Unlike today’s freighters where a crew can be aboard for several soul-crushing months at a time without seeing a port, freighters in the 1940s and 1950s made frequent port calls – either for replenishment of stores or cargo transfers. Port calls for a ship’s crew meant a jaunt around the port district or visits to places further afield. Sometimes, a merchant seaman might go to a seedy bookshop and purchase a racy postcard and magazine or two, or maybe see a show. Despite popular conceptions of them having libertine sensibilities, most seamen did not have a penchant for hard liquor and frequenting jiggle joints. For the most part, merchant seamen operated under the mores of their era and their appetites by today’s standards would be considered tame – yet context is important. And so, from time to time, when families sift through mementos of their merchant mariner relatives, strange risque photocards and the odd cheesecake snapshot may appear. These may be of friends or lovers of the moment. And other times, a photograph may appear and instantly becomes the site of trauma.
The photograph below was produced by an ex-Merchant Marine man by the name of David C. Tucker. He snapped photographs for local media in Baltimore, Maryland primarily of the waterfront; with his output being of ships and shipping. However, he apparently also traded in fetish images – a trio have surfaced of a semi-nude without context from 1947; this series, in particular, features a young woman holding the props of a majorette. During the mid-1940s through the 1950s, majorettes were a theme of pin-up artists with images gracing calendars and invariably a trope of burlesque performers. From a composition standpoint, Mr. Tucker has the majorette character not engaging the gaze of the viewer, which would imply licentiousness. As opposed to a demure look to the side which would convey that the majorette is a coquette, and thus inviting the male gaze, Mr. Tucker’s majorette is posed looking away from the viewer; this gives the image an almost voyeuristic quality. Albeit, the sheer fabric of the costume suggests the voyeur’s imagination has penetrated the layers of clothing and rambles freely over the almost naked form of the object of their gaze. This photograph could have been a promotional copy for a burlesque dancer, however, the envelope suggests it was sold for fetish purposes since it lacks the performer’s name.
This specific image was once in the collection of an ex-Merchant Mariner whose adult child discovered it while cleaning out her father’s belongings after his death. The other two images in the series were destroyed due to water damage. The destroyed images comprised one image of the majorette character with the baton pressed against her breasts, and another without a baton; both in the same pose as the one presented.
The discovery of the photographs was disturbing for the daughter as she was a majorette in junior and senior high school – the period when this photograph was procured by her father. Although I did not press the finder of the image, she stated that after finding it, many questions she had about her father fell into place and the unease she felt growing up – that she, in her youth banished as the markers of paranoid thought – came rushing back. Along with these photographs were others of her and her friends as majorettes. She mentioned how he looked at her when she was a young woman and made passes at her teenage friends.
She told me her father was a war veteran and he was quiet about what he experienced out at sea; he once and only once spoke of a buddy whose body was ripped apart by shrapnel and how others who were washed off deck and burned alive in flaming oil slicks while his convoy was attacked. He must have been traumatized, I said. “He took it out on ma and me.” She told me she could not tell me what he did, but it was all very wrong in retrospect, “A father does not do what he did to his daughter.”
The photograph and the narrative that accompany it affected me deeply for several years – especially since the daughter passed away and her surviving family knows nothing of their grandfather, his war service, or much of who he was. The story and the revelation brought to the fore the veritable code of silence that has pervaded the lives of those who lived through the trauma of the war and domestic abuse; the daughter linked what her mother said about how her father changed from an optimistic man to a sullen one when he returned. If he had treatment, if he talked, perhaps things that had happened would not have, I posited. The photograph, easily overlooked as a racy pin-up, when put in the context of the abuse it represented to the daughter, had me look at it as a perverse memento by a damaged man.
In no way do I wish to besmirch the good deeds and sacrifices done by the few for the many by presenting this story; I am, though, left asking how we have so quickly forgotten the horrors merchant seamen underwent and how some “cracked” by the weight of their pain. Some lost themselves in drink, others by womanizing, and others to abusing those who loved and trusted them. If this fellow had access to psychiatric care as offered to service members who returned from the war, would his pain have manifested itself in abuse? This is a question that may never have an answer.