“You’re in the Navy Now”
A
few days before graduation, I had received a notice to report for
active duty, six days after receiving my diploma. I was to report to
the Fitchburg Navy recruting officer who had initially signed me up
to join a draft of men at the Fitchburg railroad depot to take the
train to boot camp. Our destination was the Sampson Naval Training
Station near Geneva, New York in the Finger Lakes region in the
northwestern part of the state.
My
parents and Irma drove me to the Boston and Maine railroad station to
begin the long trip Mamma got quite emotional as we left the house,
crying: "Goodbye, dear home.". It was a depressed mood in
the car, like I was about to face certain death. Not saying anything,
I was looking forward to the adventure. Pappa was silent and morose
the whole trip. As we got to the depot and I started to climb the
train stairs, my father gripped me by the hand with his saddened blue
eyes and said in a strained voice: "Be a good soldier."
They then watched as the train pulled away. Long afterward, my
mother told me that Pappa had broken down and cried on the way back
to Westminster.
Thev
same fellows I had enlisted with, Joe Testammata and Joe Altieri,
plus several others who I don't remember by name made the trip
together with me to New York State. Both Joes were great company and
had themselves just graduated from Fitchburg High. We clowned and
joked the whole trip, looking forward to what was in store for us.
BOOT
CAMP
Since
the Normandy landing when boot camp had been only three weeks
duration to some of the landing craft seaman before being rushed
overseas, it was now again expanded to its usual twelve weeks. This
meant we'd be at Sampson the whole summer.
Since
basic training was such a common experience for millions of us during
World War II, I'll spare most details and will cite only those
experiences which had significance to me personally. It was my first
long absence from home, and opened up new worlds for this New England
farm boy. Most of my boot camp buddies were recent high school
graduates, class of 1944. There were some older men, as well, who had
been drafted. I got to know young men of many walks of life and
ethnicities. But there were no Blacks in my training company, nor
Asians, nor do I remember seeing any around the base. This was an age
of severe racism raising its ugly head not only in the military but
everywhere. There must have been segregated Black companies
elsewhere, but I didn't see any at Sampson that I can recall.
RELIGION
The
Bill of Rights in the U.S. Constitution guarantees the separation of
church and state. But it was assumed then in the military that
everyone was religious and had to state their preference in during
your neck. One of the letters C, P, and J were also stamped on it to
indicate whether you were Catholic, Protestant or Jewish. If you
claimed no religion, you were in a catch-all category stamped P for
Protestant. No matter if you were an atheist, agnostic, humanist or
some other religion besides the Judeo-Christian framework. I assume
you were then just labelled Protestant. I never met a Muslim or a
Hindu while in the Navy so I don't know how they fared. I thought
this was quite arbitrary, being a conscious atheist myself, already
at age 18.
Worse,
on Sunday mornings you were marched off compulsorily either to the
Catholic or Protestant services. If you were among our few Jews, you
went to the synagogue on Friday nights, in formation, of course. All
this went against my grain. But I found a handy way to beat the rap.
We did our laundry by hand in the barracks washroom and hung it out
to dry on clotheslines outside of the building to dry when the
weather was good. This laundry sometimes got stolen as it was drying,
so during the day we took turns standing clothes line watch. This was
a good way to sit down outside and read while tending to the laundry
as it dried. The clothesline watch included Sunday mornings. So what
I would do was to trade watches with others who felt compelled to go
to church. In that way I was able to spend my Sundays religion-free.
