PART I
The following paragraphs are a collection of unrelated observations of a Merchant Marine officer on a Naval Reserve cruise.
My orders arrived shortly after I had put in my request for two weeks training duty. The special jargon of the Naval establishment was refreshingly clear. I was to board the U.S.S. Midway (CVB-41) at Norfolk, Virginia, for a 14 day training cruise to Panama and return to Norfolk. A quick search through some shipping books and I had the essential data concerning the Midway. It was most impressive.
I looked forward to boarding the Midway with much anticipation. In view of the fact that I was unacquainted with the actual, detailed, daily routine and methods by which the Navy sailed ships, I carried with me to Norfolk a considerable amount of suspicion. My own sea-going experience consisted of running a watch, aided by a fireman and an oiler, for some years on a Socony tanker. This background caused me to regard the prospect of standing a watch, assisted (I was confidentially informed) by at least 50 additional men with the tolerant and definitely superior air worn by all Merchant Marine officers when Navy shipboard complements are mentioned.
I also carried with me a background of hours and hours of “shooting the breeze” with Merchant Mariners on the subject of the Navy and Navy officers. I had reason to believe, too, that I had some understanding of the Navy officer’s opinion of the Merchant Marine and the men who sail her ships. Or, at least if I did not know the Navy officer’s opinion I knew what the average Merchant Mariner thought was the Navy officer’s opinion. These opinions are deep-rooted, uncomplimentary and, I honestly believe, slowly disappearing. Stated as simply as so complex a situation permits, the Merchant Marine officer considers the Navy officer to be a sea-going dandy who never gets his hands dirty. This is especially true of the Merchant Marine engineer who is likely to add to this definition of the Navy officer the statement “he’s not even a good engineer.” A Merchant Marine engineer could make no more reproachful remark.
The Navy officer is thought to consider the Merchant Marine officer as a rather uncouth and grubby fellow who made bucketfuls of money during the war and who has nothing else but dirty fingernails. The Navy officer, however, does recognize the Merchant Marine officer as a good engineer. This, alone, indicates to me that the Navy officer is somewhat less prejudiced than his cousin mariner, and I suspect such is the situation.
These two sets of unflattering opinions nursed from generation to generation by two separate groups of pouting mariners has always interested me. It is perhaps fortunate for the nation that these opinions never have done more than stir slightly from their normal dormant condition once or twice during the heat of battle.
And that is one of the strange things about these two opinions. They are not active, debated in press and radio. There has never been, to my knowledge, an attack and counterattack of serious proportions between the Navy officers and the Merchant Marine officers. And there should not be, even though these two critical opinions exist, albeit in diminishing proportions. I suspect the reason they have never been vociferously debated is that each group of mariners has been too busy with its respective job of sailing ships.
These opinions exist, rather, in the form of a muttering, for example, between Merchant Marine officers leaning on an after rail pronouncing judgement on a passing naval vessel which has just completed a smart return dipping of the ensign. Or, it can be detected in the snort of a Navy officer at the bar of an Officers Club when someone asks him about his convoy experiences. The most recent, and pointed, comments appeared in late issues of the United States Naval Institute Proceedings as the result of a Coast Guard officer’s article on a “Well Disciplined Merchant Marine.”
Thus, and sketchily drawn, was the background material I carried aboard the Midway with me. And, opportunity of opportunities, I was going to get a good close look at these nautical dandies who never got their hands dirty. In return they—if such was their pleasure—could watch the antics of an uncouth, grubby, Merchant Mariner with dirty fingernails.
Those Merchant Marine officers who went on active sea duty with the Navy during the war were no doubt as interested, surprised, and impressed in an odd way as I was, to discover another way to run and sail a ship.
The more I think of it, the more I conclude that no valid comparisons between the Navy and the Merchant Marine can be made with respect to running ships. We both sail the Seven Seas, but we sure do it differently!
