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Berthing 02-31-2
The following is an excerpt from Berthing, a
three-act unpublished nonfiction autobiographical play written around the
editor's experience living aboard a US Navy battleship.
Most of the action
takes place in a 10 by 10 foot metal-walled and metal-furnished, light,
olive-green and navy-gray, windowless cubicle, or berthing, on the officers’
deck of the USS Occire. The ship is so large and factory-like that
it is difficult to feel one is on a ship, let alone, a warship.
All aspects remind of a prison: the metal, the uniforms, the lack of windows,
the heads, or bathrooms, the mess halls, and sporadic intercom blasts.
Ventilation is piped in and makes a 24-hour-round-the-clock, constant
leaf-blower machine-like noise. Also, flush pipes, making a gurgling sound,
sometimes quite loudly, are heard round the clock. Artificial, fluorescent
ambient lighting floods the labyrinth of windowless passageways, or p-ways.
Late at night, though, the fluorescents are replaced by dark, red lights. Drs.
Whalen and Cromby, the ships two professor-instructors, occupy the bottom beds,
or racks, of the two double bunks in the berthing. The top two racks are
empty. The two professors spend interminable hours flat on their backs, in and
out of naps, day and night. The ambiance of no sunlight, constant ventilation
whirring and, when underway, sway of the ship provoke somnolence. Moreover,
something about
college teaching itself seems to leave a person in perpetual state of fatigue.
CHARACTERS
Dr. Whalen:
Sixty-eight years old, ex-cop, ex-bartender, professed
and unabashed meat eater, 267 pounds of jutting beer belly though solid,
muscular frame, over six feet tall with short white hair and short white beard,
voracious reader of near and not-so-near bestsellers and player of word puzzles,
games, and computer cards, Jekyl and Hyde personality.
He has been on over
25 ships during 20 years of adjunct professorial employment with the college.
He is ever confident, constantly cutting corners to get closer to the bone of
life, while further from that of teaching. Indeed, for him,
teaching is not
really a passion at all, just pocket money and a means of keeping his
policeman’s pension intact.
Steadfast
loner, he in fact cannot stand living with anyone, not even his own mother with
whom he shares a home; nevertheless, he puts himself voluntarily in that
position, stint after stint, year after year, and sometimes in the tightest
quarters imaginable, sardine-like with a half dozen other men. What especially
gets him moving is conflict with the nay-sayers. Say no to him, and he’ll apply
his full, brute force into transforming that into a yes. He is hard of hearing
and nonstop vociferous talker, except when preoccupied with his word games and
novels or during grumpy periods. He has acquired a cough from his last ship
assignment, rarely covers his mouth, constantly snorts like a bullock, hacks and
clears his throat, and digs away in his nostrils, full fingering unabashedly in
front of anyone and everyone. If not for his potential ignorance and meanness,
he would probably have a nickname like stinky, snotty, or bougers. He teaches
Criminal Justice, Psychology, Sociology, Business Management, or, now and then,
English Composition because of his doctorate in education.
Dr. Cromby:
Fifty years old, medium height and weight, somewhat introverted, unable to find
a permanent teaching position in Academe since blowing the whistle on corruption
at a state college. He
was hired sight-unseen on the phone and reported for work less than a week
later. He
has taught full-time at four colleges. Two out of three of his letters of
recommendation are forged, while the third is from the professor woman with whom
he lives. Like Dr. Whalen, he has lost his enthusiasm for teaching, a tedious
and repetitive profession crammed with corrupt, unobjective procedures and
petty, cowardly minds with Machiavellian bent. He would have liked to make a
living as a freelance writer, but that of course was and is out of the
question. Nevertheless, he is enthusiastic about the new experience living on a
ship and spends a lot of time in his rack writing it up in a one-act play called
“Hacks.” Dr. Whalen is so incurious regarding anything not directly related to
his own personal life that he never asks what his bunk mate is writing. Dr.
Cromby is also editor and creator of The American Dissident, a semiannual
literary journal “in the true spirit of the Founding Fathers.” He
is teaching three different English courses on the USS Occire. In the
beginning, he doesn’t have the slightest idea which course is which, not having
had the time or will to examine the mound of forms, books and instructions given
to him by the college at the last minute. New at the job, he is ever
disoriented, to the delight or anger of Dr. Whalen who, willingly or not,
becomes his mentor. He, like Dr. Whalen, could give a damn about losing his
job, which carries no health insurance or other benefits.
