Excess Baggage

While stationed in Orlando, Florida, I became friends with Lt. Chris, a Naval Episcopalian chaplain. He drove an ancient, pale blue Peugeot. He was the type of a person who made friends, no matter where he was. One of those friends was the widow of a merchant marine captain. The captain fetched souvenirs from all over the world and the widow was down-sizing, moving to a smaller house. She told Chris she wanted him to have something by which to remember her. She gave him a huge bronze incense burner, not a small one that might sit on a desk, but stood over six feet tall.

Chris could cajole a monkey out of his fleas and talked me and another corpsman into going with him to collect it in the hospital supply department’s two and a half ton truck. If I’d known the size of it before I got to the widow’s house, I would have ran the other way.

The incense burner was constructed of three large sections and several smaller ones. The base was three feet in diameter. Each segment tapered smaller until the top piece formed a rounded dome. It had a bold relief, oriental motif of entwined vines and dragons with removable leaf-shaped platforms to hold the incense. If it hadn’t been in sections, we could never have moved it. There were no bolts to hold it together. The raised lip fitted inside of the piece that sat on top held them in place. The sheer weight pressing downward made sure each piece remained secure.

Because of the size and weight of the base alone, it was difficult to handle. Lifting it into the bed of the truck was gut wrenching. I thought for sure I would have a hernia before we got it loaded. The middle section was actually the heaviest, but its smaller size made it easier to lift.

We struggled to remove each piece from her home without damaging her walls, hardwood floors, or doors. The only way to remove it was to carry it through a shaded garden and down a long walkway to the truck.

Now that Chris had it, he needed a place to store it. Claiming the huge incense burner was unusual, but this was the real gist of the story. Chris talked the commanding officer of the hospital into keeping it in his office. The bronze tower was so heavy; we had to place a 3/4 inch thick square of plywood beneath it to prevent its weight from crashing through the floor behind his desk. I felt sorry for myself at having to lift and transport it, but I pitied the sailor assigned to polish it.