Atlantic Crossing: Day 5

September 7, 2008

Dover sole last night, quite good. We then ventured to the Queen’s Royal Court, and Jerri Sager, a veteran Broadway and West End chanteuse, belted out the traditional show-stoppers in a somewhat overwrought manner, but with a wonderful voice, backed by a seven piece house orchestra. It was an enjoyable hour in a fabulous theater. (A few Americans stood in ovation, but the mostly-British audience applauded politely while seated, which is SO much better than acting as if you’ve just seen Olivier in his prime every time someone holds a microphone.)

And all that was after meeting the Commodore and ship’s officers for hors d’oeuvres and drinks in the Queen’s Ballroom (with a couple of hundred other guests). There is a photo here or coming of me in a tux with a bow tie, very rare, and I was just too uncomfortable to visit the Churchill Lounge for a late cigar.

We’re slightly more than halfway across the Atlantic, air temperature is 68° and ocean temperature 73°. It is exceedingly warm for this time of year, and the entire crew is telling us it doesn’t get this good even in mid-summer.

While the other classes have fixed seatings (or merely a cafeteria, which must be 300 yards long, midship), we have our own table, so no matter what time we choose to dine, it is available in the Queen’s Grill. (Are you starting to see a pattern to these names?) When we don’t show up (we tend to have lunch on our deck and sometimes dinner in a special room) the staff seems upset. This morning I had kippered herring, which is actually one of my favorite breakfast dishes.

Here is a story that is the result of odd happenstance and my own pluck and dumb luck. It is absolutely true, and occurred just this morning.

Maria and I attended Catholic Mass. It’s held every morning, but today is Sunday so we attended today. It takes place in a beautiful amphitheater called The Planetarium, and about 200 people were present. Mass was celebrated by a Holy Cross priest from Melbourne, Florida, in his late 60s, and he was assisted by a retired priest who happened to be making the voyage, who looked to be about 80.

Two readers volunteered from the audience, one Australian and one American, and they did a far better job than the regular readers in our own parish. The service was beautifully done with quite a thoughtful homily.

We took an alternative exit to avoid the crowds leaving, and found ourselves in a gallery of huge photos of past Queen Mary celebrity travelers—Clark Gable, Elizabeth Taylor, Gary Grant, Bob Hope (whose daughter in currently on the ship lecturing), Douglas Fairbanks, Ginger Rogers, and so on. That circumlocution, and the time we took admiring the work and an age of real star power, brought us to the next deck at a certain time and place where I rang for the elevator.

Timing is everything. The car arrived and opened, and the Florida priest was on it, returning to his room, having packed his gear while we were stargazing. We told him how much we had enjoyed the service. Then, although an introvert, the collegiate, multiple-award-winning journalist sprang forth:

Me: Tell me, Father, how is it you get an assignment like this?
Him: Actually, I applied for it.
Me: To whom do you apply? (I’m figuring the archbishop of maritime affairs, or somebody like that.)
Him: To my speakers bureau.
Maria and I are silent for two seconds, then simultaneously dissolve in laughter.
Him, good-naturedly: Is that funny?
Me: Father, I’m a professional speaker, I’m on my way to London to speak, I’m in the Speakers Hall of Fame, and this is one gig I would love to have!
The elevator stops at the priest’s deck, he turns in the doorway and holds the doors open. As he allows them to close, he smiles at me and points to his neck.
Him: Son, you’ll need the collar, first.

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