by Charles Wheeler
(Member Charles Wheeler, who has a letter elsewhere in this issue,
was kind enough to jot down some reminiscences of a crossing with his family on
board the American Export Line's Constitution back in the fifties.)
The opportunity to serve the U.S. Government abroad in the 1950's and the early
60's meant sea travel; and although one would never cite that as a specific
reason for signing up, the fact is that it was a big magnet for me and my wife
Ellie. Both our families enjoyed sailing on ships.
They conveyed shipboard to us, particularly in the 1930's. In my case, a trip to
Bermuda on the Queen and return on the Monarch was a great introduction to the
sea, followed in 1936 with a West Indian cruise on board the Statendam. In 1937,
it was the Hansa to England and a return via Hamburg. From 1928 to 1937, my wife
to be had made several crossings on such ships as Manhattan, Baltic and
Reliance.
In 1955, I was assigned to a position in Germany and the prospect of many days
on the ocean seemed a reward for the dry spell following my 1945 return from
England aboard Ile de France, then a troop ship. (A number of civilians with
business or government connections were included in the 5,000-or-so members of
the military, though with 16 persons to a normal double stateroom, one could say
that we hardly encountered French Line standards.)
I was directed to report to my post in Munich by late October. Certain
regulations applied: Travel had to be by an American carrier, and fare costs
could not exceed the lowest available First Class rate. Schedules showed that
the S.S. Constitution would depart New York on October 15th and would arrive in
Genoa on October 24th. Perfect! Particularly so because stops at Casablanca,
Gibraltar and Cannes meant that the trip would be leisurely. And yes, there was
available a qualifying stateroom that would accommodate me, Ellie and our two
sons Tom, aged seven, and Gordon, aged five.
The normal hazards of departure were aggravated by the rainiest of weather and
by running out of gas on Riverside Drive on the way to loading my car on the
ship. But determination prevailed, and the 10:00 a.m. boarding time saw the four
of us and about ten of our friends and family members in happy confusion as we
tried to reach stateroom A- 313.
The large wedding reception taking place in the Boat n' Bottle Bar and the
Commodore's Terrace added to the festive atmosphere. When we finally reached out
12' x 12' stateroom, we grasped the significance of "lowest First Class
rates." Cramped quarters no doubt propelled some of those bidding us
farewell to seek the hospitality of the newly married couple, the Laceys, decks
above. The latter, if they noticed, did not seem to mind, through their
subsequent nightly honeymoon activity of switching shoes-for-polish from
door-to-door did strike us as odd, if not retaliatory.
A rough start
We sailed at 12 noon. In farewell to New York, my sons and I braved the wind and
rain and hiked to the top deck. As I put a key in my pocket, I touched a piece
of paper. When I pulled it out to see what it was, a great blast of air tore it
out of my hand. Watching it waft over the stern, we thought it a symbol of our
good-bye to America. That same symbol became a ritual during our 1958 and 1963
departures from New York.
Soon after sailing, we all assembled for lunch, an introduction to the gustatory
pleasures that marked the entire voyage and an introduction as well to Charles
Jones, our steward of unparalleled talent. More importantly, he became our
friend, particularly the boys'. Steak and potatoes, unfortunately, did not mesh
very well with the weather, as Tom and Gordon and most of the passengers found
out that first afternoon. The decks were almost deserted and only a few
passengers came to dinner. Tom, however, did make it. He began memorably. The
proffered fingerbowl's water was instantly consumed, prompting a series of
etiquette lessons which included coat-and-tie at the evening meal.
After dinner, minus the kids, we decided to visit the Boat n' Bottle Bar (ever
after known simply as the "B & B," a term then unencumbered with
today's somnolent significance.) The contrast with the pre-sailing wedding party
hijinks could not have been starker. No one was there.
The Social Whirl
The next day began with an invitation slipped under the door. But of greater
momentary interest was the morning assembly of First Class passengers in the
lounge for social introductions, including such staff members as the purser,
bridge and dancing instructors and social directors. Then came the call for the
passengers to come forward when the name of their state was announced.
Virginia's turn came, and the Wheelers, most recently of Alexandria, presented
themselves while the orchestra banged out Carry me back to Old Virginny; the
Commonwealth's banner was thrust into my hand. Luckily, no speech was expected,
for it would have required a confession that we were really carpetbaggers from
Buffalo.
Despite the still fairly heavy seas, the captain's reception took place as
planned. A glittery affair it was, with minks and many black ties en totale. The
scene was in the beautiful Observatory Lounge, that wonderful, forward-facing
circular room which, several months later, was converted (sadly) to additional
cabins.