My father showed up in New York in January 1936. He was 21 years of age, fresh out of Mississippi, and all he had on was a light summer suit, no coat, and little money or luggage. My Uncle Clyde said that when he saw my father, he was just about frozen. But Clyde took him in and got him a job with the same shipping company he worked for, the Moore-McCormack Lines. My father was the fourth brother to join the company, following my Uncle Eustice, Uncle Clyde, and Uncle Albert. He started at the very bottom and worked his way up over the years until he was a Chief Engineer, the same as his brothers. As best as I can remember, my father sailed three of the Mormac cargo ships: the MormacMoon, the MormacSaga, and the MormacBay. I remember seeing the Moon in dock, after he had moved to the Saga. It looked old and kind of sad, flying a Panamanian flag, after being sold off. 

                                          SS MormacBay's Maiden Voyage out of New York

                                                        Father at his Desk, On Board


Over the years, many stories were told about going to sea. My Uncle Clyde had a ship break in half, and was lucky to limp into port. At the start of WW II, my father found himself in the north Atlantic, far from home, and trying to burn Russian oil that was crippling the ship. Oh yes, and no guns either. During the Korean War, he loaded American troops off the beaches, tanks and all into the holds of the ship while the US Navy shelled the Koreans over the top of them. He went to Russia during the 1950’s and came back to tell us the Russians were absolutely petrified of Americans. Then a few years later, after battling dangerously high seas back from Europe, upon docking in New York, he called the Coast Guard and told them to come and get that bastard of a captain off his ship. They did, and the captain never sailed again.

My father was always terrified of flying. On one of his trips back home, he flew into the New Orleans airport. The airplane’s wheels would not go down and they had to land the plane on its belly after they foamed down the runway. Then came the time when he was called back from vacation and had to fly to Africa to meet one of the Mormac ships. I remember how frightened he looked. It seemed that the Chief Engineer had died under suspicious circumstances, and they needed him to bring the ship back. On the way home, someone tried to sabotage the ship and it was only his quick actions that saved the day. He was given a citation for it, but said he didn’t deserve the award since he was merely trying to save his own ass in the middle of the ocean. He knew help wasn’t coming. 

Three years into his retirement (he was a Lieutenant Commander), the US Navy called him up and asked if he would consider doing some consulting for them. They had purchased some Mormac ships and were converting them. Since my father had the most extensive knowledge of the workings of the ships, they wanted to pay him for his help. My mother and I got to stay in one of the better hotels in New Orleans and go shopping while my father did the consulting. It was fun!

The Moore-McCormack shipping lines were in business from 1913 to 1982.  My father spent his whole career with them, and the company treated him very well. They paid my father a good salary and our family was never wanting. For that, I am grateful. He died in 1988. The Navy was kind enough to provide us with his grave marker. 

And oh yes:
We always had a port and starboard side of our house. And it was never a floor. It was the deck. Did you know that if someone dies on a ship, they store the body in the refrigerator, right next to the food? Oh, and by the way, when you jump off the ship, they don’t turn around and get you.  You’re on your own.