The difference is caused obviously by the different functions of each. Merchantmen carry passengers and cargoes on commercial ventures for a profit; naval vessels carry armament to destroy the enemy at the taxpayer’s expense. Difficulty arises when naval vessels start to carry cargoes. In fact, most naval cargo vessels are either actually or essentially merchant type vessels. But the basic difference still exists; the Navy ship is a ship of war, or at least a ship manned for war; the merchant vessel remains at any time an inadequately armed vessel of peace and commerce.
These separate and distinctive functions cause the shipboard difference instantly noted by a Merchant Marine officer who finds himself aboard a Navy ship.
Even though I repeated these things to myself, I proceeded to my room on the port side, forward, immediately under the Midway’s flight deck, suspicious of a system which required fabulous numbers of men just to run an engine room. I had been told that the black gang consisted of 900 men!
I was determined, however, to make what comparisons I could. I thought that such things as personnel supervision and relations, minor details of shipboard life and etiquette, type of professional work and knowledge required, methods of standing watches, etc., could well serve as a basis for comparison.
My first inkling that I was to find myself face to face with a really fantastic sea-going situation was when we fell in for General Quarters immediately after shoving off. I started down a ladder leading to the hangar deck and then suddenly stopped in amazement. There before my eyes was a veritable sea of men!
In appearance the hangar deck rather resembled a pier which had been partially converted into a gymnasium and which was simply crammed with men in sailor’s uniforms. I guess there were easily 3000 men, including the Reservists. As I made my way to that section of the hangar deck occupied by the Engineering Department I was reminded of a certain shipyard experience I had had. Just before the war I served six months as a trial engineer at the Staten Island Yard of the Bethlehem Steel Company. At the end of a shift I would find myself in the midst of a flood of men which would disgorge itself from the numerous ships under construction and move in a solid mass towards the exits. I had a similar feeling now as I made my way along the Midway's shining hangar deck.
In spite of the thousands of sailor’s uniforms surrounding me, I had difficulty believing I was aboard a ship. I had never in my whole life seen so many people assembled in one place at one time aboard ship. I almost convinced myself that this was some Navy trick expressly designed to confuse a suspicious Merchant Marine officer.
I could not imagine what all those people were for but, having had some administrative experience, I was acutely aware of the monumental job of supervision necessary for so large a group of people—and sailors in the .bargain!
It was quite obvious that the Navy officer and the Merchant Marine officer have functions with respect to personnel which differ in many respects. As I observed it, the Naval officer (and I refer to Division Officers, since they most closely resemble their Merchant Marine cousins) has a much larger group of men under his direct supervision. As a conservative guess I would say the Navy officer supervises from five to ten times the number of men a Merchant Marine officer finds under his jurisdiction. I also noted with considerable interest throughout the cruise that all orders passed along from the Division Officer to the personnel under him were carried out, as the saying goes, with alacrity. In the Merchant Marine this happy situation does hot always, as another saying goes, obtain.
It seems to me that the personnel problems of the Division Officer aboard a naval vessel concern themselves mainly with keeping track of the men and figuring out what to do to keep them occupied. In this latter category I am thinking of the educational and welfare programs.
The Merchant Marine officer on the other hand has quite a different problem. The average Merchant Marine officer has two men under him, and he has no trouble keeping track of them. His main efforts are concerned with not figuring out what to do to keep them occupied but simply how to get them to work in order to keep the ship from running down.
I am convinced that a Navy officer suddenly transferred to a merchant vessel as a Watch Officer would, after issuing orders, find it expedient to carry in his hip pocket the slim blue-covered edition of Naval Leadership. I am also certain that after several trips the book would automatically open to the paragraphs on “Self-Control!”
I wonder what the reaction of a Navy officer would be if he learned that the men in his division had conducted a meeting while underway, and had voted him off the ship for one reason or another?
The true American seaman is a rugged individual who has had many pressures put upon him. For too long a time the shipowners were indifferent to his welfare; for too long a time his life was an extremely hard one, completely devoid of any feeling of security; for too long a time was he kept at sea without a break and without normal activities designed to make his life more attractive. The result was the standard, mad fling of the “drunken sailor!” The unions appeared and gave him a sense of importance and power which he never had before. And then these unions were found to be heavily infiltrated with Communists, against whom the mariner has waged an increasingly successful battle. The seaman found himself— sometimes by choice, and sometimes not— completely regulated by union agreements which defined down to a gnat’s hair what he should and should not do during his working day.
