Ocean Quicksand

By Dennis Joseph Stamm

John is a restless 18-year-old college freshman who grew up in a conservative small town in the Pennsylvania mountains. He unexpectedly gets the opportunity to satisfy his craving for adventure as a waiter on an iconic passenger liner. He excitedly boards the ship at its New York City home port to experie

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Springs Consulting, llc
• Release date: Aug 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986645834

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Copyright © 2022 by Dennis Stamm

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 979-8-9866458-3-4

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, organizations, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Introduction

I’ve been blessed to live a long life filled with interesting experiences in this endlessly fascinating world. For years, my experiences have given me ideas for books, but which to choose for a storyline? I decided to begin with a book that is set in the tumultuous 1960s. It was a time of worldwide rebelliousness, political and social upheaval, and dizzying technological development; a good time and a bad time to be young, and the end of a golden era of transatlantic travel on luxurious ocean liners, which I briefly experienced as a young man. I simply – simply? – had to combine all that with some timeless themes and my imagination. I hope you find what I’ve written to be at least a little interesting.

Acknowledgments

This book was made possible by the forbearance of my wife, Carol (Brooks to those who know her well) who allowed me seemingly endless uninterrupted time to write, re-write, and edit. Of course, I probably would not have written the book unless urged by friends who listened patiently to my stories and said, You should write a book. My friend and former business partner, Mike Cobb, set an example by writing and publishing his book and led me through the process of publishing. These incentives would have come to nothing if not for the many characters with whom I’ve been fortunate enough to cross paths through the years, and who displayed the variety of human characteristics mirrored in my book’s characters. I must also thank the Atlanta Writes writers club members whose constructive criticisms were hugely helpful. Thanks, also, to my editor, Jon Harrison, who caught many significant historical errors in my writing.

Prologue

The largest seizure of heroin in the nation’s history – 246 pounds worth $22.4-million – was made on the French Line pier at West 48th Street, Attorney General Ramsey Clark announced in Washington yesterday. The record-setting seizure was made on April 26, 1967. The heroin was smuggled to New York concealed in a Citroën DS on the SS France ocean liner. It has been discovered that the total amount smuggled during the many transatlantic voyages of just this one car was 1,606 lbs. (728.5 kg) according to arrested smuggler Jacques Pelletier.

The New York Police Department reported two rather routine heroin seizures, on Jan. 18 and Feb. 24, in Brooklyn and the Bronx. James Talarico and Francois Scovil were arrested for smuggling the heroin into the U.S. by hiding it in Scovil’s Cadillac when it was shipped from France aboard the SS Continental Star. The first seizure was about 24 pounds; the second was 73 pounds. The New York Police Department, in cooperation with an international drug task force, had for some time been watching the intended American recipients of the cache after learning of the shipment in a tapped telephone call.

Chapter 1

John Stahl was about to step out of his comfort zone into a dangerous and unfamiliar world. Youthful adventure and loss of naivete awaited him. He didn’t yet understand the complexity of the situation that he was stepping into. A step here, another there – each would take him more deeply into a complicated quagmire of mixed loyalties and moral dilemmas and eventually into physical danger and legal jeopardy as well.

It began on a warm spring day in June of 1967 when eighteen-year-old John stood at the water’s edge on the Hudson River, Pier 86, on West 46th Street in New York City, directly facing the massive bow of the SS Continental Star.

The Continental Star was a magnificent, sleek – if a ship more than three football fields long can be called sleek – piece of engineering art. The evening sun glinted on the greenish surface of the river. The odor of the river was mixed with the pungent smells of oiled pilings and exhaust fumes from traffic on the adjacent Henry Hudson Parkway. Nothing hinted at the kinds of choices John would soon face or the events that would unfold.

CONTINENTAL STAR was printed in large white letters on both sides of the enormous black bow that towered over John. He peered along the hull to gauge the ship’s length, but the aft section disappeared in the distance. The gleaming white superstructure dazzled the eye even in the fading sunlight. Two massive blue stacks with bright red caps offset by narrow white stripes towered as high as a six-story building above the ship. Thin wisps of light grey smoke drifted in the breeze from the tops of the stacks. Altogether the ship created a vision of sublime majesty. To John, she was both beautiful and intimidating.

