The Good Ship Vanserg

If the river Charles were suddenly to flood all of Cambridge, there would be only one building fully prepared to withstand the raging waters. Below decks in Vanserg Hall, the NROTC has accumulated an historical and practical collection of Naval what-nots. Sextants, compasses, and half hitches stand beside depth charges and three-inch guns. Guiding me through this seaworthy maze was Lieutenant R. H. Curtin, NROTC gunnery instructor.

Our first stop was a glass enclosed, five-foot model of the U.S.S. South Dakota, soon to be shipped to the Smithsonian Institute. On this particular model, however, the Ensign Jack is upside down. None of the officers noticed this miniature distress signal until the postman, an ex-enlisted man, mentioned it one day.

Briefly noting a table with five official Navy models that students try to identify, we moved on to a replica of a ship's bow standing about four feet high. Because many shipboard accidents occur when NROTC lubbers run afoul of the anchor chain, there is a complete anchor rigging to teach Harvard's sailors where not to stand when the anchor drops.

While the Lieutenant was demonstrating at length the perils of the anchor chain, my eyes wandered to another officer, hunched over what appeared to be a slot machine. "That's quite a gadget," my guide explained, "you press one button and a Naval question flashes up, then you press another button to answer it." Seeing that I was interested, the other officer casually punched a button concerning the intricacies of Naval dress. "Damn uniforms," he muttered, as the machine flashed red for wrong. Now more intent, he jabbed another button, and his face lit up with the machine. "Got twenty points on that one, got it before the time started clicking off."

Crossing to the other side of the room, the Lieutenant and I inspected the 30 and 50 caliber machine guns, the three-incher, and the depth charges. To prove his calling, he sauntered up to the big gun, pulled a lever, slapped the breech closed, and joshed, "Wouldn't do to have one of my boy's hands get caught in there." I coughed slightly and agreed, sizing up the six-inch solid steel breech block.

We continued down the hall to some of the specialized classrooms. The first was a large room with a table in the center. Around the room were eight cubicles, which simulated ship bridges. Eight men shut themselves in the cubicles, and then direct ship maneuvers by radio to the table. I ventured, "Sort of like a long range chess match." The Lieutenant grimaced and said, "Not exactly."

From down the hall came the stutter of machine guns and the whine of planes. "Oh that's our shooting gallery," my guide said. As we entered, two enlisted men on a yeoman's holiday were firing at planes, flashed on a screen by a projector. An electrical apparatus records the hits, while the sound track blares the sounds of battle. "How are you doing?" yelled the Lieutenant. "Little rusty," the sailor yelled back, as a bomb explosion reverberated in the room.