In 1961, in my first job out of high school, I got a job as a night watchman and general laborer at what we called the "Old ships Museum". It was the San Francisco State Maritime State Historic Monument on the estuary in Alameda. I lived on board the Thayer for about six months, bunking in the fisherman's folk'sle and cooking my canned meals on an electric hot plate in the galley. She'd been made almost ready for exhibit by that time. We were working on the steam school Wapama at the time. I became a lot more familiar with the big steamer than with where I bunked. Wapama was already hog backed, and as the freighters pushed their bow wave and wake up the channel, the old ships would heave at their moorings. I'll never forget how on my way to the watchclock station at midnight, banging down the VERY familiar ladderways into the depths of the engine room in the dark with my light shut off because it swung wildly as I "sailored" my way below. At crankshaft level, I was suddenly waist-deep in seawater. She'd heaved, and sprung another seam. This meant a run to the end of the pier where the shipyard guard had a telephone to call the fire department to come and pump her out.
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In 1961, in my first job out of high school, I got a job as a night watchman and general laborer at what we called the "Old ships Museum". It was the San Francisco State Maritime State Historic Monument on the estuary in Alameda. I lived on board the Thayer for about six months, bunking in the fisherman's folk'sle and cooking my canned meals on an electric hot plate in the galley. She'd been made almost ready for exhibit by that time. We were working on the steam school Wapama at the time. I became a lot more familiar with the big steamer than with where I bunked. Wapama was already hog backed, and as the freighters pushed their bow wave and wake up the channel, the old ships would heave at their moorings. I'll never forget how on my way to the watchclock station at midnight, banging down the VERY familiar ladderways into the depths of the engine room in the dark with my light shut off because it swung wildly as I "sailored" my way below. At crankshaft level, I was suddenly waist-deep in seawater. She'd heaved, and sprung another seam. This meant a run to the end of the pier where the shipyard guard had a telephone to call the fire department to come and pump her out.
Wonderful !!!
Some below deck shots would have been nice.
1957....