I first heard of Jean a few months before she came aboard the Exxon North Slope. The conversation I overheard took place on the ship's radio between the second mate on our ship and third mate on the Exxon Valdez. They joked and laughed over a humorous reference to her presence on the Valdez. I gathered that some kind of chaos had accompanied her on the ship. Neither officer seemed surprised. I promptly forgot about it until the day she walked aboard the North Slope. The year was 1982 and Jean was among the first wave of females sent to the American merchant fleets in response to federal employment quotas. Prior to that, sailing had been an almost exclusively male occupation. My first impression of Jean was that of a medium build, five foot eight, attractive young woman of maybe thirty years. She had shortish brown hair, sneakers, jeans and a man's plaid flannel shirt.
She signed on the deck crew-the same department I worked. The Chief Mate put her on the 8 to 12 watch. I had the 12 to 4 watch myself. My crew relieved her crew. Being on different watches, we didn't actually get to talk for a while. I often saw her at dinner and occasionally she watched a movie in the crew's rec room afterwards. Other than that, she kept to herself. From a distance, she conveyed an air of confidence.
The weather was beautiful south of L.A. Scattered through the deep blue autumn sky, billowing white clouds hung low over the calm blue ocean. Headed south, we had seven more days to Puerto Armuelles, Panama. West coast supertankers offload their cargo there and head back north to Valdez, Alaska.
At around seven pm, I heard a knock on my door. Being the union representative on the ship, I often had visitors. People would tell me their problems. Sometimes they'd ask advice. Occasionally I had the honor of reading a letter from home to an illiterate seaman. That night I found Jean at my door.
"Jean-come on in. Close the door if you dare," I joked and laughed a little nervous.
"Can I have a minute for a question?"
"Sure Jean, please, sit down. No hurry here. What's the question?"
"When we left Los Angeles, I'm not sure if we got three hours overtime or four."
"Okay, let's see. You had the 8 to 12. You got…four hours. I'm pretty sure." I couldn't help but smile broadly. I was rather pleased she would visit.
"Okay, that's great. Thanks," she said, turning to leave.
"How long you been with Exxon, Jean?" I stepped back, away from the door, offering her my chair.
"Eight months now. I started on the Huntington on the east coast."
"Like it?"
"The Huntington? No," she shrugged. "Not the Huntington. Too old and rusty."
"The company?"
"Yeah, I do like it. The pay's great. I spent a couple months on the Valdez and one on the Benicia. This ship's a beauty. I feel like I'm staying at the Holiday Inn. How about you?" She said, looking around my cabin a bit.
"I've been with Exxon four years. The North Slope two."
"So you get to keep coming back here because you're union rep?"
"Yep, I like it here. Where you from?" I asked, finding myself intrigued.
"Boston-Fall River then Boston,"
"What'd you do ashore?"
She looked a little pained. "Bookkeeping. I worked at Howard Chevrolet but I needed a change. Exxon ran some want ads for women for their ships. My dad sailed for a living. Always thought it would be interesting."
"Is your dad retired?" I asked.
She frowned, "No, he died when I was twelve."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"That's okay," she stood and moved toward the door.
"Jean," I called to her. "Come by anytime." I hoped I didn't sound disappointed that she didn't stay longer.
During the coming days, I kept an eye on her out of curiosity. So did everyone else. Guys clustered her around like mosquitoes looking for some voluptuous landing zone-each one jockeying for the best position. I could see she handled them with good humor, kindness, and without favoritism. But others seemed less appreciative of her presence. Charlie Munson, one of her watch partners, always looked to have something boiling under the surface in her presence. I watched him during dinner and he seemed to consciously avoid looking at her. Bearded and crusty, his stooped and weathered frame told the story of thirty hard years at sea. I don't believe he had any family at all. Charlie was fifty-two. Older crewmembers generally didn't take to the influx of women. They had the older prevailing belief that women didn't belong at sea. You can't blame them. That's just the way it always was.
Dan Peduski, the third member of their watch was young, probably twenty-three or four, and one of Jean's suitors. Basically a good kid, he had the unfortunate habit of constantly complaining about the three year apprenticeship required to get a journeyman Seaman's ticket. Young people always thought they knew it all right out of the box. It's a common malady of youth. Generous to a fault, he'd loan money to anyone and everyone. Sometimes he got stiffed for the repayment but never mentioned it.