I
understand all this has changed in recent years. I read of a pagan
Wiccan group that met at an Army base in Texas. A Bfundamentalist
Christian group demanded that the Wiccans be banned. But the Army at
the base showed its liberal side, and ruled on the grounds of
religious freedom that the Wiccans had a perfect right to practice
their beliefs. Secular humanist or atheist groups now also exist in
the military, although frequently subject to hostile pressures by
majority religious dogmatists. The Air Force Academy in Colorado
Springs is particularly notorious for that. But I also maintain that
the First Amendment also means freedom from
as well as freedom of religion
THE
DREAD DEEP SINKS
We
all were assigned to specific physical chores for a two-three week
period during basic training. The one detail most "Swabbies"
feared the most was getting assigned to the deep sinks. This was the
clean-up crew of the mess halls, which included the scouring and
washing of the pots and pans and serving trays The hours were long
and hard, the work was dirty and your work uniforms and tee-shirts
would be grimy and greasy when you retuned to the barracks late at
night. It was mandatory to keep your clothes clean, but no amount of
scrubbing and washing could prevent the yellowing of your white tees
and shorts. The best litrerary comparison to this detail can be found
in George Orwell's memoir Down
and Out in Paris and London, of
living in abject poverty as a penniless writer who ended up working
18 hours a day as a dishwasher (plongeur)
in the sub-basement kitchens of Parisian restaurants.
But
again here I was lucky. When my assignment was announced I was sent
on four-hour shifts to watch over the pool tables at one of the base
rec halls. My job was to issue pool cues to the players, to see
that they were properly racked up afterwards, to see that the tables
were kept clean with the balls properly racked when it wasn't in use.
I also had to watrch the juke box to see that nobody would insert
slugs in place of nickels to play the latest hit music. Talk about
soft duty!
MILITARY
DISCIPLINE
I've
always detested the Prussian hierarchical chain of command of
military discipline, where orders had to be carried out to the letter
from top down, from both commissioned as well as non-commissioned
officers ranked or rated above you. It was a veritable caste system,
with commissioned officers having most of the privileges, better food
and living conditions and being served dinner by stewards, mostly
African-Americans who lived in their own segregated quarters aboard
ship. The non-coms were part of us and our relationship to them was
more democratic, though some could be brutish and authoritarian as
well. It was truly a military dictatorship. These institutions and
their practices nurtured the anti-authoritarian inclinations which
have become part of my political and social being. No discipline but
self-discipline for me. Regimentation of any kind goes against my
grain..
GETTING
IN SHAPE
One
positive thing that Navy boot camp did for me was to improve my
physical condition and to peel off most of my gross body fat, At my
worst, at age 17, I weighed 227 pounds, standing 6 fewet tall and
obese with a big flabby gut. When I checked into the militarty, I
still weighed 215 pounds, a very unhealthy state. With our rigorous
physical training over the three-month period, I checked out at 152
pounds, as I left for home on boot leave! I looked better, felt
better, and the loss did wonders to my health. With all of the
current evidence on the dangers of obesity, even to youngsters, has
undoubtedly been a significant factor in extending my life to my
current advanced old age.
BAD
NEWS FROM HOME
I
sent letters home almost daily from Sampson and Mamma responded as
frequently, Pappa seldom. But as the summer progressed, Mamma's
letters described Pappa's illness as getting worse. Finally, he was
taken to Burbank Hospital in Fitchburg for tests. My mother didn't
drive but had to run the farm by herself. Fortunately the Fitchburg
Co-op grocery truck came by weekly so there was never a food problem.
and during the summer we had our own vegetable garden. A fish truck
also came by weekly with ocean fish packed in ice. But most of our
fish came from Wyman's Pond which abutted our farm when my mother
found time to dig up worms to try to catch some perch and pickerel
for the evening meal for Irma and herself. On Saturdays kindly
neighbors took Mamma and Irma shopping in Fitchburg. Most often it
was Kalle and Ida Arvio, whose farm was at the far end of
Westminster., They never told my mother at Burbank what our father's
problem was, which was lung cancer, the pay-off for a life of heavy
cigarette smoking.
PASTOR
MATTI ANTTONEN
One
day Pastor Matti
Anttonen of the Finnish Evangelical Lutheran Church on Rollstone
Street, made his rounds at Burbank Hospital to see his parishioners
who were patients there. He saw my father's name on the roster, and
although Pappa was not a church member, Anttonen stopped by his bed
anyway. Pappa became furious and ordered the pastor out of the
room, saying in effect: "I've never needed you in my life
before, and I certainly don't need you now! Get out!" Anttonen
beat a hasty retreat,. Perhaps if Pappa hadn't been consumed by his
constant chest paiin, he might have been more civil in his dismissal
of the clergyman. Ernie Pyle, a World War II-era battlefield news
correspondent, once said, "There are no atheists in the
foxholes." (Which isn't true.) But there was no deathbed
conversion for Pappa. Nowhere close! His powerful atheism and bitter
anti-clericism were an indelible part of his very being.
