Lore
A different look at one of my favorite sea stories
Just yesterday, I told someone at work that I will sometimes wake in the middle of the night furious with a boss I had 15 years ago1. That statement is one that tends to get my mind churning, and so here I am, starting a draft at 3 in the morning, talking to you today about Senior Chief Preston.
I had an opportunity to be on one of my favorite podcasts recently, Understood.org’s Hyperfocus with Rae Jacobson. Talking about my Coast Guard experience, I said, “…people that really don’t know you will just assume that you’re anti-establishment and that you hate rules and that you’re a troublemaker.” I framed those words as a result of my conflict avoidance, but when I think of my time on the 87 foot patrol boat Blacktip and Senior Chief Preston, the first thing I remember is constantly stepping directly into the path of conflict.
Senior Chief ran the Blacktip for the entirety of my time on board, from 2001-2003. I met him just after cooking lunch for the crew of 11 on my first day. Most everyone had already sat down to eat, the TV was likely playing the local news affiliate or a raunchy comedy. Senior came flying down the ladder2, dressed in his trops3. He quickly slid into his designated booth with a full plate of food and proceeded to ask if my wife had all her teeth. (On account of her being from Alaska, and him being at least a bit racist.) Nice to meet you, too.
I don’t always like to be reductive, but Senior Chief was an angry little man. He was high energy, often zipping in and out of spaces that reminded me of Tigger. He had two moods: Trying to be Funny, and Red-In-The-Face Furious. Sometimes, his trying to be funny was actually funny, or at least charming. One of my fondest memories of him was our first day leaving the pier. We were flying along at over 20-knots on a beautiful sunny day. I was sitting in what would become my favorite outside spot - atop the cushioned cover of the firefighting pump, staring over the stern at the expanse of the Pacific. Senior hollered down from the bridge, “Hey Cookie! Now you can write home to mom and tell her you went light speed today!”
When Senior was angry, he was scary. I believe he uniquely situated us as a crew that lived in constant safety and danger. We were safe in that there was no chance we were going to sink due to lack of attention or falling asleep on watch. Forget other vessels; we were alert as fuck because who knew when Senior would pop up from his cabin or come flying down a ladder to check on us. We were in danger because getting screamed at for any number of seemingly random things is a good way to encourage people not to speak up when they see something just a “little bit” wrong.
Senior was also a huge hockey fan. (If you want to be reductive, here’s your chance to make that joke about “went to a fight and a hockey game broke out”). This was, by far, my favorite part about my two years on board. He would insist that we find a way to take a mid-patrol break in Los Angeles and head over to the basket ball court for some five-on-five roller hockey. We used those orange balls, and our goals were the poles that held up the baskets. Hit the ball off the pole at a reasonable height and you score a goal. It was a great way to burn off stress. And for the most part, Senior was giddy out on the court, making us all feel a bit more relaxed. We all came at the game at different skill levels, but Senior seemed like he was born with a pair of skates on.
I distinctly remember one particular game where we were getting our asses kicked. I was on the team with someone I’ll call Gabe. To my left, along the fenced perimeter of the court, Gabe was skating with the puck towards our offensive zone. Senior Chief came flying in at full speed, hopping up as he made hard contact with Gabe’s chest. Gabe’s stick went flying and the back of his head smacked down on the asphalt. (Which reminds me, kids: always wear a helmet.) Senior Chief towered above Gabe, pointed his finger at him and spit out, “Don’t throw fucking elbows!”
As a cook in the Coast Guard, I think I developed a keen sense of the things going on around me, but I certainly could not see everything that transpired on that basketball court. There is, in fact, a non-zero chance the Gabe, one of the nicest guys I’ve ever known, did (intentionally or otherwise) throw an elbow. My guess is he just overpowered Senior Chief and took the puck away in a game where we had no chance of ever winning. What I do know is the resulting NHL-style, highlight reel hit by the most experienced skater on the court was likely an extreme overreaction to whatever the fuck happened.
I also know it seems like a perfect place for a conflict avoidant kid in his early 20s to fade into the shadows and keep his head down. I didn’t. After we hit the showers and I served dinner, I found Senior on a smoke break and told him how inappropriate I thought the response was. I told him I was worried about the message it sent to the crew. I told him I thought he owed Gabe an apology. This action is part of Brandon Lore now. This is The sea story I tell when I want to exemplify the path I often found myself taking through my career: being the one to notice a disparity between our shared organizational values4 and the actions of those around me, especially when they’re in charge.
What is not yet part of that Lore is the toll that took on me. I grew up a scared little boy, and when I think harder about incidents like this, I quickly find myself afraid to delve further. To feel that clenching jaw and churning stomach as I prepared my Presentation of Injustice. To feel the panic in my shoulders and chest realizing that I might be the only one willing to say something. To feel that bone-crushing exhaustion while laying in the rack at the end of those awful days.
And now, in this moment, I also squirm a bit as I make connections between how those interactions inform how I deal with “little things” that feel like a crushing body check when they happen. But hey… squirming a bit this morning at least got me writing again.
By the way, Senior Chief did have a conversation with Gabe after. He called him up to the bridge, and in front of the second in command and Gabe’s supervisor, he recommended Gabe seek anger-management classes.
I’m about to tell a story that’s around 24 years old, but my time blindness is for another post.
On boats they’re called ladders, but they’re just super steep stairs. The hand rails are designed for safety, but we all used them for fast travel.
Trops = Tropical Blue Long, which is a somewhat dressy daily uniform with dark blue pants and a light blue shirt with ribbons on full display. They called it “Long” because there was, at some point, a version with shorts?
Honor, Respect, and Devotion to Duty - the Coast Guard displays them everywhere, lest we forget them.
Great writing, Brandon! It was interesting how you balanced Senior's good points with his awful ones. I think that's called being fair. I'm looking forward to your next story.