She once was a queen of the seas — a mighty U.S. battleship. Twenty-five hundred men roamed her decks, keeping her churning through the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. Her anti-aircraft guns blazed, protecting the rest of the fleet from the raining death known as Kamikazes. Her 16-inch guns struck fear into the enemy’s hearts.
She was a symbol of America’s industrial might. Might that would win a world war.
But her guns had fallen silent after the war. Battleships were supplanted by aircraft carriers as high seas royalty.
The U.S.S. Alabama was a once floating city. Now she was sitting the mud. While her heart no longer beat, her heart was still there. School children across Alabama had donated pennies to get her here. He was secretly glad they had. This was the place where he came to remember. And school children came to learn.
He had been school boy when he lied about his age when he had enlisted. He went from being a 17-year-old farm boy from Kansas to a seasoned, and salty, world-traveler. The war had done that for his generation; it had forged them into post-war leaders. But their time, like the ship’s had long past. It was a museum. And he was a nearly 100-year-old relic.
“Dang Grandpa, what are they feeding you in the nursing home? Bricks?” His grandson, who was in his 50’s and had fought in the Gulf War, puffed as he pushed the old man up the ramp. “I’m buying you a powered wheelchair. I’m too old for this stuff.”
The two men had both fought on battleships. The two men also shared the same name. One had fought on the U.S.S. Alabama, the mighty A. The other had fought on the U.S.S. Missouri. Both believed their battleship was better. “They messed up the Missouri when they added cruise missiles,” the old man taunted.
“The Alabama is stubby,” The grandson retorted. “She’s not long and sleek like the Missouri.”
“Watch your mouth. You’re not too old for me to wash it out.”
The grandfather looked at the Number One turret — his duty station during the war. He could close his eyes and see the snow and ice on it as they plowed through the North Atlantic. He could smell the sweat as they sailed the South Seas. He could hear the guns fire.
“I’m just glad they didn’t scrap her. The Indiana and South Dakota are now just rusty razor blades in a landfill. The Massachusetts is still afloat. So is the U.S.S. North Carolina and all of the Iowas. There is nothing quite like a battleship.”
A school group laughed and played around as they toured the ship. While some might be upset about the lack of reverence, both men knew better. They were just grateful that their service had allowed these kids to have the right to play on a warship.
At the end of the day, the grandson rolled his grandfather down the ramp and to the bow of the ship.
“We are going to the U.S.S. Missouri next, right?”
The older man didn’t answer. He just looked up at the bow and waved. His grandson didn’t see what he was seeing. The deck was teeming with the spirits of all the sailors he had sailed with.
Johnny. Bill. Sam. Francino. Austin. Bob. David. Frank. Chester.
Soon he would be joining them. He would be coming home, too. Until then, he’d travel to Mobile to visit his old friends — and pay respects to the big boat that turned him into a man.
