Good Things Come to Those Who are Fortunate

Here we are on the ninth of April in Northern New Mexico. What a glorious day it is weather-wise. At six thousand six hundred feet elevation the air is clear so the sky looks closer and brighter and all the colors of the evergreens, the tree blossoms, the earth tones are popping!

I’m going to stop by the dining hall at the Castle on campus and see who’s awake and moving through their day like me. Then I’m driving Beastie II to Santa Fe to buy Beastie III. Beastie III is a 1992 SAAB 900 with 5 forward speeds, a manual shifter on the floor. I really like it. It is the first model SAAB that was designed to have folding seats that make for a six foot long flat space behind the front seats. With the hatch-back and two doors it is a neat car for long distance, fast driving.

I am going to go get it in a few minutes. The other Beastie, number II will stay in Sante Fe I think and go to Rick and Naomi. Yay for them!

Here is a story that I am recycling only because it deserves to be seen again. It is about the guy I hung out with most while I was a young man on USS Sirago (SS 485) I hope you enjoy reading it and I also hope your day is as precious as mine. Take care.

JOE STASZEWSKI

Joe was a shipmate. In fact he was more than a shipmate, he was a close friend and we often went ashore together during those few years we were aboard Sirago. Our most memorable liberties were in Philadelphia during a shipyard overhaul. We were both underage for bars but Joe never got carded and I was always given the hairy eyeball. Just the same we both got served, mostly because we were in uniform and we didn’t start fights or argue, except with each other.

I’m thinking of Joe this morning because whenever I cook something for myself to eat I make it as much a work of art as I can. Joe would appreciate this. Joe was a healthy, rugged Polish kid from Brooklyn and he loved being in the Navy and he loved to eat. Joe made eating an artful experience, not only for himself but for those of us witnessing him fill his mouth at chow time and chew with such an energy and enjoyment. Joe would not look at anyone in particular. He would attack his plate with the fork, shove the food into his mouth, and then begin masticating magnificently staring off into a space filled with his private movies. He may have been reliving moments in Brooklyn or analyzing a circuit in the sonar equipment that was his to maintain. Whatever Joe was envisioning his mouth was doing a joyful dance while the rest of us were transfixed. Joe was our entertainment system in the tiny mess hall of the submarine Sirago.

I remember a comment from those days. Woody, our best cook, was watching Joe eat from inside the galley. Woody was grilling steaks to order and mashing potatoes to keep up with demands all the while stealing glimpses of Joe killing a large steak. Woody was an engineman but still he was our best cook. He was raised in Worcester, Massachusetts. His family owned a restaurant and Woody learned culinary skills there. We were lucky to have him aboard. Woody was grilling steaks and mashing potatoes and observing Joe eat one of the steaks. Joe was doing the big jaws mouth dance and looking happy as he watched mind-movies off in the ether. I was on mess cook duty for ninety days and while the crew was eating I would stand with my arms folded with my back to the deep sinks waiting for one of them to ask for something. The crew were crowded around two tables and they wouldn’t be able to get up freely to retrieve whatever it was they wanted. It was my job to fetch extra portions, or cups of coffee, or juice. I was their ‘gopher’.

Joe was swallowing and sawing away on the steak and potatoes and Woody was grilling and mashing and catching glimpses of the most joyful submarine sailor in the room. Finally Woody came out of the galley and wiped his hands on the apron stretched around his middle. He spent a few moments staring at Joe and a grin slid across his lips.

“Ski”, Woody spoke. Joe looked up and focused on Woody.

“Yeah?”, replied Joe.

“Ski, I have never seen anyone enjoy eating as much as you. It is a great pleasure you bring me. I love watching you eat. You look like you’re really enjoying yourself. You get your plate and you put your food on it with such care and then you begin devouring it with such energy. You build a work of art and then you literally take it in with complete delight.”

Woody was not usually in such a nice mood. He usually was grouching and cussing about having to feed the crew but at this moment it was a pleasure for me to see Woody happy and being kind for a change.

Joe was visibly pleased to hear Woody’s rare purring and rare it was. Joe sawed another chunk of steak and stuffed it into his mouth and the jaw dance returned. During that brief period after Woody spoke and Joe was pounding the steak into himself I thought this was a good opportunity to gain something from Woody. The atmosphere was clearly in my favor so I turned to Woody and started to ask for some time off to get out of the mess hall for an extra hour. Before I could open my mouth Woody said over his shoulder, “Shut the fuck up, Goodwin”.

George M. Goodwin

16 December 2014