One afternoon while working on the bridge, I happened to look over the rail at the second deck outside the officer's cabins. Surprisingly, I saw Jean lying there in the sun with the third mate, Randy Jacobs. They chatted while getting a tan. I'd stood many a watch with Randy and found him to be a first-class troublemaker. Knowing my position as union rep, he'd try to draw me into loaded conversations regarding the workforce. He'd be mean and insulting. His goal was to quarrel with the union rep so he could badmouth him to the other officers. Barely out of school, he suffered from delusions of grandeur. I found it a bit surprising Jean would be chumming around with Randy of all people.
As the days passed, I occasionally peeked at the second deck only to discover Jean frequently sunning with Randy and sometimes with Bob Iverson, the second mate. The opposite of Randy, Bob was a seasoned and skillful mate with ten years at sea. He had maturity enough to show respect for all crewmembers. I began to realize that the time I thought Jean kept to herself, she was actually sunning with Bob or Randy or, as I learned later, visiting their cabins.
About a week after her previous visit, I found Jean at my cabin door again. It started as a social call. She told me of her life in Boston, I countered with stories of my experiences at sea. We talked about an hour. A charming person, she had kind words for all. I could understand those many men who flocked around. Not quite rising to the level of pretty, her cornflower blue eyes and soft features were pleasing nonetheless. Her natural uncalculating way tended to put a person at ease. Our conversation drifted to Charlie Munson.
"Have you known Charlie long?" she asked.
"Charlie Munson? No, not really. This is the second time I've sailed with him."
"Any idea if he's ever been accused of harassing women?"
"I don't know of any. Is he giving you problems?" I was concerned.
"Whenever we're alone, he trys to scare me," she adjusted herself in her chair as if the topic made her uneasy.
"Like what?"
"He told me that women shouldn't be on ships. It's very dangerous for them."
That could be innocent enough, I thought. "Maybe he's feeling fatherly. Maybe he's afraid the work is too dangerous for you. It is dangerous."
"No, definitely not fatherly. He wants to scare me away," she said
I considered Charlie a few seconds, "I've watched him some. It's just the way with the older guys. They were taught there's no place for women onboard. Times have changed, but it's not easy for guys like Charlie. He needs time to adjust."
"A couple days ago he told me he could throw me over the side easy and no one would know."
"Really?"
"Yeah. He said he'd seen three guys take turns raping a woman then throw her over the side. He said they caught her on deck after dark. Said she deserved it."
"Fuck," I was stunned. "That's scary-if it's true, he must have been involved. I seriously doubt it's true. I'm damn sure it wasn't with Exxon. But you're right, that's harassment. What do you want to do about it?"
"Nothing. I can handle him. Just wondered if he's been known to do this."
That ended our conversation, but it bothered me. When you're on a ship where someone has it in for you, it's hard. There's a lot of stress, being cooped up together. Not all sailors are good-natured. Some become bitter and angry with their lives. Charlie didn't strike me as that hard core.
I remembered the conversation I'd overheard on the bridge back before she came onboard. I thought of the chaos the officer had referred to. I wanted to ask the mate about it, but I didn't want to tip my hand. Hell, the mate was Bob Iverson. What was he thinking? I kept my eye on both Jean and Charlie.
The days passed quietly. The stop at Puerto Armuelles was brief-twelve hours to offload a million and a quarter barrels of crude oil. We headed north to Valdez, with a quick stop at Los Angeles to change some of the crew. North of San Francisco the weather cools in mid September. Before long, we'd be moving our work inside out of the cold wind and heavy seas.
One evening, after dinner, I stayed in the mess room. Jean and Dan stuck around too. We talked a while then Jean excused herself to get an hour's sleep before watch.
"I'll be getting off in L.A. next time," Dan said, smiling broadly.
"Yep, I wouldn't mind changing places with you."
"The watch has been tough lately. Jean and Charlie don't seem to like each other and I 'm stuck in the middle."
"Yeah, I know about that. I don't think Charlie likes having women onboard. The older guys have a hard time with that. He'll get over it."
"I guess you're right. Jean tries to get along but Charlie's silent most of the time. I'll tell you-that Jean-she's a mighty attractive woman. I've been thinking about her twenty four hours a day. I can't tell if I'm making any time or not."
"I know what you mean. She's a charmer," I laughed. "Hang in there. You'll be getting off soon. I've been fighting the urge to make a pass myself. Just seems like there's too many interested."
