# Where are you, Wasko?



## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

I first met Wasko at the R. S. A. in Apia, Western Samoa, on the waterfront by the fishing harbour. He was American, in his mid twenties and had been working for a couple of years as a teacher for the Peace Corps. Like most members of the Peace Corps, he was always up for some fun, and loved getting on the booze. He used to crowd around me in the afternoons with his Peace Corps mates and listen to my tales of the sea.
When I got the contract to overhaul the mooring facilities at the tanker berth for Mobil Oil, and repair and do the maintenance on the mile-long under-sea oil pipeline to the tank-farm on the western side of the harbour, he was the first to step forward when I said I needed extra crew. He had some yachting experience on dinghies, but had never worked on a commercial salvage vessel. He was more than willing to learn, so I took him on as a deckhand, as required for the forthcoming operation.
On the failure of a New Zealand deck-officer, I appointed another Kiwi, Dirty Mike, as mate from his position as engineer, and my newlywed young Samoan wife, Mariana, took over the engine-room. We got down to work on the year-long contract for Mobil Oil.
I would phone Wasko as and when required, and he'd fob off the school where he worked with some excuse and join the crew of my ship, Debut. He was fit and strong, if a little skinny, and more than willing to learn. He would crew my Rabalo launch with Dirty Mike, while me and Mariana got on with the diving operation.
The work was hard, out in the heat of the day in the middle of the harbour, and the equipment was heavy. The buoys were some fifteen feet in diameter and ten feet high. They had to be flipped over, then cut away from the three inch stud-link anchor chain that held them. After towing them to the main wharf, a mobile crane would lift them out on to a truck and, at dead slow, they would be taken through the small town, with all the traffic halted by the police. While waiting for the buoy to be returned to us for installation, the three inch anchor chain had to be hauled on deck and the warn section where it touched the sea-bed replaced. The black volcanic sand was like grinding paste, as the buoys bobbed up and down in the swell.
When the shore-crew of Shell Oil managed to blow up the oil pipeline from the tanker, by causing an hydraulic lock when they closed the valve to the tank being filled at the tank-farm before opening the next tank first, seven tons of four-star petrol ended up in the harbour. I didn't need to phone Wasko to come down to the R.S.A., as he'd heard the news on the radio, and the wail of the sirens of the emergency services rushing through the town.
Along with Dirty Mike, the manager of Mobil Oil and the harbour-master, Peter Smith, he came panting into the bar to join the crew. After Vainu'u got in a round of drinks, I told them all to relax. We'd soon be up to our necks in the mess in the harbour, so we might as well sink a few bottles of beer while waiting for the tidal current to take most of the petrol out to sea. I wouldn't want to be looking at the mess, when some fool tossed a cigarette butt into the harbour.
When I left Apia at the end of my contract with Mobil Oil with my ship, with only Mariana on board as crew, although Dirty Mike was waiting for me out at sea in his fishing-boat, Wasko caste off my lines for me from the wharf. He thanked me for the experience that he'd gained, working on the deck aboard my ship. With the extra cash that he'd earned, he'd been able to afford a good social life in Western Samoa. Peace Corps employees are only given a small part of their salary while they are on contract, so as not to show off their wealth in front of the locals, then are paid the balance on their return to the U.S.A. 
Wasko had been able to buy a nice motorcycle, with which he was able to impress a young local girl to become his girlfriend. We waved as I left the harbour with my ship, saying that we'd meet up again later. I never saw or heard from him again, although I'd heard through the grapevine that he married his girlfriend. Get in touch, Wasko, be it in Western Samoa or back in the States, so we can chew the fat. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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