At last, after a heated debate, we emerged with a temporary course of action: (a) Moto, who confessed that he had not felt well for some time, would be given a thorough medical examination at the first opportunity—and here Mickey chimed in with “Me too! I not feel so good!” (b) We would continue without any crew changes, at least as far as the Canal Zone, at which time we would have another session.
Only after the conference had broken up did I realize, with a kind of baffled double-take, that I had started out by taking Mickey to task, and ended by putting Moto on the sick list and asking Nick if he wanted to go back to Japan!
From Hampton we sailed past numerous naval ships at anchor and into Norfolk Channel. At Great Bridge we pulled alongside a dock, told the attendant to “Fill ’er up!” and then docked nearby for the night, a procedure we were to repeat a number of times. Again we were experiencing a new kind of cruising, along narrow channels, into locks, and through drawbridges where maneuvering was quite difficult for our underpowered boat. Our only safety lay in making plans well in advance, knowing the chart perfectly, and anticipating problems. Even so, we had several tense moments when a bridge seemed to lift with agonizing slowness while we were bearing down on it, urged on by the current and a following wind, with our puny reverse doing no measurable good. Also, although we followed the channel faithfully, we ran aground three times between Hampton and Morehead City, North Carolina. Each time we were able to get ourselves off without help, using sail, motor, and kedge.
Our last grounding was, humiliatingly enough, right in Morehead City, only half a mile from our destination. Going by the chart, which indicated a sufficiently deep channel up to the Yacht Club, we entered and immediately grounded. With a strong tide setting across the channel and a fresh north breeze, we were unable to budge. While we relaxed and waited for high slack, a Coast Guard vessel came alongside and offered to pull us off. I admit I was tempted.
“Well ...” I said.
“You just sign these papers in quadruplicate,” the officer said briskly, handing them to me.
“Well,” I continued, “I’ll tell you. So far we’ve never asked for help—I’d like to try to manage by ourselves.” Somehow the sight of all that paper work seemed to turn a kindly offer into a government project.
In Morehead City we tied up for two weeks at a gas dock near the center of town while we made final preparations for heading back out to sea. Also, we gladly accepted an invitation from our good friend, Dr. Warner Wells, surgeon at the University of North Carolina Medical School in Chapel Hill. I had written Warner from Hampton about our health problems, asking about a medical checkup for Moto and Mickey. For several years Warner had been on the research staff of the Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission in Hiroshima, where he had been well liked and respected by the Japanese community. He now had Japanese-speaking doctors on his staff, and I knew that Warner, if anyone, would be sympathetic with the psychology of our ailing men.
Moto and Mickey entered the university hospital, where for three days they were given an exhaustive series of examinations. The results, except for a slight vitamin C deficiency, were negative. The charges, although I had written in my letter that I would pay all fees, laboratory expenses, X rays, and the like, also were negative!
We in the family were enjoying a holiday with the lively and interesting Wells family. We would all have been perfectly content if the examinations had taken a week or more. But I had one more trip to make, back to Washington. At the request of the National Academy of Sciences, I attended meetings at which ongoing and future research programs in Hiroshima were discussed. There it was finally decided that the prospective follow-up of my studies in Hiroshima would not be “reactivated,” due to a change in research emphasis and the presence of a new director of ABCC in Hiroshima. My understanding that I would continue my research program in Hiroshima, on our return, had been very clear, and all our plans had revolved around this fact. However, I had no formal, written contract to that effect, only a gentleman’s agreement—and now, apparently, a new gentleman was in charge.