In the days of sail, a dead sailor was wrapped in sail cloth which was sewn tightly, with a lead cannonball at his feet. In a merchant ship without cannonballs, some heavy iron or steel such as a heavy chain link would be used to ensure that he would sink quickly when he was lowered over the side. In more modern times wooden coffins were often used, and sometimes there were glitches. For instance, if large holes were not drilled into the coffin it would likely float, and then drastic measures were taken such as shooting holes into the coffin until it sank.
In 1977 I was first the Executive Officer and then the Commanding Officer of the destroyer USS POWER (DD839). We were homeported in New York at Fort Schuyler, in the North Bronx. When we headed for sea we had two choices, either down the East River past Rikers Island, the UN Building and the Statue of Liberty or we could head northeast through Long Island Sound past Block Island and be in open water. Either way it would take us two hours or more to go out to open sea past the 3 mile limit. There were only four destroyers homeported in New York, and there were many old Navy men in the area who wanted to be buried at sea when their time came. We conducted burials at sea when we were outward bound, as soon as we reached international waters (it was not allowed for burial to be too close to shore). We had a short but dignified ceremony and then commended the remains to the deep. I recall only one burial with a wooden coffin, and it went well. The others were simpler in that the deceased had been cremated, and it was easier to lower the urn of ashes into the sea. There was one burial which thankfully went well, but for which the preliminaries I remember vividly.
Donna and I and our three daughters were living at Mitchell Field, in the middle of Long Island next to Garden City. We had very nice quarters, which had been Colonel’s quarters when Mitchell Field had
One Friday I received a phone call from the Brooklyn Naval Hospital; an old Chief Petty Officer had died and been cremated, and had requested to be buried at sea. My ship was scheduled to go to sea the next day for a few days of exercises, so we arranged that I would stop by the hospital on my way home to pick up the urn and take it to the ship the next morning. All went well, even the paperwork, until….
In the late afternoon I was driving through Queens on my way home with the Chief’s ashes when my car completely stalled. It was getting dark so I luckily coasted off the road. All I could determine was that the battery was completely dead. The common conception was that any car left by the side of the road overnight would be stolen or completely stripped, and I needed to call Donna for help. This was before cell phones and I was in a quiet neighborhood in Queens with no phone booth in sight or any store or business still open. So I started walking towards where I thought would be downtown. After about a half mile I saw a neighborhood bar which was open, so I headed that way. It looked like the bar from the TV show Cheers and it would not be a surprise if Archie Bunker was on a bar stool. I was in uniform and everyone wanted to buy me a beer and tell me about their Uncle Joe who was in the Navy in WWII. When I told them my predicament they got me the phone from behind the bar and helped me to tell Donna who to get here from Mitchell Field. I fortunately remembered to tell Donna to bring the spare 12 volt battery from the garage. I knew it would probably take an hour for her to get here so my main job was to stay sober while not refusing the beer which was continually being offered.
When Donna arrived everyone cheered and welcomed her and insisted that she have a beer. By now it was about 7:30 PM and I figured to leave to collect the MG by 8:00. As it turned out, our timing was right on. At about quarter to 8:00 the regular crowd were finishing the last beer and starting to leave, and the bartender told us that we would probably want to leave too. Since this was exactly what we wanted to do, I thought that was great but I obviously didn’t understand what was going on. The bartender told us that this bar was time-sharing and he introduced us to the oncoming bartender who was very friendly and dressed in an exorbitant flashy style. The new bartender told us, gaily, that as of 8:00 PM this is a gay bar. He showed us a large scrapbook of recent photos of the drag queen contests which they held weekly. All in all the atmosphere was happy and friendly but it was entirely new and foreign to us. But we had to hurry to retrieve my stalled car, so ended our experience with a straight and gay time-sharing bar.
When we got to my car it was still intact and the Chief’s ashes were untouched. I installed the spare battery, got home for a good night’s sleep, and back to the ship in the morning. The Chief’s ashes were buried in a dignified manner. I decided not to tell my shipmates about last night’s adventure.
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