Anchors Aweigh

Half-way through my career a middle-aged man, Marvin by name, signed into the Sugar Loaf facility. Or as he announced, Seaman Third Class Picker, USN, reported for duty. Marvin was one of those individuals whose minds got stuck in time. He could remember up to a certain date but never beyond. He kept repeating the same information as if he was saying it for the first time. He also mixed fantasy and fact with river-flowing fluency, at one time having been a member of the Navy, another time the Army, a third the Air Force, and not uncommonly all three at once. My standard greeting was, "Anchors Aweigh, laddy," to which he responded, saluting briskly, "Aye, Sir, and onward to the Halls of Montezuma!"

Like so many of Sugar Loaf's Residents, I never dug deeply into Marvin's past. For many, we were a transition house, geared to give people a rest from the treadmill of the real world, a place for the indigent to stay until the next court order came through. Since so many came and left within six months to a year, it was senseless to learn a great deal about most of them when all you needed to know was when to duck. At any rate, I did learn that Marvin was a highly trained aviation mechanic and consequently might have served in more than one military branch.

Third Class Picker's outstanding strength was his greatest weakness: his mind. On the one hand, he could remember details down to a micro millimeter when it came to measurements of the gauges of metal of an

aircraft engine, but on the other hand, he couldn't remember with any accuracy his birthday or the year he graduated from high school.

It seems that Marvin and I had to have our two-minutes-a-day greeting to satisfy his life as a former military man. After the standard greeting, which sent some of the Residents up the wall because we repeated it every day, Marvin would go into his short repertoire of war stories. I knew he was finished when I heard the familiar, "From the Halls of Montezuma," to which I would reply the standard, "Anchors Aweigh." One of his stock stories was about his uncle who had served as a sniper in the Marine Corps.

"Yeah, my uncle said he was a born bullet catcher. Served in two wars and caught a bullet in both. Once when he was in Viet Nam there were two snipers out there. He got one and the other got him. But he lived to tell about it. Even carried the bullet on a chain around his neck. Yeah, my uncle, the sniper. One hell of a guy!"

I heard that one about every fourth day. Usually right after this tale.

"I was aboard the U.S. Saratoga. We docked at Panama and had an overnight Liberty. I went into this floppy, dilapidated whore house and got so tanked up I was seeing double and sometimes triple. I mean, I really couldn't tell the trees from the forest. All I know is my Corpsman friend told me that somewhere I got infected by some pretty hairy jungle bunnies because I had the clapandcrabs."

Right after that, Marvin would whip off two or three oldies in such a convincing way you'd swear he just made them up. I found it impossible to get the man's mind unstuck from the military so I gave up. Besides, the stories by themselves were entertaining and brought up old memories of the sailors I'd met when I was in the Marine Corps.

Occasionally the Seaman would switch services with this one. "One of

my best friends was a Marine. We went through Jet Mechanics together. He said if anyone ever gave him a rough time, just tell him and he'd take care of it. Boy, there's nothing like having your personal Marine body guard!" I never figured out if by telling me that he expected me to take care of him while at Sugar Loaf, but I doubt it since Marvin seemed to operate without ulterior motives.

Here's one he told when he saw himself as an Air Force mechanic. "This Pollock fly-boy was crossing the Bermuda Triangle in a four-prop plane. Soon, a flash of lightning struck the plane and the pilot announced over the loudspeaker, 'Due to the electrical storm, we have lost one of our engines. But there's nothing to worry about, we'll just arrive at our destination fifteen minutes late.' The Pollock sat back, smiling at the passenger next to him.

Shortly later, another flash occurred followed by a second announcement. 'Due to the electrical storm we have lost a second engine. But it's nothing to worry about. We'll just arrive at our destination a half hour late.' The Pollock sat back and smiled at the passenger again.

A few minutes later, there was a third burst of light. The pilot announced, 'Due to the electrical storm we have lost another engine, but it's nothing to worry about. We'll just arrive at our destination forty-five minutes late.'

Now the Pollock looked worried. He frowned and said to his friend, 'If the lightening hits our last engine we might be up here all day!'"

Other than Marvin's mind-stuck condition, he was also an alcoholic. So he kept retelling the times his friends put pints of whiskey in their cowboy boots when they boarded ship after Liberty. Or snuck bottles of Vodka aboard the planes by placing them in the pilot's bags. And I don't know how many times I heard of his Corpsman friends appropriating

cases of cough syrup in exchange for free flights to places far away. Marvin Picker was full of stories. Unfortunately a limited number, so I kept hearing the same ones over and over.

Being a former military man, having his mind stuck, and afflicted with alcoholism, it wasn't uncommon for Marvin to get it into his head that he'd been granted weekend Liberty. In that frame, he invariably headed for the local bar. It never bothered him that the Hay Bale was nearly six miles away. More than once Sugar Loaf Security picked him up hoofing it down the country road or staggering back from town. We dried him out the best we could, the only time he completely forgot his war-story repertoire, but when his head was clear he was back telling the old tales as if he'd found a new audience. Marvin Picker was a happy, friendly fellow, fun to be around, always excited, and never too tired to tell a war story. Once I learned to overlook the fact that I'd already heard his tales a hundred times and was able to pretend this was my first successfully, I came to sympathize even more with the reason he was there. Marvin was repetitive proof that every Resident bunked at Sugar Loaf for a reason. In his case, because his mind was stuck.