by Linda Ellen
As his eyes dropped down a few inches, he realized she was staring up at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Do I pass inspection, Corporal?” she asked, her eyes daring him to crack a joke. He had to bite his tongue to keep from sharing his risqué thoughts.
Instead, he swallowed and managed a nod. “Mmm hmm. Grade A,” he added with a dashing wink.
She smiled and he knew he’d hit the nail on the head. “Thank you, soldier.”
He tipped his cap. “Nothin’ but the truth, ma’am.” At that, she giggled and snuggled against his arm. Feeling the softness of her curves pressed close, he gulped and reached up to tug at his collar.
Just then, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a raucous, discordant noise erupted from the large craft. The screeching was horrendous. But wait…was that…music? What kind of musical instrument was that?
His face must have shown his disdain because Mary June laughed and managed to say loud enough for him to hear over the din, “That’s the calliope. Isn’t it great? It wouldn’t be a ride on the Idlewild without that.”
He nodded, not wishing to burst her bubble, but the blaring, hissing, and off-pitch whistled notes grated on his nerves, to say the least. He thought it sounded a bit like a giant wheezing harmonica; only harmonicas were much easier on the eardrums. “The sound is produced by steam from the boilers, and the notes are played on a tiny keyboard down at that end,” she turned and pointed down the length of the vessel. “I talked to the musician one time, and he said it took him a long time to master it, and it’s hard to keep it in tune,” she yelled over the awful ruckus. To him, it sounded like an animal in pain…or giant fingernails on a huge chalkboard.
Steve pressed a palm over one ear to block out half the noise, and shut his eyes tightly, trying to make out the song. Was it…Camptown Races? He listened a bit more. Yeah, that’s it. Camptown Races. Okaaaaay. Unique sound, that calliope. Must be an acquired taste. He looked around Mary June’s head at the line of folks waiting. Some were singing along happily, but most were laughing, cringing, or scowling. A few were shooting looks at the back end of the boat, claiming they would gleefully kill the player of the – in his opinion, inharmonious instrument – if they could get their hands on him. He chuckled, shaking his head. Yeah, they haven’t acquired the taste yet either. I don’t feel so bad.
He did have to admit, however, that the quick tooting notes added to the air of excitement and expectancy. The line moved slowly as soldiers, seamen, and military men of various branches and their dates, as well as those going stag, reached the gangplank, paid their 25 cents each, and crossed over. Stepping onto the wide, flat, open bow section, they made their way inside, and followed the crowd up a narrow double staircase with a handrail down the middle along with black rubber surfaces on the treads.
At the top, they walked onto the large main deck and Steve whistled softly. It was bigger than he had pictured. Wandering farther in with Mary June clinging to his arm, he looked around at the lattice-work railing at the sides that allowed fresh air to flow across, and then tilted his head back to gaze up at the polished wood beams and punched-tin squares of the ceiling. It made him feel like he had stepped back through time into the grandeur of the way things were at the turn of the century. Straight ahead at the far end was a six-inch tall bandstand where the musicians were tuning up.
Steve was grateful that the noisemaker belching steam out on deck didn’t seem quite as intrusive inside.
As if she read his mind, Mary June laughed. “Don’t worry. They only play the calliope to announce that the boat is open for boarding. It’s a tradition that dates back to the early days of steamboats, when they would start playing downstream from a small town and everyone would run to the water’s edge in joyful expectation. A steamboat arriving was the highlight of their month. Anyway, once we’re underway, he’ll stop.”
“Thank God,” Steve mumbled, and her answering laughter tinkled joyfully. She seemed to be enjoying his discomfort—well, maybe just a bit.
Steve spotted a few men from his unit with their dates and gently took hold of her arm to escort her over. They shared about ten minutes of small talk after the introductions. Finally, the calliope music wheezed to a halt and everyone felt the deck vibrate beneath their feet as the engines engaged the stern wheel to begin slowly backing the hulking, flat-bottomed craft away from the edge. Suddenly, all conversation stopped as the vessel reverberated with a sound like that of a colossal fog horn, as white steam effusively discharged out of tubes on the top deck. The cruise was underway!
Mary June turned to Steve in high spirits, sparkles in her eyes, and he knew in an instant how much she enjoyed riding on the familiar old boat. He was glad he had chosen it as their first official date. His lips turned up in a pleased smile as he gazed down at her while the on-board band began the evening with a pretty good version of Kay Kyser’s Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.
Chuckling, they turned toward the front and joined in as everyone stood around the big deck clapping and singing along with the silly song. Mary June leaned toward Steve and joked, “Maybe they’re playing that one for you,” and he winked at her, enjoying her sense of humor, and feeling a pleasant effusion of pride that she seemed to admire his heroic deed—although he only thought of it as simply doing his duty.
When the tune came to an end, the small orchestra launched straight into Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B, and everyone cheered. Three girls stepped up to center stage to deliver the vocals, and immediately, couples began to dance and the stag attendees backed out of the way to give them room.
