B.A.

For a 20 year old American the interesting thing about
all of these South American countries is that all of
the wealth and culture of the country seemed invariably
concentrated in the capital. In Argentina this was true
in spads.

One of the prettiest, most modern, cultured cities in the
world, or so it seemed to me. My first trip there I
disembarked and started heading over toward what
seemed to be the city center. I collared a man
I was passing with this query-- in very awkward Spanish:

"Puede Vd .. uh.. decirme.. uh donde esta .. uh Avenida
Corrientes." He looked at me rather quizzically for a
moment, then said, "Oh, you mean Corrientes St. It's
two blocks straight ahead." I thanked him --- in English.

There was actually a large English colony in B.A.
(Actually there's also a large American colony in
Brazil. These were the descendants of my Confederate
cousins, who couldn't abide Reconstruction in their fallen
country and took up residence in a place where slavery
still happened (though not for long). I heard of a man
named Larry Clayton, but didn't get a chance to look him
up.)

The English in Buenos Aires were my first close
exposure to perfectly bi-cultural people. They looked,
spoke and acted just like the Brits and also fit in
perfectly in the Latin scene. Unbelievable!

I was sitting in a barber chair (we Americans were very
well treated there), and I must have commented on how
nice everyone looked or some such inanity. A man
responded like this: "In Argentina everybody dresses
like a millionaire." I thought for a moment and
replied, "In America the millionaires try their best
to dress just like ordinary people."

I met some naval cadets; they took me aboard their ship
and really seemed to enjoy my company. We all felt like
princes in those ports during and shortly after the war.

In Montevideo I went into a bar to eat: filet mignon
with all the trimmings for 25c. What really broke me
up was the string quartet provided as entertainment in
that place. Those people lived well-- in the capital.

Our last trip included two disasters. On the way over
we were approaching Belem, on the Amazon near its mouth. The Brazilian pilot managed to put us on a sand bar at the entrance. He pleaded insanity at his trial.

We were on that sandbar for a month. Had to get a ship
from Merrit-Chapman ; they unloaded the entire ship to get us off that sandbar. The Brazilians robbed us blind, more than all the profit of that cruise.

We finally got off, did our business in Belem and went
on our way. Going back was a sad time for me; I was
saying goodbye to those wonderful people in Santos
who had put me so high; romances were ending.

I fell into a depression. I had the benefit of music in
the radio shack, and I heard Rachmaninoff's 2nd Piano
Concerto. That work still haunts me.

The last disaster: cruising up the coast of Brazil two
messboys got into an altercation, one of them threw a
plate that cut the other near the temple. It wasn't
bleeding bad, but the purser just couldn't stop it.

We had to put in at Fortaleza to get a surgeon. Once
again the Brazilians robbed us blind.

Coming up the Mississipi on Jan 1 the pilot was bent
on getting to the Sugar Bowl. Half the time we were
on one side of the river, and the other half on the
other side (you know it's quite serpentine). Duke
was playing somebody. I would have dearly loved to
see that game, but no chance. (I believe the pilot
did get to it-- some of it anyway.)

Back in New Orleans: I had made up my mind I must
give up sailing. Either that or resign myself to
being nothing more in my life. Back to Duke I went.

The port of New Orleans practically evaporated soon
after that. The corrupt levee board was stealing
everyone blind, and the steamship companies came to
prefer the Houston Ship Channel. Houston became a
megalopolis, and from then on the population of N.O.
remained around half a million. Until Katrina of
course. Who knows what it will become now.

(At some more recent time, with modern inventions,
N.O. has made a comeback as a port. There are
three 'ports of N.O.' apparently. One at the
mouth of the river that deals in oil. Somewhere
else the wheat barges offload to deep sea vessels;
then what used to be the port, the wharves along
the river adjacent to the city.)