A World Ago

by Dorien Grey

  Been munching cookies, of which I took a handful from the galley to stave off my hunger. Besides, we had liver for supper, and you know how I love liver!

  You’d be amazed how clear the water is around here. Lloyd and I were up on the foc’sle after dinner today, and we could see the entire bow of the ship (which goes down quite a way). It was so clear we could see streaks of rust on the hull.

  The sun came out for awhile today, but it wasn’t very strong—sort of diluted. The Intrepid is still with us, about two miles ahead and two miles off to port, with a little destroyer toddling along after her like a puppy. Two prop planes were doing acrobatics and made me wish I were up there with them.

  This is only our fourth day at sea, but it’s the tenth—no, the 12th, since I’ve been ashore; the longest single stretch I’ve ever done on this thing. We pull into Athens on Monday, which is also May Day. In America, we used to make May baskets and fill them with candy—in Europe, May Day is the day when all the Communists come out in full force, spreading their own special brand of pleasantries in the form of riots, stonings, and burnings. We’ll probably have to stay on board until everything cools down.

  Meanwhile, back at the ranch…Nick has been sulking around for three days now, saying next to nothing, and on the rare occasions he does speak, it’s an unintelligible mumble. Can’t figure out what’s wrong with him, but he’s certainly doing his best to make everyone miserable.

  Just finished reading some more out of the mythology book I got two weeks ago from the library—this time it was the Trojan War. This particular legend never ceases to fascinate me, though I’ve read it a dozen different times in different books, from “The Iliad” on down. I’ve found that the characters in mythology are all inter-related and linked, even though they do tend to blend and fade together at times. Mythology is far more enjoyable, and at times more believable, than history. And now why do I say that? Mythology is a history—a sort of “pre-history” that lived more by word of mouth than by printed page.

  Well, now, I’ve got to go take a shower. I see my handwriting has degenerated into illegibility. More tomorrow.

  Love

  Roge

  27–28 April 1956

  Dear Folks

  Nine thirty and time for a quick if not too inspired letter. Spent most of the evening trying to polish my shoes.

  As usually happens, it is now Saturday morning and the announcement has just come that mail closes out today at 1200 noon. It is now a race to see if I’ll make it or not.

  The first two lines were all the further I got. Lloyd had been in, studying for his seaman test, and left to sweep his compartment. Coutre had stepped out for a cup of coffee, and all was still…. For a moment, that is—then both Coutre and Lloyd came back, and we sat up till eleven; Cou working and me asking Lloyd questions from his seaman book.

  Nick has been playing the role of St. Joan at the Stake and has succeeded in getting on everyone’s nerves, including mine. He has that “Oh, life is just too, too…” attitude. It is now about nine thirty, and he hasn’t said one single word since he came in at eight. A day or two I can see—but this has been going on now long enough to get any psychiatrist interested. If he doesn’t snap out of it, he’ll crack up before the cruise is over.

  Speaking of the cruise being over—let’s. Only forty more days and we’ll be heading for home—and only 106 before I get out. Oh, what a wondrous day that will be.

  This is a lost cause, I can see—guess I’d just better give up and finish it tonite, even though it won’t go off today.

  Just had a mail call—got three letters from you (20–23rd) and two rolls of film, which look like they should be excellent. It’s always so nice to get mail, especially since the office atmosphere resembles the least attractive aspects of the Okeefenokee swamp I am ashamed of myself for not having written sooner or more often, but the lethargy I’ve mentioned previously really gets at a person.

  Tomorrow, praises be to Allah, is Sunday, which means I can sleep to my little heart’s content. This means one of two things—either I will wake up of my own accord about seven o’clock, or someone will do it for me by having a shouting contest. Oh, well, we shall see.

  It was a nice day today—the sea a beautiful blue and the wind just a bit cold. The sun was a nice warm yellow and displayed an attractive sunset, the sleepy reddish-yellows reflecting from the surrounding ships and skimming the tops of the waves.

