by Micha Berman
While the "Tempest" or "A Midsummer Night's Dream," did not draw attention, my Bible was an object of curiosity and a catalyst for conversation. Religion played a curious role aboard the cruise liner. There were no regular religious services on the ship, although for holidays Carnival brought aboard clergy. Within my first couple of months of work, Gary instructed me to hold mass. " I'm not sure that's a possibility," I answered nervously knowing full well that baptism, crucifixions and the Lord's Prayer were not part of my upbringing, rather bar mitzvahs, corned beef and matzo ball soup were more like it. Gary paused,"No worries, just get the suitcase." Shuffling through the supplies closet in the office, I found a black briefcase labeled "church," and quickly opened it to find an instant prayer kit with an assortment of supplies for all your mainstream religions, wooden crosses, wine cups, yarmulkes and a miniature sheet listing the Five Pillars of Islamic Faith. I would give this brief case to the clergy when they came aboard; as well as, a couple of free passes for some tours on the island and in this way was performing the Lord's work cruise ship style. I often was amused watching these clergy run around in their bathing suits drinking beers. They seemed to have more fun than any other passengers, anonymous without their robes, not too different than when we took our uniforms off. The clergy performed marriages on the ship before it left port because marriage at sea was no longer legal. So many couples now tied the knot before the ship ever left port and then conveniently remained aboard for their honeymoon.
Though noble in my sin-free hobbies, the temptations of the cruise world were always present. I witnessed many shipmates fall victim to these temptations. Their time on the cruise ship was often cut short due to the problems and frustrations that arose out of heavy gambling or alcohol use. Relationships turned sour and the pressures of isolation were just too much for many who picked up and left. Still, I persevered, surrounded by companions early in my journey, I held the Devil and his temptations at bay. I didn't need the makeshift cross from the black suitcase or a clove of garlic, just some will power, the Bible, some protein shakes, and a whole lot of Shakespeare.
Crazy Cruise Trivia
Did you know?
Financially strapped steamship companies came up with an idea during
Prohibition in the mid 1920's. They began to run their fleets on short
trips back and forth to the Bahamas, Havana, and often to nowhere in
particular allowing passengers to drink and be merry.
This was the advent of the
Booze Cruise as well as the
"Cruise to Nowhere."
Chapter 8 Moments of Crisis
I had never seen this shade of black before. It stared back at me with a cold and definitive glare and held me prisoner. The darkness enveloped me as I stood alone on the top deck of the cruise ship looking out at a sea of emptiness. This was not the first time I stood here gazing at the waves as they danced a crazy tango with this 70,000 ton hedonistic machine. Often I ended my hectic days of bingo, hairy chest contests, ping-pong, stuffing fiestas, and newlywed games by inhaling the briny air, and for a slice of time savoring the solitude of the ocean and the sheer lack of noise. It was difficult to see where the sky and water met, both overlapping in grays and hiding like a mischievous school kid. Not many passengers walked the decks after 9 p.m., too busy rolling dice in the casino or eating pork chops in the buffets. The competing smells of greasy fries, hot dogs and beer dissipated and was replaced by the cold brisk wind that could only be manufactured by her royal majesty, Mother Nature. I always expected to see a light or something that would signal another life form, but in most cases the only company I had was darkness.
As I walked the Lido deck I was surprised to see more people than usual, as well as the continuous shuffling of crew members as they scurried back and forth. An undercurrent of mumbling caught my attention. There weren't any singles walking around, but rather small groups of people, huddled in circles whispering to themselves, most of them crew. It was like watching that gossip game you play in sixth grade where one person whispers in the next person's ear. Something dramatic had happened on the ship, which the passengers were not privy to. All kinds of thoughts bombarded my head: a storm approaching, a passenger jumped overboard, the ship was sinking, all possibilities except maybe the last one. A couple of co-workers rushed by me up the stairs towards the swimming pool. Their haste was peculiar.