He was on his own for the first time in the big city, preparing to ship out as a crew member – a waiter – on the massive ship before him. His first thought was, What the hell have I gotten myself into?

For decades it had been common to see as many as half a dozen magnificent passenger liners tied up at the same time along this section of the Hudson River, giving it the unofficial title Luxury Liner Row. On this day, the SS France, the RMS Queen Elizabeth, and the SS Bremen were tied up in piers alongside each other, and the SS Leonardo da Vinci was being guided out into the river by tugboats. Farther to the south, a 500-foot-long cargo ship looked tiny by comparison to the gigantic passenger ships. Burgeoning jet passenger service had not yet brought the golden age of transatlantic travel, characterized by ships like these, to an end.

America was in tumult. The Cold War was ongoing, and everyone tried to ignore the underlying threat of nuclear war. The Vietnam War had begun in earnest two years before, and peace rallies and protest riots were now happening all over the country. The civil rights movement was gaining momentum.

At the same time, the counterculture was growing; hippies were celebrating the Summer of Love in San Francisco, while the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, and others were making music that would change a generation. Men were starting to grow their hair long and burn their draft cards. Women’s skirts grew ever shorter, and they were burning bras.

Meanwhile, John was experiencing an I-can’t-believe-I’m-here buzz. He tried not to show it, but inside he was charged with the kind of nervous anticipation that keeps you from falling asleep.

It was nervous anticipation of…what? He didn’t know the what, but he was eager to find out. He anticipated the adventure of crossing vast oceans, visiting foreign ports, and seeing new things, people, and places; things he had imagined from reading or watching movies and television. But books and movies lacked odors, tastes, feelings. They didn’t transport him there. He knew intuitively that that state of mind can only be attained while immersed in adventure. It was an itch John had wanted to scratch for years without knowing exactly why. And now this! The opportunity of a lifetime was before him.

John was entering a far different world from the sheltered small-town existence he had experienced to this point in his young life. Standing before the ship’s bow, he envisioned a grand adventure without considering the potential dangers and temptations that might accompany it. Chalk that up to youthful inexperience. He had visited New York City a couple of times with his parents and, when he was fifteen, had spent three months in India with them when his father was on a project assignment in Bangalore. Those experiences only served to whet his appetite for travel by showing him a big, fascinating world out there awaiting discovery.

As he left the sunlit outdoor area to enter the enclosed pier, his eyes adjusted to artificial lighting in the cavernous interior. The ship’s massive black hull blocked the sunlight from entering through occasional openings on the north side of the pier. He walked almost 900 feet down the length of the pier to the crew gangplank at the aft section of the ship, awed by the sheer immensity of everything around him. The pier was easily 100 feet wide. Flags of many nations adorned long rows of columns rising 50 feet to the pier’s steel roof structure. Giant banners hung in the center of the pier to identify the location of gangplanks for each class of passenger – first, cabin, tourist – to board the ship.

Tough-looking longshoremen worked at a comfortable pace, loading pallets of goods and passengers’ automobiles from the pier onto the ship using cranes and large cargo nets. Others used forklifts to unload box trucks, most of them with lettering on the side indicating they carried food or linens for the ship. Finally, John made his way up the long, steeply inclined crew gangplank to board for the first time.

Chapter 2

The events that had brought John to this point began over dinner at home with his parents, Joe and Audrey, and a simple, offhand statement. He had recently completed his freshman year at Penn State in the appropriately named Happy Valley, where a haze of marijuana smoke permeated the town of State College. John casually mentioned to his parents that he and his best friend had a crazy idea.

Terry and I want to get a job on a freighter to see some of the world, preferably beginning in the Caribbean, he told his parents in an almost offhand way. Of course, neither Terry nor John had any idea how to get a job on any ship. It was just a pipe dream, and he expected his parents to dismiss the idea as impractical.

Instead, he was caught off guard when his father asked, Would you really like to do that?

Surprisingly, it did not seem like an idle question. Hell yeah, John thought. How could that not be fun?

