PHIL WHITNEY’S JOURNAL: Midshipman’s cruise, USS Missouri 1948
Accession No. 1999.148.001
ON TO PAREEE

Here is an attempt at making a permanent record of the trip that took some twenty-four of us newly graduated 2d Johns to the Mediterranean and thence back to the sunny Caribbean during a time when most of our classmates were partying at home. Since the time of this writing is some six or seven months after the trip I will undoubtedly leave out some of the more interesting episodes, some because of forgetting and others – just because.

‘Twas a motley crew that assembled that Friday and Saturday at the Naval Air Station there at Norfolk, Virginia. Most of us were from the East and that was natural for after all it was we who had seen much of our families in the four long years at the “Trade School.” For me the trip started out most auspiciously at Canaan with the whole family there early in the morning to wish the prodigal son “Bon Voyage,” be careful, and all the rest. The young troubadour felt a slight twinge when he started the engine but then thought – well, what the hell; I’m coming back pretty soon – might even get back here if the blasted War Department will give us a break on the travel time to reach Riley. But it was getting late and I had to drop by WP on the way to NYC so I took off. Several hours later, after the initial pang of regret had worn off and my thinking processes were back to their normal state, I happened to think about uniforms and wonder whether or not the few I had brought along would be sufficient. Glancing back to note the present of the clothes I was thinking about I noted a blank where something should not have been blank. A sinking feeling followed, then a sense of disgust, fear, and finally resignation. I pulled up to a small drive-in near Bennington and called the folks (collect). They had noticed the TW that I had so carefully put in a paper bag lying on a chair in the living room. Realizing that trying to catch me would be fruitless, they moved fast and did the next best thing – they wrapped the freshly bought uniforms in soft paper and Dad took same to White River. There the Postmaster gave helpful advice so the all important package started on its way to the Air Station with several hopes accompanying it. I got the word from Mother over the phone and though I was somewhat relieved, I was nevertheless still slightly worried. Visions of a trip to Ft. Monroe to buy a replacement set were not too distant from reality.

When I reached WP I couldn’t reach Charlie Wielert since he was taking a vacation. The whole purpose of the visit was the buying of a filter that I felt would be an asset in taking pictures. I visited the C-Store and was told to call Co. Nourse. He was very nice about the whole affair, telling me just what Mom had told me when I called her earlier in the day. Well, I made NYC that evening a bit tired and eager to get down to Norfolk to end the uncertainty.
As might be expected the New Yorker was full – so I went to a “nice” hotel just a few blocks from the 34th Street mecca of business men. ‘Twas a lousy place but I managed to get a good night’s sleep and pick up the needed filter.
The next morning I met Al Cerow in the lobby of the New Yorker and after waiting about half an hour collected Saul Resnick, our baggage, and started off for the Southland. We really made good time on the way down since we decided to go the Peninsula Route, which cut off all major cities. It was just after nine when we drove into the Air Station and looked for our BOQ. I thought that it might be a good idea to find out as soon as possible just when we would take off, so we looked in a Base Operations where much to our amazement we found a 1300 ETD staring us in the face. I felt somewhat hard up for time at this stage of the game. Only one measley morning to find my uniforms – or buy new ones – someplace, and store the trusty Plymouth.

Nothing could be done at that late hour so we decided to go out for a bite to eat.

Early the next morning I started the rounds. Yes, the Post Office was open and thank God (I did) the TW was awaiting my arrival. It had cost the folks a small fortune to airmail the stuff to me, the dear stupid son. Well, now it was about 1000 and still no place to leave the car. I got on the phone and started asking the several storage companies what the tariff was to leave the car for the six-plus weeks that we would be gone. They asked too much and I wasn’t yet desperate enough to be completely robbed. A call to the Plymouth dealer, a Mr. F.A. Roethke, brought a ray of hope. Nothing was promised but something would be done if I brought the car in. I was told that they didn’t store cars but would in this case put my new car in their show window and just leave it there. I wanted something written (after studying law and being warned about how deals such as this one sometimes backfire). There would be no written agreement I was informed so I just said O.K. and asked how much the whole thing would cost. Five dollars took care of the storage. With a light heart I returned to the Air Station.

As 1300 approached we all wondered about the absence of two of our classmates. They really should arrive before we took off for obvious reasons although they could come in at 1159 and still be within the orders we were issued. Finally, at 1530 we all were present for the start of the adventure. Stories of great times on the Riviera, in Paris, and Lisbon floated around as did speculation as to whether or not we needed civilian clothes for our stay in the Azores and Portugal proper. I, like most of the others, did not bring along any civies so we just had to listen to the rumors passed out by the MATS people and hope for the best. Anyway we had a very pleasant flight ahead of us since the C-54 was a plush job the like of which none of us had seen before.

It was close to 1600 before we left the ground and headed for our first stop, Bermuda. The talk was hot and conventional for the first hour; however, it soon subsided and then only the drone of the four engines could be heard. A night flight over water is just the thing for the sack that we all needed.

Shortly after 2100 we landed at the AAF base on one of the islands to refuel. Immediately we all were ready for a party, a blowout, a start to the times we had been looking forward to. The stay was to be a short one though so we couldn’t go into the main part of the renowned vacation spot but had to be content with the Officer’s Club. It was a dilly! A bank of sorts, a few couples that looked like fugitives from that famous movie of a lost weekend, and a makeshift bar were the sole attributes that this romantic spot had to offer. Disillusionment? No, we were still too full of plans and the optimism of youth. Several of us got tired of the picture and returned to the plane to see what was up.

What ho! We had engine trouble, hurray!! Maybe we could see some of Hamilton after all ---- but no, it would be fixed in several hours. We boarded the ship again at midnight, some of our jolly group rolling in while others walked. Sleep came easily again that night at least until 0800 the following morning when we were awakened by our S/Sgt host. He served sandwiches and coffee. Once more the conversation turned to exploits of the future. There was much talk of Paris and the feasibility of a trip up there in our six days in France. I hadn’t thought much of the plan because of the distance and the poor transportation I was sure would be the rule in recently invaded France. Further discussion brought about a change in my thoughts.

Al didn’t think too much of the idea and naturally started to make plans with other people for the coming days of liberty. Stan Harsh said he wanted to go but wasn’t sure whether his plans to go with Phil Porter would come through or not. We dropped the subject for the time being.

Soon we began to see signs of land shortly confirmed when way off in the distance a peak came into view. The sight of terra firma was reassuring in spite of the fact that we really hadn’t worried about the prospects of ditching in mid-Atlantic. We came over the island that we would land on and had that very familiar feeling that many do when they first fly off a carrier “Are we going to land down there?” We did.

No, we didn’t need civilian clothes and better, we had a twelve-hour layover to spend just looking. After a good shower and a lunch that was most welcome, we collected our cameras, swimming trunks, and started off on a guided tour of the small native town. A quick look convinced us that it would be a good idea to visit the beach club run by the base and later come back to the village. The place looked deserted anyway --- Sunday was certainly a day of rest here.

We swam for awhile but soon couldn’t wait to get into the town. Our first taste of foreigners and their customs couldn’t be put off any longer. The guide showed us around some and then we walked around without his assistance. Still the streets seemed deserted except for the visiting Americans and the ever present Portuguese police. We met our guide again and convinced him that a little Port wine would be good for all of us. Café Contente had atmosphere and one tap of running water (cold), which served to furnish water for the coffee and a means of washing the glasses. The wine was good and not too expensive. There we sat with our guide trying to be one of the boys in an embarrassed but tolerant way. We naturally had to sing since we had Bandeen along and a piano in the place. The few natives present looked amused with the exception of the policemen at the next table who just sat, drank coffee, and mumbled occasionally. Soon it was time to leave so that the dinner awaiting us at the Club would not be passed up.

After dinner some of the boys went back into the town but most of us stayed around since there didn’t seem to be much more to see in this small part of Portugal. The people were not too happy about their existence since the old colonial system that we fought against long ago was still in fashion. The governor of the islands was appointed by Lisbon from a group of people on the mainland. Since the term was a short one and the man was not a native, he did not, in the majority of cases, try to better the condition of the people. It was a case of getting the most possible while the opportunity availed itself. The taxes were high so there was unhappiness.

