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A Final Broadside

Page 14

by Buddy Worrell


  “Are you out?” Ken called.

  “I’m out!” Donna called back, signaling the availability of the shower. She emerged from the shower stall, wrapped again in the terry cloth bathrobe.

  Ken commented, “I’ll tell you this, short stuff—you are not bad-looking for an old broad!”

  Donna countered, “Yeah, well, I might find me some young Coast Guard sailor over on that cutter that appreciates a mature woman.”

  Ken countered, “A Coastie? Geez, Professor. All the kids on that boat are eighteen years old!”

  “Oh. So unlike you when you joined?”

  Ken could see that he would not win that argument, so he turned and headed for the shower.

  Once they were both showered and dressed, Donna and Ken made their way down to the restaurant level and told the hostess that they were meeting a party of two.

  God, he looks good in those dress blues, Donna thought.

  The hostess led them to a table overlooking the river. The couple ordered coffee and orange juice, and the hostess strode away.

  “So, Master Chief, what do you think?”

  Ken mulled the question a moment or two and said, “If these folks really want to do this right, then I am their man!”

  Donna steadied herself in her chair and said, “Oh, I know you are the right man. My question is, do you want to do this?”

  A sheepish grin formed on Ken’s mouth. “I think that this is where I am supposed to be. It feels right!”

  The server arrived in a matter of seconds with coffee and juice and asked the couple if they were ready to order.

  “We’ll need a minute,” Donna answered. “We are expecting two more.”

  The name on the server’s badge was Susan. She looked to be in her midthirties and had a thick mane of blonde hair that probably would refuse a comb or brush. A professional rake would be more in order to manage her locks! “I recommend the eggs Benedict for the main course or the breakfast buffet,” said Susan. “It’s wonderful!”

  Ken and Donna both said they would opt for the buffet but would wait for their hosts to arrive.

  Just then, two members of the Historical Commission appeared and walked over to their table. Ken stood up to meet the two, offering a handshake and an introduction. “Good morning, gentlemen. I am Ken Hager, and this is my wife, Dr. Donna Hager.”

  Donna interjected quickly, “Just Donna is fine!”

  Both of the Historical Commission representatives looked to be their late fifties to early sixties. They introduced themselves as John Troxell and Pete Maddox.

  The server arrived with coffee and OJ for the representatives and asked if they would like to order.

  Pete said, “Folks, the Hilton’s breakfast buffet is excellent, and I would highly recommend it.”

  “Sounds good!” John echoed.

  Ken and Donna rose from their seats and proceeded to a sumptuously laid-out array of breakfast delights, from traditional eggs, bacon, sausage, grits, and home fries to seasonal fruits, bagels, cream cheese, and smoked salmon. There was even salt-cured country ham with redeye gravy, followed by a large tureen of local shrimp and grits! All this was accompanied by trays of pastries, fresh breads, toast, and Ken’s personal favorite: biscuits and gravy.

  Once all had filled their plates and returned to the table, Ken said to the reps, “Gentlemen, I shall never leave this place!”

  CHAPTER 36

  After the fabulous breakfast, Pete and John took the Hagers to a conference room they had reserved for the interview. The room was tastefully decorated with a large conference table in the center of the room, surrounded by leather conference chairs and a large side table, which bore a silver tray holding a pitcher of ice water and tall glasses, an urn of fresh coffee, mugs, and cream and sweeteners.

  John asked everyone to help themselves to the water or coffee and find a seat. Ken and Donna sat on one side of the conference table, and the interviewers sat on the opposite side.

  Pete handed Ken two folders containing the job description for the superintendent, benefit details, and information about Wilmington, including real estate, shopping, nightlife, and Wrightsville Beach. He then pulled out two additional folders, each containing a copy of Ken’s résumé, including education and descriptions of thirty years of service to the US Navy.

  “Ken,” Pete began, handing one of the résumé folders to John, “how do we refer to you? Chief or Doctor?”

