A BOX COMPASS


What do you give to a four-score plus seven man?
What can you give?
More importantly what should you give?

Sweaters…he lives in Florida;Shirts, socks…heaven knows he has ample;And as for ties…humorous at best;

The man is an engineer, an engineer of distinction; retired for more than thirty years, nevertheless he still thinks like an engineer. He understands computers, relishes in e-mails, analyzes new buildings and bridges and sadly recognized on September 11 that the buildings could not stand even before they fell.

Engineers are like that.

Sixty-years earlier, on a Sunday afternoon in December, as the duty engineer at US Steel in Pittsburgh, he took the orders for thousands of tons of special steel plates......plates that joined together would form barriers against the sea.......barriers allowing sunken battleships to be raised and fight again. Three days later the plates were designed, made, and on their way to Pearl Harbor.

He did not get a medal for that; He would not have wanted one; it was his job and he did it.

Steel might have been his life's work but this man's soul was and is that of a man of the sea; in his heart a son of Norway like his father who came to America in 1905. He was raised on the sea – not in the fjords of Scandinavia as his ancestors - but in a boat-yard on the Jersey shore.

But what of the gift? We found a box-compass in a store – a copy to be sure – but still it functioned. Buying it was an impulse……..what would he say? How would he react?

He opened the Christmas wrappings and struggled with the clasp on the box – his hands are still those of a Norwegian sailor and Pittsburgh steel man – more attuned to heavy lifting than fine manipulation.

It opened and the look in his eyes broadcast that our idea was right.

Minutes went by….he held the compass…turned it to and fro…. and remembered…..his eyes misting….remembering back to a time long in the past….more than seventy years ago.

He was fifteen when his father sent him by train from their boat-yard to New York and up the Hudson to bring back a boat. He gave him a box compass with which to navigate… back down the Hudson.....across a foggy New York harbor..... around Staten Island and Sandy Hook .....down the Jersey shore to the rock-lined inlet his Father had built, the inlet leading to their boat yard in Brielle and home.

He was fifteen and his sole companion a box compass.

It has been lifetimes since that day – no one knows where the old box compass went – but for moments on this Christmas Day seventy years later it was in his hands again. His eyes told the story….his father…the train ride….the boat..navigating……finding the tiny inlet. And his reward for sure was a dinner from his Mother, Gerda, and a perception from his Father that he was right about his son.

He spoke to us of that day long ago…of his Father and of the pride he had in being trusted to do this task…… and we knew………we knew our gift was welcome.

It sits on his desk now…….the memories are fresh……the gift was time-honored.

He once again has a box compass.

He is my Father-in-law, John Haakan Hansen.


Postscript

The Box Compass was originally written in London, England a week after that Christmas in 2001. It was written out of joy for the life of a man who himself gave so much joy.

Along with his slide-rule, the compass resided on his desk until he passed two years later. It now has its home on my desk.

In accordance with his wishes his body was buried at sea, in the blue waters of the Atlantic that he knew so well. His spirit lives with his father, Haakan and all the other Vikings in their Valhalla.

Thomas Ignatius Hayes
At sea on Queen Mary II