  There are quite a few civilians aboard, with pot bellies and blueprints; trying to get some things straightened out before we come into the yards.

  Many times I have bemoaned the neutral-grey if not the dullness of life at sea. True, there isn’t much to write about—the physical day doesn’t alter much, but there are variations, all of them mental, which make it not uninteresting. I read, and think (occasionally), and watch and listen. But at times I think of myself as a sort of blotter—I absorb, but it doesn’t do much good. Oh, well….

  I am anxious to get back to college, because there I’ll be forced to work. I have, at times, all the will power and forcefulness of a three-toed sloth.

  Nick has deigned to give us the honor of his exalted presence. Andy and I are the only mortals in the office. To Andy he speaks—I am only a part of the furnishings and not worthy of his notice. I’m not saying anything—two can play at his asinine little game; and I can play it longer. If he ever decides to come back to Earth, he will find that Roger doesn’t live here anymore. Coutre still tries cajoling him out of it—I’ve washed my hands. He’s named the tune—let him dance to it!

  The book on mythology is long overdue at the library—until I hear from them, it will stay overdue. Conscience to the contrary, the vow I made when I left Pensacola still goes—anything that the Navy hasn’t got nailed down, I’ll take.

  Subject—film, mailing of. It has been decided not to mail certain films home. There now being approximately twenty rolls, it would be impractical to mail them air-mail (not to mention expensive). And to place them in a box to lie in the bottom of some hot, stuffy hold on a ship would be unwise, as it would most likely end up as a wad of fused plastic and melted film.

  For padding for dad’s binoculars, I have an ingenious idea. Coutre suggested last night that prior to discharge I stock up on a few items from Small Stores—namely, towels and pillowcases. The latter are a little small for civilian-type pillows, but the towels are excellent. They are Canon towels, and come in wash-cloth, regular, and bath sizes. They range in cost from 45 cents for the regular to 60 cents for the bath size (22x44”). I understand they are quite expensive on the “outside.” How about it, mother? If you want, I can get tons of them—they can be dyed any color you wish.

  Well, my Dear parents, I shall try very hard not to be so negligent in the future. And with your kind permission, I will close

  Your Obedient Son

  Roger

  1 May 1956

  Dear Folks

  And a happy, happy May Day to you! Arrived head-on at Athens this morning, amid the sleepy sunlight and playful forty mile an hour gales that blew an uncounted number of white hats over the side, while their owners stood in more-or-less formation for Quarters. Two salutes were fired as we entered the harbor—a 21 gunner for the King and Queen, and later a 12 gun for obscure reasons. Let’s hope our coming had been previously announced in the Greek papers, or the Athenians might have gotten a rather unpleasant surprise to be jarred out of bed by the heavy “pom-pom”ing of cannon, and rushing to their windows to see the formidable American Sixth Fleet sweeping in on them.

  Athens is more or less surrounded by mountains, large and small. The largest part of the city lies in a hollow behind a tall but rolling mountain. In the center (or what appears to be the center) of town is a high hill, shaped roughly like a volcano. On the very top of it perches a white building—I don’t know what it is. In front (toward the sea) is another hill—it is broader and about half as high. It looks as though it were a long ramp leading to a table;
in fact it looks as though it were man made. And on top of this hill—better known as the Acropolis, stand the ruins of the world’s first great civilization. The Parthenon, huge and broken, crowns the Acropolis, To the right and rear stands a large mass which may have been a gigantic statue; to the left and almost on the down-ramp, are lesser ruins; small, toppled temples.

  The total impression of Athens and its surrounding mountains is one of brown. The city itself is sprinkled with white, and green fields lap at the base of the mountains. But there are almost no trees. On top of the round mountain behind which Athens rests are three trees, looking very, very small. Along the shore can be seen a few more; but aside from them, the land is naked.

  Tomorrow I’m going ashore at 1300, armed to the teeth with camera and film. And guess where I’ll be going first thing?

