A Commodore of Errors

by John Jacobson

  The Commodore gasped. “Oh, Edwin. How could you do this to me?”

  “Wow,” Mogie said. “So the Commodore’s hero really is your father, hey, Tannenbaume? How does that make you feel?”

  Captain Tannenbaume took his mother’s hand and stood with her and Mitzi. “I don’t know what I should be feeling.” He smiled at his mother. “So it was Eddie.”

  “It sure looks that way, sonny.” Mrs. Tannenbaume put her hand to her temple. “I think I need to sit down.”

  Captain Tannenbaume and Mitzi took her to sit on a chair against the wall in the hallway. Mrs. Tannenbaume let out a long sigh.

  “He was a good guy,” she said. “I’m glad he’s the one.”

  “So let me get this straight,” Mitzi said pulling up a chair next to Mrs. Tannenbaume. “Your father was a tailor?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And where was he from?”

  “Bremen. He and my mother moved to Durban after the First War.”

  “Why’d they move?”

  “There was trouble.” Mrs. Tannenbaume spoke in a whisper.

  “Trouble?”

  “Don’t you get it, Mitz?” Mogie butted in. “Her father was a garmento. He probably lived in some shtetel town in Germany. Jews weren’t welcome.”

  Mitzi looked up at Captain Tannenbaume, who was looking intently at his mother. She took Mrs. Tannenbaume’s hand in hers. “Is that why it’s Tannenbaume with an E?”

  Mrs. Tannenbaume lifted her face and looked at her son. She thought she saw compassion in his eyes. “I had to, sonny. It was just you and me. I had to protect us.” Mrs. Tannenbaume had a tear in her eye.

  Captain Tannenbaume kneeled down and draped his hand over his mother’s and Mitzi’s. He did not say anything, but then, he didn’t have to.

  “Hey,” Mogie interrupted, stepping toward the three of them. “What the hell is going on here?”

  “Oh shut up, Moges. You don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Well what is going on, for chrissakes?”

  “Mrs. Tannenbaume’s Jewish, Moges, don’t you get it?”

  “Of course she’s Jewish. What the hell are you talking about?”

  Mitzi and Mrs. Tannenbaume laughed together. “It looks like he got his Jew admiral after all, hey, Mrs. Tannenbaume?”

  Mogie went over to the Commodore. “Will you at least tell me what the hell is going on here?”

  The Commodore looked utterly defeated. “I am as bemused as you are, Mr. Mayor.” He then turned to go.

  Mogie held the Commodore back. “Wait. Tell Tannenbaume he’s out. I’m making you the superintendent, not him.”

  The Commodore straightened himself up the best he could. The skin on his face sagged. Even his hair seemed to have lost its sheen. “I don’t understand everything that is going on here, Mr. Mayor, but I do apprehend this much: Captain Tannenbaume is the sole progeny of the veritable hero of the United States Merchant Marine Academy. It is clear enough that I am the odd man out now. And you, sir, are on the outs as well.”

  Now it was Mogie’s turn to be stupefied. He turned to Mitzi. “Mitz, baby. What gives here?”

  “I ain’t your baby, Moges. The Commodore’s right. You’re out.”

  The Commodore placed his hand on Mogie’s shoulder. “It was a grand plan, Mr. Mayor. But we have been bested. No one, not even a heroic competitor such as yourself, can overcome the weight of history. It is time for us to take our leave now.”

  Before taking his leave, however, the Commodore decided to make one last gesture. Posterity demanded it. To the victor goes the spoils. And the vanquished? Well, the vanquished go quietly.

  He stood before Captain Tannenbaume. It took every ounce of what fortitude he had left to stand as erect as he knew he must. The Commodore doffed his cap with a flick of the wrist and tucked it beneath his left arm. Then he clicked his heels and bowed at the waist.

  The butler’s bow. It was all that was left to do.

  EPILOGUE

  Morris the groundskeeper is still at the academy, still butchering hedges.