Somewhere
toward the end of my boot training, Burbank Hospital saw it could not
help my father any more, and had him transferred to Massachusetts
Memorial Hospital in Boston with its more sophisticated, soecialized
options. Pappa's decline continued.
Boot
Leave
Boot
leave came in mid-September. I don't remember if it was for two or
three weeks. We were to report back to Sampson for further assigment,
either to be designated for service school for specialized training
or sent out for ship assignment on either coast. We had all taken
various aptitude tests for further training. We could all state our
preferences for various specialties although there was no indication
that our wishes would be necessarily granted. My first choice was for
radio operator's schooling, and secondly for signalman's training,
specializing in visual communication which included using Morse code
for flashing signal lights, semaphore flag usage, and the colorful
flag hoists for fleet maneuvers.
I
travelled East on the same train as Joe Testammata and Joe Altieri,
all of us now sporting Seaman Second Class on our uniform sleeves.
When I got home to Westminster I immediately began to help Mamma with
the chickens. We soon got word from Massachusetts Memorial for my
mother and me to come to Boston to consult about Pappa's condition.
Before
we wer4e allowed to see Pappa, the doctor told us that he hqad a
terminal case of lung cancer. They haddone exploratory surgery and
found both lungs riddled with cancer. At mosdt he had no more than
month to live. Of course, both Mamma and I were crying. They told us
they could do nothing further for him, but they'd provide us an
ambulance to take him to a convalescent home in Fitchburg that very
afternoon. We agreed, and would accompany Pappa in the ambulance.
When
we got to see Pappa he was totally emasculated, a powerful, husky man
reduced to skin and bone. He was delighted to see us. He asked me
what "polyps" were, as the doctors had told hin that these
were what was bothering him. Of course, we knew the truth, but
couldn't tell him. While his discharge was being processed, Pappa
slipped me a dollar bill and asked me to go out and buy him a pack of
cigarettes and matches as the nurses wouldn't let him smoke. So I
thought, why not? He wasn't going to be with us very long, so might
as well satisfy his nicotine craving.
Finally,
the ambulance came and we left for Fitchburg, sharing Pappa's last
ride of his life. It was an emotionally heavy trip. We passed a
poultry farm along the way and my father gave a wistful look at the
hens outside, his last sight of what made our livelihood possible
after he had quit the bakery. We checked Pappa into the convalescent
home and friends gave us a lift back to the farm. It was going to be
a sorrowful, depressing time for us. We'd do the chores by rote and
every day Mamma andI would makethe trip to Fitchburg to see Pappa.
They wouldn't allow Irma to come along.to the place.
His
chest pains were getting worse and they kept increasing his morphine
dosage. I wrote to Uncle August and told him Pappa was and dying and
to come see his brother while he still had the chance. Less than a
week after we brought Pappa to the place, I took a bus trip into
Fitchburg alone to see him. We had a nice talk, probably one of the
most intimate we'd ever had. He apologized for not showing up atmy
printing department reception on the night ofmy graduation at
Worcester Trade, and told me that assoon as he git well we'd visit
the school together so he could meet my prining teachers. I knew that
could never be, but appreciated his comments. We bade good bye. That
was the last time any family member saw him with a clear, rational
mind. That night they increased his morphine dosage again.
The
next morning Uncle August drove up from Connecticut, and along with
Mamma, wewent to Fitchburg to see him again. When we got there, Pappa
was delirious and couldn't even recognize his brother. with whom he'd
shared a lifetime. A day or so later the convalescent home phoned our
neighbor Eeva Hämäläinen that Pappa had passed away. The date of
his death was September 27, 1944, exactly a month before his 56th
birthday.