How different, indeed, the background of naval personnel with their retirement programs, shipboard movies, and athletic programs, P. 0. and enlisted men’s clubs, educational programs, Ships’ Service stores, and a host of other real advantages.
And let no Naval person think that after 20 or 30 years’ work the Merchant Marine officer or crew member ends up the wealthier man. It is true that there are periods such as during a war when a Merchant Mariner earns interesting money before taxes, but it is equally true that there are periods when he earns absolutely nothing. Unusual indeed is the Merchant Mariner who gets paid every day for 20 or 30 years. The average earned income is far from spectacular!
I agree wholeheartedly with Captain Matthew Radom, U.S.N.R., who wrote in the June 1949 issue of the Proceedings in the Discussions column: “I have watched the development of industrial relations in the Merchant Marine for the past dozen years. One must look at the present picture against the background of the past. There has been tremendous improvement. There is room for much more. But there can only be progress if all hands who are concerned with the problem give it as much thought and planning as is given all other phases of the business. The labor unions have become increasingly aware of their responsibilities and have attempted (against great odds) to weed out the drunks and ‘one-trippers.’ Many owners and operators have worked out schedules and reliefs which allow seamen more time off ashore to live a more nearly normal life.”
Thus, briefly, is part of the background of the Merchant Mariner. Cutting through all these factors which have kept and do keep the morale and happiness of the mariner a most fluctuating thing is the always present necessity of getting men to work in order to keep a vessel shipshape. To the Merchant Marine officer who could accomplish this there can be no word of reproach. And were I a Navy or Coast Guard officer I would be particularly cautious about discussing leadership with such a Merchant Marine officer. I rather think he has a great deal of information on this subject which can not be obtained from any book.
Nothing that transpired on the Midway during the remainder of the voyage caused me to change my mind of the opinion that the Navy officer and the Merchant Marine officer share no common personnel problems. The closest Merchant Marine parallel in the matter of personnel that one can strike, for example, to a Division Officer in the Engineering Department of a Navy ship would be the Chief Engineer, or Staff Chief Engineer, of a passenger vessel. And, I am afraid, this parallel is something less than parallel at many points. But of one thing I was convinced: no valid comparison of the Naval officer and Merchant Marine officer could be attempted if the supervision of personnel. was to be used as a basis for comparison.
The next phase of my education aboard the Midway concerned the Officers’ Mess and where I sat to eat. Knowing the rather rigid protocol generally followed in the Merchant Marine in the matter of who-sits-where for meals, I got one of the surprises of my life. We Reservists were simply shuffled into the Ship’s Company and we sat down in the order of dates of rank. I had napkin ring number 25 and in view of the fact that there were some 40 places in the No. 1 wardroom, that was where I found myself. I soon learned that a wholesale backing up in the matter of seniority by the Ship’s Company had been caused by the influx of Reservists, with the result that many permanent members of the ship’s crew had to change messrooms. This, I agree, is a detail of no great importance, yet I think it does show, at least, a phase of shipboard life and etiquette concerning which there is, again, no basis of comparison between the Merchant Marine and the Naval officer. This giving-way to the Reservists by the officers of the Midway reminded me of the Merchant Marine Chief Engineer who came into the messroom and found someone else sitting in his chair at his place. He turned on his heel without a word and immediately returned to his quarters. It was necessary to serve his meals in his cabin for about-a year, I think, after which time he left the ship—otherwise it would probably still be going on.
There are those who will say that this, indeed, is small pickings and represents a truly exceptional case. Perhaps my point is too strongly made. I do think, however, that a Merchant Marine officer asked to relinquish his mess place to a visitor would consider the request to be a sharp and unwarranted intrusion into his shipboard life and position.