The evening was devoted to a few drinks, a chat with the officers and the Portuguese barkeep who was from Lisboa and wanted desperately to go back to the beautiful city. Naturally, some of the guys had to become involved in a poker game and lose a little money while others of the crowd had to get tight – but we were all on the plane at 0400 the next morning when we took off for Lisboa.

The flight was a quickie, our landing coming some five hours later. This time the WP Commandos stayed on the airplane until they were told that they could debark. It seems that we had arrived a little earlier than the State Dept. had figured on. We were allowed to go into the terminal and there we sat for about an hour until the powers that were got around to arranging our clearance and transportation to the docks where the U.S. Navy was supposed to greet us. Except for the uniforms that everybody wore, the terminal could have been Atlanta, Boston, or several others in the U.S.

Our baggage was not even looked at twice, much to the relief of the operators who had stocked up on cigarettes. This being the case, as soon as we got word from the State Department Official with us, we went outside and waited for our transportation noting as part of our first look at Portugal that an addition was being made to the Terminal. A foundation was in the process of going up with labor and raw materials as the two basic ingredients. Machinery? No.
We loaded up in our busses, which compared to our prewar ones, and started off toward the waterfront. There were numerous comments about the amount of building that was going on and surprise was apparent when the many quite modern apartment buildings were seen.

The dictator, a scholarly non-Hitlerian type man is interested in building up the country. Lord knows what the interior looks like but as for the capital, it is a fairly modern city.

Amid a great honking of horns we made our way down to the harbor, across the Praca de Commercio to the dock where we were hustled aboard a landing craft. The Navy had just arrived so confusion still reigned: Officials were scurrying about while the simple curious folk that inhabited the country looked on with at least a little awe.

We drew along side the Mo somewhat impressed by the intensity of the vessel. After climbing aboard and giving the customary honors, we stood around while Joe Aron, our wheel, saw the Exec. And found out where we were to be quartered. With true hospitality (we should have expected that something was in the wind), we were shown around the ship. Every few minutes we were interrupted though by the arrival of Brass who seemed to be embarking and debarking with clocklike regularity. Our tour didn’t last too long for it was soon time for lunch. We had a taste of the delicious chow that some of us were to partake of for sixteen days, a little later.

The meal over, we stood around the deck waiting for the word on our status. Soon Joe came back with a long face and the dope that since there were a great many more VIP’s on board than had been expected, we would be split up among the other vessels. There were eight slots on the destroyers, one of which I desperately wanted. We talked it over and since some of the boys didn’t care much for the “Cans” we all more or less got our choices. As it turned out, Bob Taylor, Jack Capps, Walt Plummer, and I were on the Syess while Stan Harsh and several others were aboard the Bordelon, both of which were tied up at the same pier.

The three beside myself had their own plans so Stan and I got together with Lem Robinson and Joe. We decided that it would be much better to stay in a hotel during our few days on shore so look we did. Our second try landed us at the Hotel Europa where we stayed until we had to leave.

It was getting along in the afternoon and since we had obtained some invitations to the reception at the American Embassy, we had to hurry. We ate in the dining room of the hotel and in grand style too. Meals were a part of the tariff -- why not? Well, we soon had to leave in order to arrive before all the fun was consumed. The garden of the Embassy was rather pretty though we were more interested in the people than in the scenery. There were uniforms galore from many countries, the blue of the Middies predominating however. At first we just looked around and helped ourselves to the copious supply of champagne that was present. We then began to meet people and chatted, danced, etc. for a short time. Stan met a Danish gal, a Jessie Mollmann who invited us up to her apartment for a drink after the reception. We naturally went and there met one of her roommates, who was a Finnish gal, Pipsin--. The third member of the apartment was a Dutch gal named Alexandra, who I dated later. We stayed for awhile and talked, mainly about Denmark, the U.S., the world situation etc. All the gals seemed quite apprehensive and the Dane expressed an attitude of resignation to a war with the ruin of her country in the middle of two giant pincers as a result. She was more optimistic though about the financial position of her country since the war damage had not amounted to much and, with a predominantly agricultural means, there was great need for her exports. Pipsin had little to say about politics. It was getting late so we said our good nights and went back to the Hotel.

We got up the next morning and after a very small breakfast (the custom on the continent) and a superb lunch, we set out for the American MA’s office since we had read in orders of one kind or another that we were supposed to contact same when we arrived in a foreign country. (This later paid off in France). We finally found the place but it was hard because the hack drivers couldn’t understand my “Attache Militaire” de los Estados Unidos”. When we did report we were greeted with a well, what the hell are you coming to see us about look in the Colonel’s eyes. We beat a hasty retreat and decided to look over the portion of the city we were in. We walked down several streets, stopping once to take a picture of a rather unusual doorway. It took a shot of Stan, then he one of me. As we were turning to leave, the door opened and we were greeted by a Britisher who invited us in for a drink. We went upstairs to his living room there to meet his wife, several young daughters, and his brother. We were served warm (tepid anyway) beer and proceeded to discuss the affairs of the world. This man, a retired army officer who had gone into business in Lisbon, said that since we Americans had done so much for his country, he went out of his way to return the favors whenever he was able. We were invited to tea and to supper but declined with thanks because we had an engagement that evening and wanted to look around some more that day.

We continued our walk down towards the waterfront where we saw a group of boys whom we asked to pose for our cameras. They did so with enthusiasm, noise, and confusion – much to the disgust of one of the number who lined up the others as best he could. We thanked them and departed with about half the group following on our heels.
A rather impressive looking building was nearby so we investigated. It turned out to be a museum which we had to look over in a matter of a quarter of an hour. We went inside and saw laces that were unexcelled in beauty. I asked a woman about several and we got into a limited discussion of them. The finery was just that – work that must have taken great skill and patience. There were paintings also, one of which I recognized as one we had a copy of at home. I told the lady this – much to her pleasant surprise. Soon the guard motioned that it was time to close up. We left wishing that we had more time to visit the place.

Jim Conrad, a big time reporter who was accompanying us on the trip was throwing a party for some of the naval officers and invited us to come along. We went mainly to see how the clown would act as a host with the Admiral present etc. It turned out that we were in on a beer bust. We waltzed in on the first part of the party, had a few brews and then started to the next place where there were promises of gals, etc. Naturally we were eager to join the crowd. As it turned out, there were no gals and we either drank Port or beer, the former having become hard for me to choke down the day before. Stan and I couldn’t take much more, so we left with apologies etc. Since both of us were in favor of a little night life we visited a club that had an advertisement in the paper we received on first arriving at the port. The paper, by the way, was a special edition put out for the fleet with information on the various parts of the city, the clubs, shops, a bit of history etc., included. Back to the club – we paid our cover, which amounted to about $.50 and went in. There was a bar with several gals as accessories and a larger room, the club proper. We took a table on the side and made the acquaintance of several of the better looking young ladies that were there for but one purpose, to increase the sales of the house. They wanted champagne but in my Spanish, again, I made it clear that they would drink what we drank or not at all. We were content with the local Port. They explained that since they were artists, they could drink only champagne – but we were adamant. They did not drink. We chatted a bit, danced, and then they saw that we were not going to be very profitable so they excused themselves. We stayed for the show which was fairly good – mainly dancing by Spanish gals and a few songs by a Portuguese gal. We left convinced that clip joints were the same all over the world -- at least in Lisbon. ‘Twas late so we went back to the Europa and another good night’s rest.

The next day we slept late, finally getting up about 1100 for a cup of coffee. We did manage to go the Embassy before lunch were we looked up a man we had met at the party the night before who had offered to get us dates with American or British gals if we wanted the. We tested him but found that he was just being accommodating when he popped off. Soon it was dinner time so we went into the dining room not knowing quite what to expect. Apparently we had a table assigned to us because we were conducted to one in the middle of the room and returned to it all during our stay. Everything was well organized. The waiter took our orders (in English). The European custom of having a fish course before the main one was a novelty we were at first reluctant to try after the four years of fish on Fridays at WP. To our surprise the fish was delicious. So also was the steak that followed. The service was courteous, efficient, and quiet. Since we were trying foreign meals for the first time we ordered wine which was also very good. Soon we tired of same and reverted to the liquid of our own tables, water. That too came in a bottle, and was asked for as “Agua fria.” We were to become very fond of the dining room before the stay was up and ate most of our meals there. The fact that we were paying for them was a helping factor too.
Later in the afternoon (a siesta was in order first) we decided to visit the market place as well as look over the rest of the town. The streets were of a cobblestone nature with sidewalks similar to ours. Many shops were seen, each offering a variety of goods such as one would find in the States. The prices, of clothing particularly, seemed to be as high as those found at home. We were discouraged from further clothes shipping by same.