  The BandLeader became a millionaire as the inventor of an earpiece for tone-deaf bandleaders.

  Maven did, in fact, become the Commodore’s secretary. She continues to wear her tulip dresses to work.

  Miss Lambright had her fifteen minutes of fame as the cover girl of Playboy in a spread entitled “The Women of the United States Merchant Marine Academy.”

  Raymond continues to do the Commodore’s shirts at the Great Neck Martinizing Dry Cleaners.

  The widows went on to become board members of various Wall Street banks. We know what happened there.

  Captain Cooper’s wife, Frank Beebee’s old wife, died. He went on to marry Miss Beebee and they settled back in West Virginia. When her fellow West Virginians discovered that Miss Beebe had married her dead brother’s widowed wife’s husband, they did not bat an eye.

  The electrician now sells Timberland boots for a living. The yellowish nubuck leather kind.

  Tibby went on to become a Tampa Bay harbor pilot. Unfortunately, he became distracted one day while expounding on the virtues of Conrad and nearly ran his ship into the Sunshine Skyway bridge. He was saved by the inbound pilot, Captain Jiso, who, seeing Tibby’s ship shearing off toward the bridge, got on the VHF and said, “Wake up, Conrad.” Tibby retired from piloting and went on to write a best-selling book about finding your true calling in life called, fittingly, Wake up, Conrad.

  Ski is still behind the wheel on the God is Able.

  Swifty went on to become professor of navigation at the State University of New York Maritime College in Fort Schuyler. His students receive straight As even though they don’t know a sunline from a sunspot.

  The steward is serving jail time for stalking Clint Eastwood.

  Sparks retired to Snug Harbor, the retirement home for merchant mariners. He started out very popular with the retirees because he fixed all of their old analog contrivances, but he was ultimately kicked out for reading their mail.

  The chief moved to Vegas where he began his second act as an Elvis impersonator.

  Sylvia and the second engineer got married. They settled down in Great Neck where she opened a beauty salon. Sylvia became inspired by her Great Neck neighbors and finally started doing for others, giving free makeovers to single mothers.

  Johnson’s Johnson sells his wife’s watercolors in retirement. He and the navy chaplain take a cruise every winter and the chaplain continues to run interference for him.

  Mogie lost his mayoral reelection bid to his challenger Putzie Paultz, who financed his own campaign with money from his burgeoning dry cleaning business, now the official dry cleaners of the academy. Mogie and Jane started a Jews for Jesus synagogue. Mrs. Tannenbaume donated her papier-mâché Jesus.

  Captain Tannenbaume and Mitzi got married. They had a son and named him Edwin J. Tannenbaume.

  The Commodore stayed on as officer of external affairs. He continues to give his back end speech and became godfather to Edwin J. Tannenbaume.

  Mrs. Tannenbaume became the sex-ed teacher at the academy. She quit St. Aloysius and joined Mitzi’s synagogue. Her sonny boy offered her housing on the academy grounds, but Mrs. Tannenbaume said she no longer wanted to live in kings Point. Her life was in Great Neck.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Ronnie and Evan Weston read the manuscript from start to finish, read it rwith gusto, read it with all of the generosity that makes them so special. Your support has meant the world to me. So thank you, Ronnie and Evan.

  Rhonda Pray read the first five chapters while overnighting at our house on the way to Buenos Aires and her encouragement meant so much to me at that early stage.

  My old and good friends Scott and keith Driscoll and Luz Lopez Driscoll gave me the unvarnished truth—as I knew they would—and their thumbs up gave me a burst of hope that maybe the book was good enough after all.

  Jill Ecklund offered excellent advice on improving the readability o
f the book.

  Jorge Viso told me, in so many words, that I acquitted myself well. High praise from Captain Viso. Thank you, Jorge.

  Carolyn kurtz also read the manuscript with alacrity and her comments were wonderfully insightful and helpful.

