Gathering Moss

“You got orders?” Lieutenant Parker was standing in front of the ramp leading up to the main deck of the NOAA Ship O’Sullivan.

            “Yes, sir.” The young man was dressed in shorts, t-shirt, sandals, and a baseball cap with GT embossed on the front. He dropped his duffel bag, unzipped one of its pockets, and pulled out a single envelope which he presented to the Lieutenant.

            The officer did not reach for the envelope. “You want to open that?”

            The civilian cocked his head, almost responded, but opened the envelope, unfolded the papers, and handed them forward. He noted the Lieutenant’s name tag.

            There was a one word question from the officer as he accepted the opened papers, “Passport?”

            The civilian leaned over, another pocket was unzipped and, with a little fumbling, a passport was produced. Without speaking the Lieutenant looked down at the passport extended in front of him and then up to the young man. In time, the implied request was understood. The passport was opened and the picture held forward.

            “Take off your cap.”

            In a fast sweeping motion the civilian snatched off his cap and held it out at arms length over his head.

            The officer continued to look at the passport. “Mr. Wesley Stone?”

            “Yes.” There was a pause. “Sir.”

            The Lieutenant looked up from the papers. For a moment he was quiet. Then, “There’s a roster containing the names of the six students who will sail with us on the NOAA Ship O’Sullivan. It’s at the desk as you step onto the main deck. That roster, Mr. Stone, will inform you in which cabin you will be staying.”

            The Lieutenant continued to look through the sheets of paper and then he bent over his desk, checking his list. “You’re last. The other five, and your professors, are already here.” He stood up and held the papers out to Wesley.

            Wesley took the papers, picked up his duffel bag, and looked back at the Lieutenant. For a moment, their eyes met. Almost a smile formed on the Lieutenant’s face. Then he turned back to the desk sitting beside the gangway and picked up his clipboard.

            “Mr. Stone.”

            Wesley had started up toward the main deck. He turned to the Lieutenant.

            “One thing more. You’ll find that the officers and crew on this vessel exercise proper decorum in their dress while on the ship. We expect the students to wear shirts and shoes when moving about inside. Whenever we put into shore, if you come out onto the deck or leave the ship, it’s expected that you will wear a shirt with a collar and appropriate slacks.”

            The Lieutenant turned back to his clipboard and, more softly now, continued. “When you are under the supervision of the faculty, we don’t give a damn how they require you to present yourself.”

            “Thank you for this instruction, Lieutenant Parker.”

            Parker looked up sharply, but Wesley had already turned toward the ship and was continuing up the gangway.