This Ungodly Crew

By John T. Goldthwait

Will, after twenty years in the Navy, returns home to the bedside of his mother, who has suffered a severe stroke. Using Navy savings, he enrolls in college, aspiring to run for Congress. He and Brother Art, who find no reality in God, prepare their father, Joe, to accept their mothers death without the traditional references to heaven. Joe is weary and ready to retire. Art, also a teacher, takes over Joes private school. Will and Art found a society for the Common Good, based on love of mankind and a life of service, with none of the features usual in a religion. On the campus Will finds a life companion, whom he marries, but their homemaking is interrupted when Will gets called back into the Navy to serve in Vietnam.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 30, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450067188

John T. Goldthwait

John T. Goldthwait grew up in Pennsylvania, went to college in Georgia, and served in the Navy in the Pacific in wartime. Once ashore again, he took a Ph.D. in philosophy, helping to pull together a very broad education. He then taught philosophy and the humanities in universities in California and New York. Living the examined life, he worked out for himself the worldview known as secular humanism, stressing the meeting of human needs as the basis for ethics. In retirement, he undertook writing novels as an attractive way to communicate his beliefs. These are first of all good stories, as well as presentations of humanistic ideas.

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Copyright © 2010 by John T. Goldthwait.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Other fiction by John T. Goldthwait

A Pleasant Fiction

Reasons for Andy

Healing Hands, Healing Land

Falling Back to Earth

This Ungodly Crew

A Novel

John T. Goldthwait

CONTENTS

~ 1 ~

~ 2 ~

~ 3 ~

~ 4 ~

~ 5 ~

~ 6 ~

~ 7 ~

~ 8 ~

~ 9 ~

~ 10 ~

~ 11 ~

~ 12 ~

To my uncle, George B. Thatcher,

whose kindly nature reached well beyond

what he would have dreamed possible

to help complete this work.

~ 1 ~

The two men, in their service dress blues, faced each other from opposite sides of a dark olive-green composition-topped desk in a small office in the Brooklyn Navy Yard.

Lieutenant Commander Harvey complained, Chief, you aren’t paying attention to the terms of the deal. You just can’t pass up a good deal like this. You know that!

Thank you very much, Commander, Will replied, being sure to use the lieutenant commander’s courtesy title to flatter him, but even though I see that it is very good, I don’t think I’ll change my plans. Will, seated firmly upright in his straight chair, held his eyes steadily on those of the officer who accosted him.

Look what you’re passing up. New rank of Chief Warrant Officer, skipping right over Warrant Officer and effective immediately. Then three months of shore leave. Then report to warrant school at a cushy base in Connecticut, within an easy weekend commute to New York City. And a signing bonus of one thousand dollars! I don’t see how you can do yourself such a disservice as to pass that up.

Commander, I don’t do it lightly. I have been making my plans for several years, and I think they’re pretty good plans.

Yes, you’ve told me your plans. Go back to California, and do nothing. You don’t even have a job lined up.

Will smiled broadly. That doesn’t sound like much, does it? But that’s only the surface details. I have additional ideas that I’ve been keeping pretty private. Now his face turned firm. And besides that, my mother is sick, lying in what might turn out to be her deathbed. I want to be near her in her final days, after I’ve been away at sea for 20 years. And she wants me there.

Why don’t you apply for that extended leave? Then you can see her and be with her, and see if anything happens. At the end of it, hoping she lives, or even if she doesn’t, you can report back here and I’ll support an application to warrant school for you. But the offer to skip a rank would be closed by then, and you’d go as Warrant Officer.

Thank you very kindly, Commander, but if Mother knew I was only there for three months, that would put a pressure on her, and I hate to think what that might do.

Commander Harvey sat quiet, looked down at a paper on the desk in front of him, then back again at Will’s smooth, tanned face. Will met his eyes without flinching. At length Harvey said, I guess that part about your mother is pretty important to you. He picked up a black Navy issue ballpoint pen, and signed the bottom of the form.