The fish market was a place teeming with stands, each selling different kinds of seafood. It seemed to Stan and myself that every hawker in the place wanted us to buy his products though what we could do with the stuff I don’t know. We stopped by one stand just to see how the woman there would go about selling the lobsters that were still kicking in her baskets. As soon as we showed a little interest, we were surrounded by a number of people each apparently figuring that he knew a lot more about the lobsters than the owner of the stand. Anyway, she gestured to us with the lobster several times in order to let us see what a fine crustacean he was. I tried with my meager amount of Spanish to ask a few questions but was not very successful. Finally, we smiled, said “no, thanks” and moved on. The odor was unique to say the least. Lack of ice coupled with the heat of the day partially explained the fumid atmosphere. Different parts of the market are used every day – so that the place can be hosed out, a procedure that we were almost exposed to.

Wednesday evening we went on another round of the nightspots and while waiting for a later hour when they would be in better form, strolled around the parks of the city. We climbed into a taxi to go to the place we had earlier picked out but discovered that the driver couldn’t understand us so we got out before we had started anywhere. The driver demanded a few escudo for sitting in his cab but I explained that we had not taken a ride, therefore, we owed him nothing. He declined to agree so we let him fume and went along about our business. In a few minutes we hailed another cab, and started to move off when our friend of earlier acquaintance drove up along side and said that we had not paid him. I explained to our new driver and he told his compatriot to scram. We went to our nightspot which was slightly more ritzy than the one we had visited the previous evening. The drinks were less expensive and the people were a little more civilized. The artists were in evidence here too but this time we didn’t pay any attention to them. Instead, we were joined by a gal who spoke English and told us something of the life of the people who worked in the clubs. She was a rather candid person who apparently didn’t want to do us out of our adequate but not bottomless source of cash. She drank Port with us and didn’t want much of that. While we were there, our secretary friends came in with dates and we went over to talk to them for a few minutes. Although Stan left a little later, I stayed for awhile and then – departed too. I didn’t feel like going straight to bed so took a walk around the streets that were adjacent to our hotel. I talked to several people who were friendly and wanted to let me know that they spoke a little English. One was a man about my age who had relatives in Boston and who wanted to go to America very much. He asked me questions about our country, the life there and how he could get there. I tried to let him know that we did not all own gold mines and that life was hard there also. He walked home with me and just before I said goodnight invited me to spend the night with him. I thanked him but said that I had a room with a friend and though I’d better return to it.

Thursday we again slept late. Stan and I got up shortly before noon -- the breakfast was worth missing – and – he left soon to take the Danish gal out to lunch while I ate with Joe and Lem in the hotel. It was such a sleepy day that I hit the rack again in the afternoon for a few hours. About four, I went to the Post Office to get some stamps for Mrs. Baldwin and Miss Beatty, stopping on the way back to get some tickets to the bull fight that night. We were able to have fairly good seats fortunately.

Stan was in the room when I returned. We shot the breeze for a few minutes and then went to dinner. Afterwards we left for the fight. It was held in an arena that resembled a football stadium to some extent. The affair was a popular one and rather an event – put on especially for us. We went inside – not before paying a small fee to a beggar who pinned a small medal on us and then demanded money –there to be greeted by the Missouri band, tooting away in its rather pathetic fashion.

The principals finally came in and had a parade, saluting, bowing etc. to the dictator’s box ---. Soon the fights started with the picadors infuriating the bull with their small spears. Then the star attraction, the banderillero, came in on his horse carrying his banderillas. He made passes at the bull and drove them home, receiving an ovation when the last one was placed. The bull, now tired, was greeted by a fat man and seven assistants who backed him up when he took the bull by the horns. The whole process was a rather dangerous one because the bull had to be approached cautiously – then rushed in order to prevent his gaining speed enough in his charge to injure the bull slinger. This sequence was followed through several times with varying degrees of skill. We enjoyed the show but agreed that seeing it once was enough. The bull was not killed, by the way.

Since it was late, we hopped on a trolley and headed for the hotel.

Friday morning we spent locating tennis equipment for a date we had in the afternoon (I with Alexandra, Stan with a friend of hers) and moved to the ship. Our bill amounted to $25 plus for the five days with meals -- not too bad. We had sopped by the booth that had been set up by Americans who lived in the city to aid us in finding things etc. and asked about tennis racquets. We called to pick them up but the lady who had said she would lend us same had forgotten them. She was quite embarrassed about the whole thing and said we would go to her place for them immediately. We did, on the way talking about the States, how she liked Portugal etc. We got a further glimpse of the city during the trip too. We assured her that we would return the equipment the next day though she didn’t seem to be worried.

Around one we left for the apartment where we were to have lunch with Pipsin and Jessie. It was simple and not too filling but pleasant enough nevertheless. Shortly, we left to pick up Alexandra and her friend who were working at their embassy (so were Pipsin and Jessie – several hours off for lunch) so we picked them up there. We took a taxi out to the vicinity of Estoril where we found the Official Portuguese courts which were deserted because of the heat of the day. We played anyway, although not for long. After a rather haphazard two sets, we cooled off with a cool bottle of orange and went over to the beach for a swim. The water was cold for us but the gals loved it. The swam and swam while we played on the beach. Darkness came after awhile so we left and headed for the Casino where we had dinner. The place was quite swanky but the service was rather poor. We had a pretty good dinner which we paid through the nose for and finally took the girls home. I rather regretted that I hadn’t met Alexandra sooner because she was a good drag, and quite pro too. Well we returned to the ship having had a most enjoyable time in this modern city in a backward country.

Our last morning I spent returning the tennis gear to the people from whom we had borrowed it and getting acquainted aboard ship. In the afternoon we left the dock so I really didn’t have much time.

We certainly had enjoyed our stay in Lisbon. The people were friendly, the shops full, the food was good – reasonable too, and it was a welcome change to visit a Latin country. We left the dock and glided down the harbor with a sense of satisfaction in us coupled with a curiosity about what the trip to France on the Dyess would be like and naturally what the Riviera would have to offer.

At first the ocean was calm and with it, life on the ship seemed to be serene. We were told by the Captain that we would stand watches so that we would get the full benefit out of our stay aboard the ship. Since there were four of us we had one hour tour in sixteen. During the day we also took little excursions about the ship looking over the armament, the crew’s quarters, the engine and boiler rooms etc. ‘Twas rather interesting but soon we lost our enthusiasm because the waves became higher with the inevitable result. We started to roll wildly, making standing upright a chore, much less eating of meals. I had to forego the latter – the old sea dog wasn’t quite up to it.
The following day we watched as the Bordelon went along side the Coral Sea to refuel. The “can” looked so small beside its source of fuel! We were next so we dropped astern of the carrier and started our approach. The Captain on the bridge directed the whole procedure with a shaking hand. I learned later that he had just recently taken command and was not too sure of himself or his subordinates. I also learned that if the ship bumped the carrier, he was given a rather sharp reprimand (that happened to one of the ships earlier in the month).

As we came along side I noticed several Khaki clad figures standing along the rail looking down at us. We waved and I took a picture though there wasn’t much point in it. A line was shot across our deck and then events passed rapidly. We were soon connected by two hoses to the carrier, remaining so for almost an hour. Since neither ship had slowed down and since we were only some sixty to eighty feet away from the massive hull, the Captain had reason to be a little apprehensive. When our tanks were full, the lines were cast off leaving us free to pick up speed in order to return to our station on starboard bow. This refueling at sea, a process developed during the war, was repeated every other day so we had another turn at it before we reached France.