Rumors began circulating regarding bad blood between Randy and the second mate, Bob. The caustic factor seemed to be Jean Nelson again. That didn't sound like Bob at all. Still, I continued to see Jean out on the second deck with both guys. Rumor had it she spent lots of time in their cabins. It became an ongoing topic of discussion among the crew.
One evening after the movie in the rec room, everyone but Jean and I headed for their cabins. She moved over to the couch where I sat.
"Are you getting relieved in L.A.?" she asked.
"No, I got another month to go."
"What a great movie. I've never seen so many grown men cry," she smiled. It was a joke. The movie had a powerful ending. Most of the guys were self-consciously wiping their eyes and gruffly clearing their throats as they quickly exited.
"Very effective ending, I'd say," wiping my eyes a bit embarrassed, too.
"I had an incident with Charlie yesterday," she said, picking at the seam of her jeans.
"No Jean, what happened?"
"The Chief sent Charlie and me up to the bow to inventory the paint locker-just me and Charlie. I bent over to count cans on the bottom shelf. He grabbed me from behind and groped me."
"Jean, really?" I was surprised.
"Yes, he groped me," she looked a little angry.
"Did he say anything?"
"No, nothing. He came back to the house immediately after."
I was almost afraid to ask, "Do you mind telling me how he groped you?"
"He stuck his arm inside my shirt and pushed my bra up and groped me."
"He grabbed you from behind…"
"Yeah. When I straightened up, he put his arm around my neck from behind and pulled me hard against him. I jumped on his instep and he jerked away. Now he acts like nothing ever happened."
"Jean, he should be fired. You could go to the captain, I'll go with you."
"No, I can handle him. Now, I think he knows I'm not easy. I should've been more careful. Just thought you should know. Someone may complain of this in the future."
"Let me talk to him, Jean. He needs to know someone's watching."
She thought a moment and nodded, "Maybe you should. Maybe that's the best thing."
I left the rec room headed for Charlie's cabin. My hands were shaking. Adrenaline, I suppose. When I got to Charlie's door I shook myself out good and knocked.
"Come in." he said in his raspy whiskey baritone.
"Charlie, how you doing?"
"Fine, what are you doing here?" he asked, looking up from a very odd machine he was working at.
"What's that you're doing, Charlie?'
"It's a rug. I weave rugs," he flipped out the completed part so I could see the pattern. It was an oriental style in maroon, blue and yellow.
"Wow, looks like a great hobby. Very creative. That's a loom?"
"Yeah, a small portable loom."
"Charlie, I don't know how to ask this but I guess I just have to do it. Is there anything going on between you and Jean?"
"What the fuck do you mean by that?" He looked me directly in the eye.
"I'm asking-have you put your hands on Jean?"
"Hell no. Is that fucking bitch spreading lies? She's done it before you know."
"She has?" he'd thrown me off with that one.
"Exxon Valdez. She tried to get John Simmons fired just because she didn't like him. Came up with lies he tried to rape her. Captain Stalzer couldn't find a fucking bit of evidence of anything. You know Stalzer. If anything had happened, he'd have found out. She was lying. Everyone heard about it. You didn't?"
"No, I didn't." Now I was uncertain. "When was that?"
He thought a moment. "Probably around four months ago."
"Shit-I had no idea. Jean said you put your hands on her."
"She's a lying bitch." He stared hard at me. "She's lying."
"Okay, Charlie, if you say so. Please don't give her any excuses to make trouble. I think she finds you intimidating." I decided not to push it further at that time. My visit was enough to let him know I was watching. I got up and walked to the door. "Damn nice rug. I'd like to see more sometime. Thanks, Charlie."
I had mixed feelings, to say the least. Jean seemed like a decent straightforward person. Charlie didn't. I wanted to believe her. Why would she lie? I would guess if she complained to the captain again, with no evidence, the company might fire her. I didn't know who to believe.
After I left Charlie's cabin, I headed for Jean's. She opened the door immediately. "It's done. I confronted him," I said. "Of course-he denied it. I didn't expect anything else. What's important is he knows I'm watching. He knows you told me."
"Good, I'm glad you confronted him."
"Jean, I need to ask a few questions. I'm your friend and I won't judge."
"Okay…" she seemed to shrink before my eyes.
"Did you have trouble on the Valdez?"
"Yes…" she answered very low.
"Please tell me about it."