Will relaxed. He had trained himself to resist what he knew would be powerful persuasion to sign over, but he hadn’t foreseen the truly very favorable offer, that would get him out of chief’s quarters and into the officers’ wardroom of whatever ship he might serve on. It might even lead to command of one of the Navy’s new smaller inshore ships, seaworthy and swift, designed to put landing parties ashore. Many of his shipmates would have accepted, and probably settled into the prospect of retiring at age 55, rather than simply at the first opportunity, which was after twenty years’ service. He inwardly congratulated himself on having stood up to a powerful piece of persuasion by an experienced personnel officer. Also on thinking fast, when the unexpected offer was made. His forethought had helped him not to be distracted from his long-held purpose.

At the bottom of the page, across from the lieutenant commander’s signature, will signed: Willard L. Carpenter, Chief Boatswain’s Mate, USN.

Commander Harvey rose, and extended a hand. Chief, I congratulate you upon twenty fine years of service, and I wish you prosperity and happiness in the coming years. And if your country needs you in time of war, your reserve status will assure you the opportunity to serve it.

Yes, Commander, and I’m grateful for that. But for the near future, I’ve got some different kinds of serving that it’s time I was doing.

Will strode to the dock where his tanker was moored. He ascended the gangplank, saluted the national ensign flying at the stern of the ship, then saluted the Officer of the Deck. He left a copy of his separation document with the OOD so that the yeoman on watch could copy the necessary information into the ship’s log while Will went to his quarters for his gear. Thus he would not have to stand around making conversation with the OOD or the messengers while the yeoman hand-copied the details, when Will was ready to stride down the gangplank for the last time.

Will did not go directly to chiefs’ quarters but to the stateroom of Bert McClintock, the ship’s First Lieutenant. Bert was his immediate boss on board. Will found him seated at his desk. He knocked lightly on the open door and went in.

Well, Mac, I’ve done it, he said.

You have? You’ve cut the hawser? McClintock was inclined to use nautical figures of speech, to build an image of himself as a seaman.

Yes, I’ve cast off.

Drifting with the tide?

Oh, no, Mac, I’ll be moving fast. I have lots to do. I’m going to start for home this afternoon.

Had any further word about your mother?

I talked with my father last night. She’s stable and pretty well settled down, and not unhappy. She seemed to be glad I’m on my way home. They don’t know yet whether her paralysis will be permanent. Sometimes after a stroke it goes away in a few days or a week.

Well, I hope for the best for her. I’m sure it will do her good, that you’re coming home.

I hope so. How about going off base to have lunch with me?

No, I don’t think I can. I have the duty at twelve hundred.

Well, in that case I’ll call it goodbye. Let’s keep in touch!

Sure, Will.

This was the first time Will and Mac had freely used each other’s first names. The feeling to do so had been present a long time, but both believed in the need to keep distance between a commissioned officer and a chief petty officer, in the presence of others. They heartily shook hands, and Will headed aft.

In chief’s quarters, Will picked up a light black fabric suitcase and black duffel bag that were already packed. The duffel bag represented an improvement over the worn gray canvas sea bag that had been his sole luggage for nearly two decades. Now his travel was a luxury for enjoyment, not merely a scramble to make the next deadline, and style was important to the enjoyment. That was his thought, anyway, when he bought the bags, before he had learned of his mother’s stroke.

Rather than take mess on board, among other chief petty officers to whom he had already said goodbye, Will picked up a bag in each hand and strode midships toward the quarterdeck. He retrieved his separation document, safeguarded it in an inner compartment of the suitcase, rendered his last salutes to the national flag and the Officer of the Deck, and strode down the gangplank to the dock. His luggage was heavy, but his step was light.

Will first walked to the Brooklyn Buffet, within a block of the main entrance to the Navy Yard. The place was known among the nautical types for robust food and bracingly cold beer. He sat looking about him, sizing up the other diners as he finished off a generous steak sandwich. He did not expect to see the likes of this seagoing crowd again for quite a while. If ever.

On finishing, Will took a taxi to the nearest subway station. At the turnstile leading to the tracks Will waited until a seaman in uniform, who chanced to have followed him, caught up. He said, Mate, could you please carry this suitcase through the turnstile for me? Two bags is pretty much for one man to handle in that contraption.

Sure, Chief, glad to.

On the other side of the turnstile, Will said Thanks, mate. Will was muscular, but he did not like to make an awkward spectacle of himself. He was conscious of his good appearance in his dignified dark service dress blues, with the red stripes slanting up the sleeves to indicate his twenty years in the Navy. The sailor hustled off in a different direction from Will’s.

