As I sit here with my morning breakfast banana, I’m recalling my experience of where they come from.

High school was over. Graduation was past. The summer was free, without commitments. My friend Bill Godfrey saw an ad someplace for summer work on merchant ships out of New Orleans. He said, “let’s go and do this.” I said “great,” not really taking it too seriously. Bill was serious. He wrote the Scandinavian Shipping Company and was assured if we came to New Orleans we could ship out.

I knew how serious the plan had become a couple nights before we were to leave, when I told my father our plans. I expected him to say “no, you can’t do that.” Instead, it seemed like what I said hardly registered. I think he put down the paper long enough to look at me before he said, “OK.” At that point I thought to myself, OMG, I’m going to have to actually do this!

Neither of us had the means to travel except by hitchhiking; which is what we did; all the way from Aberdeen to New Orleans, Louisiana. That is a story by itself. I remember riding in a truck with pigs; I mean with the pigs. One gets desperate when you’ve been standing on the side of a road for a while with your thumb out. I also recall returning home alone, riding in the middle of the back seat with black men on each side of me, two more in the front seat, and wondering why they would want to pick up a lone white guy? And hitchhiking, you put up with speeders and drinkers, praying a lot.

We got to New Orleans without serious incident or significant waits, where Bill had arranged for us to stay at the YMCA. We were fortunate that one of the staff there befriended us as we explored the city and made arrangements for our ocean trip. We soon discovered that it would not be possible for us to go together. We could both get work, but on separate vessels. Mine was a banana boat, operated by Standard Fruit Company, picking up bananas in Honduras and dropping them off in New York City, Charleston South Carolina, and New Orleans; before making the same trip again. Bill was on an oiler, traveling to Venezuela and back.

My work was as “mess-boy.” It was a fitting title! I would clean up the meal messes made by the crew. Sometimes they were not the greatest meals and I was happy when the surly sailors threw the food out the porthole instead of on the floor. I did dishes, set tables and kept the dining room in tip-top shape. My best friends were “Cookie,” the cook, a generally joyful person with one good eye; and a Danish crew member (outnumbered on this Norwegian vessel with an almost totally Norwegian crew), who took to me like an older brother, giving me sea-going knowledge and encouragement.

Before any bananas came on the boat, young boys were there pimping for their sisters. Le Ceiba was economically tied to the banana trade and Standard Fruit Company, and sailors along with tourists provided additional economic support for those living there. While we were in port, friends took me to a bar that was home to several prostitutes, who selected those they thought might be richer or freer with their money, and didn’t wait for an approach, but began to cultivate their choice. Coming from a sheltered, rural upbringing in the home of a pastor, this experience frightened me as much as all of the military standing with their weapons on the street corners.

When we were loaded with bananas we headed home, and I got into the rhythm of the sea and the ship and the sailors. Nevertheless, when we reached New Orleans once more I was ready to jump ship. I did, and since Bill hadn’t yet returned, I agreed to become acquainted with the back woods of Louisiana, living with a family suggested by our YMCA staff friend. This was an additional unexpected experience of the real world. It was simple living at its simplest. It was racism at its most elemental. It was what some would call an experience of “poor white trash;” what I would call the uneducated, forgotten, abused and deprived people of the world. I came, in the course of a week, to get below the surface and see the hurt but still searching humanity of these newfound friends.

Bill was still at sea as I finished my back country experience, so I hitchhiked home. We caught up later on his return and both of us gave thanks for an enlightening and growing adventure. I’ll always remember him for his courage and initiative, inspiring me to step out and try new things. Bill got married, joined the Navy, was on a submarine, and died in a helicopter accident as he was heading toward leave on shore.

Would that more graduating high schoolers had his initiative to see and experience the world, and made it happen. What a difference it would make. It’s enlightening to know where your breakfast banana actually comes from and how it travels to your table.