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Pulling around the capitol building, Dickerson maneuvered the car to a grey brick building on the waterfront. On the front of the building was the name ‘Sixteen Inch.’
Hammond looked at the entrance. “What are we doing here?” he asked.
“Evidently it is some local watering hole. I was told you would be picked up for your trip here,” Dickerson said.
The three of them entered the building. The interior was dark. It was decorated like a turn of the century saloon, complete with a stage covered with red velvet curtains with gold fringe. There were knick-knacks adorning the walls and along one side was an ancient dark carved wooden bar with a large mirror. There were long, thin tables leading up to the stage with a few round ones in the back where a menu was on the wall advertising sandwiches, burgers and chicken fingers. The floor was covered with sawdust. There were several barrels of peanuts around the room where people could fill up a small bowl. On the stage was a set of drums and an old upright piano with a wooden beer keg for the seat.
At first, there didn’t seem to be anyone there, but a man, sporting a white apron, came out of a side door and ushered them down to the end of one of the long tables. Depositing his guests, he went to the bar and returned with three soft drinks.
“This looks like an interesting place,” said Hammond.
Patricia wasn’t paying attention. Her normally effervescent self was long gone. She seemed to cling to Roger and didn’t notice the décor or any conversation around her. It was as if someone had robbed her of her soul. She stared at the drink before her and didn’t touch it.
As they sat in the cool, darkened room, someone came out from the back of the stage, dressed in what looked like a late nineteenth century sailor’s uniform. The ‘Dixie Cup’ hat had its sides rolled down and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. A spotlight came on the honky-tonk piano and he sat down to play. After running his fingers up and down the keyboard a few times, he began to play, “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” After a few bars, another sailor came in with a banjo. He stepped on the edge of the piano and climbed up to the top to sit, and began playing with the first man. Two more sailors came in. One carried a sousaphone and the other a cornet. The cornet player was wearing the bell bottomed trousers but instead of the blouse, was sporting red flannel underwear. The drummer was next, followed by a clarinet player and a man to rolling in a xylophone.
Three of the men looked very familiar to Hammond. As he looked harder, he recognized members of the Iowa band. That was when he remembered that three of them had started a place of their own. This must be it.
The band sounded really good. They finished “Chariot” and immediately broke into, “When the Saints Come Marching In.” As if on cue, people started filing into the bar. They came down the aisle to where the three were seated. A figure appeared in front of Patricia. When she looked up, “Boats” Patnaude said, “Welcome back Mayor Pat.”
Patricia Hammond stirred. Tears came into her eyes and she reached over and took his rough hands. At first she didn’t say anything, but the noises around her got louder and the band started getting faster. She began looking around the room. The crew of USS Iowa were filing in and calling her name. They smiled, waved and clasped their hands together. More of the men pressed down to take her hand and welcome her personally back home.
Little by little, Patricia’s spirits began to return to her. These were ‘her guys’ from what she considered ‘her ship.’ They hadn’t given up on her and they were there when she needed them.
Patricia Hammond sat up in her seat. Looking around, she began to wave to the men. By now, the lights were on and the whole bar had come alive with the sounds of happy people and Dixieland music. The band broke into some very old songs from early in the previous century. The words were projected onto the walls and the crew began to sing along. She looked at the band again. This time, she did see some of the Iowa band members. They winked at her and she waved back. More and more, the band played. Between the laughter, singing and fun, Patricia Hammond became whole again.
About half way through the evening, more sailors came on the stage. It was the rest of the Iowa band. At first, they played along with their shipmates, but then, they broke into “Blackwater.” Patricia’s eyes began to tear up. She looked at her husband. As she had known, he had come to rescue her. She knew he would always be there for her, just as she knew this would always be her crew.
Roger Hammond looked down at his wife, and she pulled him in for a kiss. “I love you,” she said.
He grinned. “I’m all yours, Babe.”
It was already dark when the boat pushed off from the inner harbor of Annapolis. In the distance, USS Iowa had lights blazing from stem to stern. In the morning, the ship would begin her journey back to San Pedro carrying her crew and two vacationing passengers. It was a bond that would never be broken.
The End