One morning before we took up our station as air guard for the Coral Sea we received the guard mail – the official orders, the fleet papers etc. – from one of the helicopters that were carried along on the flattop. The windmill approached our stern, hovered over the fantail and lowered its rather meager cargo of documents. Then it was off to visit the other ships.

We took up our position a thousand or fifteen hundred yards astern of the carrier and in company with the windmill which hovered just above and to the starboard of the ship, waited for a plane to hit the drink. Later one actually did on a landing. The pilot misjudged his altitude, dipped a sing into the water and plopped in himself. Within a few seconds the helicopter was over the plane – the pilot was hoisted aboard in a harness and placed back aboard the carrier – all in a matter of several minutes. The plane went down just after the pilot got out.

We passed into the Mediterranean during the evening of our second day out of Lisbon seeing only the lights from the famous Insurance Co’s rock. Until then the weather had been at worst not too bad but from then on it was hell. We rolled constantly with a sickening motion that made eating for me an emetic thought. Our skipper apparently didn’t notice for he sent us up into the bow to look over the chain locker. On the way back to a handling room I paid a visit to the crew’s head – every good CO does, you know. After that I found the deck a most interesting place to be. The rest of our valiant group thought that the rack was the most enchanting position from which to carry out the day’s observation. We did manage to keep up our watches and I found that if I rushed from my stateroom (in the after part of the ship) to the bridge, I remain in only a green condition.

For me the watches were not just a period of observation because one of the Ensigns, when he was OD, taught me to keep the ship on station, i.e., in its proper position in relation to the base ship, the Mo. It was a matter of checking the azimuth to the Mo by adjusting the speed and heading of our ship, and checking the range through our radar, keeping the az constant on the figure that had been given to us. It was not a hard task and besides it gave me something to think about – if you follow --. During the time we were at sea, the captain did not frequent the bridge much except when we were making some maneuver or going in to refuel. Naturally this accorded the junior officers the opportunity to gain experience in the handling of the ship. On this point, I would definitely want destroyer duty over BB or carrier duty because as I later learned, an Ensign on a big ship doesn’t have much responsibility. Further, there is naturally a certain amount of informality that is conducive to the rapid learning of the inexperienced from stories of the captain and the other higher ranking officers.

The weather abated a little during our last evening before reaching the French coast. During that time we asked the captain about our status on the mainland. We received leave papers which required us to report back to the ship on the 5th of July (we were due to leave for Algiers on the 6th).

On the morning of 30 June, we anchored in the harbor of Villefranche in company with the Bordelon and the Mo. The Coral Sea was a few miles down the coast. At Golfe Juan while the cruiser Macon with several destroyers was over at Genoa, Italy. Our first view was for me a portent of the attitude that I was to develop towards the French. There was a simple beauty about the sheer cliffs that rose from the sea with their clinging tiled roof houses that was quite impressive.

Although we were eager to get ashore, we waited until the word came through that liberty could commence. I had arranged to meet Stan on the wharf when we were in Lisbon so as soon as possible left the ship to make the appointment. These leave papers we had were given so that we could visit Paris. The decision to go had been made just before we arrived in Portugal and I had cabled a hotel recommended by the management of the Europa. A reply was to await us in the American Express Office in Nice.

Stan got off his ship just before noon so we met and took off immediately for Nice. The Express office was closed when we got there -- siesta – but we were hungry. The lunch was a good one and cheap. It was in a little place on the beach -- which disappointingly enough didn’t look by itself to be inviting. (What I am referring to is the course texture and ship drop that the beach has). The people who frequent it brought the originally poor estimate up a bit however.

Soon it was time for the office to open so we went in to inquire concerning the most expeditious way to reach Paris. Several trains were running that day – one first class and a few second and third class. We compromised, bought tickets on the 1730 and were told the best hour to arrive at the station – there were no reserved seats. Until time for our departure, we walked around the town, looking in the shops, and just generally saw the sights. The heat of the afternoon made us long for some ice cream which we were able to have in a little tea room. As we were quietly eating our somewhat watery glace, wondering whether a lady who was also there was an American, an elderly French woman came in the shop, dropped on her knees, crossed herself and spoke a few fervent and confusing words to us. Before we could reply – not knowing that she had made it rather difficult, she had gone. We were left in a slightly bewildered state wondering what we had done to merit this exhibition. The lady sitting at the next table asked if we had understood what had passed and went on to explain that the woman had blessed us because we were from the U.S. A feeling of embarrassment, coupled with pride, wonderment, and sympathy flowed through us as we realized that we had done nothing personally to help in the liberation of the country. We were proud of the symbol that we stood for though.

An agent of American Express guided us to the station, waited with us, and helped us get on the train. He was an American who had been a GI for awhile but had stayed in France. Something about him made me think that he had deserted sometime during the war because he was very hesitant to discuss his past. Our coach compartment on one side of the car had space for eight people but fortunately, we had but five present. Sitting across from us was a school teacher who knew a little English, while sitting on the same side with her was an officer of the French Navy. On our side sat a young girl about our age who from her looks seemed to be straight from the farm. We talked to the school teacher in our limited fashion, then joined the rest of the gang (about six of us were on the way to Paris) for dinner in the diner. When we came back, we talked a little more but soon started the task of trying to sleep in seats that were never meant for such a silly thing. At 1000 we arrived in the South station amid an unwelcome drizzle. Our school teacher helped us to get to the center of town where we bid her farewell and started a hunt for accommodations that was to last until late in the afternoon.

As you can see, the city of light was hardly putting itself out to gain our favor. Well, we finally got settled in a hotel, then got tickets to the Follies and soon went out to dinner. The Boar’s Head was a place that greeted us with an atmosphere that one might have expected in England. There was paneling on the wells, a large fireplace in the center of the restaurant, shiny pots and pans on the walls, and soft lights. We looked at the menu, were informed that we could have the steak that was customarily not served on Thursday, because we were visitors, and asked to order our wine. After waiting for a few minutes, we watched the approach of a roller tray that contained an alcohol burner and our steaks. The headwaiter himself prepared the sauce that was to adorn our meat amid a great stirring, mumbled French – exhortations to be a good steak for les Americains. Well, the latter was hardly necessary. We certainly did the food justice. It was time for us to rush off to the Follies as soon as we left the establishment.
Ah! Such beauty, and grace. The show combined the best of burlesque with the costumes of a first rate Broadway Show, the sets of the Radio City Music Hall and I suppose the dialogue would have been of the first order had we been able to understand it. The gals appeared in some scenes with scarcely anything more than God gave them and in others like Polar Eskimos. We could see no point to the order that the different scenes were presented – rather a high class vaudeville. In summary, the show was one to be seen once but hardly merits bouquets for plot etc.
The next day we managed to stir from our room around noon and proceeded to look at some of the shops in the city – Stan wanted some pipes. I took a short look at the Louvre while he later called on a friend of his father’s. Too soon it was time to eat again which we did with a gal that Stan had met in the American Express Office. We went to the Boar’s Head again, had a wonderful dinner and then decided to look in at the Opera. We bought tickets which I thought were the price of looking around. We were conducted to a gallery holding up the roof from where we watched the last part of a ballet. It was all quite impressive, as was the rest of the building when we looked at it after the performance. We stood where Napoleon had issued orders and where many great personages had been gathered. Duly impressed, we departed and started to walk down towards Place de Magdeline all beautifully lighted – soon to be darkened – and then on to Place de Concord. The stately buildings and the many fountains made a lasting impression on us. Stan was too tired to carry on so the two of us walked down the Champs Elysees past the many gaudy nightspots to the Arch de Triomphe where we saw the Eternal Flame burning and looked at the shadowy names inscribed on the blackened sides of the Arch. We decided that it was late also, so after taking the young lady to her hotel, I returned to mine.

