Waterwulf
Contributor
My most memorable time on the SS United States, was when the wall ate my little brother. I think it was the first afternoon, Mom and Dad went to some big dinner and dance. It was formal so they were all dressed up. Dad was in full a Class A Master Sergeants Dress Uniform with all his medals on display. (In the sixties, it was required that military personnel travel in full uniform)
I was about seven years old and left in charge of my four year old brother. And before anybody starts wailing about "babies watching babies", my Daddy was an Army Master Sergeant and a Hillbilly out of West by God Virginia and I was his first born son. I was more than capable of babysitting my little brother. Besides, Dad told us both "You stay in this cabin and stay out of trouble or else". He used his Sergeants voice.
There were fold out bunks in the cabin that my brother and I used, like bunkbeds. You had to pull a handle on the wall down and the bed at the same time. Then the bunk locked down. My arms weren't long enough so Dad put them down so we could play King of the Mountain on them.
Somehow, the little turd got on the top bunk and was kicking me in the head every time I tried to get up there. So real quick like, I ran around to the other side but he kicked me in the head again. This time I fell so I grabbed anything to keep me from landing hard. Oh yes I did! I grabbed the handle as I was falling and suddenly the bunk went click and slammed into he wall with my little bother inside.
I tried for about an hour to get him out but just wasn't strong enough to pull the bunk and the handle at the same time. He quit screaming after a while. In my seven year old mind, descendant of a Hillbilly Master Sergeant, I decided that this situation required a tactical retreat in order to obtain additional manpower with appropriate weapons (Longer arms) to effect a successful rescue of my little brother. I took off to find my Mom and Dad. How hard could it be, right?
It was probably another hour when i gave up and just sat down on some stairs and started crying. I hadn't been crying up until then but I was wondering if my brother was dead, I couldn't find my Mom and Dad and I was tired. I might have been the son of a Hillbilly Master Sergeant but I was only seven years old. I was bawling when Mom and Dad came down the stairs and found me.
First question of course was where's your brother. I guess my "the wall ate him" response was less than satisfactory because Dad snatched me up and took for our cabin at full speed. He was almost 6'7" so his full speed was pretty fast. In the cabin, I pointed at the retracted bunk and my Dad opened it up. My brother just laid there, with his eyes open staring blankly at the ceiling. Finally, he blinked and all was well. Mom had him checked by the Ships Doctor and he was fine.
No, I didn't get into trouble for leaving the cabin. My brother didn't remember it at all but he did develop a pretty strong case of claustrophobia and gets crazy being restrained or held down and absolutely runs from folding beds of all types. heh heh
I was about seven years old and left in charge of my four year old brother. And before anybody starts wailing about "babies watching babies", my Daddy was an Army Master Sergeant and a Hillbilly out of West by God Virginia and I was his first born son. I was more than capable of babysitting my little brother. Besides, Dad told us both "You stay in this cabin and stay out of trouble or else". He used his Sergeants voice.
There were fold out bunks in the cabin that my brother and I used, like bunkbeds. You had to pull a handle on the wall down and the bed at the same time. Then the bunk locked down. My arms weren't long enough so Dad put them down so we could play King of the Mountain on them.
Somehow, the little turd got on the top bunk and was kicking me in the head every time I tried to get up there. So real quick like, I ran around to the other side but he kicked me in the head again. This time I fell so I grabbed anything to keep me from landing hard. Oh yes I did! I grabbed the handle as I was falling and suddenly the bunk went click and slammed into he wall with my little bother inside.
I tried for about an hour to get him out but just wasn't strong enough to pull the bunk and the handle at the same time. He quit screaming after a while. In my seven year old mind, descendant of a Hillbilly Master Sergeant, I decided that this situation required a tactical retreat in order to obtain additional manpower with appropriate weapons (Longer arms) to effect a successful rescue of my little brother. I took off to find my Mom and Dad. How hard could it be, right?
It was probably another hour when i gave up and just sat down on some stairs and started crying. I hadn't been crying up until then but I was wondering if my brother was dead, I couldn't find my Mom and Dad and I was tired. I might have been the son of a Hillbilly Master Sergeant but I was only seven years old. I was bawling when Mom and Dad came down the stairs and found me.
First question of course was where's your brother. I guess my "the wall ate him" response was less than satisfactory because Dad snatched me up and took for our cabin at full speed. He was almost 6'7" so his full speed was pretty fast. In the cabin, I pointed at the retracted bunk and my Dad opened it up. My brother just laid there, with his eyes open staring blankly at the ceiling. Finally, he blinked and all was well. Mom had him checked by the Ships Doctor and he was fine.
No, I didn't get into trouble for leaving the cabin. My brother didn't remember it at all but he did develop a pretty strong case of claustrophobia and gets crazy being restrained or held down and absolutely runs from folding beds of all types. heh heh