  Thomas Pray, aka Woodbine, did not read it, but then he didn’t have to. Woodbine, who has been my biggest fan, who thinks I can do anything, who flew over shark infested waters with me in the Bahamas in my ancient 1966 Cherokee Six airplane—when I barely knew how to fly the damn thing—because, as he said at the time, “I trust you.” Those words meant more to me then, mean more to me now, than he could ever know. So thanks, Woodbine, for your great friendship.

  My brother Jeffrey has been a fount of enthusiasm from the beginning and remains the most generous person I’ve known in my life.

  Joe Morris is all over this book. He knows what that means. Thank you for everything, Joe.

  Jaime Pineiro cheered me on from the helm of his beautiful sailboat as we traversed Biscayne Bay in the afternoon—day after glorious day—while I was writing the book.

  Keith McKinney responded with memorable enthusiasm when I first told him my idea for a novel so many years ago while vacationing on the North Fork of Long Island. His words of encouragement sustained me until I began writing a full decade later.

  Frank Reider also responded fervently when we discussed my book idea over lunch way back when. Frank’s ardor for the book remains undiminished and for that I am grateful.

  Dave King wrote Self Editing for Fiction Writers, which is the indispensible book for the first-time novelist, or any novelist for that matter. Dave’s blue pencil marked up my pages and brought my rough draft to life. Thank you, Dave. I recommend you and your book to every writer I know.

  Marty Smith set me on the right path many years ago, yielding only a cocktail napkin and a ballpoint pen while we sat at the bar at my brother’s wedding.

  Stephen Pollan, another great and generous man, has been more helpful to me than he may know. He listened with compassion when I informed him that I wrote a novel and had certain hopes for it. That he took me seriously, that he took my call at all, I am so grateful for. He cared enough to help me out and for that, how can I ever adequately thank him? I will start by saying: Thank You, Stephen.

  Stephen put me in touch with Herb Schaffner and Herb took over from there. To my great and everlasting delight Herb “got” my book. “It needs some work, though,” he said. Herb served dual roles as both my editor and agent. More than that, he has been my trusted advisor on everything to do with the book business. He and his colleagues at Schaffner Media Partners are consummate pros. This book would be nothing but a yellowed manuscript by now if you had not come along, Herb. I cannot thank you enough.

  Julie Matysik acquired the book for Skyhorse and was my editor, and what a fine editor she was for my book. She took great care with the manuscript, took great care with me—a first-time novelist—walked me through the whole process, answered my calls, answered my emails. Julie has been a joy to work with. Thank you so much, Julie.

  Thanks to the great team at Skyhorse: Tony Lyons, Bill Wolfsthal, Esther Bochner, Nina Boutsikaris, and Abigail Gehring.

  My grandmother told me that I should write a book one day and that it should be about her. Well, Nana, I did and it is. I think you would have liked it.

  My mother, Betty Jacobsen, filled me from a young age with great storehouses of confidence that I could do anything I set my mind to. For that, and for her, I am most grateful.

  My son, Liam, will turn six when his father’s book comes out. For as far back as he can remember his father has been writing a book. Thank you for your great understanding, Liam. So sorry that you can’t read it until you’re eighteen.

  My wife, Silvana, was enormously patient with me while I wrote this book. When a woman as beautiful as Silvana has that kind of faith in you, a guy can’t help but feel like the luckiest guy in the world. I know that I am.

  And, finally, to the kindred souls who have mustered over the years in the foyer between Fourth and Fifth Company, this book’s for you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Captain John Jacobsen, a graduate of the United States Merchant Marine Academy, spent fifteen years plying the world’s oceans as a ship’s officer on cargo and passenger vessels. Today, Jacobsen is a harbor pilot in the Port of Miami and the Chairman of the Biscayne Bay Pilots Association. His notes and diaries over the years inform his writing. He lives in Miami, Florida, with his wife and son.