Insofar as I am concerned each action is correct because here in the mess room was clearly exposed another obvious difference between the Navy officer and the Merchant Marine officer. The Navy officer rigidly follows a date of rank procedure and is transferred about from one ship to another with scarcely the bat of an eyelash. The Engineer Officer of the Midway, for example, had just been transferred from years of duty in submarines. This reassigning of officers from submarines to carriers to destroyers to cruisers to shore duty at intervals seems strange to a Merchant Mariner. One senses that the Navy officer feels himself part of a huge fleet and his roots do not tend to sink into any one ship.
The Merchant Marine officer, on the other hand, always is part of a much smaller fleet, and he tends to become attached to one ship which becomes his “home.” His ship is a personal thing to him, and his seat in the messroom a measure of his achievement on that particular vessel.
I feel I can safely say, therefore, that even in the matter of their attitude with respect to their ships, Navy and Merchant Marine officers have little common ground for comparison. To the Navy Officer, the ship he happens to be on at the moment appears to be another assignment. To the Merchant Marine officer, the ship he happens to be on at the moment might well be the ship on which he will spend a major part of his seagoing life.
I was, therefore, half-expecting a few justifiably cold and resentful looks from the Ship’s officers as I took my place in Wardroom No. 1 of the Midway. I detected none. As a matter of fact, everyone seemed happy over the whole thing. At first I thought that perhaps my particular messroom was inhabited only by Reservists, therefore small wonder that everyone was happy. This was not true. I soon found it a simple matter to distinguish between Reservist and Ship’s Company. For others who may be interested, the way to distinguish between the two is to look at their plates.
During the first week on a training cruise, a Reservist (Merchant Marine, Organized or Volunteer) eats approximately three times the quantity normally consumed by a member of the Ship’s Company. I mean this as no reflection on home-cooking or manners but simply the reporting of a situation caused, I believe, by a moving deck, salt air, and an absence of concern over the grocery bill.
The whole atmosphere in that No. 1 wardroom was one of pure delight for me. There was absolutely none of the “classring” business I expected to find. There was a total absence of that “superior Annapoljs attitude” which most Merchant Mariners consider to be standard equipment with Naval officers. Conversation ran rampant, and technical things ranging from submarines to V-2’s were thoroughly discussed.
The Midway is, of course, one of our mightiest ships. Perhaps the relative newness of this type of vessel helped establish the completely friendly feeling aboard; perhaps the mixture of “trade-school” boys, “mustangs,” ex-Reservists, and Reservists in the ship’s company had something to do with it. I don’t know. I had heard of Navy ships on which the officers would sit around the mess table with their hands folded before them in such a position that the most prominent thing about them was their class ring. Maybe this sort of thing does exist on some ships, but I can report to my shipmates in the Merchant Marine that I know of one Navy ship where a close inspection lasting two weeks (during which time we must have caused the men aboard considerable annoyance) failed to reveal any feeling of “Annapolis superiority.”
It was most perplexing. The place where I expected to find in full bloom the Navy snobbery rated so low by Merchant Mariners was absolutely devoid of it. But of course! I had the answer now! These people in the messroom did not realize that I was a Merchant Marine officer!
So I casually announced that I was a Merchant Marine officer, and then became super-alert in order not to miss even the slightest change of attitude. Again I must report to my shipmates in the Merchant Marine that what I detected was quite the opposite of the curled lip and the bared fang. The only change in attitude that I was able to detect was a possible renewed interest in me as an individual, and certainly a more active professional interest in me as a ship’s officer.
I had expected that this closer scrutiny of me would be unpleasant because it had been my opinion that such an inspection would be done in a most critical way. I have never reacted favorably to such experiences, and I did not think I could change my nature at this point. Possibly I was anticipating the type of once-over which I had been giving the Midway since I got aboard.
Fully prepared, therefore, to undergo what I expected to end up as an unpleasant experience for me, I again found myself in possession of that stranded feeling experienced by all men whose most cherished beliefs are proved inaccurate. I was made to feel in short order that insofar as the business of having the responsibility of operating and maintaining a ship’s propulsion plant, was concerned, I was considered to be in the expert class! This was a new sensation for me, because in my own circle of Merchant Marine friends the opinion that circulates concerning me has, I am very sure, a long way to go before it reaches such a satisfying level.