Ms. Fernandez:
A petite sailor student of both professors.
Senior Chief
Benderson:
Black, friendly,
quite sedate, and nearly as large as Dr. Whalen, though not at all as
formidable.
Education
Services Officer, thus
immediate ship boss of Drs. Whalen and Cromby.
Mr.
Gomez: One of
Dr. Whalen’s students. Works as the laundry man and concierge in “Officer
Country,” where the two professors reside.
Two
black sailors:
Dressed in blue uniforms
Marine Chief
Contractor: Man
with ponytail
Unseen student
Mr.
Lasco: Student
SCENE 1
Nighttime in the berthing. Dr. Cromby has just finished his
afternoon classes in the dungeon training room in the bottom of the hull and is
laying supine on his bunk rack, typing away on his laptop computer, beginning
his play about two professors sharing a berthing on a U.S. Navy ship. The blue
curtains are fully drawn round his rack space, concealing him from view. Dr.
Whalen steps into the room, having just finished his treadmill workout, or
turnout, as he refers to it. He is dressed in old tee-shirt and blue shorts and
is holding a towel. He looks completely beaten and sits down on his chair in
front of his tiny two-foot-wide-fold-out-from-the-wall desk top and stares into
the void for a few moments.
Dr. Whalen:
Goddamn rap music was so loud in there! I’m not gonna put up with that shit. I
just pulled the wire out of the back of the machine. I made the pronouncement
to the whole goddamn gym. I just screamed out: OH BULLSHIT! I said, I want
that goddamn music turned down. He’s gonna have to get a screwdriver to put the
wire back in. Nobody said anything. They know better. I had a really nice run
on the machine today. I did okay on the sit-ups, but I did much better on
building the pecs. I really pushed up the weight. Well, I know what to do with
that speaker now. I jerk the little sonofabitch right out by the roots. Twice
now I’ve done that.
Dr. Cromby:
(Feigning interest.) Wow.
Dr. Whalen:
Well, I think I’ll forget the shower today. Fuck it. (Stares into the void
again for a moment,
stands up, removes
his shorts, revealing old, stretched out dangling white briefs, then grabs a
comic-book size magazine,
Pencil Puzzles,
walks to his bunk, lays down on his rack, and begins muttering loudly to himself
off and on.)
Duffle-bag.
Snare! I’ve got
it covered. I’m gonna win this shit! It’s been a tough type of puzzle.
Thirteen. There it is. Spiral goes right out there. S, P, I, R, A, L. Too
many of these, I don’t get. I rip ‘em up and throw ‘em in the wastebasket. But
this one I’m gonna win. Let’s see: snare. So, P, R, prize goes here and then
P, E, pellet. Four though. H, E, heardsman. Yep, hearrrr-dsman! Yep.
Works! And then, a sea.
Hurricane!
Hurrrrr-icane.
God I’m so sharp! I don’t even believe it today. Now what goes here? Trust.
Trust goes up here and time, then goes down here. No, there it is: T, I, M,
E. Oh, oh, it might go the other way. Better hold on time. (Suddenly gets
up off his rack, hustles to the door, and steps out into the p-way or
passageway). God, what I do for my friends!
Dr.
Cromby:
I really want you to know just how much I appreciate it.
Dr.
Whalen:
(Steps back inside, then lays down on his rack again.) Well, I jumped up
all that way and nothing happened.
Okay, Dolphin is next. I
see the phin, but can’t find the dol. Digital. (Makes a loud hocker throat
clear, but without expectoration.) D, I, G (Puts down
Pencil Puzzles
and turns his head toward Dr. Cromby’s blue curtains.)
One of the things I’m gonna
do is run study halls during class so I can sit on my fat ass and ruminate.
(Gets up, walks out the door, and farts loudly.)
Dr. Cromby:
Christ, I
felt the freakin’ floor shudder! You haven’t had gas like that in two weeks.
What did you have to eat?
Dr.
Whalen:
I haven’t been eating those cans of beans for the past two weeks either!
(Picks up a can of
Hormel’s chile beans from Dr. Cromby’s desk.)
It’s your fault! You leave this shit lying around here, and I eat it. Boston
beans will do it to you, and you know that as well as I do.
(Snorts loudly.) Oh, I just found two great books. I’m gonna be
reading all weekend. Look at these. (Holds up a couple of books. Dr. Cromby
opens his curtain to look.)
Dr. Cromby:
Where did you get ‘em?
