Author: Capt. Kelly Sweeney

I had joined the 890-foot crude oil tanker at Swan Island, Ore., the week before, and since coming aboard had been busy as the ship neared the end of its scheduled yard period.

On my birthday in early February, my wife and I celebrated the day with a fish-and-chips lunch at a favorite local restaurant, followed by a pleasant hike along a waterfront preserve on the south end of the island we live on.

I remember the day my letter of acceptance to the California Maritime Academy (CMA) arrived at my apartment in Spokane, Wash.

I had been working as an ordinary seaman with a large West Coast towing company out of Long Beach, Calif., my first job after graduating from the California Maritime Academy.

I had agreed to take the mate’s position on a 350-foot ship transiting from a shipyard in Bellingham, Wash., to the destination port of Bath, Maine.

Just before graduation from California Maritime Academy, I had the chance to be in the audience for a debate on the Merchant Marine Act of 1920 (Jones Act) held during an industry symposium at the school.

I was a senior at the California Maritime Academy and one of only 10 cadets in my class who were chosen to go on a commercial ship for their senior cruise.

I was working on a gasoline tanker running between Tampa, Fla., Lake Charles, La., and Corpus Christi, Texas, when a new third mate joined our ship.

It was the end of January, and I was the 4-8 watch officer on an oceanographic ship working near the Hawaiian islands of Kahoolawe and Maui.

It was Saturday, graduation day at California Maritime Academy (CMA), and a warm spring haze was just burning off the Carquinez Strait as we assembled for the ceremony.

For almost 50 years, beginning in the late 1930s, our government actually helped get U.S.-flag merchant ships built, utilizing the Construction Differential Subsidy (CDS) program.

It was a sunny Southern California day, and I had been invited to speak at the Newport Beach Yacht Club, one of a number of engagements scheduled during my two-week visit to the area.

It was the English cleric and author Charles C. Colton who wrote, “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

Anyone who has worked on a commercial vessel will tell you how easy it can be to slip and fall while on board.

After a long day of flying to Tampa, Fla., from Seattle, I paid the cab driver and grabbed my gear, having finally arrived at the shipyard where the 890-foot crude oil tanker to which the company had assigned me was finishing up a nearly two-month yard period.

In a few short days, New Year’s Eve celebrations around the world will take place, with different cultures noting the turn of the year in their own unique ways.

After having spent most of my seagoing career working in the oil industry and on tugs, I took a job working as a mate on board high-speed passenger vessels one summer.

It was a cool Sunday evening in March, and my wife and I were enjoying the fire blazing in the wood stove.

Imagine this scenario: Our ports are filled with Bolivian- and Cypriot-registered ships running U.S. domestic coastwise cargo, many of them “rust buckets” crewed by minimally trained mariners and operated by unscrupulous vessel owners.