"The same sorts of things going on with Charlie happened with John Simmons. Eventually, he tried to rape me. I reported it to the captain. Nothing happened. I couldn't prove it."
"Did he hurt you?"
"No, I screamed and stopped him."
"You went to the captain, you say?"
"Yes, but he didn't do anything. John denied it. I couldn't prove it. Captain Stalzer logged it and reported it to the company, but he didn't do anything. Well, he did switch me to another watch." She shrugged.
"I guess that's why you don't want to tell Captain Johnson."
"Yeah."
"We could probably get your watch switched without saying anything. I could swap with you." That seemed like a good solution.
"Thanks, but no. It looks like I just have to learn how to handle these situations," she frowned.
"Any problems on the Benicia or Huntington?" I asked, prepared for the worse.
"No-no problems."
"Good," I was relieved. "Okay, Jean, I'm keeping my eye on Charlie. Don't give him a chance to pull anything."
After returning to my cabin, I couldn't sleep. I tried to read but I couldn't focus on reading either. Mostly I pondered the whole bazaar situation. I didn't know what to believe.
As the days passed, I observed a gradual shift in attitude toward Jean. Crewmembers no longer flocked around her. Very few even bothered to speak to her. Even Dan seemed to be giving her the cold shoulder. One evening after dinner I asked him about the change. He said he was tired of her games. I guess he took it hard.
One evening I encountered some guys, including Charlie, talking about Jean in the rec room. Sitting in on the conversation, I learned they all felt she was a tease and hated her fraternizing with the officers. Charlie had nothing to say, but he showed great pleasure that the tide had changed. Jean had fewer friends every day.
The stop in L.A. for crew change brought us three new hands in the engine room and one, Jack Palmer, on deck. A salty old-timer, Jack could be very cranky. He kept to himself and made no attempt to make friends. I'd sailed with him on the Benicia. He knew his job well and even taught me a few tricks of the trade. He replaced Dan on the 8 to 12 watch.
Jean had suffered another blow. Both mates, Bob and Randy, abruptly dropped her. I overheard the steward who cleaned their cabins telling the cook. I felt really bad for her. As we headed north and the days passed I kept expecting Jean to stop by for a chat, but she never showed. Though usually at dinner, she no longer watched any of the movies. I concluded she spent her off time in her own cabin. At dinner, I could see some strain on her face. I'd smile and she'd give me a quick smile in return. I decided to stop by and say hello.
When I knocked, her door opened immediately.
"Jean, hi."
"Come in," she stepped back from the door to let me pass.
I took a seat in her easy chair, "How've you been?"
"I'm doing okay. I'll be getting off in L.A. next time around. I'm looking forward to that."
"How are things with Charlie?"
"It's been tough, but I'm okay. When Jack came on our watch-he and Charlie are old friends-when he came on, he sided with Charlie right away."
"Why don't we switch watches, Jean? I'll say it's my idea. I'd prefer the 8 to 12."
"No, I want to work through this. I can't expect people to baby me every time I go on a ship," she raised her hand and briefly touched my cheek.
I decided to stay a while and chat. Maybe I could cheer her up a little. We talked of vacations and plans for the future. I told her a few funny stories from my past. Much taken with Jean in the beginning, my own infatuation had fizzled in the wake of the continuing problems. Still, I had concerns for her welfare. We talked of other topics for an hour and I decided to head for my cabin.
"Jean, please, let's keep a dialogue going. I'm concerned. Let's talk at least every few days. Come by my cabin anytime."
"Okay, I feel better. Thanks" she smiled a sad little smile. I left for my own cabin.
Watching Charlie and Jack at dinner, I found them both in very good spirits and hanging out together most of the time. They deliberately ignored Jean-never a glance, never a word to her.
A couple nights later Jean skipped dinner. Charlie and Jack seemed in good spirits but a little edgy. I wondered what had happened. After dinner, I went to Jean's cabin but she didn't answer. The door was unlocked so I cracked it and called "Jean…" but no answer. I opened the door further and had a quick look inside. No Jean. I stepped in and looked through the open bathroom door. Not there either. I backed out of the room closing the door. Where could she be? A hundred places actually. Supertankers are huge. I decided not to worry. Strong and capable, she could take care of herself. I decided to get some sleep.