Steve turned to Mary June with a wide grin and a waggle of his eyebrows, grabbing her hand as he began jitterbugging to the rousing beat. He’d been waiting for this chance, as he had watched her dance with many other guys and knew she’d be a great partner. She giggled and jumped right into step, keeping up with his every twist and turn, just like he knew she would. With a sudden urge to wipe the memory of all those other guys from her head, he performed every move with precision, passing her hand behind his back or over his head as he spun. Glancing around, he could see that he was easily one of the best dancers on the boat—but maybe not the flashiest. Steve didn’t resort to grandstanding, like that guy in his brother’s unit everyone still talked about at the club – the one who could be Tyrone Power’s twin – as having everyone’s eye on him wasn’t his goal. He just wanted to enjoy himself – and wanted to show Mary June a good time.
At one point, he slipped his arm around her back to flip her over in a cartwheel, but she pressed her hand to his chest and put the nix to that idea in a hurry.
“Flipping makes me dizzy!” she laughed.
He threw his head back and laughed too, thinking that everything this girl did or said seemed to cement his growing affection for her in his heart. “Okey dokey,” he replied as he lifted his shoulders in a carefree shrug and kept on going, never losing the beat. His feet never stopped or slowed as he and his date worked the floor like a well-oiled machine. He swung her out, and back in, he picked her up by her waist and tossed her, he took her hands and shot her back between his legs and tugged her forward again, then sashayed her around and over and under, until they were both breathing hard and perspiring.
At one point, he wondered if she regretted her choice of apparel for the night, and like him was wishing she wasn’t wearing wool.
Finally, the singers held out the last “Company Beeeeeeeee,” and the song was over, leaving everyone applauding, laughing, and commending one another on their Jitterbuggin’ prowess, all while having a wonderful time. Mary June smoothed the top of her hair with one hand and pressed the other to her chest as she caught her breath, but took his hand nonetheless when the next song started up.
They danced two more fast songs together, with only one interruption—that of another soldier tapping Steve’s shoulder to cut in. He acquiesced graciously, handing his date off with a smile, but he made short work of it by switching back after only
one verse. The look on the other soldier’s face made Mary June giggle in half-hearted apology.
When the next song began, they mutually decided to make their way toward the edge for a break.
“You’re a great dancer,” she complimented, her eyes twinkling up at him as she checked her hair again and swiped at her top lip with the back of her hand.
“You’re not so bad yourself – but you’ve had tons of practice, so you ought to be,” he returned, taking out his handkerchief and handing it to her to dab the perspiration from her face.
“That’s true,” she chuckled as she patted her face with the cloth and handed it back with appreciation. “I wager I’ve danced with just about every military man in town – every size, shape, and disposition, too,” she joked as she removed her jacket and draped it over one arm.
“I bet,” he grinned, looking around as he wiped the back of his neck. “They got anything to drink on this tub?” Glancing at her face, her expression made him laugh and reiterate, “Not liquor, babe. Think they might have Dr. Pepper?”
Fanning herself and smoothing damp tendrils of her hair off her face, she indicated with a nod in the general direction, “There’s a refreshment stand back there, behind the steps from the lower deck.”
He grabbed her hand again and started that way.
It took a while, but when they finally had their bottles of soda pop, she suggested that they go up on the top deck to get a bit of fresh air. That sounded like a good idea to him, it was getting downright stuffy on the main deck – even with the latticework sides. Must be all that hoofin’ and jivin’.
She led the way to the outer stairway, and once they stepped out onto the deck above, they both sighed with relief. Although the breeze was a bit cool, especially out on the water now that the sun was setting, it felt great to their overheated systems. Obviously a lot of other couples had had the same thought, as they found they weren’t alone. Nonetheless, it wasn’t as packed as the deck below.
They walked to the rail and watched the setting sun, its light softly shrouded behind clouds and filtered through the crisscrossing steelwork of two bridges, until it descended below the horizon.
With matching contented sighs, they turned toward the front of the boat and moved into step beside one another as he politely took her jacket to carry. Once they reached the bow, they leaned side by side on the metal handrail, sipping their sodas. Music and laughter, along with the stomping of many dancing feet, drifted up from the deck below. It was pleasantly muffled, and intermixed with the sound of splashing against the rather blunt bow as it moved through the water. Steve breathed in deeply, enjoying the scents of the river and something hard to define…nautical was the word that came to his mind. He turned to lean on the rail with one arm, letting his eyes skim down the shimmering vessel. With its hundreds of light bulbs bordering every rail, edge, and pole, and even detailing the outline of the pilothouse on top, he imagined it must look like a glowing, floating palace from the shore.
“Mmm, this feels wonderful,” Mary June sighed.
“Sure does,” he replied, and he couldn’t agree more, although it wasn’t just the breeze that felt good. Being with Mary June felt great. He turned to gaze down at the gangplank now angled straight forward as if pointing the way downriver, and reflected on how nice it was to just glide along. Peaceful. There was something magical about being out on the river at night. The war, hatred, fighting, bombs, bullets, and bloodshed seemed nonexistent.
After a few minutes, he asked, “So, how many times have you ridden on this old tub?”