PICKING
UP THE PIECES
We
could hardly sit around and mourn while our hearts were heavy. It was
the transition to a new and different era in our family history.
Mamma was now 50 years old and Irma 12. Funeral arrangements had to
be made pall bearers selected, and relatices and friends notified of
the funeral. Arrangements were made with Sawyer Funeral Home of
Fitchburg by Mamma and me. Since Pappa wasn't religious and neither
were we, we needed a secular person to deliver the eulogy. The
logical person was Raivaaja
editor
Oskari Tokoi. He was the first Socialist or Social Democratic prime
minister of Finland,who my father admired very much. In recent years,
I've read that Tokoi was the first Social Democratic head of state in
the history of the world.
The
other project that needed to be done was to get an extension of my
boot leave as I couldn't leave my mother alone in these
circumstances. The Red Cross in Fitchburg telegraphed Samson to
request extra leave for me, as did the chief petty officer at the
local Navy recruiting office where I had enlisted, as well as Captain
Guy Ralph, the commanding officer of my Massacusetts State Guard
company in Westminster. The Navy granted me ann extra week, with
orders to report to Sampson at its expiration
The
funeral was at Sawyers Funeral Home where Tokoi spoke, the burial in
Woodeside Cemetery in Westminster, and a reception with refreshments
at the Westminster Town Hall. Both Uncles August and Otto were there
and were among the pall bearers.. People came from the farmers Co-op
in which my parents had been active, old family friends from Quincy,
Worcester, Norwood, Fitchburg, gardner and Ashburnham. Cousin Lempi
was unable tomake the funeral but came a few days later just as I was
leaving for active duty. Lempi was an enormous help to Mamma in the
transition. With her bubbly, cheerful and enthusiastic personality
she was able to lift my mother and Irma out of their worst doldruns
and helped out with the chickens during the couple of weeks she was
able to stay. Mamma was one of those amazing Finnish immiigrant
women who were not afraid of hard physical work that they had done
all their lives and was able to manage the farm by herself at least
for the near future. She wasn't the only middle-aged Finnish woman in
that siuation. in Westminster. One of our neighbors Eeva Hämäläinen
operated an eight-cow dairy farm with a niece she had sponsored from
Finland, and another, widow Ida Sillanpää operated a chicken and
turkey farm about a mile away on Worcester Road. Gutsy, tenacious
women, all.
BACK
TO SAMPSON
I
returned alone to Sampson via train and bus since my boot company had
come back a week earlier and had already been reassigned. A goodly
number of my company had been dispatched for amphibious landing craft
training at Shoemaker, CA (near Dublin) to prepare for Pacific
Island warfare as Allied forces were now well estabished on the
European continent driving Eastward, while Soviet troops were
pressing West after their turnaround into an offensive mode from
their victory at Stalingrad and were plunging on toward Germany. So
the Pacific offensive was picking up speed. I remember a gallows
humor-type song we used to sing in the barracks at Sampson: "Take
down the blue star, dear Mother/ Replace it with one made of gold/For
your son's in the amphibious forces/He'll die 'fore he's 19 years
old/T.S., oh, T.S., he'll die 'fore he's 19 years old."
Fotunately,
I was selected for four-months' trainuing in Signalman's School at
Sampson, with my class to occupy an entire barracks for ourselves.
These skills were not of much use in civilian life but required a
certain degree of competence as far as shipboard duty went. We did
get a week's training in the quartermaster specialty, which would
give us a look at a potential future as a ship's officer in the
merchant marine in the post-war era. So I spent a whole winter at
Sampson. Winters in Northern New York near the Great Lakes region
were colder than I had ever experienced in Massachusetts. We were
shivering mightily for a couple of days when the boilers heating the
entire base went out one day, before the problem was solved. One big
advantage over boot camp was our regular weekend liberty. So I was
able to go home for a weekend frequently.This included a bus ride to
Syracuse, train to Albany, with a switch to the Boston train that
stopped at Worcester, from where I'd either hitch-hike to Westminster
along Route140 or take the Flanagan's bus service terminating in
Gardner. Many of my classmates went carousing in Rochester or Buffalo
for their liberty (Although most of us were under the legal drinking
age of 21, if you were in uniform, no bartender would card you. "If
he's old enough to fight, he's old enough to drink," was the
idea.) But I was still a farm boy homebody, although my weekends home
were very short. One time I petitioned for an extra day, so I could
help my mother on the farm by cleaning one of the henhouses. My
request was granted. After all, farming was part of the war effort.