John’s dad, who had attended the Merchant Marine Academy and spent a few years at sea himself, explained, "Your mother and I went to high school with a guy named Ricky Frye, who is now the head waiter on the SS Continental Star." John was aware that the SS Continental Star was a luxury liner, a well-known passenger ship, and the pride of the U.S. Merchant Marine fleet.

If you’re serious, said Dad, I’ll contact Ricky and ask him to help you get a job on the ship. He asked again, Do you want to do this?

Yes, John replied.

His mother’s face wore a concerned look, but she remained silent throughout this exchange.

Ricky was home between trips and answered the phone when Joe called. They talked about things old acquaintances discuss when they haven’t spoken for a long time. How are you doing? Long time, no see. How’s the wife? What’s new with you? What’s your daughter doing? Getting ready for college. What about John?

This was the opportunity Joe was waiting for. John just finished his freshman year at Penn State. He and one of his buddies think they would like to get a summer job on a ship. Any chance you could help them with that?

Sure, Ricky replied. Send ’em up to New York in three weeks, on June 2nd – that’s a Monday – and I’ll put him to work as a waiter on the ‘Big C’. This was the ship’s well-known nickname.

When the two old friends had finished talking, John’s mother commented, I hope this isn’t a mistake.

After considering this for a moment, John’s father replied, It’s perfectly safe. In fact, I think it’ll be good for him to get out of here and see some of the world. Ricky can keep an eye on him.

You’re probably right, but you know I’ll worry anyway. He’s never been away on his own except for a couple of terms at college.

Hey, mom, I’m a big boy now. Don’t worry about me. I won’t do anything stupid, John said, displaying youthful bravado.

But then he thought, Holy shit, this is moving much faster than I expected. Suddenly, the pipe dream was becoming a reality. Complications would need to be dealt with quickly. John was still dating his high school girlfriend, Julie, who often reminded him that she expected them to marry when he graduated from college. She had been a cheerleader and was intelligent as well as attractive. After graduating high school, Julie got a job as a secretary in the local steel mill and bought a red ’66 Dodge Charger. The back seat folded down under the sloping fastback rear window, making a convenient long space for lovemaking. She knew nothing about John’s crazy dream to go off and see the world.

John certainly had not yet settled on a life plan. He lacked the maturity and desire to settle into marriage, and he knew it. Maybe in a few years – he couldn’t fathom when – John would settle on a direction, but he felt Julie deserved better.

Ricky had offered to take on both John and his friend, so John called Terry. I’ve got big news, Terry!

I’ve got some news, too, Terry replied. They arranged to meet for burgers at the lunch counter at Hermann’s general store.

John got right to the point, "Remember our idea about getting a job on a ship? Well, it’s going to happen! I got us a job, not just any old freighter, but on the SS Continental Star. We’re going to be waiters."

Terry frowned. Alarm bells started going off in John’s mind; Wait, he should be smiling, excited, not frowning.

Oh, man. Two days ago, I’d have been over the moon to hear that, but yesterday I learned that I’ve been accepted at West Point. I’m going to West Point! I’ll report there next month.

Shit, thought John, but he said. Hey Terry, congratulations. That’s great!

He was going to have to pursue their dream alone. It was more daunting to jump into this adventure without a wingman. You can handle this without Terry, he quickly resolved.

Things were moving fast. John narrowed his options to these: the safety and comfort of the known versus the adventure of the unknown. If I do this, he thought, Julie won’t like it, and I will have to give up summer league baseball. He was a good enough ballplayer to have earned a place on the league all-star team for the past two years, and the team manager was counting on him to play again this year. So, on the negative side: unhappy girlfriend, disappointed coach, and, it occurred to John, a worried mother. Now he began to understand why they say, Be careful what you wish for.

He decided with some apprehension that Julie, baseball, and maybe even Happy Valley could wait. And mothers just naturally worry too much, don’t they? This job was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. An opportunity not taken is wasted. The lure of unknown adventure tugged at him irresistibly, like an ocean undertow.

He arrived early at the ball field for a spring practice at which his coach was planning to assess some hopefuls who wanted to join the team and get the holdovers from last year to practice fundamentals. As usual, the breeze blew around dust from the infield, and Coach Bill, as everyone called him, was sitting on the bench with his ball cap pushed back, quietly watching as his assistant hit practice grounders to a couple of the team’s returning infielders.