Thus Saturday came, all too quickly. We left the hotel and headed for Orly Airport to meet the General and get our ride to Lyon. You see, the first day we had checked in at the Embassy and as a matter of course, asked if there were any military aircraft going to the Riviera. It turned out that the NA for Air was to make a speech in Lyon on 4 July, the next day, and had a C-47 at his disposal. We climbed aboard and soon were off. At Lyon we waited for the General to debark then took pictures of the Frenchy’s and the band that was present for the occasion. The General (Tate—a BG) gave the pilot the ship for the weekend so he took off for the Cote d’Azur. We flew at six or seven thousand feet—high enough so that we could see the French and some of the Swiss Alps in the distance. We landed at Marseilles to refuel, then took off again, this time for Cannes. Our pilot, being the playful sort, circled the Coral Sea which was not far from Cannes, much to our delight. We almost thought that we were in a pursuit ship the way the flyboy cavorted about. After a landing at a field not meant to take a C-47, we thanked the pilot and with a lift from a helpful Frenchman, got back to Villefranche. Before returning to the ship, we ate at a small hotel that was doing a thriving business in other things than food. Our steaks were delicious but slightly more expensive than those in Paris. Oh, well, we were hungry. We bid each other goodnight after making sketchy plans for a morning trip to sunny Italy.

There is a country in Europe this side of the Curtain that one cannot bluff his way into with an American uniform and a load of fast talk. We happened to pick the lucky one. The little town of San Remo, a kilometer or so inside the border, was the extent of our travels. No visas, no entry.

Ah yes, sunny Monaco – a wonderful spot – much cleaner than Italy anyway. We stopped there on the way back to look around for a little while. Naturally we bought stamps because anyone who doesn’t just has reached the height of gaucheness. (One of the major sources of income of the small republic is gained from the sale of its stamps.) We also went in the famed Casino of Monte Carlo. I expected grandeur but got instead a picture of a broken down Knight. Here was an institution known all over the world a few years ago – now a morbid, shabby ghost. The few people who played did so with an air of living in a daze. The final touch was added when we went into the adjoining room and saw one franc slot machines lining the walls. There were three hundred of those francs to be had for every dollar. C’est las Guerre! We returned to the ship.

That night I stayed on the Dyess for dinner, then wrote a letter of two, read Inside Europe, and went to bed.
The next day, our last in France, Stan and I went to Nice in the morning to take a bus to the little town of Grasse where we wanted to buy some perfume. Fortunately, the agent at the bus station spoke some English or we probably would have gone to some town miles away from our destination. We got on the bus just as it was about to leave and headed for the country. Since the roads were in pretty good shipe we made good time. The scenery was rather like that of the lower part of Massachusetts with the mountains rising gradually as we moved farther into the interior. After several hours we arrived in Grass without incident.

Since it was after one, we decided to eat and then go to the perfume factory – it was closed for the noon two hours. The restaurant in which we ate was on a corner and was of the conventional type – a sidewalk area with tables and an inside room. We ordered steak, red wine and a few vegetables, ice cream for dessert.

By the time we finished our meal, and looked at the few shops, it was past 1400 so we headed for the Fraggonard factory. Inside we were greeted by a rather elderly man who took us into a show room where we saw many perfumes displayed on a series of tables. Two young women who spoke English helped us to pick out our gifts, but really, it was a hopeless task. I sampled almost all the bottles featuring scents ranging from No. 5 to violet. Finally, I managed to buy several small bottles of the stuff. Thank God women buy their own perfume most of the time!
We next were invited to take a tour of the factory which occupied the same building. Downstairs we went following a middle aged lady who started a spiel which reminded me of a hot corner at some Kress’s 5 and 10. The whole process of making the standard perfumes was explained – with a few jokes added as part of the repertoire. Seriously, the tour was interesting, though what we learned will not shake the world with its import.

Having seen the perfume center and bought our quota of the products, we left for Nice. The trip back was just as pleasant as our sojourn to this rather quaint town buried in the hills, a few score kilometers from the southern coast. On the way we could see in the far distance from the heights of the mountains we were driving in.

We returned to our ships shortly after arriving in Nice to prepare for the trip across the Mediterranean. Supper on board, a few last looks through the binoculars towards the beach – and so to bed. I think we were a bit bushed.
Early the next morning, we set sail for Algiers and what was to prove to be the roughest boat ride we (I) had ever had. Since task force had been gradually splitting up since our departure from Lisbon, only three ships made the Algiers run, the Mo, the Bordelon, and the Dyess. We moved in formation, our cans flanking the Mo. At first the sea was calm but as we left the coast behind, the swells became larger and larger. Soon, we were rolling with the motion of a pendulum – pitching the same way too – at the same time. Our watches continued. I was slated to go up on the bridge at 1600 so had to do something between then, about 0930, and that time. It soon became apparent that there were only two places I could stay happy – the bridge and my rack. I chose the latter. From 10000 until 1500 I lay flat on my back trying to sleep and hold on to keep from being dumped on the deck from my upper berth. Gear sliding across the deck of our room kept up a monotonous clatter and gave me a – what the hell attitude since stuff was sliding all over the ship and no one seemed to give a damn. The ship groaned like the old sailing ships in the sea thrillers of the movies too. Every now and then there was a crash above my head – some eighteen inches away that was the sea pounding over the deck. I’d really like a recording of the noises during that period – and one of my thoughts, also.

In the middle of the afternoon, I decided that sleep was out of the question so I got down from my berth dodging the various articles shifting about the deck – except my shoes which I caught on a starboard heel, and tediously got dressed. Walking up to the bridge was not for anybody but a drunk. I caromed off one wall, hit another, etc., until I got to the bridge. I noticed chuckling inside the glances I got from the crew (“at least he can move”). An ensign was OD when I arrived much to my satisfaction since they were much more prone to shoot the breeze than the rank. I spent the next six hours on the bridge, most of same outside where I could get some air. We continued to roll but the number of degrees had slackened off some since the worst of it around noon. I learned that we had had one 50 degree roll. When the captain heard this, he immediately asked the Mo for permission to change course since with the amount of radar we carried on the upper part of the superstructure the ship was slightly top-heavy. Fifteen degrees more might have meant capsizing.

Around six, the OD got hungry and I too thought I might be able to eat a little so we ordered a few sandwiches from the wardroom below. These I managed to hold down, probably in part because I had not even thought of lunch.
By nine the ship had taken up a course that put the sea more on our starboard quarter instead of on the beam thus making the roll die down to some extent. I was tired again too so decided to hit the rack. Classmates Taylor, Capps, and Plummer had been in the sack all day --- Jack had spent about an hour up on the deck before retiring to the pad. Needless to say, we were happy to see Algiers come over the horizon the next morning.

The city is situated on the sides of several hills with the harbor forming the stage of a bowl. In this one respect, the country seemed to be similar to Villefranche. Any similarity ended there as I was to find out in the next few days.
We moved into the harbor and proceeded to tie up to the dock using the Mediterranean Moor – dropping the anchor in the harbor and then tying the ship stern first to the dock. Before we had even completed this operation, the Arabs began to swarm about our ships in small boats shouting offers to buy our watches, change our money etc. They also had some articles to sell – nobody was interested. As you can see from the pictures, they were not a very clean group of people.

Shortly after noon I was able to leave the ship having given the office my address and phone number while in port. A lady who was in charge of money exchange came aboard our ship and offered me the use of her car and driver so that I could find a phone on which to call the Chevaux’s. I called and learned that Shasha had come down to the Mo’s pier to meet me earlier in the day but could not locate me at all. (I had written a note from Lisbon in which I said I didn’t know when we would be free to leave the ship.) Shasha came down to the ship, picked me up, and off we went to their apartment.

We chatted for awhile and then had to hurry to make the reception at the American Embassy. As I remember, the building housing our representatives to French North Africa was a white stone affair, extensive in nature, with a reasonably pretty garden. Well we went in, were greeted by the Consul and his wife, met the Admiral of our Task Force (McLean), then floated around meeting other people (mostly French – Admirals etc.) while sipping a very mediocre punch made with rum ???. There were a number of Middies present along with the usual contingent of naval officers, dignitaries, etc. We left after forty-five minutes or so.

That evening the Chevaux invited several people in for dinner (the Maere’s, the people from downstairs, and the movie baron of Algiers). The meal was excellent as was all the food I had in Europe. I don’t recall exactly what we had but I think beef or veal was the main course. Champagne followed the entrée and an aperitif came later. We talked for some time after dinner – I in English – the others in French and a few in English.