It was all very confusing. I was not being treated as though I was an uncouth and grubby fellow with dirty fingernails. Here is one example! We were assembled for a lecture by the Engineer Officer in one of the Ready Rooms where the aviators are briefed. He was going to give us details concerning the operation of the main propulsion plant and some of the special problems that arise concerning this machinery. There were a few of us Merchant Marine Naval Reservists in the group. The Engineer Officer began his lecture by what could almost be classed as an apology to the Merchant Marine officers present. He said, as closely as I can remember, “I guess this might prove pretty boring to you Merchant Marine officers, as you can no doubt handle this machinery better than we can.”
After I sorted my dazed thoughts I tried to think up a parallel for this remark. The nearest I can come is that for a Merchant Marine officer to hear an Annapolis officer make such a statement is like having Macy’s announce that Gimbel’s gives better value.
I again thought that I was being the victim of a vast Navy plot designed to so confuse me that I would leap off the stern of this fantastic vessel and disappear into the huge wake, thus reducing by one the number of suspicious Merchant Marine officers at large. But this time I was ashamed of having entertained such a thought. Here was a group of honest, serious minded, sincere men devoted to the tremendous task of trying to keep this huge ship in first class condition. I will guarantee that any group of Merchant Mariners who found themselves manning this ship would quickly conclude that the business of just keeping her afloat, moving, and shipshape would prove to be a monumental task. Add to this, the fact that she should be ready to fight at the drop of a hat, launch and receive aircraft, and one has such a staggering project that I am quite sure most Merchant Marine officers would decide without loss of time that the commercial side of sea-going has certain advantages. Certainly it is less wearing on the nerves.
The more I observed the functions of the various Navy officers during the passage to Panama, the more I realized how completely different were the respective duties and responsibilities of the Navy officer and the Merchant Marine officer. Actually, the only common ground they have is that each finds himself aboard a ship, and each knows the feel of a rolling deck beneath his feet. There is as much justification of stopping the first two men one meets walking down the street and comparing them point by point as there is in striking comparisons between the Naval and the Merchant Marine officer. Just because two men walk down the same street does not automatically mean that they should be identical in every respect. And just, because two men sail the Seven Seas does not mean that they should be identical in every respect.
I had only, at this point, observed personnel supervision and relations and minor details of shipboard life and etiquette. From what I saw I was convinced that these two factors could not be used as a basis of comparison except to prove that the Navy and Merchant Marine officer, of necessity, have different functions with respect to these two items.
I thought of the time and energy expended by a large number of officers developing the two theses: (1) that the Navy officer is really not a mariner; and (2) that the Merchant Marine officer is a rather repulsive form of maritime life that should be kept locked in a closet and brought out every once in awhile to frighten children and impressionable young virgins into good behavior. I concluded that if these officers spent the same time and energy trying to understand the special and particular responsibilities and problems of their fellow mariners, a very healthy step would have been taken in the direction of mutual respect between the Navy Officer and the Merchant Marine officer.
Some time later I climbed up as high as I could on that strange island-like structure so characteristic of aircraft carriers. This put me quite a way above the Midway’s flight-deck but still a good number of feet beneath the ever rotating radar antennas.
I was able to get an over-all view of this strange vessel. The flat flight-deck just seemed to be shoved along over the surface of the water. I could see no trace of a ship’s hull. I could see no recognizable stack or masts. I could see no bow wave. By looking at what appeared to be a mile aft I could see signs of a wake.
The sight of the wake pleased me because it re-established the fact that I was aboard a ship. I had wondered what manner of thing this was on which I found myself. Here I was peering down about one hundred feet at an odd-shaped flying field which was apparently sliding over the Gulf Stream. My sailor’s appetite for sea-going surroundings was only partially satisfied by the snack offered by the sight of the wake. The only topside gear visible from my position above the Navigation Bridge that could also be found on a Merchantman consisted of signal halyards and radar antenna. Even with these two items there is a vast difference between the Navy and the Merchant Marine. On a Merchantman one might find a radar antenna and a couple of signal halyards. Navy ships, and this one in particular, have radar antennas perched all over the upper superstructure, and, during a battle problem, it seems impossible that so many signal flags could be continuously raised, flown, and lowered at the same time.
