The Jinx Ship 2

March 3, 2021 - Creative Writing Assignment:  Share some details about a writer you love and the ways you feel connected to them, were inspired by them - maybe even feel similar to them.

DexterGodbeyWritings2021.blogspot.com

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March 12, 2021

I know little about the writers I love most.  I could look some up on Google, I suppose.  Maybe I will.  Now that you mention it.

It’s the books, though, that stick with me.

The Jinx Ship is the first.  Howard Pease the author.

Next, the Chip Hilton Sports Series by Clair Bee.  It’s a series of 24 related novels "for adolescent boys."  Read them with my best friend at the time, my slightly older next-door neighbor, Skip Butler.

Those two, The Jinx Ship and the Chip Hilton Series, had the biggest influences on my young life.

I was in 5th grade.  Ten or 11 years old.  My teacher, the scary and dreaded Mrs. Nelson, read to the class every day after our long lunch breaks. 

I remember she read to us for about 15 or 20 minutes.  I don’t remember anything else she read.  Only The Jinx Ship. 

I remember the first day she started it.  When she read the title, “The Jinx Ship - A Tod Moran Mystery - Salty Mystery and Adventure on a West Indian Freighter,” I was already intrigued, mesmerized, captivated.  What could this be about?  How mysterious? What mysteries?  What adventures?  What lay ahead?

The whole time Mrs. Nelson, who turned out to be one of my favorite all-time teachers no matter how scary and dreaded the other kids thought she was, was reading us The Jinx Ship, I couldn’t wait to come in from lunch recess.  I’d gladly leave our rousing basketball, kickball, football, or baseball games for The Jinx Ship.

From the title to “The End,” I remained intrigued, mesmerized, and captivated by Tod Moran's adventures and mysteries. He was the hero.  The young fireman on board the two-masted schooner, The Jinx Ship.  Sailing the South Pacific.

I remember my heart aching when Mrs. Nelson read, “The End.”  I cried but hid it.  I longed for more adventures.

“More,” my mind was shouting.  Screaming.  “More!   I don’t want it to end….ever.”  

It was a Tuesday at 1:20 PM.  Exactly 20 minutes after we’d come in from lunch recess.

I remember it was a Tuesday because the next day was Wednesday.  That day - the Wednesday - started out any normal Wednesday. 

It ended up as one of the biggest and best days of my life.  

Every other Wednesday the class would line up in two files.  Like soldiers going to war.  The girls in one line.  The boys in the other.  I always tried to maneuver so I’d be next to Allison Brady.  She had red hair.  The best smile.  The first dimples I’d ever noticed.  And was whip-smart.  I think she liked me, too.  We were both too shy.  We barely even talked to each other.

Anyway, we’d march across the street from our school.  Not to war.  To the city’s Public Library. Library Soldiers.

Mrs. Nelson got those Wednesdays off from reading to us.

Before The Jinx Ship, I never really cared much about our library excursions.  It was, I guess, a good diversion from the regular school routine.  But it didn’t hold any magic for me.

Except, I remember, I loved the quiet of it.  The stillness.  It was a soft place.  A quiet, gentle, kind, safe place.

And, the smell.  I didn’t know exactly what the smell was.  Ours was a pretty new library.  I was in 2nd grade when it opened.  I don’t think the smell was musty tomes.  I learned that later in lots of big old libraries.  But then, I didn’t know what an old musty tome was or what it smelled like anyway.  But, whatever that library smell was, I was drawn to it.

Everything changed that Wednesday.  Not the quiet or safety of the library.  Or the smell.  Everything else, though.

It caught me off guard.  I didn’t expect it.  Hadn’t thought about it. I wasn’t especially excited to march over to the library that day.  Except to be a little closer to Allison.

The instant I stepped through the door, the smell of the place hit me in the face.  I don’t know why.  It was different that day.  My heart stopped for a beat.  I felt it.  And tingling.  I sensed tingling in my fingers and toes. Bizarre, I thought.

I’d had a Library Card since 3rd grade.  The whole school got them for the bi-weekly library visits.

After getting my sea legs back, catching my breath, and getting my bearings, I figured it out.  It hit me like that time a huge angry wave hit me at the beach, knocked me over, and tried to drag me out to sea.