SIGNALMAN'S
SCHOOL GRADUATION
Finally
thesignalman training was over and we graduated. We were all promoted
to Seaman First Class/Signalman Striker., which meant alittle extra
in the pay packet and a third stripe on the sleeve of one's jumper.
Then would come a post-graduate leave and reassignment to other duty.
Anxiiety set in again as tere was still a war on and few were eager
to go into live combat.
We
got wind of a draft of fifty or so who would be sent to Treasure
Island in San Framncisco Bay for Armed Guard training as signalmen on
merchant ships, mo stly in the Pacific theater. That was considereed
choice duty. On a merchant ship the food was better, where you'd feel
more like a civilian and not as militarily gung ho. The Armed Guard
consisted of a contingent of Navy gunners and signalmen to protect
the ship. But the biggest bonus of all was being sent to San
Francisco, the best liberty town in the world. "Booze, broads
and fun" in a reputedly wide open t6own for young men with
raging hormones. Lots of free-loving women all over. Why, there was
even talk of a notorious night club on North Beach called
Finnocchio's, with female impersonators where :men dressed like women
for entertainment. The other rumor was for a large contingent
earmarked for amphibious training at Shoemacher, California that
everyone dreaded, withmajor landings pending in the Pacific theater
against Japan.
Politics
played a part in getting the choice assignments to "T.I."
We had a sharp operator from Chicago in our class named Joe Pink,
about 27, older than the rest of us. He had been a bookie in civilian
life and a poker shark. He'd hang out with the non-coms, Masters at
Arms, our instructors, and play poker with them into the wee hours of
the night and drink booze that Pink managed to provide. No booze was
allowed on the base although petty officers could get it. so could us
trainees if we knew the ropes on how to sneak into town past the
guards to score some liquor or beer. The secret path was called "The
Burma Rode" and Joe Pink was in the know about it. He was smooth
and cool and buddied up to all the non-coms by slipping them bottles
of booze during poker nights in the barracks office, while the rest
of us were in our bunks sleeping. Another kid in our company from
Massachusetts, John Peters, was an obvious brown nose. He'd always
butter up the non-coms in plain sight, bringing them boxes of candy
he had picked up during liberty weekends. He was overly effusive and
obnoxious. Nobody likes a suck-up.
Came
time for our assignments to be posted. We all crowded around the
bulletin boards. The "T.I." draft consisted of 50 men from
among those whose surnames ranged from A to M alphabetically, except
for one guy. And that was our Chicago bookie, Joe Pink. Peters again
was unceremoniously dumped into the other large draft--to Shoemakerr,
with heavy combat in the offing in short order. A smaller draft was
sent to the West Coast as replacements for the signal bridges of
destroyers.
I
don't know how luck always seemed to ride with me. I was included in
a small draft of six men assigned to a pool in formation on
pre-commissioned ships at the U.S. Naval base at Newport, R.I., 90
miles from home! Others assigned to my draft were signal school
classmates John Clark from Oneida N.Y., Ernie Huffcut from a small
town in Central NewYork State, William "Billy Bob" Greene
from Roseville, Ind., Manny Smalline, a Jewish lad from Rochester,
NY, the sixth I don't remember.
Newport
After
my two-week leave in Westminster, I took a bus to Newport. via
Providence. Our assignment was to wait around to be designated for a
new pre-commissioned ship. THen when it was ready to host a crew,
we'd be shipped to the East Coast port where it'd be commissioned,
ready for its shakedown cruise. In the meantime there'd be hundreds
of us hanfing around around the barracks not doing much of anything.