  Mail call and I received two letters from you and one from Harry Harrison (NavCad made good). First, to answer your questions—yes, I got the pictures of the cottage, as you know by now—and no, I did not go to the bullfights, which brought no tears to my eyes.

  Once again, I didn’t fill in the “home town paper forms” because I do not find it at all a great distinction to have made 3rd class. That’s like Einstein passing a third grade math test.

  The chief has appointed me a “supernumerary Master At Arms,” which can mean almost anything, good or bad.

  I am now down to two pair of skivvies, and don’t know what I’ll do after they’re gone. And with no more of my size on board ship, I am in a slight predicament.

  Nick has come out of his shell at last, and today was driving his car (the imaginary one) complete with sound effects, which means he’s fully back among the living. Let us hope he doesn’t try his Garbo again—not until August at least, when I won’t have to worry about it.

  Haven’t had time to read all day—trying to type the menu, run errands for various people, etc. It being the first day in port, the office was crowded with assorted Greek civilians, trying to sell produce and fresh foods to the ship.

  From the back of one of those clippings you sent, I see Little Annie Rooney is still at it, blabbering happily away about her coming adoption (if I had a nickel for every time she’s been going to be adopted, I could retire), while Zero, her trusty 27 year old dog, is still stuck with the same old line: “WUFF.” One of these days someone is going to get wise.

  Well, tonight being Shower Night, I’ve got to knock off early. I was up till midnight last night, talking with Jim Bassette about our Paris adventures. Ah, well….

  Till tomorrow (or maybe Thurs., since I’m going ashore tomorrow)

  Love

  Roge

  P.S. Oh, yes—we’ve been extended—get home around 22 June.

  For an avid fan of ancient history and mythology, to actually be on the Acropolis, here with friend Lloyd Myers (r.), was the fulfillment of a fantasy.

  3 May 56

  Dear Folks

  Yesterday I made my pilgrimage to Athens. Aside from being deceptively expensive, it was also very enjoyable. Went through 300 drachmas faster than Grant went through Richmond.

  The Acropolis lived up to all my expectations—I was awed by the Parthenon. Now follows a short history of the Acropolis:

  The earliest town was built on top of the Acropolis—an excellent location; a sheer drop of about two hundred feet on three sides, and an almost uninterrupted view of the entire countryside. Soon, Nature being what it is, the population grew and spilled out onto the plains around the Acropolis. When the city beneath the Acropolis became larger than the one on top, the people decided to dedicate the city to one of the gods. Athena and Poseidon both wanted it, and it was decided to give the city to whichever god presented the greater gift to the people. Poseidon, god of the sea, struck a rock with his trident and brought forth either a spring of salt water, or the horse (accounts vary—the latter is more accepted. Besides, I can’t see what earthly good a spring of salt water could do anyone). Athena then produced the olive tree. The people chose the olive tree as the better gift, and the city was named Athens.

  Atop the Acropolis was then constructed the magnificent Parthenon, in honor of Athena. Parthenon means “Temple of the Virgin,” which Athena supposedly was. It is one of the seven wonders of the world, and the most perfect building in the world. The name of the architect escapes me, unfortunately—Epidus or Epirus or something like that. For one thing, there is not a straight line on the building—the base of the temple is 20” higher in the center than at either end—this is not noticeable, but only adds to the light, graceful look of the building. He also set the style for all temples constructed thereafter; if a temple has six columns on either end, it must have twice that number plus one on either side—the Parthenon has eight on each facet and therefore 17 on each side. The temple faces the east (actually, since it is exactly the same on both ends, it faces east and west). On the west facet, the frieze—that part of the temple between the tops of the columns and the roof—depicted in bas-relief the contest between Athena and Poseidon. Thanks to an English gentleman named Lord Elgin, there is almost none of the original frieze left—he had it all removed and carted back to Britain, where it was placed in the British Museum and called “The Elgin Marbles.”

  Opening into the inner temple from the west facet was a huge stone door, which could be swung closed in emergencies. There are still deep ruts in the floor from the swinging of the door. Inside the temple, which is the size of a football field—no, about half that—the stones remaining are beautifully smooth. To the right, just after entering through the west door, was a small room wherein were kept all the treasures of the city.