No wandering around the library aimlessly for me on that Wednesday.  

I headed straight to the fiction section.  I was going to check out The Jinx Ship.  If Mrs. Nelson wasn’t going to read it to us, I’d read it myself.  Start from the beginning and read the whole thing. Yep. I'd made up my mind.

I don’t remember ever checking out a library book before.  Maybe for some assignment?

But just for fun?  Just to read without being ordered Mom, Dad, or a teacher. I don’t think so.

Did I say I like the order of libraries?  The logic?  

Conveniently, fiction books in the library were organized by author’s last name back then.  It’s one of the few things on Earth that hasn’t changed in the last 60 years.

So I quickly found, “Pease, Howard.”  I saw his name on several books. 

Not The Jinx Ship, though. It wasn’t there!

I searched up and down.  Back and forth.  Fueled by adrenaline.  Driven by anger.  All around the “Pease, Howard” books.

I remember the exact moment I gave up.  It just wasn’t there.  Not anywhere.  The adrenaline drained from my system like a toilet flushing.  

I took off running to the librarian’s huge, fake wood, wrap-around, stand-up height counter.  Miss Waterfield.  I knew who she was from our regular library visits.  I don’t remember ever talking to her before.  Today, though, the day after The Jinx Ship ended, I needed her help like you need a fireman when your house is on fire.

She saw me coming.   I knew that by her stern glare and wagging finger in my direction.

Plus, she greeted me when I was still 20 feet away from her counter.  “There is no running in the library, young man.  You stop that right this instant!”

I came to a screeching halt.  Like Wile E. Coyote tries to do when the Road Runner’s got him about to run off a cliff.  I’m a natural-born rule follower.  Hence the screeching halt.

“I’m sorry, Miss Waterfield,”  I muttered while quick-stepping towards her.  “But, it’s an emergency!”

“What?  What is it?  What emergency?”   Her voice was shaky.  High.  Worried. Cracking.

“There’s a book missing.”

“Oh,” she said.  Calm again.  I saw her shoulders drop. Heard her grab a breath. “Walk - and I mean walk - over here.”

I remember telling her in great detail about "The Mystery of the Missing Jinx Ship." And my exhaustive search for it. I made up that title on the spot. Very Tod Moran, I thought.  

“Someone probably stole it,” I concluded.

Where the many mysteries Tod Moran solved on The Jinx Ship playing kickball with my brain?

Miss Waterfield leaned over her counter.  Her brown eyes behind her big, thick black glasses looked like the mud puddles in the vacant lot behind my house.  My little brother and I got in plenty of trouble coming home all muddy and crusty because of the allure of those puddles.

There was no allure in Miss Waterfield’s eyes, though. Vacant is a better description.  Vacant as the vacant lot.

“Books," she said, "are seldom stolen from the library. Sometimes, yes. But not often. So let's rule that out. Okay?"

Oh. We were solving the mystery together. Miss Waterhouse and me.

"Okay," I said. I was thinking she seemed to be on my side now. But the flutter in my tummy told me I wasn't quite convinced yet. Maybe this was a trick.

"More often," she said, “someone will check out a book and lose it. Not too often. But more often than theft."

"More often than that," she said, "someone will check out a book and not return it on time. That happens all the time. Continually. But, at least then the book usually comes back."

“Sooooo," she said.  She drew it out. Now her brown eyes were lighter. Like the puddles when they're shallow and the Sun playing around with them. Making it's light dance on them. And, there were tiny creases like accidental pencil marks at the corners of her mouth. "What do you think we should do now?"

Holy smokes. She was asking me!

Miss Waterfield was asking me to solve the problem.  To clear up “The Mystery of the Missing Jinx Ship.” 

“Well…...um…...I don’t know…...I…...um…...ah…..I guess.  I don’t know.  Can you look it up to see if it's checked out to someone?  Or something like that?  I really don’t know."

"Aha!" she doesn’t just say it.  She sings it. "Brilliant, my dear Watson." 

I was too shy to tell her my name wasn't Watson. And, only much later understood the Sherlock Holmes reference. I still smile when I think about it. Her sense of humor was much like mine. Or, perhaps, I copied hers.

She took me around the counter. Showed me the book tracking system. It was all done by hand in 1957. She let me sort through the index cards.