The next day Doc Chevaux took a vacation from his work to take us all on a trip into the interior of the country. We started out from Algiers around nine in the morning, driving out the road towards Blide then turning south into the foothills of the Atlas mountains where we stopped at an inn for a cool drink – it was pretty hot. There we saw some of the monkeys that abound in that region. Noticed also the dishes being washed in a creek that flowed down the hillside. We couldn’t tarry for we had a lot of territory to cover before evening. Down the sides of the wadi we went towards the vast expanse of valley that we had left for the mountains. After traveling for a few kilometers we arrived at the farm of the Laget’s where we met the older Mme. Laget, had some wine and a few delicious cookies. We spoke of Dad, and the past when he was in Africa, but soon had to be on our way again. It was about one when we arrived at Tipasa where we went into a small restaurant out in the middle of nowhere for lunch. It was there that I had the only dish I didn’t like – in the whole two weeks of eating European food. A very thick and fishy soup was brought in. I ate most of it but not without effort. The rest of the meal was up to the standard of the past. Before moving off again we sat out in the shade on a terrace of the restaurant (which happened to be part of the remains of a Roman garden). The many earthen jars were still intact much to my surprise.

We then took a stroll up the slight hill that confronted us and came upon a temple, and a forum. I really couldn’t get over how these buildings had remained in such good shape over the passing of centuries. After taking a few pictures – Gaston insisted on using one of the rolls that I had brought over for them – to take snaps of us (and gave some to me later). We went back to the car and moved down to an amphitheater which in its day must have been quite the thing – seating capacity for at least five hundred people.

The scene of our next stop was a Christian Church and cemetery that overlooked the coast between Tipasa and Algiers. We once again stopped to look and take more pictures. It was getting late so we did not stay very long since we were due at Medraque later in the afternoon where we were to have supper with the Laget’s. Our last stop was on the way at the Tomb of the Christian. This imposing pile of rocks placed on a high hill by some ancient pagans proved to be most interesting. The romb got its name from the four crosses found on the four stone doors on the exterior. It was not until recently that the entrance was found and the remains examined – proved that the dust inside was pagan not Christian. We called to the Arab that tended the tomb and said that we would like to visit the interior. Thereupon he went to his shack, obtained an old oil lamp, and soon returned to us. He unlocked the steel door that covered the entrance and led us into the mausoleum. Having passed the remains of several sliding doors, we entered a passage that wound around the center of the tomb in ever-decreasing circles. The walls of the passage were marred by attempts of treasure hunters who had branched out looking for loot. We left the tomb hurriedly since we were due at the Laget’s before dark and the sun was not then very high in the sky. Before we could get away, I took a picture of the Chevauxs with the vast expanse of the valley behind them. This area was a great swamp before the French took over North Africa. They drained it and made it what it is today – a wonderfully fertile mass of farms that contribute immeasurably to the economy of the county.

We arrived at our destination hot, tired, but happy. It was still warm enough to take a swim so I did with Jean, Louis, and Anne-Marie Laget. The water felt wonderful especially so since I had been out in the sun all day and was rather dry. While we were swimming, Gaston returned to the city in order to pick up the Commander, not getting back until a little later. In the meantime, besides the swim, we had played a little table tennis (score a la English and French) and gone down to a tavern to have a drink. The latter was not particularly enjoyable – they were all going to have Anisette so naturally I joined them. What poison! I choked it down but that is about all. We didn’t stay long because dinner was near.

We sat down to a most enjoyable meal after first drinking wine with our conversation for a few minutes previous. A crew-like-fish-like thing was brought in (one per) and once again Whitney swallowed hard. I had to eat it, did with Marie’s help----she got a big charge out of the trouble I had dismembering the beast—and was very pleasantly surprised. More wine—hand, a salad, wine, vegetables, wine dessert, and champagne. They opened a new bottle just before we all finished our meal and insisted that I have some though I truly didn’t want any and had no help. Most of the bottle remained untouched.

We sat around and talked after supper, the Commander furnishing most of the conversation since my French was practically nil and their English limited to a few present. We said goodnight some time after nine, returned the Commander to his ship, and headed for the apartment. Sleep came easily that night!! The Laget’s certainly were cordial people—I only wish that my French had been powerful enough to carry on at least a semblance of conversation with them. Anne-Marie is cute too.

Friday, Shasha and I went shopping for a few presents for the folks back home. I inquired about silver but Shasha said that most of the work was of the ornamental variety, bracelets, etc. so I decided on laces – with her help. We went to a convent where Arab girls made the table sets that we examined. The work was beautiful and it was hard to decide just what to buy and what to leave alone. We left after I had bought upwards of $30 worth of tea sets, handkerchiefs, etc. The money the convent received for the laces went into charity work – how could the money be spent any better with the same results?

Gaston picked us up and we went from there to the home of the elder Chevaux’s. We didn’t stay long but in the time that we did spend there, I became quite fond of these fine old people. Neither spoke English; however, through Shasha’s translating I was able to talk with them a bit. They certainly thought a world of Dad.

That afternoon, we spent at the apartment where I wrote several letters. Later, Gaston and I went down to the Dyess where I picked up mail and got the word on our departure, the following day. After that, we visited the park now so beautiful which during the war was the location of a temporary camp (British). It was here I took the picture that was later colored in oils by my friend of Ft. Riley, Lt. Suleyman Sevin. Without his fine work, the beauty of the scene would be inadequately described by my mere words.

Friday evening we went over to the Maire’s for dinner and a most enjoyable one too. The Commander was there with his seemingly endless chatter, don’t get me wrong – a very likeable chap. I managed to say a few things in French after three days of hearing it spoken by everyone except Shasha, and a few others. A language will come quite quickly in a foreign country to anyone who will try to pick it up.

Saturday morning, I moved my gear to the Missouri after saying goodbye to the people on board the Dyess. I was almost sorry to leave the ship in spite of the foul treatment that had been accorded us by the weather while we were at sea. This done, I returned to the apartment where Gaston brought out some of his slides – taken in France, the U.S., and in North Africa. They were beautiful both in technique and in composition. An experienced man using a Leica camera can hardly be touched. My admiration was so pronounced that he gave me a number of his slides to start a collection of my own. Certainly I then had a goal to reach in color photography.

We had a quiet lunch and then went to visit the Cathedral de Notre Dame d’Afrique which stands on a hill overlooking a part of Algiers. Although it is not a very large church it is quite impressive. On the walls are inscriptions left by people who have had their prayers answered. I was touched by this act of faith when Shasha told me about it. An unusual note must be added too. This cathedral is one of the few that has a Negro Virgin Mary residing within. ‘Tis a natural thing though when you think that the people who built it were dark skinned.

The middle of the afternoon came all too soon. We had to go back to the ship which was due to up anchor in an hour or so. The visit with the Chevaux had been a most pleasant one but way too short. We said our good-byes and then I climbed aboard the Mo.

Stan and I had a stateroom on the fifth deck to everyone’s surprise including our own. Usually, Commanders had the room we had so naturally we felt honored. We were away from the noise and confusion of the city that was below us (it actually seemed like being in a NYC hotel some twenty stories up). Our gay life came to a screeching halt though in several days. The Exec. Wanted us to all live in one part of the ship – I suppose so we would be easy to contact. I noted also that the ship paper started writing its editorials in what was our room – soon after our departure.
Well we sailed in comparative harmony while we were in the Mare Nostrum but as soon as we picked up the rest of the Task Force at Gibraltar, we started rotating but good. Gun drill, refueling, turning to, maneuvering, etc., went on constantly. Of course we were guests on board so we didn’t have to do any menial labor – in fact we didn’t do anything at all. It wasn’t quite as bad as that – we did have a schedule of activities that we carried out, all having to do with wandering about the ship observing what was taking place. There were no restrictions placed on us and we had no watch to serve – too many young Ensigns and Middies aboard. In the long run, we would actually learn just as much as we wanted to while aboard. There were ample opportunities to just rack in but there was also the opportunity to learn a great deal about the inner workings of a big ship – a chance that would not come again.
We ate at the regular mess in the Wardroom where all officers below the rank of Captain took their meals. From the first we were impressed by the quality of the food. It was really terrific. I have yet to eat meals anywhere except at home (note!!) that compared to these we ate for the sixteen days we were aboard while sailing to Guantanamo. I couldn’t imagine how the food on the subs could be any better than this though according to tradition the “cigar riders” had the best messes in the Navy.
One morning we were summoned to the wardroom at the un-Godly hour of 0830 and told that there was to be anti-aircraft practice with the 20mm batteries. We properly ohed andahed, went out on deck, watched the affair for awhile and then retired to our quarters for a friendly game of bridge. As you know, firing is interesting at first but very soon the novelty wears off. After that it is only annoying.

