The Jinx Ship - How It Changed My Life

 

Mrs. Nelson, well known as the scariest, most dreaded, Wicked Witch of the West teacher in my school, was one of three people that changed my life that Wednesday afternoon in May 1957.

I was in 5th grade.  Ten years old.  La Canada Elementary School, La Canada, California.  

My teacher, Mrs. Nelson, read to the class for 20 minutes every day after our long lunch recess.  Except for every other Wednesday.  Every other Wednesday was different.

I don’t remember anything Mrs. Nelson read to us in her deep soothing voice except “The Jinx Ship.” 

I was captivated by the cover.  “The Jinx Ship, by Howard Pease," Mrs. Nelson read. "A Tod Moran Mystery.  The Dark Adventure That Befell Tod Moran When He Shipped as Fireman Aboard the Two-Masted Tramp Steamer ‘Congo,’ Bound Out of New York for Caribbean Ports.”

During the time Mrs. Nelson was reading us The Jinx Ship, I couldn’t wait to come in from lunch recess.  I’d gladly trade our rousing basketball, kickball, football, or baseball games for it.  

I was right there in the action.  Pals with Tod Moran.     

When Mrs. Nelson read, “The End,” the corners of my eyes started spilling over.  My heart skipped.  I’d known it would end.  But I wasn’t ready yet.

It was a Tuesday.  1:20 PM.  Precisely 20 minutes after we’d come in from lunch recess.

I know it was a Tuesday because the next day was Wednesday.  That day - the Wednesday - started normally.  It finished as one of the best days of my life.  

Every other Wednesday we’d line up like soldiers going to war.  The girls in one straight file.  The boys in the other.  

Then we’d march.  Not to war.  Across the street to the city’s Public Library.

I never cared much about our library excursions.  They started in 3rd grade.  They never held any magic for me.

Except, I loved the quiet of it.  The stillness.  The library was a soft place.  A safe place.  A gentle and kind place.  And, the smell.  I liked the library’s smell.  

Everything changed that Wednesday.  Not the quiet or safety of the library.  Or the smell.  Everything else, though.

When I walked in the door, I felt smashed in the face like the time that big wave at Crescent Bay, down in Laguna Beach, California knocked me over and tried to drag me out to sea.  Pure adrenaline rush.

It was a sign.  I knew what I had to do.  

No wandering aimlessly around the library for me on that Wednesday.  My heart was pounding.  I was on a mission.  

I zoomed straight to “Fiction.”  I was going to check out The Jinx Ship.  I’d read it myself.  The whole thing.  From beginning to end.

I don’t remember ever checking out a library book before.  Or reading anything just for fun.  Without a command from on high.   

I knew fiction books were organized by the author's last name.  That hasn’t changed in the last 60 years.

I quickly found, “Pease, Howard.”  His name was on several books.  

But, The Jinx Ship wasn’t there!

I searched up and down.  Back and forth.  Fueled by adrenaline.  Driven by anger.  All around the “Pease, Howard” books.

I finally slumped to the floor and slouched against the shelf.  It wasn’t there.  Not anywhere.  The adrenaline drained from my system like a toilet flushing.  

But, wait, I thought.  I took off running to the librarian’s big, wrap-around, stand-up counter.  

Miss Waterfield.  

I’d known who she was since 3rd grade.  “The Librarian.”   

But, I’d never spoken to her before.  Today, though, I needed her help like you need a fireman when your house is on fire.

She stared me down while wagging a warning finger in my direction.

Her eyes stabbed me in the heart when I was still 20 feet away from her counter.  “There is no running in the library, young man.  Stop running right this instant!”

I came to a screeching halt.  Like Wyley Coyote attempts when the Road Runner’s got him about to run off of a cliff.   

“I’m sorry, Miss Waterfield,”  I muttered.  Quick-stepping towards her.  “But, it’s an emergency!”

“What?  An emergency?” High, shaky voice.  

“There’s a book missing,” I said.

“Oh,” she said.  Her shoulders dropped from up by her ears back down to normal.  “Walk - and I mean walk - over here.”

I remember telling her in great detail about the mystery of the missing Jinx Ship.  And my exhaustive search for it.

“Someone probably stole it,” I concluded.

Miss Waterfield leaned over her counter.  Her eyes behind her big, thick black glasses were the color of the mud puddles in the vacant lot behind my house.  They were vacant, too.  

“Books," she said, "are seldom stolen from the library. Sometimes, yes. But not often. So let's rule that out. Okay?"

Okay?  What?  Were we solving this mystery together?  Miss Waterfield and me?

"Okay," I mumbled.   She seemed to be on my side now. But the flutter in my tummy told me I wasn't convinced yet. Was this a trick?

"More often," she said, “someone will check one out and lose it. Not too often. But more often than theft."