A number of the guys were combat veterans waiting for reassignment.
We had plenty of evening liberty, as well as on weekends. I'd start
hitchiking home on Friday nights, to return on Sunday evening.
Occasionally
during the day the Masters at Arms would stop by the barracks where
we'd belying around,reading, playing cards, writing letters or
"shooting the bull," to march us off to various work
assignments. So we had volunteer sentries posted on the porch keeping
an eye out for the M.A.'s. Once the sentries spotted two or three
approaching, they'd spread the alarm throughout the barracks and
everyone would take off, scatter and hide. Our combat vets were the
real experts at the art of scrtewing off. "Do as little as you
can, don't volunteer for anything" for you might regret your
assignment was their advice. These lessons we learned well as part
of Navy life. The combat vets taught us every screwing off dodge we
got to know.
Finally
the Newport brass got wise to our disappearing acts. First thing
after breakfast every morning they'dmarch us off to muster at a
parade ground where the MA's would assaign us to various details,
including the dread deep sinks. But the swabbies were resourcefull.
As we were marched off to muster, as soon as we'd round a barracks,
the rear echelons would peel off and disappear and head off to their
choice hiding places. By the time we reached the drill field, maybe
half of our several hundred that started from the barracks would be
missing. Soon, the brass got wise to that tactic. This time we'd have
a contingent of MA's surrounding us as we marched as if we were
prisoners of war
REAL
POWs
In
fact, we had more guards around us than did the actual war prisoners
on the base. We had large numbers of Italian and German POWs on the
base doing various details. The Italians were happy as clams astheyn
had gotten out of a murderous war, for which many of them had no use
for anyway,nomore than they had for the Italian fascist dictator
Benito Mussolini. They had no guards around them and waved and
laughed at us sitting in the backs of trucks taking them to work,
while the MAs were marching us to the drill field. The Italians had
other reasons to be happy. After, all, they were Depression-Era
youngsters from Italy who were probably eating the best meals of
their lives at Newport. We also had German POWs serving us in the
chow lines of the Navy mess halls. They were surly and arrogant,
resentful of their status of obeisance to us decadent Americans as it
appeared to the eye. These men were well-indoctrinated in the Nazis'
Aryan super race ideology.
LUCK
RIDES WITH US AGAIN
Fortunately,
soon after this surveillance structure of the work pool had been
established, an obese Athleic Specialist First Class had picked us,
the Samson signalman school quartet for his work detail. The six of
usually marched as a cluster to the drill field and so he picked us
as a group. He walked usto a rec hall as he was a recreation
specialist petty officer. All he had us do was to sweep down and swab
the decks from the night before, rack up all the pool balls and cues,
and empty the waste baskets. This took nomore than anhour. Then he
told us we could leave for the day. We'd generally hang around for an
hour or so, shoot pool or play ping pong. By then it was time for the
morning mail call at the barracks. After mail call it'd be time for
lunch. The rest of the day we madeourselves scarce, sometimes
sitting around the rocks at the shoe, as summer was approaching. On
March 18, 1945 I turned 19.
The
Rec Spec would come around every weekday morning and select us
Sampson boys as he liked us. One morning he was a little late and an
MA came by picking men for a two week stint at the mess hall "deep
sinks." He pointed at me as one of his prey. I looked around
behind me and he bellowed: "I mean YOU!" He trusted no one
and started to ask us one by one to see our dogtags to write down our
names and serial numbers. I was at the rear of the pack and while he
was busy with the guys in front of me I started to walk backwards,
and as I reached the corner of a nearby barracks, turned around and
took off. I hurried to the Rec Building and the Rec Spec wondered why
I wasn't with my buddies that morning at the drill field. I told him
my story and he said that from then on he'dmake sure he got to the
work pool on time so I wouldn't end upin the deep sinks.
