Reflagging The Patriot - United States Lines cruise ship launched

Cruise Travel, June, 2001 by Benjamin S.B. Lyons

For the first time in 42 years, the Stars & Stripes is raised anew on a passenger ship

Slipping quietly past two foreign-flagged cruise ships on the eve of her maiden voyage, United States Lines' MS Patriot slowly sailed out of Los Angeles harbor. Our American crew, ondeck to watch the city lights fade astern, gazed at the Panama-registered ships and their embarking passengers. In a spontaneous moment of both unity and pride, the crew (including myself) began serenading them in a heartfelt, if not perfectly in-key, rendition of America The Beautiful. For the first time in more than 40 years, a newly flagged American passenger ship was entering service, and the accompanying effort and determination had culminated in this moment to stir the patriotic emotions of all onboard.

For many, the true start of the reflagging process began in October 2000 when approximately 60 USL crew-members boarded Holland America Line's Nieuw Amsterdam in Hawaii for a six-day crossing to Portland, Oregon. The USL crew spent the days quite simply learning the ship. Unlike a car, which one can buy and drive away the same day, it can take months to know a particular ship; each is filled with individual quirks and complex systems. In fact, several senior officers had already spent over two months aboard as observers.

With only HAL staff onboard along with the 60 USL crew, the ambiance of the crossing was somewhat peculiar on the deserted ship. Ostensibly, normal routine continued as much as possible, with the Dutch captain announcing over the loudspeaker the ship's noon position, followed by an announcement from the cruise director on the daily activities--consisting of optional massages in the salon followed by a movie.

The main concern for the officers, however, was simply knowing the layout of every part of the ship without hesitation. Since all crew are expected to find their way around the ship even in smoky, blacked-out conditions, the new crew spent a significant amount of time wandering the ship, poking their heads in obscure places and intentionally getting lost. We even quizzed each other, oftentimes asking who had found the fire station inside the funnel or the ladder to the old stern thruster.

We essentially became students again as we learned all of the safety systems onboard. This knowledge is critical in case of any emergency, and we studied topics ranging from the pneumatic air controls for the fire-screen doors to the watertight-door control substations to the electronic chart system. The level of detail we learned was impressive, including such minutiae as which smoke detectors are likely to sound due to momentary vibration when the vessel is coming up to speed.

If we were the students, then our teachers were the Dutch crew still onboard, who went out of their way to share with us their knowledge in a professional and friendly way. In fact, some even gave semi-formal talks on aspects of the ship to small groups of officers to help ease the transition. We were introduced formally to our counterparts on the bridge when first boarding in Honolulu, where we shook hands in a somewhat awkward and forced moment. By the end of the crossing, however, the two crews had become genuine friends through mutual respect and interests, coupled with long watches spent together on the bridge.

The HAL crew's knowledge was so important that USL had been planning for months to keep several of their officers onboard to act as advisors and assist as needed, ensuring a continuum of the years of experience the old crew had with the ship. The list of those who remained onboard provides an interesting look at the hierarchy on cruise ships, as we hired their chief officer, two engineers, the chief electrician, the food & beverage manager, and the chief housekeeper.

At the end of the crossing on October 18, while 14 miles off the coast of Oregon, the ship was officially sold, renamed, and reflagged in a simple ceremony. In brisk, foggy conditions, the Dutch flag was lowered and the Stars & Stripes raised, symbolizing that the American crew was now officially responsible for running the vessel.

When we docked, the massive effort to remove all of the Holland America Line belongings began immediately, and when up to 10 40-foot containers worth of supplies were placed onboard, one realized that there are few sights on earth quite as chaotic as a cruise ship in drydock. Cables, wires, and hoses are draped from the drydock walls to the ship, providing necessary power, water, phones, and welding equipment. Entire sections of the ship are gutted within a matter of hours, and former public rooms become unrecognizable as the carpets, walls, and ceilings disappear, leaving only a steel framework with exposed pipes. Work progresses everywhere, with cacophonous noises welling up from elevator shafts or the double bottoms. Virtually every part of the ship, including small spaces that most passengers don't realize even exist, is either torn apart or inspected.

Life onboard was certainly not serene. The first night that we arrived in Portland, I heard workers outside my passenger cabin all night, trying to get into the cabins around me. Being a heavy sleeper, I double-locked the door and ignored them until the morning when I heard even more banging. Looking into the corridor I saw a wall of blue--everywhere there was blue matting covering the carpets and bulkheads, and the ceiling in the corridor was entirely ripped out, exposing a maze of wiring and steelwork. I was told I had 20 minutes to move out before they removed the ceiling of my cabin, as well. Needless to say, I quickly moved into another stateroom in what would be the first of several such cabin changes.