And there it was!. The evidence! The solution to the mystery. Solved. Exactly like Tod Moran.

"So, Watson," she said. I still didn't correct her. "Who has your missing book? And, when is it due back?"

I couldn't believe what I saw. 

"Mrs. Nelson. Due back today," I practically yelled.

"Shhhh.  Quiet down.  This is a library, after all,” she hissed.  But, with twinkles playing in her eyes.  

“Come with me," Miss Waterfield said.  She took me by the hand. Hers was soft like my grandma's. Warm, too. And not sweaty at all.

She led me to the book return box under the book return slot in her counter.

And, there it was! Right on top. "The Jinx Ship. By Howard Pease. A Tod Moran Mystery.”

I remember crying. Oh, I disguised it pretty well. My dad always told me,  "Men don't cry. Big Boys Don't Cry.  Girls and sissies cry. So stop your crying, son. Don't be a sissy."

It didn't matter what Dad said. I cried a lot anyway. Sometimes sad.  Sometimes happy.  I couldn't help it. Sometimes I knew why. Sometimes I didn't. Sometimes it just sneaked up on me. I learned to hide it pretty well. And extinguish it quickly. An expert, of sorts, at holding back tears while crying. I'm living proof you can cry inside without leaking any tears.

I checked out The Jinx Ship.

It was a bit above my reading level. I plowed through it anyway.  The fact that I had already heard it from Mrs. Nelson made it easier.

Then I read it again. I renewed it at the library two times. I read it again. And again. Every spare moment I was reading The Jinx Ship. I carried it around with me.

Every other Wednesday Miss Waterfield and I talked about it when she wasn't too busy.

When I couldn't renew it again because someone had it on hold, Miss Waterfield suggested some other books. I don't remember what they were. I don't remember if I read them. I probably did, but don't remember.

But The Jinx Ship. I remember. It's like I was me and I had a life before the Jinx Ship. And then it was a different me after the Jinx Ship. It was a demarcation point in my life. And there was no turning back.

At some point, I felt like writing a similar story to one of Tod Moran's mysteries. I have no rational idea why. I just felt like it. It was almost as if I had to or I’d suffer some heinous consequences.  I was compelled.

I did. I wrote it. I don't remember the story. I do remember how much I liked the writing. And how proud I was when it was done.

I kept on writing stories. And some poems from then right up until I started Law School.

I remember bits of some of them. Not all. And there are no copies. So I can't refresh my memories.

But, I don't care, really. They are pieces of my life. Now, as I Look backwards through 74 years on Planet Earth, I wonder if Tod and The Jinx Ship had an even bigger impact on me than I ever imagined before today. I never put two and two together until just now.  While writing all this down.

I've always loved the ocean. Swimming in it for sure. Body surfing. And I've spent hundreds of hours sailing the Pacific and Atlantic. A hidden, forgotten Tod Moran influence?

Since the Jinx Ship I've loved reading. I've always been partial to mystery stories. Solving them. At a pretty young age, maybe 7th or 8th grade, I became addicted to Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had me reading every Holmes mystery he wrote. Assiduously. Working through the clues. Trying to solve Holmes’ cases before he and Watson did. 

Like Tod Moran, I've also always loved Adventure. I've traveled extensively internationally and road-tripped coast-to-coast in the United States eight times.  Should I be thanking Tod? 

I still love libraries. The smell. The orderliness. The logic of the arrangement of the books. The ease of access. The quiet. The calmness. The safety. 

I still go to the library frequently. Sometimes to browse. Sometimes to search for something special. Sometimes to just sit and read or do some work. Libraries are comforting.

I'm a lawyer. Still solving mysteries. Putting puzzle pieces of cases together. Fighting for underdogs a la Tod Moran.

There's more, too, now. In retrospect. Until writing this, 60 plus years after the fact, I never thought about, saw, nor knowledged all of these connections.

Now that I do, I'd like to say thank you, perhaps for my whole incredibly great life. Thank you to Mrs. Nelson for reading to us after lunch recess.  To miss Waterfield for welcoming me to the wonderful world of libraries. And how to navigate them. And for taking an interest in me at exactly the right time when she didn't have to. 

And, a hearty thank you to Tod Moran, Howard Pease, and The Jinx Ship for inspiring and influencing, apparently, my entire life.