CALFEE
by Norval P. Caple

                                Calfee was an old salt, a regular Navy long-timer with all the trappings-the gruffness, the swagger, and the disdain for new recruits. He wore a heavy leather belt, had a rakish tilt to his sailor hat, and walked the heaving and rolling deck always upright and no bumping into things.
                        He could also tell stories that would hold an audience entranced. He told of having once served on a Navy cruiser. While in the Atlantic off Central America there was an unexplained explosion aboard which killed the executive officer and many sailors. He then described how the deceased men’s’ bodies were prepared for burial at sea, the same way it is still done today. The bodies were !aid out on their backs and 6-inch shells were placed between the legs to add weight, and then the bodies were sewn into a heavy canvas covering, placed on a board, and covered with a U.S. flag. An appropriate burial ceremony was conducted by the chaplain, then sailors in attendance tilted the boards and the bodies slid out from under the flag coverings into the sea. Within minutes, sharks had gathered and in a frenzy were tearing apart the canvas wrapped corpses in full view of the crew.
                    Walter Adelbert Calfee's home was in Jay, Florida, and he had only recently married. His wife mailed a picture to him and he showed it to me. She was a pretty young lady, not more than 19 or so (Calfee was 28), dressed in a knit toboggan hat, coat and scarf, and woolen gloves with designs worked into them, making snowballs. She'd apparently visited somewhere where there was snow or else was capturing a picture of a rare Florida snowfall. On the back of the picture, she had written, "Gee, that snow sure was cold."
                    The H.A. Wiley had a ship's newspaper--a single sheet sort of an affair with contributing writers from among the crew. It was published sporadically and apparently wasn't censored because the writers got away with some pretty raucous stuff. Two contributors to the "newspaper" developed quite a readership and had impressive bylines. They were "Gumshoe" Grimshaw and "Black Hand" Heinkei. Then, too, there was a talented ship's steward who contributed knowledgeable articles about the origins and development of boogie-woogie which was a popular musical craze based upon on-the-spot improvising among like minded musicians. We all became expert, in a manner of speaking, on boogie-woogie by just reading our ship's newsletter.
                    Everyone aboard was invited to contribute articles. I recall having one published, but my thrill was tinged with some apprehension. There was good reason for this; some people are pleased with whatever is written about them while others are incensed to the point of fury by the most bland and innocuous reference to them in print.
                    I'd written a short profile on Calfee, not too bad overall, but one paragraph portrayed the slightly built Calfee in a manner less than flattering: "As a youth, the 97 pound Calfee subscribed to a Charles Atlas body building course--with unfortunate results."
                    I needn't have worried. Calfee was pleased as punch--sent a copy to his wife--and although always friendly despite the obligatory grouchiness expected of all petty officers, first class Calfee afterwards used a certain deference in his manner toward me, and I began to feel a stirring of self-esteem that had somehow gotten set aside for months.
                    When the H.A. Wiley crew began to disband 50 years ago, we were all still very young. I do not recall any sentimental or drawn-out goodbyes. For many years now, Calfee has been listed among the deceased. thanks for the memories," to him.  I would have liked to have said "Goodbye and thanks for the memories" to him.

N.P.C.'95