She snickered, “Don’t let the deckhands hear you call her that.” She took a sip and thought for a moment. “Oh…about ten, I guess.” Then, she proceeded to tell him about a time, during a school field trip in fourth grade, when she had reached out on a dare and touched the slimy green concrete walls of the McAlpine locks as the boat passed through on its way downriver. “Eww, I’ll never do that again!” He chuckled. Then she told him about another time when she had sat most of the trip near the big A-lever engines, watching the long, smooth swishing arm move the paddlewheel, and talking to the engineer.
“You like that stuff, huh?” he asked, admiration shining in his eyes.
“Yeah, I guess I’ve always been fascinated with knowing how things work.”
He gave a nod and smiled. “Me, too.” Then, he turned his gaze back out to the river, thinking how this girl was different from so many others he had dated before. Most of them had been what he called “bimbos”—only concerned with clothes, hairstyles, hemlines, and Hollywood stars up on the silver screen. Mary June enjoyed those things too, but…there was a depth to her that he found admirable and stimulating, to say the least.
After a few minutes of silent camaraderie, he realized the boat was nearly up to Twelve-Mile Island. He inclined his head and pointed with his bottle to the shore and she turned to look. Instantly recognizing what it was when she saw the tall, razor wire fence and the security lighting, she exclaimed, “Oh! Your Ammo Plant!”
“Yep. Man, it looks so different from out here. Since the incident, we’re tripling the fence patrols. A little bit up that way,” he pointed up river, “is where the would-be saboteurs dug under the fence and got in.”
She turned to him and searched his expression. “Did the F.B.I. find out who they were yet?”
Thinking about what he’d learned made him grit his teeth, and he turned his head to meet her eyes. “They sure did…”
CHAPTER 11
Mary June’s eyes widened at the look on Steve’s face and the anger in his eyes, but she waited for him to continue.
“One was Carl Brokhoff. At a briefing this morning, Commander Lewis told us that they’ve already found out he’s a German native who came to the U.S. in ’29 and became a naturalized citizen in ’39. He’d been employed as an inspector for the Westinghouse Company in New Jersey, and he came to Louisville on the pretext of taking a job at the Ford Motor Company – but all the time, he was spying for Germany!” He grimaced in disgust and continued, “Just this week, a German man came to the plant and wanted a tour of everything, claimed he’s a stockholder in a munitions company, but I have a bad feeling they’re going to find out he’s not on the up and up either. When he looked at me, it gave me the willies.”
He shook his head as if to dislodge the memory and turned around to rest his back against the rail. “Anyway…remember hearing last year about the big Duquesne spy ring?”
She remembered the newspapers being full of the story at the time. As she recalled, the spy ring included over thirty German-born men and several women that had emigrated to the United States and eventually become citizens, but all the time were working to undermine America’s secrets and safety in favor of Germany and Hitler. She nodded in answer to his question.
“Well, they think this Brokhoff has ties to that ring. They found out that he was on the list of associates for one of the convicted spies, but they hadn’t been able to get any proof on him. What burns me up is thinking about so many of those lowlifes, living here acting like America-loving citizens when all the while they are actually working toward its demise!”
With a nod in full agreement, she reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “I know what you mean. It’s hard to fathom the mindset of someone like that. The lies upon lies they’ve told. Pretending to befriend us. How can they sleep at night?”
“Beats the heck out of me. But here’s the rest of the story.” He stopped for a moment to look around for anyone who might be listening to their conversation, then he lowered his voice a bit, as his emotions had heated up.
“The other two were Americans – Peter Everett and his cousin Ralph Crawford. You ready for this?” He paused and her eyes widened in anticipation as a chill ran down her spine. “Everett had worked at the plant – in the IOW #1, the powder facility! He’d had discipline problems, and had even brought matches to work once – which is usually grounds for instant dismissal, but they let him off with a
warning for that. The foreman said he had a chip on his shoulder ’cause his family was one of the displaced property owners. Scuttlebutt said he was just a blow-hard, though, because their place was one of the worst, and they got a good price for the run-down shack and acreage. Rumor has it his dad blew the money on liquor and gambling. Everett’s a hot head and got in fights with co-workers more than once, so they finally booted him out.” He shook his head. “Well, this Everett had been heard to say he knew all of the plant’s secrets and if he chose, he could, ‘Get in there anytime he wanted to and even blow the place up’. He bragged that he knew some things about explosives.”
Mary June swallowed and rubbed her hands over the chill bumps that had sprung up on her arms. Steve immediately noticed.
“You cold? Here,” he said, and held her jacket up for her to slip her arms into.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she did so, and fastened it closed when a gust of damp, river breeze chose that moment to blow through. She looked over toward the brightly lit eight-foot fence of the munitions plant property and shivered again.
“Oh, Steve, you’re scaring me. Up until this…the war has seemed so far away. Like it’s not real, but only something we see in the newspapers and on newsreels at the movies. I can’t believe this has happened – right here where we live! German spies! Right under our noses!” It made her feel as if everything familiar was coming unglued, and she hated the unsettling feeling.