If any ship was ever designed to prove to me, at least, that no valid comparison between Navy and Merchant Marine officers could be made, that ship was the Midway.
As I gazed down at the line of aircraft commencing to respond to Flight Quarters I was again struck with the unreasonableness of the opinions Merchant Marine and Navy officers entertain with respect to each other. The uncouth sea-going money grabber versus the nautical dandy who isn’t really a mariner! What rot!
As I watched these “nautical dandies” launch aircraft and commence anti-submarine exercises I wondered why the Merchant Mariner could not understand that these men are primarily warriors and that all their practices are geared to wartime conditions.
I wondered if that happy day would arrive when Merchant Marine officers would stop pointing the finger of scorn at the size of Navy crews. In this atmosphere of dive bombers stitching small white geysers with their machine guns on the flat, blue surface of the sea, I was unable to think of the name of any wartime Merchant Marine officer who objected to having his ship’s complement increased by the addition of a gun crew.
At this point my reflections were interrupted by one of the aircraft which, during landing operations, just missed crashing into the barriers below and slightly aft of my position above the Navigation Bridge.
I watched the strangely uniformed Landing Signal officer with his brightly colored paddles wave aircraft after aircraft to a safe landing aboard. The tenseness of these operations left me rather weak.
The Navy had, I quite pompously thought, made extraordinary use of the basic nautical sciences brought to it from the Merchant Marine by such men as John Paul Jones, Stephen Decatur, Edward Preble, Thomas Truxtun and others.
I descended to the Navigation Bridge below for a brief look. When I spoke to the Navigator I learned to my pleasure that a Merchant Marine Reserve officer was a regular member of the ship’s company assigned to the Navigation Department. My pleasure was naturally increased when 1 was told that this Merchant Marine officer was definitely a superior watch officer.
I did notice one action on the Navigation Bridge which differed from the Merchant Marine. I noticed an officer using a sextant, and at the cry of “Mark!” an enlisted man began measuring time. The officer and the enlisted man then proceeded into the chart room where, I presume, the enlisted man would establish the absolute time the sight was made. I compared this with watching the same procedure on the bridge of a Merchant Marine oil tanker.
I remember watching my friend, the Second Mate, look through his sextant and then suddenly start counting “one and a two and a three and a four and a . . . ” until he checked against the chronometer in the chart room.
My interpretation of this is that with practices common to the Merchant Marine and the Navy, less individual effort is required by the Naval officer. The other side of the medal is that with this possible advantage the Naval officer inherits additional administrative duties caused by the very people who relieve him of a certain amount of work.
I was to find that this also held true down in the engine room for which I headed after taking leave of the Navigator.
The Midway has, of course, a large number of compartments and spaces which make up the engine room. My destination was the Main Propulsion Control Room. This was the center of engineering activity; it was here I hoped to examine at close hand two factors which I considered to be most important in the comparison of Merchant Marine and Navy officers: these were the type of professional work and knowledge required, and the method of standing watch.
I presented myself to the Watch officer in the Midway’s Main Propulsion Control Room. This was my station during the first week of the cruise, during which time I was to consider myself in training for qualification as Main Propulsion Assistant.
This room was one of the main engine rooms and contained, naturally, a complete main propulsion turbine and its immediate auxiliaries. From this location the Watch Officer administers the operation of the remaining main propulsion rooms, the boiler rooms, evaporator rooms, feed pump rooms, generator rooms, steering engine rooms, and half a dozen other places I’ve probably forgotten.
