Six Old men - Preamble Edited

July 1988



The late afternoon sun beats down on an extravagant dwelling, perched on a picturesque bluff in Hampton Rhodes.  The long sloping red slate roof, white stucco walls, set on the rocky crags of a cliff overlooking a narrow beach and large boathouse.  A patio and pool accent the north side and extend to the edge of the cliff. 



Jane Carbone is sitting beside the pool on a lounge chair overlooking the inlet.  For a woman of seventy years, she can still get away with wearing a two-piece bathing suit and swim laps every day.  The sun is low on the horizon and the glare is bothering her eyes.  She has been waiting for an hour to see her husband return from his fishing trip.  Most of the ice in her Tom Collins has melted; ‘the tinkle of the ice is one of the niceties of sitting and sipping’ she thought.



Jane raised her glass and Darlene approached with a small drink tray, the fresh Tom Collins was cold and the glass frosted in condensation.  Darlene stooped over and provided a clean dry napkin; she placed the fresh drink on the napkin and removed the half empty glass. 



Without turning her head Jane spoke, she often blurted out whatever she was thinking at the time.  “They’ll come back with a mess of fish again, him and his friends.”  Darlene stopped to listen to the old lady.  “Bunch of old fools, think they’re twenty years old.  Farting around in that little boat.”



“Yes ma’am.”  Darlene knew enough not to inject any of her own thoughts.  Then she walked off to her place in the pantry again.



The sun was on the horizon now; from her viewpoint she could see from the dock, across the bay to the glorious sunset over the village.  The bay is calm; most of the evening boaters have moored their vessels and turned in for the evening.  Then turning the point from the channel, is the “Hack’, a fifty foot trawler.  Jane put down her drink and picked up her husband’s old binoculars.  She slowly focused on the flying bridge and sees her husband.  Even though he could not see her, staring at the figure at the top of the bluff, he held up his Tom Collins and grinned from ear to ear. 



She trained the binoculars back to the flag waving at the fantail, she saw an old broom attached to the flagpole.  She immediately knew what the broom meant,  “Damn.  They got a load of fish again, I’ll never get rid of that smell!”



She watched as they docked what she called the monstrosity.  The boat is Horace’s pride and joy, a small commercial fishing trawler that was converted for his personal use.  All the capabilities of a fishing boat and the amenities of a cruise ship he calls it the best of both worlds.  He named her after another proud vessel of World War Two, one he mastered with his five buddies.



When the six of them are on the boat, his hired mates have very little to do.  After his friends finished securing the boats moorings they started to pack up their catch in ice chests.  They were the six survivors, all long time close friends.  The youngest was 72 and Tweed was the oldest at 78.  For four years they were the closest any six men could be, they could almost predict the others reactions to a situation.



Horace told everyone to meet him in the boathouse, and instructed his hired mates to finish securing the boat.  His buddies slowly packed their things and started into the boathouse, Horace went back into the cabin and picked up the house phone.



Jane listened to the ping of the one line phone that sat beside her drink.  Darlene came out to pick it up but Jane waved her off.  As the phone made that annoying sound seven times she slowly reached over and picked it up. 



“Hi darlin’ how’s your day?”  He was expecting to get his head ripped off.



She left him with a very long pause.  “Just fine.”  She said abruptly.  “And, how was yours?”



“Great, got a whole mess of fresh Cod, good size too.”  He knew she would not be happy, she hated when he came back smelling of Cod.  “Have to talk with the fella’s for a few, I’ll shower and clean up down here and see you when we’re finished, invited Larry to dinner and to stay over.  See you later.  Love you.”  He spoke as fast as he could and quickly hung up.  ‘I might be sleeping in the boathouse tonight’, he thought.



The boathouse is a very livable structure.  The docking facilities were already there when Horace purchased it.  The surrounding beachfront was a half and half mix of small stone and sand; the dock was long and extended into a forty foot wide by twenty-foot high gaping entry of the barn style building.  Inside the building is a second floor and a balcony or gallery on either side of the core of the building.  The six rooms on the second floor were equipped with separate bathing facilities and each of his friends had their own room. 



While Harold’s guests cleaned up while the hired mates packed additional ice in the chests and put them in the waiting SUV’s.



Today was to be special, Horace is going to present them with an idea.  They had all showered and were ready to depart, they all gathered at the small lounge at the rear of the building near the small parking lot.  Larry passed out beers to everyone. 



“So what’s up cap’n?”  Tweed decided to break the ice, he was curious all day.



Horace didn’t quite know how to broach the subject, but he decided to just jump in at the middle and work his way out.  “The Navy is going to decommission the ‘Hack’ and sink her as bottom trash.  Something for the fish to breed in.”



At first everyone took the news with indifference.  Their beloved Hackle Head was a fifty-year-old diesel submarine; if the Navy saw fit to scrap her then there was little they could do.  Then, almost simultaneously, they all thought the same thing.  That was the boat that always brought them home, it had bonded them all together, had pulled them out of some pretty bad spots and saw the sadness in losing that part of their lives.  Larry piped in, “But.  We may have a way to save the old girl.”



All of them had been graced with good fortune over the years since the war, they were all rich and recently retired.  Horace Carbone, their captain and close friend had a plan that he knew would be accepted by all of them.



“We’re all financially FAT!  We have money to burn, so let’s burn some and save the old girl?”  Horace had a way of putting things that his buddies understood.  “Each of us kicks in a few mill and times six we will have enough to refurbish her and make her seaworthy.”



After laying out his ideas and a detailed financial agenda, Horace added, “We will sail her once more.  She’s located at the Submariners Naval Training facilities at New London.  They’re opening a new Maritime and Naval Museum at Newark New Jersey, we sail her into the Museum from Groton after we get her refurbished.”  He looked around the table into each mans eyes and knew they all agreed.  “The trip will be exactly the same as we used to do, a patrol, but a mock patrol.”

His last statement put some apprehension in their eyes, their expressions turned from interest to confusion ‘what did he mean by patrol?’



“We will have a shakedown crew of 25 including us,” Larry spoke up to break the tension.  “I spoke with the commandant of the Training Center and he said if the Navy gives the ok to referb the boat and consent to sail, the center will provide the extra crew.”



They were all still looking back and forth at one another.



“Don’t worry guys, we’re not blowing anything up.  There are no weapons, just a mock patrol, make believe” Horace was grinning.  “Just to prove you don’t have to be young to be a submariner, we’ve done this so many times before, so what say, let’s do this guys!”



At this point they were all hunched over a table full of charts and documents, they all looked at one another.  Tweed put his hand down on the table and each man in turn covered his, the past Captain of the boat laying his hand on top and they shook.  Just then the house phone began to Ping.



“Back to reality!”  Horace walked over to the bar to answer the phone.







(Please feel free to read on, Chapters One and Two are in my Portfolio)