At 3:30am, Charlie called me for watch. I got dressed and went down to the mess room for coffee and a sandwich. When I got there, I was shocked to learn Jean was missing. When the 4 to 8 watch called their reliefs, she couldn't be found. They held the 4 to 8 watch over for a major search throughout the ship.
When we reported on the bridge for watch, Randy instructed us to leave one man on the bridge with him and the other two continue the search below. I feared the worst. If she had somehow gone over the side, it would be the end. Checking Jean's cabin again, I found it the same as when I checked the previous evening. I checked the galley, walked all the way around the house, checked all the house decks outside and inside. I walked up to the bow. On the way I checked around all cargo, water, and hydraulic lines. I climbed all the catwalks and searched around the winches, cargo manifolds, fire monitors, and sundry other pieces of equipment. At the bow I searched the foc'sle and paint locker. When I returned to the house I entered on the first deck-the deck occupied by the crew. Looking down the passageway, I saw Charlie leaving the house through the door on the other side of the ship. Curious, I decided to take a look.
Arriving at the door, I peered through the glass and saw Charlie struggling with something. Cupping my hands around my eyes, to block out reflections, I saw Charlie and Jack lifting a large bundle to throw it over the side. Suddenly, I realized. Grabbing a fire axe from nearby on the passageway bulkhead, I jumped through the door. Both Charlie and Jack heard the noise and looked toward me.
"Put her down, Charlie," I yelled. They stood their ground watching me. "I said-put her down." I moved closer.
Charlie tried to lift Jean toward the railing. Jack tried to put her down on the deck. They both suddenly let her drop and took off running toward the bow.
I went over to Jean. Bound and gagged she appeared barely conscious. Dried blood covered her face and matted her hair. I got on my knees and lifted her head. Savagely beaten, I could barely recognize her swollen face. "Oh Jean…" I whispered.
"On the bridge," I yelled. "On the bridge."
I could see the railing on the bridge wing, above me. Randy appeared there. He moved back and forth trying to see where the voice had come from.
"Randy, I've got Jean. Give us some light down here and call people from the mess room. Get the captain. She needs a doctor. Fast."
Randy turned on a spotlight and aimed it down on us. I continued to hold Jean. She thrashed and fought the bindings.
I pulled the gag from her mouth. "Jean, can you speak?" She muttered incoherently. "It's over Jean. You're safe." I cut the ropes that bound her so she might lay out flat. The deck lights came on and half a dozen men burst through the same door I had.
"Charlie and Jack tried to throw her over the side," I shouted. "They took off towards the bow." How ridiculous for them to run.
The captain appeared within a minute. "Take her to her cabin," he ordered.
As I picked her up, she jerked away in pain. I picked her up gently, cradled in my arms, and took her inside. Her body shook. They opened the door to her cabin and turned on the lights. I gently put her on her bunk. With every move, she jerked and growled with pain. Captain Johnson followed right behind me. I could hardly believe my eyes. That person didn't even look like Jean.
"My god," Captain Johnson put his hand to his mouth. "My god," he whispered.
Like doctors of old, the captain had a black medical bag. He also had a book of medical procedures. He would provide emergency care until a doctor arrived from shore.
As the morning progressed we determined she had cuts, bruises, and swelling all over her body. Her left arm and three ribs were broken. Her face was purple and one eye completely shut. Captain Johnson gave her painkillers; then set her broken arm and wrapped her ribs according to instructions in the medical book. I washed her face and body as gently as I could. Even with the blood gone, it didn't look like Jean. Her nose was broken and three teeth missing. We recovered those teeth later in a small locker just off the main deck. Smelling of diesel oil, rust and stagnant seawater, it was the scene of the crime. After washing Jean's body, I lifted her and we put clean sheets on the bed. During the morning and afternoon, she mumbled and shouted incoherently. Captain Johnson visited every thirty minutes. We stood watch at her bedside. Eight hours later a helicopter airlifted her to Port Hardy, British Columbia. Crewmembers showed only kindness, no sign of the former disdain.
Charlie Munson and Jack Palmer were captured within minutes. Shackled hand and foot, we held them in the same locker they'd used to hide their crime. Based on testimony by Jean, myself, and the doctors who attended her, a jury convicted them of aggravated assault, rape and attempted murder. She spent a week at a hospital in Port Hardy. From there, Exxon moved her to Huston, Texas where they could oversee her progress and guarantee the finest care money could buy. Thirty days later, she traveled home to Boston.
Jean Nelson never returned to sea.