I soon discovered that it was as simple to become familiar with the machinery in any one of the engineering spaces as it was difficult to find these compartments. The sub-dividing of the engine room spaces into water-tight compartments had been carried to a fine point indeed. For example, a boiler room contained but one boiler and its fuel oil burning gear. This, of course, is standard Navy procedure and is obviously a delightful arrangement to have when a ship has been torpedoed.
From the point of view of a Watch Officer, however, this compartmentation certainly imposes a limitation on activities while on watch. In the Merchant Marine, it is the custom for the engineer. to visit all the machinery spaces under his jurisdiction as a Watch Officer and to examine and “feel over” all the operating machinery in these spaces.
I tried it once on the Midway, and after three hours of climbing up and down ladders I was so exhausted as to render myself unfit for any further usefulness to the watch. I am well aware of the fact that the Midway is one of the world’s largest and most powerful vessels afloat; however, the theory of compartmentation as employed by the Navy is obviously one of the causes for the relatively large size of Navy crews. It is also one of the factors which make the functions of the Merchant Marine and Navy Watch Officer so different.
On the standard Merchantman the Watch Engineer is able to penetrate into any of the engineering spaces by moving in a horizontal direction or, at most, by running up a short ladder. And he can do this in a matter of seconds. Thus, the Merchant Marine officer is able to keep, and, as a matter of fact, is required to keep all activity in all machinery spaces under his personal supervision. He is never more than a quick dash and a flying leap from the throttle.
On the standard Navy ship the Watch Officer can penetrate into the various engineering spaces only by moving in a vertical direction. This business of climbing up out of a main propulsion room to some deck above the water line and. then down into a boiler room to end up perhaps twenty feet away from the starting point has the effect of relieving the Watch Officer of that acute sense of responsibility felt by all Merchant Marine Watch Officers. The Navy Watch Officer is obliged to rely upon telephone communication and .therefore cannot be regarded as personally responsible for happenings in what amounts to an inaccessible machinery space.
From this single comparison it is my conclusion that the Navy Watch Officer does not feel the same burden of responsibility as his Merchant Marine cousin. This feeling is further enhanced by such members of the Navy officer’s watch as a throttleman who relieves the officer of the necessity of maneuvering the main engine. This would be considered a flagrant luxury in the Merchant Marine where the Watch Officer not only maneuvers the main engines but will probably answer the telegraph, signal the fire- room, and record the bells unless a Merchant Marine Cadet-Midshipman happens to be aboard.
As I saw it, the Navy engineer officers from the Senior down through the Junior Division officers are executive, supervisory, or administrative engineers. In the Merchant Marine, with the exception of the Chief Engineer, the Assistant Engineers are part supervising and completely operating engineers.
I strongly suspect that the Merchant Marine engineer officer who served in the Navy was surprised to discover how long his fingernails stayed clean.
From my point of view—and I believe most Merchant Marine engineers would agree—the business of standing engine room watches without ever monkeying around with some machinery must be too boring for words. I know that just the few watches I stood as an observer on the Midway reconfirmed my suspicion that one of the longest periods of time in the world is a four-hour engine room watch with nothing to do on a turbine-driven ship.
At least, in the Merchant Marine, when an engineer officer does nothing on watch, it is by choice. If he wants to work there are always half a dozen jobs crying for attention, each fully guaranteed to occupy his thoughts and energies. His Navy Watch cousin, however, is almost chained to the Main Control Board; he can only wait with infinite patience until the four hours have dragged by.
From these observations on the Midway and from numerous discussions with Merchant Marine officers who served on active duty with the Navy during the war, I was satisfied that no valid comparison between Navy and Merchant Marine officers could be made if methods of standing watches were used as a basis for comparison.
I was now face to face with the last measure for comparison, and this was certainly a touchy one. It concerned itself with the type of professional work and knowledge required. I had heard over and over from my Merchant Marine colleagues that Navy officers weren’t good engineers. I knew this was a subject which would require quite a bit of diplomacy because I feared that some place along the line someone’s feelings might be injured.
As I thought about this phase of comparison I realized that my fears were unfounded. It was obvious that the definition of an engineer to a Merchant Mariner had no exact counterpart in the Navy.