  Ken chuckled and said, “It is a mouthful, but my official rank and title is master chief petty officer of the navy. The doctorate in mechanical engineering from MIT is more of a civilian appellation. The easiest is to call me Master Chief. Even my wife does!”

  “What do your boys call you?” John interjected with a smile.

  “Will and Chet are both grown and well on their way to being on their own. Will is a lieutenant JG in the navy, and Chet will graduate from the academy this year as a Marine Corps second lieutenant. They both call me Master Chief. My youngest, Elmo, is a sophomore at UNCC majoring in partying, and he calls me Dad!”

  Pete and John both laughed heartily.

  John continued, “Master Chief, I see where you graduated first in your basic training class at Great Lakes and were immediately sent to naval gunnery school, where you distinguished yourself among your classmates with several awards of commendation and a very fast promotion.”

  “That is correct, sir!” Ken responded. “I have always had a knack for math, including trigonometry, so aiming, firing, and hitting targets was easy for me. Plus, I had the most interesting instructor at Gunnery School. He was a chief petty officer named Paul Hodge, but everyone, including the officers, called him Gunslinger. He was the closest thing to a natural I have ever seen. Without a range keeper or even a calculator, he could fire off round after round of almost any type of naval weaponry and never miss.”

  Pete and John eyed each other with a look of surprise and astonishment. “Ken,” Pete said, “the Gunslinger lives here in the Wilmington area. I believe he has a place down at Ocean Isle Beach!”

  Ken’s face broke into a broad grin. “No freaking way!”

  Donna’s gaze dropped to the conference room carpet, and she covered her eyes with her hand. Tell me I did not hear what I know I just heard! she thought.

  It took Ken a moment to realize he had made an unprofessional exclamation, but before he could attempt to apologize, Pete blurted out, “Damn right! … Oh! Please excuse me, Mrs. Hager.”

  Donna raised her eyes from the carpet to meet Pete’s downcast look of embarrassment and said, “No apology necessary, Pete. I have lived among a bunch of sailors and marines most of my life, and I assure you, I am not offended and most certainly have heard worse!”

  “I hope you will forgive my outburst, gentlemen,” said Ken. “Paul is a very special friend and colleague. If I am fortunate enough to get this position, he is one of the first people I will call. No matter the outcome of this meeting, I would greatly appreciate getting his contact information from you. My retirement ceremony and reception will be at the Norfolk Naval Station in a few weeks, and I would love to have him be a part of it.”

  John and Pete nodded in agreement. “Moving on if we may, I see you served on the USS New Jersey in Vietnam,” John said. “Tell us a little about that experience.”

  “Of course,” Ken responded. “In the mid- to late sixties, our aircraft losses were at an all-time high. The North Vietnamese had acquired and deployed modern and sophisticated antiaircraft missiles from the Soviet Union, and the US needed a way to bombard both coastal and inland installations and roads. The New Jersey was in the ‘Mothball Fleet’ but was judged the easiest to refit for duty. Because of my expertise on fast battleships and the sixteen-inch Mark 7 main batteries, I was assigned as the primary weapons specialist. The ship was much older than most of the crew, but she deployed to the South China Sea
and blew up a lot of hostile assets. I served on her for the entire mission, until the navy sailed her back to the Mothball Fleet.”

  “That must have been an incredible experience!” Pete remarked.

  Ken answered, “It was, and I was also called up when she was reactivated in 1982. Even when she was refitted and modernized to launch cruise missiles and several of her five-inch batteries were removed to accommodate more modern weaponry, those big sixteen-inch guns were still the muscle of the ship.

  “As an aside—and this is not on my résumé—my father’s first posting was to the old Brooklyn Navy Yards as a navy liaison during the construction of the North Carolina. That ship has been part of me and my family since before World War II. I thought you might find that interesting!”

  John and Pete settled back into their conference room chairs and looked at each other—rather sheepishly, it seemed to Ken.

  “Gentlemen! Any other questions about my career I can help explain?” Ken asked.

  John leaned forward in his chair and said, “Master Chief, I am afraid this interview has been somewhat of a ruse.”