Dr. Whalen:
Downstairs. Down in the library. I don’t check ‘em out. To hell with that!
Fuckem! All these books on my desk. They’re library books! I’m gonna go
through them and come up with 10 for this summer. I’ll put them in my
suitcase. Fuck it! This one here is a piece of shit. I’ll read it now.
Dr. Cromby:
Christ, you go through a lot of books.
Dr.
Whalen:
Well, there’s nothing else to do. Last ship I went through about one a day. I
used to be a speed-reading instructor. Oh jeeze,
I used to speed read something terrible. I used to go through three in the
morning sometimes.
Ship intercom:
SECURITY ALERT, SECURITY ALERT! ALL HANDS ON! ALL STAND FAST! (A
piercing
blast of ship whistle follows.)
Dr.
Whalen:
Oh, shut up! (Gets out of his rack and sits at his
desk. A foot-long
fluorescent bulb illuminates the area. The same with the professors’ bunks.
Otherwise the room is dark. Pulls textbooks out of a carton by the side of his
chair.)
Sometimes the college will slide in teachers’ copies for books. You gotta watch
‘em. You have to watch ‘em like a hawk. (Picks up a small razor cutter off
his desk.) Oh, I just love this cutter! I go nowhere without it. All we
did was sell books the first week, for chrissakes. I’ll show you how to add it
all up. We’ll box them up Monday. I’ve got the tape and cutter, so you can
borrow that. Now, always send the books priority mail. It doesn’t matter how
much it costs. Priority mail is what you have to do. That’s the important
thing… and making it come out right—total due. Okay, I’ll work on that later.
Voice from the
p-way:
Anchors away, my lads, anchors away. (Phone rings in the professors’
berthing. Dr. Whalen picks it up.)
Dr. Whalen:
Yes? This is Dr. Whalen. Yes, he’s here. Dr. Cromby it’s for you.
Dr. Cromby:
Shit. (Gets out of his rack to Dr. Whalen’s delight and grabs the phone.)
Yes? You won’t be in class tomorrow? Okay, Mr. Harper. No problem.
(Hangs up the phone and gets back on his rack.)
Dr. Whalen:
Christ you didn’t have to give the number to all your students!
Dr. Cromby:
You’re the one who told me to do that!
Dr. Whalen:
I did not. (Opens the door and leaves. Dr. Cromby gets out of his rack,
pulls out a bag
from the top bunk
and takes a pop tart out. Opens the wrapper and eats. Gets back into the
rack. Turns the berthing light on. A few moments later, Dr. Whalen returns,
turns the light back off and takes his trousers of, revealing the same white
jockeys, hanging, dripping off his buttocks from years of usage.)
Goddamn, I just got caught
taking peanut butter!
Dr.
Cromby: Did they
take your name or what?
Dr.
Whalen: I don’t
think there’s anyone else who looks faintly like me on the ship. I just lifted
up the thing and there was a jar of peanut butter, then I wanted to find some
bread, and four of them came out of nowhere right up to me like I was some kind
of thief. I just told ‘em I was going to watch the movie on the tv and I wanted
to have some peanut butter. You know, I just like peanut butter. I laughed,
but geeze they looked serious. Oh man, they must have had it staked out or
something because they were on me like a book. I said I was hungry. That’s the
same two came in hutzy tutzy the other day. I’d be very goddamned careful if I
were you. It looks to me like they’re staking it out. Probably better I got
caught than you though. I handled it pretty guiltily just the same. Hell,
we’ve both been liftin’ that metal curtain up. I’ve seen other officers liftin’
it up looking for fruity this and that. I ain’t coming back on this goddamn
ship anyway. Well, it’s an average ship. There’s worse and there’s better.
(Coughs wildly.) Peanut butter would’ve cured that that tickle in the
throat. (Sits down at his desk and starts shuffling through papers.)
Dr.
Cromby: Yeah,
I’ve been liftin’ that curtain too just to see what’s under it.
Dr.
Whalen: Yeah,
well, this goddamn student says to me this morning, ‘I’ll be in, please save me
a book he says.’ Okay,
I’ll save you a book. He says it again, ‘please save it for me.’ But he’s full
of horseshit. Then I looked at the record. My records are straight, right up
to date. And I know how many papers are late now. He and that other guy have
an abysmal attendance record. They haven’t even got what the midterm is yet.
