old man died peacefully in his sleep.

At the funeral, a card with the following poem was left in the old man's coffin.
It read;

There is a port of no return, where ships
May ride at anchor for a little space.
And then, some starless night, the cable slips,
Leaving an eddy at the mooring place . . .
Gulls, veer no longer. Sailor, rest your oar.
No tangled wreckage will be washed ashore.

The young man did not see who placed it there.