The Machine Gun Nest

        For reasons best known to himself, Billy Ray or Man Ray1, as he was infrequently nicknamed, carried a German Luger in a holster strapped to an ammunition belt around his waist. He made no effort to conceal it. Indeed one could see the pistol grip. To offset the weight of the Luger, Billy Ray carried a can of Rainier Ale in the opposite front pocket. 
        “I fell more balanced that way,” Billy said. Although this was not entirely true for after he guzzled the beer, almost in a gulp, he was temporarily unbalanced until he bought another beer or pulled out his trusty Luger.
        The gang like all longshore gangs was a cast of characters. One of them Larry the Hook had a hook for a left hand. His hand had been bayoneted by a German in the Battle of the Bulge during World War II. He had quickly dispatched the German with a counter thrust to the throat. Gangrene had set in while he lay on a cot in a dirty field hospital. He had wanted to be a carpenter like his Norwegian father. That dream was now shattered. He had a hook for a left hand. He had to choose another trade. Which one? It was well known in the South of the Slot or South of Market Street neighborhood where Larry lived that a hook was needed to work coffee, sacks, and general cargo. And if the hook were attached to the stump where his hand had been so such the better for it became one with the body and with the mind.
        Gang boss Tuna looked over the men. There was Dan, or The Wolfman and his drinking buddy Bear, Johnny Boots, Louie the Heap, Larry the Hook and others he wish he could forget. And Augustinho from the Cape Verdes. “Hey you,” Tuna said pointing to Augustinho. “You stay on the dock with Louie the Heap. We’re going in number three.” And with that the men started up the gangway which swayed and tottered, and required sea legs before one had even boarded the ship.   
        Louie the Heap sat down on an orange crate. He pulled a well worn paperback western novel from his pocket and began reading. Augustinho looked at the freighter, its black sides covered with rust blisters, its rigging ominous and mysterious. After a while a forklift driver drove out of the shed and onto the dock. Louie looked up. He could hear the whir of the winch. Louie stuffed the western back in his pocket and motioned Augustinho to get back from the slings. They put the slings under the stack of pallets and with the whir of the winch it went into the hold.
        Soon Louie and Augustinho landed the first pallet of coffee which the lift driver took into the shed. Load after load came out of the holds of the ship: Out of number one, out of number two, out of number three. All of it went into the shed and then to Maxwell House, Hills Brothers, MJB. . .to be drunk early in the morning, at noon, and late in the evening by people who knew nothing of its origins or travels, only that it was warm, tasty and made them feel good.
        Finally there was the shrill sound of the siren on the Ferry Building tower. Noontime. Time to get loaded. The gang hit the ladder except for Billy Ray who said, “I’ve got a salami sandwich.”
        Gang boss Tuna, Bear, Larry the Hook, and the rest of the gang had gotten toasted a Riordan’s Bar2. They came swaggering up the gangway. Dan walked over to the open hatch. Dan and other longshoremen often did this after lunch, though there was just as much coffee, steel, or break-bulk cargo as they had been before lunch.
        “Psst, fellows,” Dan said almost in a whisper as he put his finger to his lips, and motioned the gang with his hand to look over into the hold.
        Billy Ray had taken coffee sacks - God knows how he did it by himself- and piled them up like sandbags around a machine gun nest. He was crouching behind “sandbags” that were slightly separated, pretending to be firing a machine gun. “Rat a tat tat,” he yelled. Then he stopped “firing,” reached toward his belt, and pretended to throw a grenade.
        Dan and the rest of the gang looked at each other. Bear and gang boss Tuna started toward the hold ladder. But Dan held their shoulders. “Maybe there’s more action yet.”
        Billy Ray grabbed a piece of dunnage and pretending it was a rifle with a bayonet, charged over the “sandbags” and repeatedly stabbed a coffee sack with his “bayonet.” “Take that you sonnabitch. Take that.” He then fell on the sack, pulled his knife3 from his belt, stabbed the sack one more time, then grabbed it as if seizing a man by the throat and yelling in his face. “That was for Mike. That was for Mike.” Billy Ray now started moving coffee sacks as best as he was able. “There might be some more coming. I gotta get ready.”