  The most remarkable thing about the entire structure is that it did not decay with the passage of time. With the coming of Christianity, the Parthenon became the Church of St. Sophia—some of the murals can still be made out on the walls. Greece, and Athens, fell into Turkish hands sometime around the 10th or 12th century, and was used by them as a mosque. They whitewashed the walls and tried to destroy all vestiges of the Christian works. Through all this the Parthenon stood, unchanged.

  And then came the Greek war of Independence, in 1646. The Turks used the Acropolis as a fortress, and the Parthenon as an ammunition dump. A stray cannonball entered the temple through the columns of the north side and set the munitions afire. The Parthenon, which had stood for 2,000 years, was almost completely destroyed.

  If only you could see the magnificence of it, even in ruins, and imagine it to be whole and complete….

  Inside the temple, facing to the east and the main entrance, stood the fabulous statute of Athena. The statue, who was seated, was 40 feet high; its dress of solid gold, and its arms and face of ivory! Being so huge, it was hollow, and a sort of ramrod ran through the center as a support—it is the only spot in the building floor which is not of marble—the hole for the support is still there. The goddess remained, facing the east, until the Romans came along.

  Rome and Romans had a terrific case of kleptomania—they never borrowed, they took. Athena, being one of the many gods the Romans took as their own, became Minerva, and her statue in the Parthenon, being gold and ivory, was removed (for sentimental purposes, of course). The ship carrying the statue to Rome was sunk in a storm, and no one has ever found any trace of it.

  The frieze of the east facet, under the triangle of the roof showed Athena’s birth. One day Zeus had a splitting headache and asked Hephaestus (Vulcan) to hit him in the head with a thunderbolt. This the obliging Hephaestus did, and from Zeus’ head, fully grown and clad in battle dress, came Athena.

  Alexander the Great, conqueror of Asia Minor, gave to the Parthenon large shells of solid gold—these were placed in the frieze (must have been very large, for they had to make holes to support them, which are still visible). Everything went along fine until our friends the Romans stormed into the picture. At the time, they had an emperor who fancied himself a poet of great talent. He had Alexander’s shells removed and covered the frieze
with his own poems, in huge gold letters.

  When Christianity came into its own and the Parthenon became a church, the poems were hastily removed; Nero had not been ardently admired by the Christians.

  People today wonder why the steps surrounding the Parthenon are so high off the ground. The answer is very simple—nobody ever used them—all the festivals and great pilgrimages to the Parthenon took place on the outside; nobody went in.

  The picture enclosed of Lloyd and I will give you some idea of what I’ve been talking about. This is the west facet.

  Oh, yes—one more thing—the roof was of transparent marble, to allow light to enter! And it was built 2,500 years ago.

  And so we have had out guided tour of the Acropolis for today. More (with revisions and corrections) Saturday, when I get back from the tour.

  Well, mail closes out at 0500, so I’d best close.

  Love

  Roge

  6–7 May, 1956

  Dear Folks

  After several days’ silence, I rise from the dead and take pen in hand once more. Today is the Greek Easter—the Orthodox religion differs from Catholicism in this and many other ways. Today is also the morning after the night before, though I am quite proud of myself, having come through the entire ordeal with what I consider “flying colors.”

  Lloyd and I went on tour yesterday. The tour got over about three thirty—we got back to the ship at five minutes to twelve. Between the hours mentioned came God only knows how many bottles of wine. If it hadn’t been for the goodness of three Greek sailors, we probably never would have gotten back. We met them in the subway, and stayed with them a couple hours. A grand time was had by all.

  I suppose I should be ashamed of myself—I’ve been spending far too much money, but who cares? This will be the last good liberty port we will hit until we return home. Which reminds me—did I mention our month’s extension? Now we’re not supposed to get back to the States until July sometime. (And then again, I heard today that we’d received another dispatch canceling the extension.) Oh, well, think what you will.