During the Cold War, the United States was not a fan of the Soviet Union and its allies, such as Bulgaria.
Our favorite sailing vessel, Geronimo, was actually an official U.S. Navy vessel. Emblazoned on its transom in gold leaf were the words, U.S. Naval Academy. It is said that with privilege comes responsibility.
One evening, about 7:00 pm, still daylight in the summer, we were sailing along on the Chesapeake Bay a few miles south of Baltimore. We noticed a freighter anchored off to the side of the main channel. That was highly unusual, so we watched to see if the vessel needed assistance.
As we slowly passed by, a sailor appeared on the deck with a bullhorn, “U.S. Navy vessel Geronimo, our Captain wants to speak with you.”
We motored over to the steps the freighter's sailor had lowered, and climbed. Then, the ship's Captain appeared in full dress uniform.
[in English, but with a strong eastern-European accent]
“Gentlemen of United States Navy. I am stuck here in middle of Chesapeake Bay with 25 sailors who are driving me crazy. Will you be my guests for dinner—I have excellent cook.”
At that time, the United States was in the height of the cold war, and Bulgaria was not on our “good list.” Nevertheless, all of us were hungry, and this sounded intriguing. One of our crew, a retired Navy Admiral, said, “Let's go for it.” We firmly attached Geronimo to the freighter and climbed aboard.
The Captain took us into a conference room, where there were seats for him, all eight of us, and two of his officers. On the way, he observed that none of us were wearing Navy uniforms.
“You are on secret mission tonight, yes?” We all smiled, but nobody answered. [We were all wearing the sort of dress spies in the movies wear when on a night mission, complete with knit caps, as in a James Bond movie.
The Captain said, “I hope none of you are wegetarians. Knowing a little Russian, I deduced that he was falling into the trap of pronouncing the letter v as though it were a w—as many Eastern-Europeans did.”
The Captain laughed and said, “My English is not very good, but my steaks are. They are about 35 millimeters thick and very tender.” By that time all of us were drooling. None of us were “wegetarians.”
The cook outdid himself. Each steak was about 20 ounces, accompanied by potatoes, a nice salad, beans, and some sort of spicy cabbage dish none of us had ever experienced. Everything was delicious.
As the meal progressed, the Captain told us that he had been ordered to anchor there until the U.S. Government could sort out a legal problem. One of the freighter's sailors was accused of a crime back home. The Captain insisted that the man could not have committed the crime, because the two of them were out drinking at the time. Fraternization of officers and their sailors was highly frowned upon, and the Captain was reluctant to tell Bulgarian authorities the whole story.
He brought the sailor in question into the room. He was about five feet-three-inches tall and could not have weighed more than 90 pounds soaking wet. There was no way this man could have instituted a bar brawl and put two people in the hospital.
After seeing the alleged perpetrator, the Admiral on our crew asked the Captain to take him to the radio room. The Admiral called someone he knew in Immigration, and asked them to release the hold on the ship. About 30 minutes later, the Coast Guard called the Captain and informed him that he was free to move his ship at will.
“Thank you, gentlemen, I am forever grateful for your help. U.S. Navy is apparently big deal in your government. Thank you, Admiral 'big shot.'”
We thanked the Captain for his hospitality and sailed off into the night.
Now, when I hear the word “vegetarian” or see a large, thick steak, I think of that ship and wonder what happened to the sailor when they returned to their home country.
We are all aware of the comeraderie of sailors all over the world. When we boarded that Bulgarian freighter, all nationality, etc., seemed to dissipate. We were all men of the sea.