A note on the gunnery here – at first the accuracy was abominable. They couldn’t hit anything – not even the clouds, of which there were plenty. With a few days practice though, the accuracy did improve – somewhat. The idea with the small caliber guns appears to be to drench the sky with TNT loaded lead and hope that some plane will run into it. The ship carries some eighty 20mm mgs and about half that number 40mms. Even though Radar was used (40mm Bofors), there were many, many misses.

With the secondary battery of five-inch guns, the accuracy story can be just reversed. These babies were able to get hits in a matter of a few rounds. A heavier weapon, more accurate fire control instruments, and a bursting round contributed to this improvement. Along with the good shooting qualities went two distinctly unpleasant ones – the noise and the rattling caused by the continued bang of all twenty as they fired in groups of ten.

I shall not attempt to go into much detail regarding the various installations on the ship for after all they change and don’t make very good reading to begin with. We did manage to tour the whole ship either with guides or by ourselves. The latter is quite obviously the best way to see what is going on for one can then be selective about what he wants to learn. I did take a number of little walks here and there to examine the main battery, which we later toured, the galleys, the radio room, the Combat Information Center where a mass of Radar scopes would show the man in charge what was happening for miles around the ship and over it as well. This one room was to me more interesting than almost all the rest put together. I admit it took a few hours to become acquainted with the various pieces of equipment and a few more to understand how they worked and tied in together.

Another area I visited at length was one of the main turrets. Here, well over a hundred men work in a disconnected team in order to finally push the mammoth shells out of the 16 inch guns. It really is amazing how these one-ton projectiles are raised from deep inside the ship along with the nine bags of powder needed to propel the shell and untouched by human hands, slid into the guns. After looking at the size of the shells, I am convinced that they would do a whale of a lot of damage to anything coming within range. The obvious question though is, when again will battleships fight one another? The answer is never. These ships are only insurance provided for carriers, helping to protect them from any surface or airships that come into range. The people I talked to were quite frank in expressing this opinion too.

Every day there was something new to watch, at least for awhile. If it wasn’t refueling, it was the launching of the two catapult planes, or watching the morning helicopter flight between the ships of our force. Every now and then a Condition Zebra would be pulled off – sometimes to our extreme disappointment. Zebra is the result of closing every watertight door on the ship with the result, the halting of all traffic. A General Quarters alarm accompanied the above so it was dangerous to stay in any passageway for fear of being trampled. Just happened to think, one day when we were touring the engine rooms, a GQ with Z was sounded – so we sat around in the heat for almost an hour. We could have thrown the guide officer to the sharks because the GQ was a scheduled one and we warned him that we ought to leave several minutes before the hell broke loose on the squawk box. That was a hot hour, I mean!!
All was not work for us though. We managed to pick up rather extensive tans and catch up on all the sleep that we had ever lost. When we got farther south, we took to sleeping on deck since it was too warm in our cabin to do much more than roast. One morning I awoke with a mouthful of soot and a blanket that had turned a polka-dot color. The explanation – I had picked the leeward side of the ship to rack on and obligingly, the engineering officer had asked and received permission to blow the tubes. This latter is the forcing of live steam up around the tubes in the boilers in order to clean them. I was careful about the wind from then on!

One Sunday afternoon, the Admiral, feeling quite carefree, decided his sailor boys needed a swim. What followed was a most rare occurrence. We put on the brakes in the middle of that Atlantic Ocean and took a dip. Cargo nets were dropped over the sides of the ship and one thousand men clamored down into the smooth, calm sea. Several small boats provided lifeguard and shark protection so we swam with abandon. With the passing of an hour, the signal was given for us to start climbing aboard. We reluctantly did so because the water was most enjoyable.
Another episode I won’t soon forget is the dinner we had with the Admiral. It was his custom to invite several junior officers to his table every night for a little change in mess and a chat on the progress of the duties at hand. The twelve of us ate with him in groups of two or three. The first group came back with the news that a story was expected so we all started polishing up our favorites. When the time came, we went to his quarters where we met several of the high ranking wheels on the ship and then had a friendly game of darts (a custom with Admiral McLean) before sitting down to dinner. A nickel was the wager (supplied in several cases by the skipper himself) and winner take all. As you might expect, one of the admiral'’ aides won. No doubt he spent an hour a day staying in shape.

Our dinner was good but not anything to rave about. We apparently had hit an off day. Well anyway, we had enough to eat and had some interesting conversation with the brass. After the meal, we played a little game of dice similar to that played in many officers’ club bars, to see who would pay the forfeit for the evening. Jack Capps finally won and gave forth with Benny Havens. Jack is great at anything except singing (we hadn’t practiced for that). After a few more minutes of shooting the breeze, we were told we could leave and making our thanks, departed.

The rest of the trip was occupied in doing little odds and ends and just taking it easy. One evening we went to a variety show where we saw some boxing, a few comedians, and heard some rather bad singing. Everybody tried hard but didn’t get too many laughs.

As the days wore on, we spent more and more time playing bridge and sunbathing on the decks. The novelty of living aboard a battleship had long since been forgotten and we had toured every major installation on the ship so we were all quite eager to return to the States or at least move to another ship. About this time, the boys on the Coral Sea began to get very eager to return to the U.S. Numerous letters came over requesting to be relieved at Gitmo. The Admiral became distressed since we were consigned to him for a period of indoctrination and it was his idea that we have that indoctrination. He finally called over Bill Hayden, the ranking man aboard the carrier and gave him the word that we would all be released in Norfolk on the date specified in our orders. We all hoped that we might be released a little early since none of us had had much time at home – and some of us wanted to see gals etc. Well the answer was no! We griped at first but soon became resigned to our fate.

On a bright 26th of July we sailed into the harbor of Guantanamo, Cuba where the Navy maintains a large base. We were quite ready to see land for awhile but we were soon to learn our stay there would be short. We edged in slowly and then dropped anchor. It was a period of several hours before we could go ashore since the necessary arrangements had to be made regarding transportation, etc. Well, we finally went ashore where several of us visited the PX to see whether or not there were any good deals. I didn’t find any that were outstanding and besides, I had spent my gift money in Algiers and in fact didn’t have much left. The Club was fair, particularly the swimming pool, but it didn’t appeal that evening.

The next day we received orders to leave the Mo for a tour on submarines. While we were thus occupied, the Coral Sea detachment was to take our places on the battleship and have a little of that indoctrination we had been getting for some sixteen days.

Bob Taylor and I climbed aboard the Raton and soon met the skipper who turned out to be a swell egg. We were welcomed and introduced to the rest of the officers present. Then we proceeded to stow our gear in our stateroom which Bob and I shared with the Exec. There were three of us in a 90 degree segment of a circles which was barely seven feet long and little more than that wide. We wondered how all of us would ever fit into the room at the same time – we didn’t – the Exec. Got up before we did and then Bob and I managed to crawl out. Believe me those people must really love that extra pay, that esprit de corps, etc., to want duty on one of those sardine cans.

We soon heard the muffled roar that marks Diesel engines and knew that we were on our way to the open sea. Bot and I went topside to have a look at proceedings. It was quite pleasant to sit up there on the conning tower where we could soak up sun and watch the base slip by. A slight roll made the ship a little less enjoyable – at least for me, but we were having a pretty good time.

Around six we went below for our first meal which was supposed to be excellent – “The sub people eat better than anybody else in the Navy etc . . .” – we slid into the wardroom and waited. The food was fairly good but not at all what we had expected. We had been, of course, spoiled by the mess on the Mo which was, I have mentioned, terrific. It appeared that the sub Mess Officer was cashing in on a good deal and saving a little jack at our expense – maybe something unexpected had come up. We didn’t lose any weight.

That night after shooting the breeze with several of the officers, we turned in. The air conditioning made the ship cool and most welcome when you got used to the dryness of the air.

