“It is necessary for the national defense and for the proper growth of its foreign and domestic commerce that the United States shall have a merchant marine of the best equipped and most suitable types of vessels sufficient to carry the greater portion of its commerce and serve as a naval or military auxiliary in time of war or national emergency, ultimately to be owned and operated privately by citizens of the United States; and it is declared to be the policy of the United States to do whatever may be necessary to develop and encourage the maintenance of such a merchant marine, and, in so far as may not be inconsistent with the express provisions of this Act, the Secretary of Transportation shall, in the disposition of vessels and shipping property as hereinafter provided, in the making of rules and regulations, and in the administration of the shipping laws keep always in view this purpose and object as the primary end to be attained.”
— Sec. 1. Purpose and policy of United States (46 App. U.S.C. 861 (2002))

If you are like me, you don’t spend a lot of time worrying about the inland and near-coastal waters of this great Republic. I think we probably should, but it is a dense subject, as you can tell from the above excerpt from the US Code more popularly known as “the Jones Act.”

That is the burr under the saddle for Boats these days, if I can be permitted an equine reference. He is a freak of nature, an educated boatswain’s mate.  Actually, that is not fair either to nature or the tribe of Deck Apes for whom the Master Chief sits at the right hand of God.

Actually, I have no idea why Boats and his rate-mates enjoy lampooning themselves and playing to stereotype. As I mentioned the other day, the Master Chief is a retired reserve Coast Guardsman and professional expert witness on all manner of minutia involved with Admiralty law.

“I think we have more showman in us than professional ego,” he said, pushing two wire-bound volumes across the dark wood of the Willow bar. Death Junior was standing next to me, between me and Old Jim, downing the first of the two Old Fashioned cocktails to which she limits herself after a spent day with the dead.

DJ was filling me in on the latest gossip from Murphy’s Funeral Parlor, the plans for her wedding next year, and the relation between this world and the next.

Boats was polishing off the last of his beef-on-weck sandwich. “I had no idea that non-Cajuns can cook this well,” he said, dabbing his lips with one of the Willow napkins on which I scribble notes. He looked contemplative. “Probably a better job on roast beef than my Mom could do; and that’s about the highest culinary mark a Cajun can give.”

“You can never go wrong with Tracey O’Grady in the kitchen,” I said. “Willow may be the only reason I don’t climb in the Bluesmobile and flee this crazy land of Oz for good.”

“I strongly recommend you look through these two books,” he said, gesturing at the buff cover of the one on top. It was emblazoned with the logo of the National Mariners Association, a lighthouse and ship’s wheel on a littoral shore.

“Abuse of Mariners Under the Two Watch System?” I asked. “Is that the Jones Act? You can’t blame me for being confused. Every time those chuckleheads downtown pass a law they have to figure out some platitude for the title that evokes kittens and Motherhood.”

“I am surprised the Coast Guard Appropriation is not called ‘the Keeping Your Kids Safe On the Water’ bill. What I call the Jones Act is shorthand for public law 66-261, the Merchant Marine Act of 1920 as amended.”

“My head is starting to hurt, Boats. What has that got to do with the two-watch system?”

“It is part of the whole scheme to deal with cabotage.” Boats pursed his lips and examined his glass of white wine.

“Cabotage?” I said dubiously.

“Yes, exactly. Cabotage is coastal shipping. The Act requires that  all goods transported by water between U.S. ports must be carried in U.S.-flag ships, constructed in the United States, owned by U.S. citizens, and crewed by U.S. citizens and U.S. permanent residents.”

“I remember that part from when I worked in Navy legislative affairs,” I said. “Every session, the first bill that went in the hopper was from some crusty old southern Congressman who wanted us to bring the Midway back from Japan to do any maintenance work. That would defeat the whole point of having a forward-deployed carrier and be expensive as shit. But we don’t build many ships in America any more. No one wants to comply with the law.”

Boats nodded. “Exactly. Now, I am not trying to attack the “Jones Act”, I’m trying to defend it. It needs some adjustments, though. I am launching a full scale assault on the continuing abuse of American Merchant Mariners who are being made to work under third-world conditions.”

“That is pretty technical stuff,” I said. “How are you going to sell the concept?”

Boats signaled toward Liz-S for more wine, and appeared to be considering the weighty matter of another sandwich.

“I imagine this is going to get pretty complex,” I said.

“I am going to make it simple for you,” he said as Liz-S appeared with a bottle of un-bubbly. “But it is going to take a minute.”

“I’m done,” said Death Junior, and reached for her purse to pay her tab.

I pointed at my glass and winked at Liz-S. “In for a penny, in for a pound. I am all ears, Boats.”

And that is where he started the story about mariners, shifts and safety really begins. Unfortunately, I will have to get to that tomorrow. Work stands between me and the rest of the story- and a visit with Liz-S later.

Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicscotra.com