During
evening liberty, I'd take the bus to downtown Newport with a few
others and at most would hang around a soda fountain and have a milk
shake and a boring evening. A lot of the slightly older swabbies
headed for the notorious Blue Moon Bar getting loaded with the
well-battered female bar flies whon were looking the separate the
sailors from their money. The ultimate payoff for a number of the
swabbies was a dose of gonorrhea
FDR
DIES
On
the afternoon of
April
12 I was hanging around the barracks alone with Manny word came over
the radio that President Franklin D. Roosevelt had died that day. It
was a sad day for me as FDR, as father of the New Deal helped
millions in need, was a great hero to me. I cried for the first time
since Pappa's death and genuinely mourned the loss of this man loved
by many and detested by the right wing in America. I was stunned for
days.
ADVANCED
SIGNALMAN TRAINING
We
still had no clue of ship assignments yet although we had been at
Newport for several weeks with the war in Europe in its final stages.
(V-E Day finally came on May 8, 1945 and the European phase of the
war was over.) Finally, full-time adavanced signalman training
classes were organized for us signalman strikers. No more work
details. Our classes occupied every weekday, with the exception of
noon day chow breaks. Plenty of drills in reading Morse code with
flashing lights. I was able to read at about 11-12 words a minute,
which to an unhtrained eye would seem like a steady blur with
periodical momentary flickers. I had perfect 20-20 vision those days
with no need for eyeglasses. So I got to the top of my games as a
signalman.
AT
SEA
At
one point I was the only signalman picked to go for a week's sea
voyage on a destroyer for a training run to Norfolk, VA and back. I
was attached to the regular signal gang on the bridge as an
"apprentice" for practical experience at sea, including
standing regular watches. Thiswas my first ocean-going experience. We
did get a one night liberty on the Naval base at Norfolk and I was
able to catch a movie. At one point while at sea we got word about a
Japanese propaganda radio broadcast claiming that their planes had
sunk this very destroyer I was training on somewhere in the Pacific.
But here we were sailing along the Atlantic Coast with nary a
Japanese plane in sight.
SURGERY
I
had problems with a pylonidal cyst on my tailbone even at the time I
enlisted. which hurt like hell and opened up from time to time to
leak some mucous fluid. It got worse at Newport so I was admitted to
the Naval hospital on the base for surgery. All the regular wards
were full so I was given a bunk in a ward reserved for venereal
disease patients., veterans of the battle of the Blue Moon Bar. I
heard everybody's "sea story" of what had happened to them.
One poor chap was being treated for gonorrhea and his wife was
scheduled to visit him the following week at Newport, unaware of what
her hubby was sweating. I'd walk into the "head" or men's
bathroom in the ward. Toilet seats were labelled for those with VD,
those without VD, and separate ones for those with "open
chancres." I hardly dared put my bare feet on the floor while I
was in that ward. No wonder the Navy wags called the Hospital
Corpsmen who were the nurses and other attendants in the hospitals
and sick bays by the choice terms "chancre mechanics" or
"penis machinists' mates," just like they called the
yeomen who were our male office workers as "ball-bearing "
or "titless Waves." At that time our regular female Waves
did not serve on warships. Finally, my tailbone had healed enough for
me to return to regular duty though I still had to wear gauze
bandaging to stem the leakage as the carved area had to heal from the
inside.
CONTINUE NEXT COLUMN
|
USS
LITTLE ROCK
Finally,
after three months at Newport our assignments came. We were slated
for duty on the light cruiser USS Little Rock (CL 92) which was
having finishing touches put on it at Cramp's Shipyard in
Philadelphia. Clark, Huffcut, Green, Manny and me were to become
rookie crew members on thesignal bridge of the ship we called "The
Big Pebble."
This
light cruiser was designed to be used as protection for aircarft
carriers which were being increasingly threatened by kamikaze suicide
pilots. We were more heavily armored than the standard cruiser with
heavier artillery and more of it. This cruiser would also be used for
offshore bombardment of the Japanese Coast in case of amphibious
landings of U.S. ground troops.