The next morning we had breakfast about eight and then started to tour the ship. The mass of dials, pipes, engines, motors, valves, etc., made any hasty passage from one end of the sub to another an impossibility. We just wandered from one compartment to another asking questions between the stock lecture we got. I was impressed immediately with the sense of quiet efficiency that pervaded the Raton. Every man seemed to know his job and have the confidence of all the other members of the crew. One can readily see that a feeling such as this is indispensable to the happiness and safety of a sub when you consider that a slip by one of any number of people during a dive would mean disaster for the whole complement. This was brought even more to my attention when I learned more about the operations necessary before a sub dives. Numerous valves have to be closed and numerous others have to be checked before the ship is even in diving trim – ready for diving operations.

Another difference between this part of the Navy and the others that we had visited was the relaxed attitude maintained by all. The discipline was preoccupied by the emphasis on each man’s doing his job and not on how he looked or how many salutes and sirs he managed to use in a day. Respect was present but not to the extent to which it was required to be shown aboard other ships. Almost any uniform within reason seemed to be acceptable, -- this was at sea of course –in port, uniform regulations were more rigid. I, too, was inspired by this true feeling of confidence that came as a result of the factors mentioned above.

For the first dive, I took a station in the conning tower where the whole process could be most adequately watched. First of all, the ship was completely closed off from the deck except for the conning tower hatch. Then on the word of the OD, “Dive, dive, dive” the ballast tanks were allowed to fill and the engines shut off to be supplanted by the electric motors. The OD came down through the hatch as though a devil were following him and held the hatch closed while one of the crew secured it. About this time there was a buzz below and we began to blow tanks and come to the surface again. I wondered what was going on but before the operation could be completed we had started down again and everything seemed to be all right. To explain what had happened, a panel in the control room has a set of red and green lights on it which shows the state of the various openings in the ship – either open or closed. One – the conning tower hatch light had failed to turn green so naturally, the Chief handling the tanks had started to surface. Perhaps you can see now that this diving business is an involved and very exacting thing.

Except for a momentary pressure in the ears and a stabilizing of the ship, it would be impossible to tell whether you were submerged or not. In fact during the course of the seventeen or so dives that we made, at least several were made without our even knowing it. I was told that we went down to three hundred plus feet on one but believe that it was a night dive because I don’t remember it at all.

Bob and I spent considerable time up on the deck where we took advantage of the sun. I also managed to take a number of pictures and was fortunate because the brilliance of the sun made the contrast that was available fully capable of being exploited. While up on deck one day we watched some of the crew fish for sharks but – darn it all, I didn’t see any caught. Had a chance to fire a Springfield rifle (1903) that one of the crew kept. His hobby was guns, ammunition, shooting etc. There wasn’t much to shoot at but it was fun for a change.

One morning we teamed up with a destroyer for a series of mock torpedo and depth charge runs. We submerged, then altered our course and tracked the can, on our computing equipment. Every once in awhile, the skipper would raise periscope and take a sight on the destroyer. He would get an exact bearing and the radar on the top of the scope would get an exact range. The information would then be put on the computer and we would alter course so that we would come near that of the can. This raising of the scope took only about two or three seconds and was not spotted by the destroyer once during the runs we made on her. We finally fired a torpedo at the can – set so that it would go under the ship. We would have had a mid-ship hit had the can been an Aggressor.

Here I might insert the few impressions of this arm of the Navy. It seemed to me that the submarine was to that time the most powerful single weapon possessed by the Navy. Picking up this type of ship is a most difficult job and with the present devices on our surface ships seems to be almost hopeless against an enemy with the means to saturate the sea with subs. With the advent of the new breathing devices, the submarine becomes even more deadly for in WW II many of the German subs that we sunk were first picked up on the radar scopes of patrol planes searching the oceans at night when the subs came up to charge batteries.

Our three days passed so rapidly that we were soon heading back for Gitmo to pick up the torpedo we had fired and to tie up at the dock so that a new load of Middies could go aboard. The afternoon of the 30th we left the Raton to return to the Mo – only to find that the latter had put out to sea. We then went to the Coral Sea where we were given a cabin under the flight deck near the one occupied by the other members of our group – now on the subs and on the Mo. We lazed about the ship for awhile and then went ashore.

The next several days, we went swimming at the Club and went to movies etc. – just trying to pass the time until we would at last take off for Norfolk and home.

Finally, that day came. We went back aboard the Mo. Where we gathered our gear, said our good-byes and rapidly departed – perhaps half afraid that the carrier would go off and leave us.

We hadn’t been off the ship long before our friend of Lisbon came up to say hello. Yes, it was Jim Conrad, wonder boy, glad we were aboard so he could tell us all about the Navy. He was a good enough guy but just talked too much. We didn’t see much of him on the way back to the States.

Well, the home stretch was at hand. We spent our time taking sunbaths, reading, and going to movies. Occasionally, we watched the airplanes take off and land but even that soon became uninteresting – until one day when we were given the opportunity to take a flight – something that the men aboard since Lisbon had not been able to do. Most of us wanted to go since we had watched so darn many planes land we were curious about how it felt to be hauled to a stop in a matter of fifteen or twenty yards of the flight deck.

We gathered in one of the ready rooms, secured our parachutes, Mae Wests, helmets, etc. and waited. Soon, we were briefed on the hop and assigned to a plane. From there everything went smoothly except for one brief period when there was some doubt expressed as to whether the ship Randall Beirne and I were to go up in was in condition to fly. We got into our plane, a TBM, and found that we didn’t have much room. I was in fact curled up in the ball turret of the ship with all the Navy equipment on, plus my camera, a filter and a few other odds and ends. Randall was sitting down in the bottom of the plane where he had more room but couldn’t see as well.

After warming up for a few minutes, we unfolded our wings, picked up speed and left the deck with plenty of room to spare. Soon the ship was a very small blot on the sea with nothing but water around for miles. I couldn’t imagine making a living trying to find the damn thing several times a day with only instruments to guide me home. We flew in formation for a few minutes and then were left alone to accomplish our part of the scouting mission. Alone is hardly descriptive enough for the feeling we felt. At least we were not gone long. Other ships came into sight and soon it was apparent that a rendezvous had been planned for a certain spot in the sky. We all then headed back for the Coral Sea where we circled and waited our turn to land. We were in the last flight so we waited for quite awhile.
The ship looked rather large as we approached it in contrast to the view we got from several thousand feet a few minutes before. The deck came up hard to greet us and with a passing sense of very rapid deceleration, we were back on the flattop. This was another experience we had been treated to and enjoyed – our last while with the Navy.
On the seventh of August we arrived in Chesapeake Bay and by 1000 we had tied up, been inspected by the Customs authorities, and allowed to go our diverse ways. It had been a most enjoyable trip, one that we will all remember for many years to come. Further, it had given us an understanding of many of the problems that the Navy faces in handling its fleet operations. This trip had convinced me that the Navy was a strictly second line outfit in the sense that from now on the Air Forces would make that arm obsolete except for submarine and anti-submarine operations. While this development may not take place in the next few years, it certainly will come to pass in ten or fifteen years.

Al Cerow, Saul Resnick, Jack Hamilton, and myself went into town to the Plymouth dealer, F.A. Roethke, where I picked up the car, thanked and paid the dealer and got everybody (with baggage) loaded into the car. It was all ready to go because I had sent a radioed to Roethke from the Coral Sea telling him that we would be in a little earlier than expected previously.

A quick drive to Wilmington, Delaware followed where as a team, we got Al on a train so he could make connections for Watertown, N.Y. The rest of us then went on to NYC where we split up – Saul went home to Brooklyn, Jack went to NJ to get married, and I went to the New Yorker to get a little much needed rack.

The next day I took off about nine and got into Canaan shortly after noon. It really felt good to drive up the Street and turn in at the small white house, two beyond the Town Hall. I pulled up, got out and strode rapidly up to the front door.

Dad was inside and I could see him through the window busy cutting up some beans he had recently picked from the garden. We said our hellos and about that time Mom came in. the prodigal son was greeted as follows: “You have a moustache – I don’t like it.” But it was swell to be home.

-The End –
April 1949.