Boats and I were shooting the shit about old times and old tales, and the nature of narrative, as I told you. We had about exhausted the topics de jour, though I confess I have never seen things going on the way they are, and I have been to the County Fair.
Boats has been to a few carnivals himself, and he is as authentic as a semi-submerged Louisiana gator, eyes bulging with hunger above the dark waters of the bayou.
I had remarked about how strange the Zimmerman trial was, now that the Defense had rested. We were back and forth on the likely verdict. I thought that the evidence at the trial should mean the case should be dismissed, since even the Prosecution witnesses seemed to support the idea that young Mr. Martin was wailing on Mr. Zimmerman, and that while deadly force is a final answer to a possibly temporary problem, by law, it was self-defense.
Boats was more phlegmatic about the matter, having come up through the Louisiana judicial system, which contains vestiges of the Code Napoleon, a French system in which innocence is not necessarily presumed on the part of the defendant.
“But even in France, the Emperor would not dispatch Inspector Javert to stir up the mob outside the courthouse,” I said. “You heard that the Department of Justice did just that.”
“Hadn’t heard,” he said.
“Yeah, apparently there is a unit in DOJ called the Community Relations Service. They sent a team down to Florida to coordinate the demonstrations demanding that Zimmerman be arrested for murder.”
“Do tell,” said Boats, looking thoughtful. “But that is hardly a new phenomenon in the South.”
“Yeah, the CRS was supposed to provide “technical assistance for the preparation of possible marches and rallies” related to the fatal shooting. I am opposed to murder, of course, but I didn’t know DOJ had assigned itself the community activist mission.”
“The central government stirring up disorder? Nah, I am sure it was an aberration. Justice is funny. I once worked a large self propelled dredge on the Mississippi. I was the “lever man,” and that is how I met the Judge.
“I have seen them,” I said, “but never had to work on one.”
“Yep. The Lever Man is the unlicensed officer in charge of the watch when the dredge is actually “spudded” down and digging. He operates the cutter head and suction systems, and serves as the officer of the deck for coordinating the dredge tending tugs, and approvals of all personnel comings and goings, etc.”
“So it is a combination of the in-port OOD and being underway, right?”
Boats nodded. “I was a pilot, of course, but when “spudded down”- you know, moored by long metal poles deployed through wells on deck- I had to stand watch and handle vessel traffic communications and meeting and passing arrangements. And keep the logs.”
“It was easier on a ship of war,” I said. “Not that the Spooks had to stand watch over anything except the nukes.”
“Soft. You ought to try being a working sailor for a change. I stood watch with a guy the crew called “The Judge,” because he was actually a Justice of the Peace somewhere in rural Mississippi when not in dredging season. “The Judge” was a font of wisdom on the world.”
“How old were you?” I asked idly. “I didn’t join the Navy until I was 25- almost too late in those days.”
Boats looked thoughtful. “I was about 27 at the time. He would have been ancient then- about 65 or so. Been on the water all his life.”
“Wait a minute- that doesn’t sound so old anymore.”
“Ha! You pup! Just wait! But the Judge liked to impart a lot of wisdom, feeling that I had a short supply due to age. I tried to think which of his pearls of wisdom about how things work might apply to the situation in which we find ourselves these days.”
“That would take some doing,” I said, “Finding the unifying Field Theory to all this madness.”
“The judge used to say:”Never sweat on the job, never shit off of it”.
“What the hell does that mean, Boats?”
“Let me translate. Life sucks the essence out of us and occupies most of our waking hours. We try to figure things out in the time left over. So, what the Judge suggests is that you digest while working, grow your hair while working, burn most of your calories, and then when you are at your low ebb, that is when you try to figure out what the government is up to.”
“I never think on the job. That is why I am so far behind.”
“Try it the Judge’s way. You should feel no guilt over bathroom time on the job, getting a haircut during work hours, taking a long lunch once in a while, taking care of a little personal business on the job, or coping an occasional nap on the clock.”
“You mean like the DoJ?”
“Precisely,” he said. “But look for everyone to get a lot of overtime if the jury does the right thing and acquits Zimmerman as a matter of law.”
“It is up to the Jury,” I said, “At least after the closing arguments tomorrow and Friday.”
“You should listen to what the Judge instructs the jurors,” said Boats. “I am not sure anyone is going to be satisfied with what happens.”
I nodded in agreement. “That seems to be the only thing you can count on these days, afloat or ashore.”
“Bet your sweet ass,” said Boats with emphasis. “How about another beer? I think we are still on the clock.”
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
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