"More often than that," she said, "someone will check it out and not return it on time. That happens all the time. But, at least the book eventually comes back."

“Soooo?” she said.  There were some little light twinkles in her eyes.  "What do you think we should do now?"

Wait!  Miss Waterfield was asking me what to do.  How to solve it.  

“Well…...um…...I don’t know…...I…...um…...ah…...guess...I don’t know.  I really don’t know.  I don’t know how the library works.  Maybe you can look it up somewhere to see if it's checked out?  Some records or something like that?"

"Aha!" she sings it. "Brilliant, my dear Watson."  She smiled.  She had dimples like Allison Brady who I liked a lot but was too shy to talk to.

I was also too shy to tell miss Waterfield my name wasn't Watson. 

She took me around the counter and showed me the book tracking system. It was all done by hand in 1957. She showed me how to sort through the index cards.

And there it was!  I’d solved it.  Exactly like Tod Moran.

"So, Watson," she said. I still didn't correct her. "Who has your missing book? And, what’s the due date?"

I couldn't believe it. 

"Mrs. Nelson. Due back today," I practically yelled.  It hadn’t occurred to me that Mrs. Nelson was reading us library books.

"Shhhh.  Quiet.  This is a library,” she said.  Now the twinkles in her eyes were dancing and her dimples were excavating her cheeks.  

“Come with me, Watson," she said.  Miss Waterfield grabbed my hand. Hers was soft like my grandma's. Warm, too. Not sweaty at all.  Mine were sweating like the inside of the lid on the pot when Mom was boiling Uncle Ben’s White Rice.  

She led me to the big gray plastic box under the book return slot in her counter.

And, there it was! Right on top. "The Jinx Ship. By Howard Pease. A Tod Moran Mystery.”

Water leaked from my eyes.  It didn’t matter that Dad always told me crying was for girls and sissies.  I couldn't help it.  It just happened.

I checked out “The Jinx Ship.”

It was a bit above my reading level. I plowed through it anyway.  The fact that I’d already heard it from Mrs. Nelson made it easier.

Then I read it again. I renewed it at the library two times. I read it again. And again. Every spare moment I was reading The Jinx Ship. It was my constant companion.   

Every other Wednesday Miss Waterfield and I talked about it when she wasn't too busy.  She asked a lot of questions.  She kept me thinking.

When I couldn't renew it again because it was on “Hold,” Miss Waterfield suggested some other books. 

I remember checking some out.  I'm sure I read them.  I don't remember what they were. 

But, I do remember The Jinx Ship.  It's like I was me and had a life before The Jinx Ship.  And then it was a different me after The Jinx Ship.  There was no turning back.

I became a voracious reader.  After The Jinx Ship, I devoured the whole set of “Chip Hilton Sports Stories,” by Clair Bee.

At some point, I felt like writing something similar to one of Tod Moran's mysteries. 

I did. I wrote it. I don't remember the story. I do remember how much I liked the writing. And how proud I was when it was done.

I kept on reading and writing stories. And, some poems, too from then right up until Law School.

As I look back now through the lens of my 74-plus years, I wonder if Tod Moran and The Jinx Ship had an even bigger impact on me than I ever imagined before I was thinking about all this today.  

For example, I've always loved the ocean. Swimming in it for sure. Body surfing. And I've spent hundreds of hours sailing the Pacific and Atlantic. A hidden, forgotten Tod Moran and the two-masted tramp steamer Congo influence?

I've always been partial to mystery stories. Solving them. At around 7th or 8th grade, I became addicted to Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had me reading every Holmes mystery he wrote. Assiduously. Working through the clues. Trying to solve Holmes’ cases before he and Watson did.  When I was practicing law, I was still solving cases for my clients.

Like Tod Moran, I've always loved adventure. I've traveled extensively internationally and road tripped coast-to-coast across the United States eight times.  Should I be thanking Tod?  Howard Pease?

I still love libraries, too. The smell. The orderliness. The logic. The quiet. The calmness. The safety. I still go frequently. Sometimes to browse. Sometimes to just sit and read.  

Until writing this, today, 60 years after that Wednesday afternoon, I never thought about, saw, nor acknowledged all of these connections.  Synchronicity?  

Whatever the connections are, I'd like to say thank you, perhaps for much of the direction of my amazing life, to Howard Pease for The Jinx Ship.  

Also, to Mrs. Nelson for reading to us after lunch recess.  She became my favorite teacher - no matter how scary and dreaded the other kids thought she was.  

Thanks to Miss Waterfield, too, who, even though she didn’t have to, properly introduced me to the world of libraries.  And, for taking an interest in a shy 5th grader at the exact time I needed it.  And, for making me her Watson for a while. 

Thanks to the three of you for changing my life forever.