DATE: Thursday, November 27, 1997           TAG: 9711270845

SECTION: LOCAL                   PAGE: B3   EDITION: FINAL 

TYPE: At Sea 

SOURCE: BY VANESSA NORTH 

                                            LENGTH:   70 lines

TEACHER HAS CHOSEN HER PERCH, WILL STAND WATCH

I've perched myself here on the flight deck at 5:15 a.m. to see the Suez Canal.

What a shock it would be for my students to find me awake at this hour. They know me as the best-rested of the crew. They know that the only thing grand enough to coax me out of the rack before 8:30 a.m. is a miracle of God's creation. In my book, this qualifies.

I signed on for this adventure just months out of grad school. Not quite ready for a mortgage and 2.3 kids, I thought I'd stow away from the real world for a while - the Private Benjamin of the High Seas. And what an adventure the past 15 months have been. I've transited the Atlantic three times, spent a Christmas in the Med and now guide the sailors to every port's hottest night spot.

But there's no salt collecting on this ol' girl. My role here is much different. I teach college English, and I'm usually the only civilian onboard. They call me Teach because I show them where commas go. But I'm also the willing student of my 600 shipmates.

I've been told that I'm the crew's link to reality, to home and to so-called normal life. Odd, but I accept this position readily, being the symbol of the very thing I flew from.

Now I find myself here this early morning, experiencing what few Americans ever will. I'm sitting on a United States' Navy warship, writing in my journal. My mother's favorite beach towel provides the perfect nest for my voluntary night watch. When I sat down just minutes ago, the moon made clear the sandy beaches on both sides of us. Suddenly, however, we seem to have met with a mist. Now, thanks to the lights of the hangar bay, I can just see my pencil forming shapes on my notebook.

It seems that I'm the only one on this ship to see this narrow waterway as more than a turnpike. It's actually quite beautiful, even if the toll is high. Those not standing watch are sleeping, maybe trying not to notice where we are or where we're going. I can hardly blame them.

The night crew works on the helicopters. They crank up the Smashing Pumpkins to keep themselves moving. I can't mind the noise. Their routine is the surest thing they have. This is no pleasure cruise for them. I suppose it really shouldn't feel like one for me, either - the situation is quite serious.

As I tilt my notebook toward the lights of the hangar bay, I see that my writing resembles the chicken scratch that I so often chirp about to my students. I can no longer see the land to either side. Where are we? I guess I should know the answer, but I really don't.

Those few far-off lights are a flashing reminder that I should have paid more attention in geography class. I suppose that my exact location doesn't matter. I'm sharing what little academic knowledge I have and, in turn, this crew calls me a shipmate. So while many of our families are moved to fear by the current tensions of this region, I feel safe.

I know my mother is worried tonight. Her only daughter is headed into the action. But I wish she could step out of her America, out of her comfortable bed and even more comfortable worry to sit next to me on her beach towel. I can't be sure if the peace I feel is a constant to the people fishing this canal every day, or if the awesome power of these American warships simply commands it. But I know that even my mother's nerves would settle if she could be here with me this early morning.

Mom, if you can feel this as you've felt so many of my messages before, go to sleep. God has a hand in matters outside Hampton, Virginia. We'll all be home soon, my shipmates and I. This truth soars through the air this morning as sure as the dawn will come and this fog will fade. Your daughter has chosen her perch, and here she'll stand her watch. MEMO: Vanessa North teaches with the Program for Afloat College

Education. She wrote this while on board the fast combat support ship

Seattle.

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