Will boarded a train for Manhattan, then at Grand Central he transfered to one for New Jersey. Shortly he debarked in Newark.

Newark?

One who is in Brooklyn and intent upon being in California is not likely to delay things with a first stop in Newark. However, Will had an interim destination. He engaged another taxi, glad it would be hauling the luggage instead of himself doing so, and gave the address of a Volvo automobile agency.

Inside the showroom, he told Tom Ray, a salesman, who he was. Oh, yes, Mr. Carpenter. Your car came in about a week ago. It’s handsome. Come look.

Ray took Will to a favored display spot right outside the showroom. There Will saw a Volvo P1800, the snappy sports car built by the Swedish auto maker that was known for sturdy, efficient and safe vehicles. Will’s was a black two-seater, and had trunk space for twice and more of what Will was going to put inside it. Across the top of the rear window, neat block lettering on a decal boasted, A Product of Superb Swedish Engineering.

Will tested the door, and found it locked. Ray handed him a set of keys. He unlocked the solid-feeling door, and got into the driver’s seat. He felt for controls, pushed the seat back to its rear-most position, tried the pedals, ran the manual gearshift through its five-place pattern. A proud and satisfied smile was fixed and unwavering on his face. To Ray he said, I think I’ll be glad I ordered this.

Ray smiled broadly. I’m sure you will. In fact I’m jealous of you. We don’t show these regularly, we just special-order them from the factory in Goteborg, but people have been pretty interested in them lately.

You must want me to do a little paperwork before I take it away from you?

Yes, sir. Come right in to my desk.

Will signed transfer, insurance and registry papers, and a check on a California bank for the full amount of the price of the car, along with fees and taxes. While this was going on, Ray had a car handler put a paper temporary New Jersey license in place on the rear plate holder. Will would get a California license once he reached home.

Tom Ray accompanied Will back to the car. When you get in, please check that the owner’s manual is in the glove compartment.

In the driver’s seat, reaching across to the glove compartment, Will found he had to use a key to unlock it. He dropped its door open.

It’s here—and you’ve filled the compartment with maps! He looked toward Ray with delight.

Oh, just a few. I could find New Jersey and New York and Pennsylvania, but after that you’ll have to find them for yourself.

Thanks ever so much. I was going to have to fight my way out of New Jersey on bare memory.

Will followed Ray’s easy directions to U.S. route 22. His car answered in lively fashion to his driving, and attracted interested eyes where he stopped to buy gasoline. That night, Will stayed at a motel in Easton, Pennsylvania.

A chief petty officer who has risen through the ranks in the Navy from apprentice seaman in the deck division has long ago adjusted his gastric system to absorbing, in a very short time, large amounts of breakfast, lunch and dinner, accompanied by torrents of hot black, caffeine-rich coffee, made palatable by heavy additions of sugar and condensed milk. Will was behind the wheel of his Volvo P1800 by half past six o’clock the next morning.

The little car handled almost unbelievably well. Will’s every thought for its control was carried out crisply and correctly before he could even articulate it to himself in words. He felt strongly that he and his machine were one spirit.

Will whizzed across Pennsylvania on US Highway 22. He was able to reach Pittsburgh by mid-afternoon. This was fortunate, for there was no easy by-pass to get quickly around the city. He doggedly followed the route through its crowded hilly streets, testing his maneuvering responses against those of taxi and truck drivers, bus drivers and shoppers. He emerged, headed toward Columbus, Ohio, just as most Pittsburghers were beginning to wonder what to have for dinner. He stayed overnight after his first full day of driving, at a motel on the outskirts of Columbus.

Before going to the dining room for a late dinner, Will called his father in Danforth. How is Mother, Dad?

She’s doing all right. She has had a peaceful day. Her day nurse managed to get a little solid food into her, and thought the signs were fairly promising.

The next day’s driving, and the next, offered little to challenge the Volvo. Speed came to it easily. Will quickly developed coordination in skills for passing other vehicles safely and with hardly a thought. Flat, flat driving was varied only by gently rolling hills as Will traversed the farmland of Ohio, Indiana and Illinois. He reflected happily that America was unlikely to run out of farm boys, who were famously a source of recruits for the Navy.

Will’s stop the third evening was Hannibal, Missouri. Again he called his father. How is she, Dad?