The Merchant Marine engineer officer is primarily an operating engineer. He operates the machinery from maneuvering the main propulsion unit to starting the steering engine, cutting in the boilers, paralleling the generators, transferring the fuel oil, starting and stopping the refrigeration plant, operating the soot blowers, centrifuging the lube oil, and doing any other operating job necessary to the running of the plant. He does these things. In addition he has to maintain and repair the machinery. He may have to remove a ground from the board; overhaul an auxiliary diesel engine; pull the Freon compressor adrift, repair and assemble it; roll in a leaking economizer tube, plus a leaking condenser tube; turn down a valve stem or pump rod on a lathe; patch up the furnace brickwork; replace a turbine bearing; cut a key way in a shaft on the shaper; or undercut the mica on a commutator. These are some of the things a good Merchant' Marine engineer officer should be able to do. This versatility is a necessary qualification for the job because, except for the larger ships, there is no one else to do these things.
The Navy engineer officer is not required to do these things. He has his Chiefs and Warrant officers who can do them. He is liable to be an officer pretty well versed in the theoretical aspects of engineering. After consultation with his Chiefs and Warrants, who are usually experts in one phase of marine engineering, he is quite capable of prescribing the repairs necessary to maintain his machinery shipshape.
There is no doubt in my mind that a Navy officer of average intelligence could become as versatile an engineer as the Merchant Marine officer if he were required to do so.
And I am sure a Merchant Marine engineer officer could become as versatile in ordnance and gunnery, military tactics, navigation, damage control and paper work as the Navy officer if he were required to do so.
As had happened previously with each phase of shipboard life and activity I investigated, I found no common ground for comparison. Even with such a thing as type of professional work and knowledge required, the Navy and the Merchant Marine were worlds apart! For the Navy officer to understand fully the feelings of the Merchant Marine officer, he should be acquainted with one fact which causes the Merchant Mariner much irritation. The badge of a Merchant Marine officer is his Federal license issued by the Coast Guard. This license was frequently issued to officers on active duty with the Navy much too easily by Merchant Marine standards. Frequently, several grades of this license were skipped, and the Navy Officer found himself in relatively easy possession of the highest grade of Merchant Marine license after several months of studying and cramming for a license examination which does not always accurately measure a man’s attainments. Conversely, many an outstanding Merchant Marine officer found himself denied a Naval officer’s commission because a finger or some back teeth were missing or he had an “open bite.” This is an especially irritating situation.
I know that there are a number of exceptionally qualified Merchant Marine officers who are just aching to take an active part in the nation’s Naval Reserve activities but are denied this honest and serious desire to serve our country because of what, to them, appear to be absurd restrictions. The Navy has recently started to seek Merchant Marine officers for a year’s active duty. This is all to the good. I hope the Navy will go one step further and make available to those professional Merchant Marine officers who, for one reason or another, do not measure up to the Navy physical requirements, the Navy commission they so earnestly desire.
The cruise on the Midway convinced me that the Merchant Marine could learn much from the Navy and that the Navy could learn much from the Merchant Marine. It convinced me that there was no real basis for critical comparisons between the Navy officer and the Merchant Marine officer; only much misunderstanding.
As I prepared to leave the Main Propulsion Control Room of the Midway I wondered if I could make those Naval officers who held Merchant Marine officers in low esteem change their minds. I wondered if I could make the Merchant Marine officer understand that he had no right in making a pin-point comparison between the Navy officer and himself. I watched an instrument on the Main Gauge Board in this Navy engine room. It was moving very slowly, indicating to the Navy Engineer Watch Officer the speed and direction of the wind across the flight deck. I shook my head from side to side. With the roar of the turbines in my ears I went up to my quarters and turned in.
To those Merchant Marine shipmates of mine who will immediately conclude that I have been blinded by a single carrier cruise, I can only report that I have given this subject considerable thought, I have tried to be objective, and the Midway cruise represents but a part of my contact with the Navy.
The opinions or assertions in this article are the private ones of the author and are not to be construed as official or reflecting the views of the Maritime Service.