  Donna cocked her head to one side as she tried to understand what was happening.

  “I beg your pardon, John. What kind of ruse?” Ken asked.

  Pete leaned in and admitted, “Master Chief, we’ve wanted you to have this position since you submitted this résumé filled with the most incredible experiences. Both of us just wanted to meet you in person to validate our very positive reaction to what you submitted. We have not been disappointed! The job is yours if you want it, and we are both hoping that you will take it. I realize that this is a family decision, and we want to make sure your wife is included.” Pete turned to Donna and explained, “We have arranged for you to meet with the Chancellor of UNC-Wilmington and the head of the marine sciences department to discuss the possibility of your joining the faculty as a professor of marine studies, if you are interested.”

  Donna looked over at Ken, who was looking a bit dazed, and then answered Pete and John. “Gentlemen, that would be a wonderful opportunity to explore.”

  “Outstanding!” John exclaimed.

  “Before we get into the details, would it be possible to have a tour of the ship?” Ken asked.

  “Absolutely!” said Pete. “Let me call over to the office so the staff will expect us and so we won’t interfere with any large group tours.”

  Soon, they were on their way to the battleship memorial. When they arrived, Pete and John motioned for Ken and Donna to go on ahead. “You know your way around a ship like this better than anyone in this party!” John called out.

  Donna and Ken entered through the gift shop and met several of the volunteers there and then headed out onto the deck of the massive ship. Ken gazed up at the forty-five-caliber, sixteen-inch Mark 6 battery. The ship had been kept in excellent repair and was freshly painted. They toured the wardroom, engine room, and number 1 gun turret and finally went up to the bridge. Ken put his hands on the captain’s chair and whispered, “So is this it, Dad?”

  His answer came immediately.

  CHAPTER 37

  The trip back from Ken’s retirement party and reception at Norfolk Naval Station was pleasant, and the traffic was minimal. Ken was sitting in the passenger’s seat of his Chevy Suburban with the seat reclined into an almost horizontal position, with his arms behind his head and his eyes closed.

  “You asleep?” Donna asked as she guided the Suburban southward toward Wilmington.

  They had decided to take the rather long and twisted yet scenic route back from Norfolk via US Highway 17. They would pass through some of the most beautiful and historic countryside in North Carolina. Elizabethtown and Edenton on the Albemarle Sound would be followed by Washington and then historic New Bern on the Neuse River. From there, they would take a quick trip over to the marine base at Camp Lejeune to visit some friends and finally drive another hour south to Wilmington.

  “Master Chief! Are you asleep?” Donna prodded.

  Ken yawned and stretched his arms before moving the power seat into a more upright position. “Nah. Just resting my eyes. By the way, short stuff, I really appreciate you driving today. I am still a tad hungover from the retirement dinner and reception last night,” Ken answered.

  “I’ll bet,” Donna retorted. “And when you add on the time at the bar off base, matching tequila shots with that bunch of reprobates you call friends, your head must feel like a bag of sawdust!”

  “I beg your pardon, madam. Those men are trusted friends and colleagues from a career in the United States Navy,” Ken said, feigning insult.

  Donna looked over at her newly retired husband and answered, “I stand corrected. Your esteemed friends and colleagues more closely resembled a group of juvenile delinquents!”

  Ken responded with a big laugh followed by a grimace and placement of his hands on his throbbing temples. “Okay, we were a little rowdy. However, I cannot think of a better bunch of men that I could be associated with personally or professionally!”

  Donna took her right hand off the steering wheel and patted Ken’s hand gently. “That assessment is one with which I cannot and will not disagree. They are all so special! Do you need some Advil for that head of yours?” Donna asked.

  “That would be nice,” Ken admitted, reaching for his half-empty sixteen-ounce Diet Mountain Dew.

  Donna dug into her handbag, retrieved a small bottle, and handed it to Ken. He quickly tapped four tablets into his hand and tossed them into his mouth, followed by a large gulp of the cool yellow liquid.