"What's going on?" I asked one of the stewards in the hallway. Breathlessly, he answered,"Micha, you heard, there's going to be an airlift." A rumor had begun to spread around the ship that an emergency medical airlift was to take place. Airlifts did not happen. They were things you heard about. An airlift would mean that a helicopter was coming out to meet the cruise ship in the middle of the ocean to pick up a sick passenger. Most of the passengers would never even know about it, but to the crew it was a momentous occasion that broke up weeks of routine--the circus was coming. I started up the stairs and into the cold air of the night. I climbed up one more level of stairs and stood behind a rope that had been set up to keep a large open area accessible to the medical staff. Passengers walking on the deck had also begun to congregate, sensing that something out of the ordinary was occurring. It was the rubbernecking syndrome you see on highways, explained only by people's morbid curiosity.
Crowds started to form around the ropes, everyone straining on their toes to see what was happening. All eyes were focused at the same dark sky in the distance I had been observing for months, waiting for the spaceship. As I stood among the crew that night, waiting for the helicopter to arrive, I felt like I was part of some Fourth of July celebration waiting for fireworks to appear out of the sky. The only difference was the strange solemnness; each person trying to conceal their deep fear and apprehension of what they were about to witness. The noise level had begun to rise as people became testy, the crowd pushing in on itself and squabbling for a good view.
Without warning, a side door opened and several nurses appeared with a stretcher.Their faces were haggard and crestfallen.Instead of the crisp white uniforms the nurses normally wore,they were dressed in casual sweats and tennis shoes. Whatever had happened, the nurses had been summoned from their sleep. My eyes followed their hands down to a stretcher where a body lay partially covered with a white sheet and several blankets. The only part exposed were two feet sticking out from under the cloth and a small area around the face. This was a crude operation. I hadn't seen many dead things in my life, except for a time I had interned on a farm and saw a big fat cow with its four legs pointing to the sky in rigor mortis, but I couldn't help but compare those two pale feet with the bovines. The sheets draped over the sick passenger had transformed it into a Egyptian mummy. The nurses placed the stretcher on the deck and quickly began tying ropes and knots around its edges. Several other people crowded around the stretcher, making it hard to see. At about the same time, a bright light appeared in the distance and within seconds the familiar sounds of a helicopter could be discerned. The force of the chopper's propellers, along with the ever-present wind, created a loud whirlwind of activity. Each rotation rained a loud piercing boom. A delicate operation took place in front of us as the patient was carefully placed on the deck and positioned for lift off. The helicopter could not land on the ship due to a lack of space, so instead it hovered above the ship and dropped ropes to attach to the patient who would then be lifted and reeled into the helicopter. Every person was glued to the piece of machinery in the sky.
On this particular night the patient was a pregnant passenger who had undergone some complications on the ship and needed to be airlifted to a hospital. The helicopter dropped some cables down to the deck and the nurses worked frantically to attach the patient for the lift. Each second created a more dangerous situation for the helicopter. I grew more tense as time passed and my breathing became labored, as if I were adjusting to a new altitude. As if choreographed, the crowd around the stretcher suddenly took two steps back, and the patient was lifted slowly
off the ground, the stretcher remaining horizontal to the deck. The crowd gasped as the little body began to inch away from the deck. Soon the woman was directly above the ocean. I felt nauseous, my stomach in knots; my heart felt as big as a watermelon. For several seconds her lifeless body swayed back and forth in the wind only several feet above the dark unmerciful ocean. Nothing else existed for that brief moment except the little body, the sea and the wind. It reminded me of a David Copperfield magical feat, except this was real and there were no nets beneath this person to catch her. Her body was slowly pulled closer and closer to the gaping doorway in the helicopter, and when it neared the opening, arms grabbed her, pulling her in like a piece of cargo that had finally reached its destination. Before I could blink the helicopter was gone.
