The Verdict -- Robert Gardner

I have just finished reading an article that was illustrated with a

picture of Hong Kong Harbor. The article I have already forgotten, but

Hong Kong Harbor I will never forget.

Back in the ‘30s, I was in the Philippines visiting my sister, and she

had gone on to China with her husband. I followed on a passenger

freighter. If one has never traveled on a passenger freighter, one has

not traveled. They were -- and still are, as far as I know -- freighters

that carried up to 12 passengers made up of two classes: seasoned world

travelers who want to visit some offbeat ports of call and those looking

for a bargain. I was in the second category. It was the cheapest way for

me to get to Hong Kong.

One of my fellow passengers was the incredibly beautiful daughter of a

missionary couple aboard who, from my standpoint at least, was

particularly desirable because she did not share her missionary parents’

moral standards. We spent most of the trip trying to get away from her

parents. We were mostly foiled, because of their vigilance, but it

livened up the trip, and when we parted, I promised I would return and

marry her. Somehow that never came to pass.

Now, however reluctantly, back to Hong Kong Harbor. We had come from

Manila in a dense fog. During the voyage, we kept hearing other ships to

which our ship responded, but we never saw one of them. Then, miracle of

miracles, when the fog lifted, there was a huge group of ships, none of

which had seen the light of day for several days, each nosed into the

harbor mouth.

Don’t ask me how they managed to get so many boats positioned so close

together with none of them crashing, but somehow they did.

Having finally made it into the harbor and having said goodbye to my

shipboard romance, I went to a bar overlooking the harbor where I began

talking to my neighbor, a veddy, veddy proper Britisher. After several

drinks, we became involved in a really heavy discussion, not about

politics or religion, but about the color of lobsters.

It was my position, firmly stated, that lobsters were green. It was

his position, just as firmly stated, that they were red. To buttress my

argument, I brought up my years of skin diving. I had captured lobsters

in their habitat all along the Pacific Coast, which made me an expert.

They were green. He was just as insistence on his expertise. He had eaten

them on every continent in the world. They were red.

Our discussion became more heated and looked like it might come to

blows, so finally, the bartender intervened. “You’re both right,” he told

us. “They’re green when they come out of the ocean, and they’re red when

they come out of the pot -- after they’ve been cooked.” Of course! What

could be better than both of us being right? We had to drink to that. So

my memory of Hong Kong Harbor is primarily one of a horrific hangover.

I also recall that it was a very vivid blue-green. But mostly it’s the

hangover that I remember.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge. His

column runs Tuesdays.