        “What are we going to do?” Bear asked gang boss Tuna.
        “Join him,” Tuna answered.
        “What?”
        “Have some respect. The man was a war hero. Play along. Do you want to traumatize him?”
        Bear had no idea that Billy was a war hero. What battles was he in? Iwo Jima? Tarawa? The Battle of the Bulge? Was he in the army or the Marines? Hero for what. And what medal did he earn?
        Gang boss Tuna, Bear, and the rest of the gang climbed down the ladder and onto the coffee sacks. Billy looked up at the gang through hollow eyes.
        “They’re coming. They’re coming again for sure,” he said. “Gotta get ready. Help me with these sacks. These Germans are kinda shifty. They almost broke through here this time, but the next time it’ll be a little further south.”
***
        Walking boss Buffalo had drunk a couple of snifters of Courvoisier cognac at the Peer Inn Bar. Since he had made walking boss four years ago he had treated himself right: A new Hudson car, cognac, pretty dresses for his wife, and a home in San Francisco’s Richmond district where his daughter attended Saint Thomas the Apostle School. Yes he was leading the good life.
        Buffalo walked into the pier 27 office where he worked on the payroll. Thank God his English teachers had emphasized good penmanship when he went to Commerce High School. And now he may as well walk along the pier to see how the work was progressing. This was more of a formality since he had complete faith in the gang bosses and the men. This was more of a promenade if you will. He had on his Brooks Brothers suit, silk necktie, and well polished Florsheim shoes.
        Damn it was good to be a walking boss. Yes, hold number one moving along, hold number two, the same, and number three? Look at that. Charlie the hatch tender4 was leaning on the railing drinking a beer wrapped in a paper sack. And the winch? He couldn’t even hear it. Shut down for repairs? Damn what was going on? He bounded up the gangway and climbed down the number three hold ladder.
        Gang boss Tuna hurried over to the bottom of the ladder. He quickly explained the situation. “Billy’s really in a bad way and we don’t want to traumatize him.” Walking boss Buffalo found himself being suckered into this bullshit. Maybe it was he had once worked in the same gang as Billy. Maybe it was because he felt a veteran needed a break. Now fully motivated Buffalo ordered the gang, “Do as Billy says boys,” “Pile ‘em up. Pile ‘em up.” They’re going to try to break through over her. Pile ‘em up. Pile ‘em up.” Billy shouted.
        Buffalo, Tuna, Larry the Hook, and the rest of the gang began throwing sacks where Billy pointed. “Right here. Right here. One more hole to fill. Okay. Okay. That’s it.” Billy lay down. He body twitched and he was asleep. What now? What now?
        Walking boss Buffalo surveyed the scene. This place looked like one of those reproductions of surrealistic paintings that his wife hung in the living room. The one by Man Ray come to think of it. What was going on here? Had Man Ray’s soul taken over Billy’s body?
        Suddenly Billy awoke with a start. “Hey. What is this? This is no way to load coffee. Come on fellows. Do your share. Buffalo wondered: Had Billy no memory of the “sandbags” and the “attacking Germans?” It seemed not.
        Buffalo decided to let it go. “Billy you’re right. The gang has been goofing off. Say by the way. That German Luger of yours. Is it loaded?” “Of course it’s loaded. I took it from a dead German I killed in Normandy. What if his brother came to get me? How would I defend myself? So, of course it’s loaded. What do you think. I’m crazy?”

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1. Man Ray (Emmanuel Radnitsky) Surrealist painter, 1890-1976.
2. Riordan’s Bar: Formally at 22 The Embarcadero.
3. At that time longshoremen carried knives, usually shorter, to cut rope.
4. The hatch tender relays signals to the winch driver who often cannot see the load or where it is going.

Erich von Neff is a San Francisco longshoreman. He received his master’s degree in philosophy from San Francisco State University and was a graduate research student at the University of Dundee, Scotland. He is well known in both French avant-garde and mainstream literary circles. In France, he has won awards such as Prix 26, given readings at the Cafe Montmartre, and published over 1295 poems and 289 short stories. In 2023, Editions Unicite published his book, 6 Affaires rèsolues par Frieda et Gitta: notre duo de charme de la police parisienne.