For a moment, the crew members and other passengers watching this saga stood quietly, deep in thought. No one stirred. The moment was filled with loneliness as the sky became empty again, with no lights or sound. Where the woman once lay, I saw several people standing with the nurses, most likely family, watching the sky where their loved one had been hovering only moments before. Several of them were embracing while the nurses rubbed their backs to comfort them. What were they thinking? When would they see their loved one again? As I thought about my family, I lost focus on the scene and was reawakened by the crowd beginning to disperse. I returned to my cabin that night not sure if I could sleep after what I had witnessed. I might have drifted off a couple of times, but my brain was in overdrive playing over the momentous scene and flipping death over and over in my mind like an egg, trying to explore all its ramifications, and discover answers to some fear that had welled up within me. I finally negotiated with myself that I would let all my crazy unanswered thoughts stay exactly that--unanswered. As morning arrived, so did the news that the pregnant woman was safe and doing well. For the rest of my time on the Ecstasy I would often return to the spot of the airlift to meditate on what I had seen that night.
Who would take care of me if I had a medical emergency aboard the fun ship? By the time I had earned my stripes as an experienced crew member, which was only a couple of months, I had seen plenty of doctors and nurses come aboard. They were short-term cruisers, similar to renta-priest or hired guns, who were offered a free vacation on condition that they be on-call and serve any medical emergencies. You could call them "rent-a-doctor,"not all that different from the rent-a-cop stationed outside fraternity house parties. They looked awfully good wearing those little black beepers while they pranced around in their bathing suits, talking on their cell phones, and generally acting obnoxious. The bad news for them was that every 100th cruise, there actually was an emergency where their services were needed and unfortunately some of them did not turn out as well.
Cruise ships are not immune to death, and when death strikes crew members are the first to know about it, that is, after the rent-a-doctor. There are two rooms on a cruise ship that passengers never see or pray they never see: the brig and the morgue. Cruise ship employees walk by these rooms of doom as a natural part of their daily rounds, although even they can be caught spying into the mysterious windows.
Although some crew end up in the brig if they misbehave, the morgue was for the truly unfortunate. The fact that the morgue was located right down the hall from the cruise staff cabins helped to spark everybody's imagination. Eventually, each cruise staff had to inspect what appeared to be a closet door with the word "morgue" emblazoned on it. Actually, it looked like any other door on the ship, but had a small glass window and a shiny metallic door handle. Close by was a workshop with wood and scrap metal lining the hallway. My imagination ran wild with thoughts of coffins frantically being built late in the night. The room could not have been bigger than six feet by six feet. What if more than one person died on a cruise? What would happen if we hosted an NBA team? Was the room refrigerated? Would we be able to see actual bodies in there?
When word got out that someone had died on the ship, crew members would line the halls to get a peek at the corpse as it was wheeled down the hall to the morgue. This happened rarely but heart attacks and other tragedies did occur and considering each week over 2,000 passengers boarded, it seemed more likely than not. The dancers had a hard time sleeping after watching a body wheeled past their rooms on the way to the morgue. Those nights the regular creeks and groans of the ship often sounded a lot more like the moans and wails of ghosts and goblins. There is even an interesting theory that people board cruise ships with the sole purpose of dying at sea. Cruise ships have always been known as places for the newlywed or the nearly dead. While this may be true on the more luxurious cruise lines that attracted an older crowd, on my cruise ship it was highly unlikely. My ship rarely had senior citizens and when we did it was because they had no idea what Carnival was about and found out too late they booked the wrong cruise. Every once in a while there would be super senior citizen, a Richard Simmons on Viagra who would dance the cruise away, but chances are they were on their 50th cruise and would be back for the 51st pretty soon. Our cruise ship was for living not dying, but if there was any plan to expire on our ship it would have been with style.
Weeks after the airlift the M.S. Ecstasy took its first charter cruise in a long time. A "charter" cruise meant that a private group had rented the entire ship for the week. "Charter" was a favorite word for cruise staff because this basically meant the staff would have that week off. Most of the regular schedule of activities were canceled as the private groups brought on their own entertainment. This week a National Union had chartered the ship and was bringing on delegations from all over the country. The union folks were having a great time. Union members from California were meeting fellow members from Florida and camaraderie flowed like champagne. Passengers were boozing, swimming, sun-tanning; the cruise was off to its usual festive self. Tonight was bingo night. I made my way to the main stage area of the ship where the dancers, looking bored after only ten minutes of work, had already begun selling bingo cards to the passengers.
