The California sun was just peaking over the horizon as we
exited towards the sun washed, white port town, watching the dried trees as
they slowly seeped past us. This early in the morning no one was going to be
good for talking, the two girls in my car have had about three hours of sleep
in the past couple days… I didn’t sleep at all last night to prepare for this
day that has been a long time coming. After having spent an entire week at
Universal Studios, calling venders, getting permits finished and locked,
getting the crew set and scheduling the entire shoot we were just about as
ready as we could be to get this thing done.
Nothing can
prepare you for the monstrosity that floats in the Port of Los Angeles. As you
turn into the parking lot entrance it seems less like a ship and more like a
metal building that just sits close to the water. You have to pretty much drive
the length of the ship to get around the gate to the gangplanks that lead up to
the deck. Greg was there, waiting seemingly patient for us, arms crossed,
mustache twisted up in a smile as he recognized who we were. I croaked out a
smile and greeted him with as much pleasantry as I could muster at five in the
morning.
“Morning, Greg, we the first ones here?” I yelled as he came
over and leaned into the passenger’s window.
“Yup. Go ahead and unload right here.”
I pulled to
the side and parked. You see pictures and have it described to you but nothing
is quite as imposing as the USS Iowa at the break of dawn. The great metal ship
invisibly sways in the water with an eerie creaking sound that should make you
feel like you are stepping into a horror movie. The metal groans are in a way
soothing on this intense day, maybe because it is making a sound you would like
to make while everything runs through your head at once. Greg sits on his
chair, his overalls hiked up to show his worn out converse and high top white
socks, the billows coming out of the corner of his mouth indicate the end of
his cigarette. As we unpack and set up craft outside the boat, people start to
show up – I feel almost like they are a part of a ship’s crew, showing up to
set sail on the Caribbean.
I pull out
my folder that has every single check in paper and organization tool that I
would need for the next hour or so while everyone gets settled into what they
came to do for the day. As the vans showed up next and started to unload
equipment, Greg walked over and cleared his throat. Everyone who heard stopped
and we all gathered around.
“This here
is an old ship, ladies and gentlemen…” and so began the briefing. This ship had
survived the Pearl Harbor attack and was something of a wonder. Greg walked us
through the normal ship safety rules such as no running, go slowly down the
ladders, there are low ceilings to watch out for, don’t mess with anything etc.
they even told us to not lick the walls because there was still asbestos within
the walls.
Walking up
the gangplank felt like stepping into another time, into another era for a
moment. When you reach the deck the first thing you notice is a sailor dipping
his love, kissing her urgently like he hasn’t seen her in twenty years. The
statues open up a world on the ship that sets the tone of your mindset as you
wander through. Greg, smiling the whole way, took us down a steep ladder/stair
to take us to the first location, located a few levels down into the ship.
Walking down they alleyways, which all looked the same, you realized very
quickly that you had to pay close attention or you would get lost.
We passed all the model rooms that
were set up behind a glass divider, giving the appearance that it had just been
left by a sailor or was used frequently. We passed through the chain that
blocked the rest of the ship off from the tour guides – no matter how old I get
I still get a rush from being able to get to a place where you aren’t supposed
to go. The ship stayed pretty much the same but all the rooms were a lot less
lived in and seemed in a way sadder, like it hadn’t had company in a while and
was begging to have contact with the outside world.
Grabbing the ropes as we all
fumbled down the steep ladders to get farther into the belly of the ship, stepping
over the ledges and ducking below the ceiling’s center track so that we could
all keep with Greg who flew down the ladders too fast to be anywhere near safe.
We got into the boiler room, which was where the ship was basically powered.
Massive metal barrels with all sorts of gauges and knobs to control whatever
was inside them. The floor was a grate where below laid a deep mess of pipes
and wires that seemed to be able to wrap around the entire ship if laid end to
end. The room was lit but it had a dark essence to it. While Greg talked about
the room, everyone was sinking into the ship’s atmosphere, we all knew that
this vessel was a live and just as much a part of the crew as any of us were.
After setting up our production
room and getting our day started, which always takes a good amount of time, we
were able to start getting acquainted with not backing down the steep ladder
stairs but to actually get down them pretty fast facing forward and barely
using the rails. Production office was set up in their ship library that was
just a room that had shelves bolted to the floor; it looked like it had not
been touched since the 70s. We had one desk and a couple tables but we were
happy to just have a good enough space for admin, makeup, costumes and cast holding.
For the next three days this was home.
On break I was able to walk through
the museum a bit, seeing the different things that had happened to the ship,
which was active until recently. There were torpedo shells and uniforms,
paraphernalia, documents, telegrams, everything you could think of that would
happen on a ship during Pearl Harbor era. As I was rounding the corner I almost
ran into a man with his family.
“Sorry, I just know my way around
too well I guess.” He laughed and his family stood there just smiling in
support.
“Oh, you’ve visited before?” I said
just before I saw that he had a USS Iowa Veteran t-shirt on.
“This was my ship.” He said
pointing at the emblem right above his heart. I suddenly felt as though I was
trespassing on his home, he started talking about what group he was in and how
long it had been since had been on the ship. “Is there a way that I could go
see my old bunk?” he asked, just at that point the ship manager overheard and
came over.
“I’ll take you there myself.” He
said introducing himself and leading the family up the ladder again while they
talked about service. As they walked away I was hit with a wave of reverence
for what was done on this boat and that there were real people who experienced
war and life in extreme measures. Stepping onto the boat you look at it almost
as if it was a replica or something that happened a long time ago but being
able to see someone who was my father’s age coming back for the first time and
seeing this vessel as home was a reality check.
When you travel to the USS Iowa
there are so many things that you need to keep in mind, such as “Watch your
step” and “Don’t lick the walls” but most importantly you need to remember
above all – this is a ship, a vessel that served our country, a place where
people lived for months and years at sea. It was a place that people shared
meals and fought hard. Every one of them had to learn how to walk down the
ladder stairs and duck their heads so that they didn’t knock themselves out on
the ceiling track. They all had something deeper in common, they had
patriotism, they had pride in their country and they did anything they could
and worked the hardest that they could to make her proud. The ship didn’t feel
lonely as I had thought so before, it felt restless, it felt like its job was
not over – and it isn’t. This ship stands as a memorial to what true sacrifice is;
it is awakening to experience and is something that people should
experience at least once in their lifetime.