She’s all right. She spent a little more time awake today, and it didn’t seem to get her tired too much.

On the next day, the trim little black car carried Will across flat land to North Platte, Nebraska, and on the next, to Salt Lake City. Will was glad that at last there were some respectable mountains to traverse, giving him some views of his native country that were other than of horizon level.

In the motel at the south edge of Salt Lake, Will again called Joe. The report was good. She’s taking an interest in things, Will, and she fully understands that you’re coming home in a few days. I think that news has perked her up. She was able to answer a couple of questions, in a soft voice but quite normally. And the nurse who came today got her up out of bed, had her stand by the bed a few moments, then turn and sit in the upholstered chair from the living room that I’ve put in there for her. Then after that, she had a long nap, until suppertime. I’m really elated at how good a day she had today. And the fact that you’re coming home had a lot to do with it, I’m sure!

I’m glad I could do that for her, Dad, although of course it’s only happenstance that the timing was good. But I’m planning to be there tomorrow, you know.

Tomorrow! All the way from Salt Lake City?

Oh, yes. You haven’t been looking at your map, I guess, but I’ve been getting in ten or eleven driving hours every day, making great gasoline mileage, and taking very short stops for lunch. I usually eat at a truck stop, where they know how to serve you fast. And I stop for gas once in the middle of the morning and once in the middle of the afternoon, just to stretch and refresh my muscles. So I don’t think it will be hard, to get to Danforth tomorrow from Salt Lake City. But don’t try to keep Mother up to wait for me. Maybe you’d better not tell her I’ll be arriving tomorrow night.

You’re probably right. I’ll let her think it’s the next day. But will I be glad to see you tomorrow, myself! Arthur was going to be here, as I’ve told you, but he called today and said he won’t be here until Sunday evening. Spencer broke his arm today, playing soccer with the neighborhood kids, and Arthur doesn’t want to leave until he’s sure the boy’s all right.

That’s too bad. I have a souvenir of the Navy for Spencer. I’ll send it to him by Arthur. How long can Art stay?

He hasn’t told me, but he sounded as though he expected to be here several days. He’s on vacation, of course.

That’s great, if he can give Mom several days. I’m sure it will be good for her.

Well, it’s late. You’d better turn in and get some sleep. And I sure am sleepy. I’m going straight to bed. Mother doesn’t call me in the night, but I try to sleep lightly and check on her every couple of hours.

Dad, I’m sure you’re doing a great job of looking after Mom. I want you to know, I appreciate it, and I’m sure Art does too. So, good night!

Good night! I’ll leave the door unlocked, in case I fall asleep waiting up for you!

Joe in fact was napping, in his chair with an ottoman, by the unused fireplace in the little redwood-shingled bungalow, when Will drove into the driveway. He turned off his motor, clicked off the headlights, and mounted the single step to the front door. Softly, he opened it and went in. All within was quiet.

Will went and stood by Joe. Dad? he said.

Joe stirred, then lay still again, his head a little to the side away from Will.

Dad? Will’s voice was now firmer, though he was still being careful not to speak loudly enough to awaken his mother, in her nearby bedroom.

Joe stretched, squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Ah, Will! He reached his right hand toward his standing son.

Will shook his father’s hand, and used it to help his father sit up straight. Both kept their voices low.

How are you? And how is Mother?

Oh, I’m first-rate. And she’s had a good day. You may find it hard to imagine, but I think she’s sleeping more normally now. I mean, sleep is sleep, so how could that be? But she seems to me to be actually using sleep to get stronger, not just to be out cold. She breathes pretty normally now, when she’s asleep.

If I go look at her, could I see her? Or is her room too dark?

No, go ahead. There’s a nightlight in there.

Will went to his parents’ bedroom. Joe followed.

Mary, her slight form lying well bundled in blankets despite the warming season, happened to be turned toward the nightlight, which perched at the end of the headboard of the bed. He saw a face that was recognizably his mother’s, but recognizably also much changed. The right side was as Will had known it all his life, though much aged from how it had been most of that time. But the left side was pulled in a taut expression, as though she were having a pain, and one seeing this would tend to watch, wanting to see relief come to her. Will could imagine that if Mary’s face now looked like that all the time, normal sympathetic feeling would lay his father under stress from morning till night.

