Conspiracy

Life On The Big Pond

One of a series, by BILL DAME

The Great Dateline

Conspiracy

There are two basic categories of ocean travellers; those who have travelled before and those who are making their first voyage. The first group has no difficulty under standing the time zones, but occasionally someone in the second group has to have “What time is it?” explained to them.

There’s usually no problem in volved, but when an innocent abroad fails to comprehend the necessity of time changes, how ... I mean how ... can they be made to understand the Inter national Dateline?

I’ll call her Mrs. Moore. She was 93 years old and had lived her entire life as the reigning matriarch on a large ranch in central California. Her 27 grand children contributed her round trip ticket on our trans-Pacific passenger ship for her birthday present and also sent her 78-year old maiden sister along as chaperone.

Sister's duty

They were interested in all the doings on the ship but were spectators rather than participants.

It was sister’s duty to make sure that no one took advantage of grandma, and sister would have been an asset to any Security Guard surrounding any VIP.

The fifth day out of Los Angeles they came into the gift shop.

Grandma wanted a new watch be cause her’s was losing a half hour each day. I checked it, found it running perfectly, and asked, “Are you retarding it each night according to the schedule in the daily paper?”

“What does retard mean?”

Grandma asked seriously.

I answered very cautiously. “It means . . . uh . . . that you have to turn your watch back. All the ship’s clocks are set back a half hour each night according to

schedule. This keeps us in the proper time zone.”

She looked at me strangely, then turned into the classic stereotype of a wise grandma correcting a silly child.

“What a foolish thing to do; you’re not supposed to turn your watch or clock this way and that.

How’ll you ever know the correct time? Does the captain know that someone meddles with the clocks?”

I became increasingly aware that I was in the midst of a delicate situation and tried to frame my answer accordingly.

“He does indeed, ma’am. The changes are absolutely necessary.

Tahiti is two hours earlier than Californa, and with Daylight Sav ing Time in effect, that makes Tahiti three hours earlier. That’s why we have to retard our clocks a half-hour each night for six nights.”

Sister, her eyes flashing hostility, interrupted: “We don’t believe in that Day light time, mister. On the ranch we keep the clocks the way they should be. And don’t you try to fool Grandma!”

Trying to help

“Dear ladies,” I replied, notic ing that all the other passengers in the shop were listening with more than casual interest, “I assure you that I’m trying to help. Here, I’ll show you with this globe.”

I reached into a display window and took the globe of the world, placed it on the counter and located Tahiti with one finger and California with another. I ex plained the time zones, I turned a flashlight on the globe, representing the beam as sunlight flooding one side while

darkness covered the other. Day and night the ladies understood, but they could not or would not accept the 24 time zones of the world.

The chief officer had come into the shop for his daily pack of cigars and waited quietly with a faint smile as I made my explana tion to the ladies. I glanced up at him and caught his friendly wink and glanced around the shop again, noticing with slight irrita tion that everyone present was enjoying the situation. I finished my discourse and asked, “Now do you understand?”

Grandma and sister were un convinced, and Grandma answered, “Not acceptable! If it’s 10 o’clock in California it’s 10 o’clock here, here . . . and everywhere!” She twirled the globe for emphasis.

Frozen smiles

There followed a horrible moment of tension so real I was sure it would produce sparks in the silent room. No one stirred; everyone seemed to be statues, each frozen with a different smile.

In my best doom-filled voice I slowly asked, “Ladies, if you won’t accept the time changes . . . what will you do next week when we cross the International Dateline?

You’ll go to bed Tuesday night and the next day will be Thurs day. Three weeks from now we’ll have two Tuesdays on our way home which will get us back on schedule. Have you checked your voyage calendar?”

As I spoke, Grandma’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. When she found her voice she became a babble of words; they literally gushed out.

“You’re one of them! When did you leave Washington? How many of you are on this boat?

Sister, go find the captain, he’s in danger; the whole boat’s in danger.”

She turned around and for the first time seemed to notice the other passengers and the chief officer and continued her tirade.

“This man must be one of the (over)

Calendar Changers from Washing ton. They aim to make the poor President change the week to six days, and you know what that means? It’ll make the blessed sabbath come on Monday one week, on Tuesday the next and so on.

“And when the sabbath’s de stroyed, that means Armageddon and the end of the world! These people are dangerous and we’ve got to fight them! You, sir!” She faced the chief officer. “You’ve got all that gold on you so you must be important. What are you going to do about this man?”

The chief officer, in as benevolent a voice as I ever heard from any pulpit, answered as slowly and as distinctly as he could.

“There’s nothing wrong with what he has told you, Mrs. Moore.

He’s not a Calendar Changer, neither am I, neither is the cap tain. It’s all very easy to under stand, so let’s go up to my office where we can sit down and discuss it. Will you come with me?”

"I don't trust him ..."

Sister was still hostile and whispered to Grandma in a voice loud enough to be heard by just about everyone in the shop, “I don’t trust him.”

Grandma quickly answered, “Be quiet, silly girl; act your age. I’ll listen to him and I’ll be able to tell if he’s one of them, too.

Let’s go.”

The chief officer smiled warmly and bowed slightly, indicating with a gentlemanly gesture that the ladies were to precede him through the door. As they left, Grandma was saying, “This calendar reform is the work of the Devil. Decent people should fight it!”

When they were safely gone, every person in the shop lost all control of composure and exploded with uncontrollable guffaws.

Everyone except me.