film, photo chemicals and photo paper as I had been well trained in old style black and white studio photography.
The complete ingredient for every meal became a big deal, as we wouldn't be going down to the deli for any last minute items before dinner. Every need had to be anticipated accurately, acquired quickly, packed securely and delivered to the dock ahead of our scheduled departure.
My bride saw the little tramp steamer for the first time that evening on the Seattle waterfront when we boarded, provoking her negative outcry. I was absolutely sure that this was the right thing for us to do, as I boldly stomped up the gangplank. Marie just stepped aboard.
So at dusk on August 29, 1951, a harvest moon lighted the deserted docks as the GARLAND'S skipper gave the sleepy Seattle waterfront the traditional long melodious steam-whistle. That was the total celebration. No one came to see us off. No confetti streamers. No cheers of "Bon Voyage." A crewman just slipped off her mooring lines and away we chugged. We were off to Alaska and teach in what would be the last of the little red schoolhouse era.
When the crew learned where we were going, they swarmed us with horror stories:
“Why, didn’t you know that Sanak is the worst freight landing on the whole Aleutian run?”
“Just last year the teacher candidate got as far as Seward and turned back after learning what life on that island was going to be like.”
“One year the teacher was killed when a fishing boat blew up right in Sanak Harbor.”
“Another year a man and wife went out there as teachers. The wife went hunting for wild flowers along the cliffs and was never found again, not even a trace.”
“Another went crazy and burned all the school books.”
“Still another had to deliver his wife’s baby because there was no way to get medical aid when her time came.”
“It has a reputation as the hard luck school.”
We figured this was just the normal initiation given all Cheechako schoolteachers, but later found every one of those Sanak legends to be completely accurate. One grizzly old sailor confided that we'd each earn the title of Sourdough after a year, but until then Marie and I would carry that lowly label of Cheechako.
The GARLAND slowly moved past an anchored Liberty ship in Elliott Bay, and headed North. Our fully loaded craft had canvas covered cargo strapped down about her foredeck, and stacks of lumber on her fantail. She soon slowed down and nuzzled up at the Richmond Point dock to take on fuel. For an hour, the strong smell of diesel came into our cabin, so we went out about the deck and watched the harbor lights ashore. We were excited to be finally on our way as it had been a stressful week with all the preparation of ordering, packing and shipping all our "truck" for a year's living. That had been overwhelming for a couple of newlyweds. We only hoped that everything got aboard, as we never were able to double-check our manifest with whoever was supposed to be in charge of cargo.
As the only passengers, Marie and I had the stateroom. It was a tiny closet-sized cabin with two boxy seaman bunks, no sink nor toilet. There was no place to put our two sea bags full of personal gear, so they shared the bottom of each bunk along with our feet. I took out my little ukulele and started playing the only three songs that I could strum. Though tolerant of my low-level musical skill, Marie was sick and tired of those three tunes before the trip was over.
On the night traverse of the Inside Passage, between Vancouver Island and the west coast of Canada, we saw running lights of freighters, commercial fishing boats and recreation boaters heading south to the warm comforts of industrialized civilization. We were heading north to the cold wild west.
I brought aboard a copy of the latest newspaper from our hometown: THE DAILY OLYMPIAN, August 29 1951. Little did we know that would be the last world news we'd see in print for a year. I read to Marie some of the sub headings:
KOREAN CASUALTY COUNT: 81,422 The Defense Department today reported a new total of American battle casualties in the Korean War, an increase of 415 since last week.
(Marie remembered some of our classmates who were drafted in the fall, trained, served in the war, wounded and back on campus with crutches before the year was over.)
COULD AN A-BOMB STOP HURRICANES? New Orleans-Mr. Ellos, a New Orleans insurance man pointed out that the cost of an A-bomb is less than the toll of the recent hurricane "Charlie" that killed 210 people in a week-long rampage. "That A-bomb idea was discussed," said Stevens, the weather bureau's chief forecaster, "but not seriously."
LESSONS FOR IRAN Britain and Iran were bitterly sparring over an oil dispute, yet a new pact was reached in an atmosphere of great tension. It was feared that Iraq might balk for a time but that agreement lowered the prospect of trouble developing in the Middle East.
KENNEDY ASKS FOR INVESTIGATION OF THE ARMY! Kennedy, (D) Massachusetts, asked congress to examine methods used to admit men to West Point after 90 cadets were expelled for cheating on tests. These cadets made up much of their champion football team.
THE BLOODIEST HOLY WAR IN HISTORY IS COMING! Moslem's of Pakistan are threatening a “jihad” holy war against the Hindus of India. 10,000s had just been killed there.
MOVIES AT THE AVALON THEATER Bing Crosby and Jane Wyman in "Here comes the Groom" along with a second feature, "Father's Little Dividend" with Spencer Tracy and Joan Bennett, plus a news reel and a cartoon. Marie found comics were actually funny as I read them.
In every minute of our existence on this planet, good things are happening as well as an equal amount of terrible things. Reporters, playwrights, song writers, artists, and photo journalists ply their trade using a selection from those thousands of choices that happen every day. So I asked Marie which stories should we acknowledge from all those? She chose the sports page and the funnies.
The next morning, we met most of the eight-man crew and were even welcomed by the skipper. He allowed us to visit the wheel-house, except during docking. The salty old black cook was our favorite, as he always had some funny comment to add to any conversation. We took some pictures around the boat that expressed our feelings, of enthusiasm (mine) and of docile acceptance (hers). One of Marie on top of the deck cargo looking wistfully back towards home.
Item from Marie's diary: Aug