  Donna looked at him with alarm and warned that he was supposed to take only two of the tablets, every four to six hours. Ken smiled and told her that a reserve pharmacist mate who was also a drug rep said he could up the dosage to 3,200 milligrams in emergencies—and his headache had emergency written all over it. “I’ll be okay, nurse!” Ken cooed as he leaned across to kiss his wife on the cheek.

  Donna smiled and asked if he felt like talking.

  “Sure, baby. What do you want to talk about? The only off-limits subject is tequila!” Ken said.

  “I want to talk about our home-finding trips with the realtor. I have narrowed my choices down to three, and I want to compare to your top three,” Donna said.

  “Okay, I like the riverfront house in Southport—you remember, the historic sea captain’s home with the widow’s walk. Makes me feel like an old salt! The upside is a quaint little village on the Cape Fear River and Comcake Inlet with access to the Atlantic, great little shops and restaurants, and a ferry ride to Fort Fisher every workday. The downside is that it is a 125-year-old house and will need some serious and constant attention—not to mention a better-than-hour-long commute for both of us to work.”

  “How about number two?” Donna prodded.

  “I really loved Ocean Isle Beach too. The Gunslinger swears it is paradise, and the seafood and golf are superb. Downside is no real shopping close by. You have to go to either Wilmington or Myrtle Beach to find the malls and outlet stores. I can live without shopping access, but I think you would go into withdrawals. Plus, most of the homes are really built for summer rentals, and I don’t want to spend all summer next door to a bunch of partying college kids.”

  “After last night, you could have fooled me!” Donna countered.

  Ken rolled his eyes, admitted guilt, and moved on to his next choice. “I especially like Wilmington. It has a great downtown area with superb shops and restaurants on the riverfront. I also loved the historic district with those magnificent old homes and churches. Did you see First Presbyterian Church on Third Street? How outstanding is that? But my number one favorite is that new neighborhood, off Masonboro Loop next to the Christmas tree farm. You remember, the one near Monkey Junction? It was called ‘the Harbours of Masonboro’ and was essentially a one-street subdivision right on the Intracoastal Waterway. The h
ouse was four bedrooms, four baths, with the master bedroom on the first floor and a beautiful pool and deck in the backyard. And it comes with that thirty-two-foot boat slip in a protected marina. I can just see my Grady-White with its twin 300-horsepower Yamaha stern drives parked there.”

  “You don’t have a Grady-White with twin 300-horsepower Yamaha stern drives, Captain Bligh!” Donna retorted.

  “Yet!” Ken replied. “So what are your top three, Dr. Hager?”

  Donna’s answer was quick and succinct. “I am in full agreement with you. I love being on the waterway, and the new Center for Marine Science facility is a half mile up Masonboro Loop. The university is only fifteen minutes farther, and your commute would be an easy twenty minutes up Carolina Beach Road. I would much rather spend my time at work or with you on the boat than in traffic!”

  “So I can get a boat?” Ken said.

  “Yes, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” Donna answered with a grin.

  “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow, we will put in an offer on the Harbours of Masonboro, grab some lunch at Boatside Grill, and check out the new Grady-Whites over at Wrightsville Marina,” Ken said. “Deal?”

  Donna reached over and picked up his left hand, squeezed it firmly, and said, “Deal!”

  CHAPTER 38

  Ken’s first few months on the battleship memorial were filled with getting to know the ship, the people attached to her, and the routine of tours and tourists. Ken had never run a gift shop and made sure to befriend its manager, Ethel Breaux.

  Ethel was the relocated widow of a retired navy man from Lake Charles, Louisiana, and she ran the gift shop to add a few dollars to her Social Security and her deceased husband’s pension. She was of indeterminate age (and Ken was not going to ask), had short, thin white hair that she always bundled up inside her USS North Carolina ball cap (“demoing the merchandise!” she liked to say), and probably tipped the scales at a tad over two hundred pounds. Anyone entering the gift shop was regaled with a welcome that was large, loud, and genuine.

 

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