Where Are My Shoes? 



Sailors are usually good fishermen. This was 

 true of Lord Nelson, and is true of Admiral Beatty, 

 and plainly true of our friend, Sidney V. M. Ray, 

 United States Pacific Fleet, U. S. S. Tennessee. 



The happiest life is the uneventful one, and for that 

 reason I am afraid I cannot dig up a single " Moment " 

 tragic enough to appear in company with the soul- 

 searing catastrophes I have been enjoying so very 

 much. 



Combing a willing memory, I find only three mo- 

 ments that were anywhere near the tragic, and if you 

 can stand to listen to them I'll spin the yarns for you. 



The first is so common it is trite. A September day 

 in Big Marco Pass. Six glistening feet of frantic tar- 

 pon jumping six times on a taut line a seventh jump 

 so high that the fifteen fathoms of line between us 

 entirely cleared the water. Tip and butt both pointed 

 straight at him in a desperate fight to keep the line 

 stretched. One last thrashing shake, and the glint of 

 a silver spoon snapping seventy-five feet toward the 

 boat with the spring of the rod. Tableau! 



The second tragedy happened fifteen months after 

 the fish was caught. In February, 1917, I caught a 



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