Coach looked puzzled when John approached him empty-handed.

Hello, John. Where’s your ball glove?

John sat beside him. Coach, I don’t know a good way to tell you this, so I’ll just come out with it. I won’t be playing ball this summer. He gave him the details.

I hate losing you, John. You know, some of the big-league scouts have been watching you in the all-star league. If you really work at it, you could have a shot at the minors.

I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Coach, and I’ll miss playing this year. You guys will have a good team without me. I don’t think I’m good enough to make it to the pros, anyway.

We’d be a lot better if you stayed, but this looks like a great opportunity for you. I’d love to have done something like this when I was young. If it doesn’t work out, come on back. There will still be a place for you in the lineup. A handshake, some goodbyes to surprised teammates, and his baseball life was suddenly behind him.

That night, he broached the subject with Julie on a mountain outlook after a bout of lovemaking in the back of her Charger. When his breathing slowed, he said, I have something to tell you. I got a job that will take me away for a couple of months. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.

He filled her in on the details.

She started to protest, Oh no! Then, apparently thinking better of it despite her reservations, It sounds exciting, John, but I’ll miss you. I wish you could stay here with me.

If I pass on this, I’ll never get another opportunity like it. I’ve got to do it. Besides, it’s not permanent. It’s just a summer job.

I was really looking forward to our summer together, but I love you and I’ll still love you when you come back. Then, she climbed onto his lap and did her best to prove a summer of sex with her would be preferable to a summer at sea. She very nearly succeeded.

* * *

John took the overnight passenger train to the big city. He had packed light as Ricky instructed. A man stood on the platform at Penn Station holding a piece of cardboard with John’s name written on it and scanned the departing passengers. He was square-jawed, big in the chest, about six feet tall, broad across the shoulders, with black hair combed straight back. John spotted him. He looks like a mafia guy, he thought, then dismissed the thought. John pointed at his sign. That’s me.

I’m Ricky. They shook hands, and Ricky tossed the cardboard sign into a nearby trash bin. Follow me, he said and set off briskly.

Outside, Ricky anxiously watched the traffic on West 33rd Street. Soon he waved his hand, and a robin’s egg blue Thunderbird with a black landau roof pulled to the curb. Ricky’s wife was driving. Ricky got into the front passenger seat and John climbed into the back seat to join a girl who appeared to be a couple of years younger than him. She was pretty, a little plump, with dark eyes and straight black hair that fell to her shoulders. She wore a light cotton pullover top and cutoff blue jeans.

Ricky said, John, this is my wife, Elaine, and our daughter, Carol.

Looking at Carol, John said, Hi.

Hi, she replied and turned her head to look out the window. Her sullen facial expression made her appear to be irritated about something, so he turned to the front seat. Thanks for picking me up, Elaine, congratulating himself for remembering her name. Not too much trouble, I hope.

No trouble at all, Elaine replied. We planned to be in the City anyway. Ricky’s going to show me the new union hall and then we’re going to do some shopping for Carol’s school wardrobe.

I could pick out my own clothes, you know, Julie said, and then she returned to gazing out the window.

Your mother’s paying for them, so she’s got something to say about that. Show a little appreciation, Ricky said.

I’m not picking your clothes for you, Elaine interjected. I just want to make sure you have some nice things for school.

From John’s vantage point, Elaine looked to be slender, with a little too much makeup and hair that was probably too blond to be natural.

Clearly wanting to change the subject, Ricky looked over his shoulder and explained, We just built a new union hall, and its architecture has gotten a lot of attention. Thought I’d show it to Elaine since we’re going to be dropping you off there anyway.

Ricky just bought this car for me, Elaine said. I just love it!

Paid cash for it, explained Ricky as if it was terribly important. I don’t drive, never had a license, but she needed a new car.

Elaine drove to the union hall and stopped the car in the middle of 13th street without pulling to the curb. As Ricky and Elaine exited the car, he quickly told John, Just take it around the block a couple of times while we’re inside.

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