Chapter One

Too Much Idleness;

I had been out of work collecting unemployment insurance for about three months in December of 1939. The layoffs at the Carbide factory, as well as at the Zinc and Aluminum factories followed less than usual snowfall the previous winter. Inadequate run-off into reservoirs forced reduced power output at the hydroelectric power plant.

After work I had been busy studying at home for further schooling, every day. But just studying now and not working was starting to wear. Almost embarrassed, I felt that the unemployment insurance money was more for family men. During the writing this story, whenever talk with peers would lead to work ethics, I would recount this episode in my life. With unemployment moneys and support from the union I was "drawing" about two thirds of usual wages. At twenty I could have been living the easy life with winter and the skiing season coming up. It appeared that it might become spring before adequate power would be available again.

When a tramp steamer arrived at the Zinc factory to unload ore and half the crew signed off I became interested in the opportunity to go to sea, for a while at least. It was announced the ship was bound for New York; I had a brother and an Uncle living there. So it seemed like a welcome chance both to visit America and come back home in the spring when jobs likely would be open again. I chose to take a dangerous job despite warning from my father; the German U-boats had already started sinking neutral ships engaged in carrying war material. My father, who had been to sea during W.W.I, made sure I understood the Atlantic Ocean in the wintertime. In the worst case getting into a lifeboat wet, after having been in the sea, one likely might not last much more than about twenty minutes... Tongue in cheek I would wonder out aloud, were I less bright?; was it a conservative or liberal bent?. It was also the only time, ever, I was unemployed.

Before I could sign on the ship I had to get written permission from the Selective Service office because I was due to enter the armed forces next summer, when I would be 21, under the conscription system. One of my school mates had also signed and gone through the same ritual; there were actually about ten guys who signed on the ship. I had opted for the mess-boy job for the Officers’ mess. The Captain had hoped to sign me on as a coal passer, one of three, which jobs was to pass coal from the bunker hold, just ahead of the boiler room, to three Firemen tending one boiler each, pr. 4hr watch. (I just could not see myself at the bottom of the ship now that torpedoes were a possibility).

The ship, S/S Ringulv, (ulv=wolf), was about 8000 gross tons and an old, (built in 1903), converted whaling factory. But the condition of the ship was almost immaterial to me; it was going to New York and I could be back in the spring. My mother reminded me that she and father could deny the departure because I was not yet 21. But brother Leif had been gone some years and they knew I could not stand being idle for so long. This was high adventure and it seemed nothing really would hold me back once my mind was made up. one local boy had returned after surviving a sinking when his ship was torpedoed by a German sub but chances that neutral ships would be sunk were thought to be the exception.

I had been keeping company, on and off, with a pretty girl who shocked me by stating that we ought to become engaged, to which I blurted out: "-but I am only 20!". The idea also crossed my mind at once that she possibly just wanted to get engaged because I was going to sea. Apparently this would be a plus for a young girl. I had not been too wild a suitor anyway because there were a couple of pregnancies and early marriages in the town and the mere thought of fatherhood at this age positively put a crimp in my ardor and dating activity.

Another girl I had dated the year previously was one I would remember for years to come; I had thought she was the prettiest girl in the whole world and could not really understand why she fancied me. Probably 45 years later, married and with three daughters in the United States, looking through an old photo-album Josephine and the girls would query me about this pretty girl, and her nickname.

But the dating often would be limited to the time I was not up in the mountains at the cabin built when I was 12-13. I was just helping the bigger boys trying to be available to help carry everything up, sometimes almost straight up, to the cottage site about 2000ft above the town. And from the time I was about 15 most week ends would be spent up there, summer and winter, and the time between. This activity, always carrying supplies and new building materials for enlarging the cabin in addition to the work at the factory, when I turned 18, likely "fashioned" a tall, strong individual, body and mind, (tongue in cheek).

This cabin deserves special attention because it represents a part of my formative years. The town, Odda, from odde=point formed by the river mouth of Opo river, about a mile long from the Sandvin Lake, also about a mile long. The town is situated at the south end of the Southfjord, (about 30 miles long), an arm of the Hardanger Fjord, (about 85 miles long to the North Sea), in the County of Hardanger. The town thus in the about the middle of the Odda valley, a glacier, the Folgefonn, to the west. The highest mountain top, to the east, is the Rosnos at about 1300 meters.