After studying his mother’s features, Will straightened up, turned to his father, motioned with his hand. The two left the room.

In the hallway, Joe gestured Follow me, and took Will to the kitchen. He closed the kitchen door. Now the two could talk in normal tones.

Do you need a bite to eat?

Oh, a little something. What have you got?

Joe had several things, from which Will chose two doughnuts and a glass of milk. Joe sat with him, and the two gravely consumed these, a serving for each, while they talked.

How was your driving day?

Oh, really great. I love that little car that I bought.

I’ll have to look at it in the morning.

Dad, where are you sleeping? Do you sleep with Mom?

No, I’ve been sleeping in the spare room. I leave the doors open, and her nightlight on, and another nightlight in the hallway, so that when I get up to check on her I have plenty of light. But I’m afraid that if I slept with her, each of us would be keeping the other awake. The doctor told me I should get all the good rest I can, because I can never tell when I’m going to need all my strength. In other words, we can never tell when she’ll have another stroke.

How did the doctor rate the strength of this stroke?

He said it was a pretty bad one. He asked all sorts of questions to try to find out if she’d ever had any previous strokes, any lighter ones, that could have been a warning for this one, but I never saw anything like that happen to her. And of course she hasn’t been available to ask.

No, of course. So she might have a stroke, and go off, just any time?

Yes. I’m afraid that’s what it means. And on the other hand, the doctor said she might live for years yet.

It’s just a gamble, isn’t it? The Lottery of Life.

Joe had no answer.

Will raised a new subject.

Tell me about Arthur. Is he coming tomorrow?

Yes, he called this morning. He said Spencer is getting along all right, making jokes about his broken arm, and bossing his sister around because she’s supposed to take care of the invalid in the family. Arthur will call again in the morning, and let us know definitely whether he’s coming, but today he felt sure he was coming.

How long does it take him to drive it?

About seven hours. Depends on how early he gets started, and on traffic.

Well, since he’ll be driving on Sunday, the traffic shouldn’t hold him back. There aren’t as many trucks to pass, on Sunday.

Will locked his car for the night, brought luggage in, and deposited his bags in the room that he and Arthur had shared while growing up. He bade Joe a good night’s sleep, and lay down in his old twin bed.

At the breakfast table the next morning, Joe reported, I really had a good night’s sleep. It was the first one since Mary got home from the hospital.

I’m glad of that, Dad. I slept well too. He rose. May I pour you more coffee?

Joe extended his earthenware mug.

I think maybe I slept well just because I knew you were here. I don’t mean I expected you to go do things for your mother in the night, instead of me, but I think just knowing you were here made me believe things are returning more to normal.

Well then, normal must have been twenty years ago, because that’s how long I’ve been away in the Navy.

Oh, you know what I mean. Normal means being ourselves as a close family. And it will be more so, when Arthur gets here this afternoon.

Yes, Dad, I see. Yes, that’s a pretty good definition of ‘normal.’

The nurse is coming early enough this morning for us to be able to go to church. Will you go with me?

Yes, if you’d like me to. But speaking of ‘normal,’ isn’t that something new? I don’t remember that when we were kids we went to church very much.

Yes, it’s a bit new, but I have my reasons. I’ll tell you about them later. Just now I’m going in to your mother. I think it’s probably time I were getting her up to go to the potty.

Will went to the front door. Sure enough, the Sunday Sacramento Bee had been dropped on the walkway in front of the house. He went out and picked it up, and, after offering his help to his father and being declined, busied himself with it on the living-room sofa. He thought he need not greet his mother until she had had the opportunity to complete the process of getting out of bed, or whatever corresponded to that for her invalid condition.

The telephone rang. Joe’s voice from the bedroom asked, Can you get that, Will?

Will answered the phone. On hearing a voice, he responded, Arthur!

Yes! Is that Will?

Yes! Are you about to start driving up here?

Yes, right now. I hung around a little while, so as not to look too excited, to Spencer. But he’s doing fine, and Lynne will be perfectly able to take care of him while I’m gone. Is Dad up?

Oh, yes, he’s getting Mom dressed for the day. She’s been improving lately, he says.

Yes, I know. I’ve talked with him just about every day. Well, tell him I called, and I should be there in plenty of time for dinner. Hey, Will, old salt, did you learn to cook while you were in the Navy?

"Yes. I