"All right folks, we are now beginning our final game of the night-- a chance to win 500 dollars." My microphone went dead, usually a sign that the ship intercom was about to broadcast some type of news. I waited for the click over the intercom system. It was the Captain's voice that first spoke. He asked for the passengers' attention and introduced the President of the Union who had an announcement. "Jimmy is dead," a scruffy voice mumbled over the intercom. The bluntness of the statement seemed to catch everyone off guard including me. It sounded like Al Capone talking to one of his boys. A rumor had been circulating for the past day that a union member had passed away but it was only hearsay; now it had transformed into truth. Was this some kind of tacky murder mystery cruise where we would have to discover which passenger was the guilty party? Could it be Professor Peacock? I looked out at the crowd of union members with utter disbelief as they began to whisper to one another, much like I had seen that night of the airlift. A visible wave of suspicion washed across the room. People began to hurry out of the hall.
Within minutes the intercom again clicked on. This time it was Gary, who apologized for the last announcement and provided more details on what had transpired and announced a memorial service. A cabin steward had witnessed a passenger sleeping for a long time, but after two days discovered the man was actually dead. I had heard of this happening on a New York City subway car, but not on a cruise out of Miami. The cruise continued as passengers attempted to make the best of a terrible situation. It was like one long funeral at sea. Some passengers tried to keep partying, but it was obvious that the mood of the trip had taken a dramatic turn. The solemn look in the passengers' eyes told the story. The wild joy of the cruise had been lost and for the last couple of days passengers talked about nothing else but the unfortunate fate of their fellow union member. The cruise lasted forever, but finally we arrived in Miami and not a moment too soon for the crew. I breathed a sigh of relief as I welcomed the new passengers and tried to forget the past week
's tragedy at sea.
Passengers on a cruise ship are always looking for fun, trying their hardest to forget the lives they left behind on that thing called land and live a fantasy for seven days on the waters. They are rarely thinking about life threatening illnesses. Most cruisers are focused on one fear, seasickness. It comes down to the eternal question: "Am I going to blow chunks on this ship?" Will my cruise be ruined by an incurable case of nausea and public displays of vomiting? You can't blame them, almost every book on cruising lists all the medicines, patches, and precautions to take. Passengers come armed with the latest technologies to fight this ferocious beast. Pills and patches are the most common means by which passengers attempt to stave off seasickness. I had the same anxiety myself when I first came aboard; however, my worries disappeared quickly after realizing that living on a cruise ship is akin to living in a giant mall. After all, the ship is 13 stories high and the size of several football fields, often taking 15 minutes to walk from one end to the other. You simply don't feel any movement on the Ecstasy. Most passengers don't need all the panaceas, except for maybe the maritime hypochondriacs, which each cruise seemed to have. Now for us working it is hard to escape some rough days at sea. And every once in while there is that rare day that you had feared and on this day even crew go scouring for the patches, Dramamine or anything to fight off the intense nausea.
The Ecstasy had the misfortune to come into Ocho Rios, Jamaica every two weeks, a port that even on the good nights had its share of rocking. Occasionally the rolling was more dramatic, enough to turn my stomach and judging from the amount of passengers walking around the ship, the movement was affecting many more digestive systems than mine. These nights would find me working backstage for the big Las Vegas Style Extravaganza. The ladies running around topless backstage those nights had a little more bounce; in this land of Oz I was the token straight and show nights were very lucky ones for me indeed. While the shaking of the boat added to my enjoyment, I couldn't say the same for them. The dancers threw fits trying to do their routines to the rhythm of the sea. At a certain point, if it got too rough, the dance captain had the right to cancel the show.