The cabin, or cottage, was built on the western side of Odda at about 700 meters, in sort of a swail between two mountain tops, the swail rising westward to a plateau about 1200 meters. Likely much of my character traits, as such, were formed around the building of this cottage. The site was chosen was about 200 meters in from a distinct ledge above the town. Coming up to this level one could view the town down below from the ledge where a brook cascaded down, which also was like a landmark as seen from the town. The cottage was about 5 by 3 meters. The framework was first put together behind one of the eight, four family, apartment buildings. All the boys in this eight house area, from about twelve up, were members of a sports club. Some of the older members were also members of two larger area sports clubs. Construction of the framework was largely completed by some of the fathers.

The completed framework was then numbered or lettered and disassembled for transportation up to the building site. This was aptly called "Fossen", (waterfall), from the brook falling over the ledge described above. The area had also been used as a high mountain sheep pasture some years earlier.

The "transportation" should be mentioned, especially. The foot-path up the mountains side was so narrow and steep that a piece longer than 6ft could be a problem. one often had to use a back and forth motion in order to proceed up, which was time consuming. A large amount of the material was partly winched up part of the mountain side on a wire-cable otherwise used to send three ft long bundles of leaf forage down to a back stop, about 1000 ft below. Permission to install the winch operating equipment had to be obtained from the farmer who owned the area and the cable.

The construction and adaptation of the winch equipment was ingenious, some of the boys’ fathers added their skills and knowledge. Likely, also, the engineers and foremen at the Cyanamide factory engineering shop had winked at extra time and usage of machine equipment to put it together. It was the beginning of the depression time span and one may surmise there was satisfaction the group put their idle time into a worth while endeavor.

Once completed this first cottage became the week-end gathering place for the youth, all boys, except for Sundays when girlfriends would also be there. It was about a 1.5 to two hour climb to get up to the cottage on the average. We would range these mountain tracts, winter or summer, except December and January with daylight only between 9am and 3pm. A glacier farther west would be skied in the summer time. Skiing events would take place in the spring, family members joining in. When I was about 18 we added a 3 by 3 meter structure, 2 storied, making a kitchen with sleeping area above. Erik, who was 5-6 years older, and I did most of the rebuilding. We spent most of our free time there although we also ‘ranged’ some on his motorcycle. The memory and bonds formed with this group would stay with me wherever I traveled later in life.

One condition worth mentioning was the attitude towards alcohol. Father always made his own beer and wine. And whenever I would ask for a bottle of wine to take to the cabin for a little celebration it was always OK. Consequently, neither I nor any of my brothers never had problems with alcohol; we had been used to being allowed a taste hence there was not much thought of drinking except in company, socializing.

As a postscript to the view expressed about the drinking, there was a feeling that drinking was not really part of our fellowship and was to remain as a guide for me throughout the rest of my life, I believe. In this town with a good number factory workers there was always some drinking, often a lot. It just did not seem to fit in with our group. Chapters could be written about the drinking I was to experience among the sailors and others I was to come into contact with. But that is not a part of my story, as such. It will be mentioned in passing. The story will show this greenhorn had a lot of growing up in store, in a relatively short time...

Start of the Odyssey;

My new little environment on the ship comprised four people. The Steward, about 60, was our boss. Under him the cook, about 50, reigned over the galley. He was tall and angular smoked almost incessantly, always in good humor. The galley-boy, Arne, and I as mess-boy were both new on the ship this trip. Arne was from a farm community south of Bergen. He and Olav, an ordinary Seaman, had joined the ship because of lack of work where they lived. Arne was like a square built farm lad, just about my age; we quickly settled into our new jobs as a team.

The lads we replaced were a couple of years younger. Going through the routine of our jobs they seemed more interested in relating how they were gong home to their ‘women’ near Oslo. Arne and I took this with a couple of grains of salt, as it were. As the messboy I was also ‘in charge’ of keeping the six deck and engine Officers’ cabins in order.

The attitude of friends about my becoming a ‘Seaman’, even for a while, was mixed. Telling them I expected to be back before the usual Easter ski vacation, somehow they seemed less sure than I was. But I was bent on a little adventure...

