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thedrifter
12-25-06, 09:19 AM
Intrepid reporter captures the scene aboard USS Lexington

ELDON OTTENHEIMER
Last updated: December 25th, 2006 01:00 AM (PST)

I was engrossed in my favorite exercise behind the comic section of The Sunday Ledger when the deep bass voice of the city editor brought me out of my dreams.

“Go down to the Lexington,” says the executive, “and count the visitors as they go aboard. I’d send the office boy, but we’ll have use for him here at the office this afternoon.”

“It’s raining. How about a taxi?” I asked the city editor.

“Walking’s good,” he replied.

So, after walking a mile and a half, I arrived at the gang plank of that giant warship Uncle Sam uses to carry a bunch of aviators and their airships around the Pacific Ocean.

There was a huge mob of persons there and, when I started to work my way through them toward the front of the line, they all tried to throw their arms around me and choke me.

It took me nearly an hour to reach the head of the line where I was stopped by a couple of Marines – it takes a couple of Marines to stop a good star reporter.

“I’m a reporter and want to go through the Lexington,” I told the Marine nearest to me.

“Yeh,” says he. “Well, you’re the eighth palooka what’s come down here today claiming he’s a newspaper guy.”

It was only after I threatened to report him to the commander of the warship and another party was being allowed to go aboard to inspect the ship that I got by that hard-boiled Marine.

When I got up to the head of the gang plank there was a young officer in swell rags out to meet me. I started to shake his hand but he waved me on.

“Follow the guide and keep in a straight line,” he told me.

I asked the guide if they had any admirals aboard, but he told me all they had was a collection of commanders and “louies,” whatever they are.

Can’t high-hat him

You can imagine my surprise as the party and myself were walking along the flight deck, which is almost 1,000 feet long, when I saw the red-headed flapper reporter on this paper talking with an officer with four stripes on his sleeves.

I started to wander away from the party and walk down one of the hallways when another one of those Marine persons shouted at me.

“Hey, runt, come back here before you get hurt.”

“But I’m a newspaper reporter,” I told him.

“And I’m the secretary of the navy,” he replied.

So I had to go back and join the party.

The guide showed us the ship’s supply room. It was a regular newlyweds’ paradise. Just one pile of canned goods after another. I saw where they made coffee in three huge copper bottles, where they cooked the food for the boys, where all the dough that Uncle Sam supplies went into an oven to be made into bread.

I had my ups and downs following that guide. What lot of stairways a warship has.

As we passed the officers’ ward room, who did I see but another one of our hired hands talking to an officer. When I saw that I was convinced the city editor didn’t want to overwork me.

In my party there was a man and a boy about 10. They were all having a picnic. The kid was having a picnic running all over the ship and his parents were having a picnic trying to keep track of him.

They had quite a broadcasting system aboard the Lexington, but there wasn’t any music. The operator was broadcasting requests all the time.

Requesting so and so to report on the quarter deck or so and to report to the officer of the deck, who ever he may have been.

This dump’S no joint

I watched the barber in the ship’s tonsorial parlor for quite awhile before the guide took us on through to the men’s quarters.

“Quite a joint you’ve got here,” I said to one of the sailors.

“Don’t call this dump a joint,” said the “gob” in insulted tones.

After getting a glimpse at the ship’s hangar (that’s where they keep the airplanes) I found myself with my party at the exit point.

I tried to convince the officer that I was a newspaper man and that he should show me the engine room, but he turned to a blond guy from one of the opposing papers and asked if he knew me.

The big bum said he’d never seen me before. The officer went into a huddle with a bunch of sailors, called some signals and next thing I knew I was sitting in a sort of an ungentlemanly manner on the dock.

If you go down to the Lexington today, don’t tell them that you are a newspaper man. That gag’s getting old. Tell the marines you’re Sandino and you might get someplace.

Originally published: December 25th, 2006 01:00 AM (PST)

Ellie