They got nothing. Now, Pitt is borderline and White is borderline. Both of
those are borderline, so if they show up this weekend I can help ‘em, but the
other two, I don’t know. I’ve got four people. They haven’t touched the book.
They don’t even have a book. They play games with me. One of them says, oh I’m
sharing a book with so and so, the other one says, oh I’m sharing a book with so
and so. They haven’t been there and when I do see them they’re sharing a book
they don’t even have. And of course, let’s see how many of my drops—I wanna
drop three or four of them because they didn’t have… they said they had college
courses but they hadn’t taken a class. How can they even get pissed off? They
haven’t been there. I’ve seen them maybe one time each. I’ve seen White one
time and the guy he’s sharing the book with—I’ve seen him one time too. Pitt is
the one that said she’d pick up her book yesterday, but she didn’t show. She’s
been there twice—talked to me in the hall—and she’s about ready to get dropped,
plus she was on the original list. So she’s been warned.
Ship intercom:
SECURE FOR
TOXIC GAS DRILL! RESTORE ALL CASUALTIES! RESTORE ALL GEAR! (Dr.
Whalen, sitting at his desk, picks up a can of athlete’s foot powder and sprays
down his left leg.)
Dr.
Cromby:
Jesus, this place smells like talcum powder. We’ll get cancer from that shit.
I bet it contains asbestos.
Dr. Whalen:
Oh, stop complaining! I’d do it in the p-way but there are women on the deck.
(Puts his
trousers and
slippers on, then scuttles out the door. Dr. Cromby continues typing away on
his laptop. Dr. Whalen comes back shortly.)
Well, I’m not going
to sit through another showing of the “Gladiator”! Both rooms are showing the
“Gladiator.” That’s all they show around here. Christ, I’ve seen it five times
already. Well, it’s a damn fine movie just the same. But I’m not gonna sit
through another “Gladiator.” (Takes off his slippers and trousers, then
looks down at the garbage can.) Christ, we
fill this garbage can up, pump it full of stuff. I’ll put it out later. Captain
says they have honor, courage and commitment. HORSESHIT! HORSESHIT! Sounds
good though. It’s a good ad for a goddamn high school.
Dr.
Cromby:
(Holds up a pamphlet.) I gave you one of these things, didn’t I?
‘Conflict Resolution.’”
Dr.
Whalen:
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Ship intercom:
(A medium-length message is delivered, but entirely incomprehensible.)
Dr.
Cromby:
I couldn’t understand a word of that.
Dr.
Whalen:
That’s because the guy doesn’t speak English. They got some Filipino on that
thing. (Let’s
loose with a
hocker throat clearing but without the expectoration expected.)
I always
carry an extra bungee cord with me. You can always find a use for one of them.
Just like I always carry a little screwdriver with me. (Glances over at Dr.
Cromby’s desk.) Shit you’re givin’ me a headache with all these papers on
your desk. I can feel my blood pressure with all these goddamn forms.
Dr.
Cromby:
What forms?
Dr.
Whalen:
Withdrawal forms! (Picks up one off Dr. Cromby’s desk and examines it.)
Great, there’s another one who dropped bonehead English to take my Psychology.
That speaks well of my Psychology. (Looks down at the green rubber frog on
his desk and talks to it.) You get your act together! (Squeezes green
frog, which squeaks.) That frog speaks to me all the time! If you get one back
without a signature, then sign it yourself. Who the hell’s gonna know? Sign it
yourself! This is west of the Pecos here! (Picks up a pocket book off his
desk.) Well, maybe I’ll start the next one here. Okay, I’ll start reading
a book, that’s it. (Turns off the main light, lays down on his rack, then
opens the book. Hesitates.) I’m not gonna read this. I’ve already read
it! (Throws the book against the wall.)
Ship
intercom:
SHIPMATES—NOW IS A GOOD TIME TO BEGIN THINKING ABOUT DOING
YOUR WILL. PLEASE DO NOT WAIT
RIGHT BEFORE A MAJOR DEPLOYMENT WHEN THE REST OF THE BATTLE GROUP IS TRYING TO
GET THEIR WILLS. UPDATE IT NOW! AVOID THE RUSH! PLEASE CONTACT CHIEF BORDEAUX
AT EXTENSION 7099 FOR MORE INFORMATION.
End of excerpt
ALL MATERIAL ON THIS SITE IS COPYRIGHT ©G. Tod
Slone, 2009, The American Dissident
www.theamericandissident.org,
a 501c3 nonprofit.
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