I could never recall much about the departure from Norway. Perhaps this is couched in the memory about the first meeting with the North Atlantic in the winter time. My father, possibly as an attempt at dissuasion, had said that the sea was unforgiving. It seems I should have been aware and cognizant of conditions at sea from reading travelogues so much a part of my formative years. But, being caught up with adventure must be like being in a love relationship; one seems to be levitated and not really in touch with much else. Perhaps there is a sort of hangover as well, as after alcohol, but by that time one hopes there is a necessary adjustment in place.

Leaving New Year’s eve, overnight to Bergen for bunkers. I remember standing out on deck as we passed Tyssedal, (Tysse, name of the river, -dal =valley). The power station and the aluminum factory were situated here; the girl who wanted to get engaged also lived here, about three miles from Odda. Don’t remember any mixed emotions as we were sailing by; thought I should be back in about three months time...

Bunkering over at Bergen we "headed" out into the Norwegian Sea and on into the North Atlantic, into the beginning of a Northwestern only as offered by the Atlantic in the winter time. The ‘hangover’ arrived full force by way of sea-sickness, energy-sapping, two-day, sea-sickness. The jobs on a ship are detailed by necessity and needs be performed. I soon found it took all of my energy and stick-to-it-ness. No one has time for sympathy. The worst job was to bring coffee to the Second Engineer in the engine room, 40ft below deck at 5:30 in the morning. I often thought the steel stairway down was more than vertical as the ship rose and pitched again into the troughs of the rising and falling seas; -the metal stairway was steep enough on level keel. On top of that this Second Engineer was on the grouchy side, very little pleased him. Also, this mess-boy was a young man of twenty, not the usual 16-17 year old he could bully around.

Once the sea-sickness was over I would linger on the bridge, with the Chief Mate’s permission to watch, in fascination, as the ship seemingly bored into the face of the waves, then to shake itself and roll and pitch again against the next set of waves. Later, during convoys, I would marvel at the destroyer escorts, in rough seas, their bows buried in the waves just about up to the bridge as they pushed ahead to screen the convoy ships.

Our ship met the full force of the storm north of the Shetland Islands. A metal cylinder, about lft long with helical vanes, tied to an about 150ft log line trailing the ship had to be hauled in lest it would foul in the propeller, or screw. (Tied to a meter on the aft railing its revolutions measured the distance traveled). The ship was making absolutely no headway for just about a week, the engine going full speed ahead, with a full head of steam, in Seaman talk.

The ship was in ballast with the screw half out of water, in level sea. When the ship pitched into the waves the screw would come out of water, "revving"‘ up, till the crew could throttle the engine down. The usual delay throttling down would cause the whole ship to shake as if in the teeth of a giant animal, everything seemingly in motion.

The first reminder of the war occurred when we were called out of our cabins before dawn because a U-boat was signaling. The boat wished to know our name, where bound, and disappeared. It was a reminder nevertheless that the Germans were around, keeping tabs, as it were... (One of the regular crew mentioned that if the ship had carried war material previously we might have been torpedoed).

The cook in the galley had his big pots and cauldrons tightly shored by steel rods, part of a foul weather jig, lest they should be thrown off the range. I had to learn quickly to gauge the time between the galley and the mess-room facing sternward at the rear of the mid-ship building. More than once I would just about reach the door, both arms full, when a sudden lurch of the ship would force me down on the deck on my knees, and I would sail ‘down’ the leaning deck towards the railing bulwark. But I would pride myself over never having lost a serving tray or bowl and the food was as hot as they could wish. Often, too, I would just manage to hook one foot over the foot-high door sill and hang on to find balance. often, as well, I would just watch as the youngest deck or engine boy would try to negotiate the sea washing over the aft deck one level lower than the midship deck as they brought the food to the crews’ mess. I considered myself lucky having chosen the job I had...

I also learned what ‘dead reckoning’ meant. Seeing neither sun nor stars for the whole week the deck Officers were unable to get a fix on the sun to determine our location. At first opportunity with available sun, the three mates were on the bridge with their sextants, the Chief Mate almost proudly announced we were within ten miles of estimated position, after 6-7 days, figuring storm and current directions!.

Go to: Chapter Two - New York!