However,
our departure to Philadelphia was delayed a few more weeks as
completing the work on the ship was behind schedule. So we went back
to the signalmen's classes at Newport, which were augmented by
gunnery training to be able to load the ammunition onthe big guns if
wer were needed. The horrendous blasts from the artilley fire in this
training against our unprotected ears may have lead to my
near-deafness in my later years. We were given no protective devices
for our ears in those days. So our whole new crew as assembled just
hung out at Newport. It wasn't the worst duty. At least we weren't
being shot at.
Philadelphia
After
the work at Cramp's was completed, the ship was moved to the
Philadelphia Navy Yard for final touches before leaving for our
Caribbean shakedown cruise. So our large Newport crew entrained for
Philly to live aboard our ship. The "finishing touches"
took longer than expected, so we waited aanother month for our
laqunching. So there wass plenty of "liberty" and free
weekends. We'd take the rickety streetcars every liberty night from
the Navy shipyard to dowetown Philly.
We
usually hung out at the American Federation of Labor outdoor dance
plaza which took up a whole city block. We were ever on the lookout
for young women who came tomeet servicemen at the dances. There were
thousands of military personnel on the loose every night in Philly,
but for a shy 19-year-old like me the "make-out" score was
precisely zero. I'd never had sex at that point and left for sea
still in a virginal state. But a lot of my older shipmates who'd had
combat experiencewearing ribbons to show for it would hit the bars
and would score sexually quite frequently. Ther town was wide open
and nobody asked us for IDs at any bars. It wasn't that we teen-agers
didn't want to make out, as that's mostly what we talked about in our
hyped-up horny hormonal states. Yet I was still an abstainer from
alcohol and tobacco. I didn't even drink coffee.
WEEKENDS
I
did spend a couple of weekends at home, which was a long trip. Once I
went to New York and visited the Finnish Socialist Hall at Fifth
Ave., and 126th St, which I'd seen once before in 1940 when I'd been
at the New York World's Fair with Pappa. I ate dinner at the hall's
co-op restaurant the night of my liberty.
At
cousin Lempi's urging I went to Brooklyn to see my ex-Aunt Ida who
had expressed a desire to see me to see me. I stayed overnight on
their living room couch. Aunt Ida, who had been a zealous Communist
during the 1920s, by now had morphed into an equally zealous and
rabid Republican. She cited Roosevelt-hating right-winger Walter
Winchell as her favorite commentator. Whereas I had been weened on
the pages of the social democratic Finnish newspaper Raivaaja
and
the columns of liberal Democratic pundit Drew Pearson who I then
admired. Ida vented her political passions on me and also said she
had forgotten her Finnish, which my parents never believed. Her
husband Jimmy Gamble, a shipyard worker at the Brooklyn Navy Yard and
a Tammany Hall-type Irish-American Democrat, roared with laughter and
told me: "Listen to that woman talk. When I met her she was as
Red as they came but look at her now!"
D.C.
Another
weekend about three or four of us spent a long weekend in Washington,
D.C. where none of us had ever been. Word was out that there was a
4-1 ratio of women over men in the nationa's capital most of these
women working at government office jobs. So w2e figured this woulb be
one great "make-out" town. We rented a hotel room where we
could party if the opportunity came. I don't remember the names of
any of my shipmates except for one shy, quiet Italian boy named
Mastroianni It turned out to be a rather conventional weekend and we
met no women. So we did the touristy thing of seeing all the famous
government buildings that visitors usually take in. We even sat in a
Congressional gallery listening in on the so-called debates. Hardly
anyone was present on tbhe floor. Some Southern politician was
droning on on some issue aaffecting his state to a nearly empty room.
He was really speaking for the Congressional Record. One Rep was
reading a newspaper. Another was dozing. A couple were standing by
the corridor door talking. Nobody was interested in his speech,
including us bored swabbies up in the gallery.
PLAY
BALL!
We
did take in some major league baseball games in Philly, all free for
service personnel, and saw both the American League's Philadelphia
Athletics at Connie Mack Stadium, and the National League Phillies at
Shibe Park. Both wartime teams were made up of aging castoffs and
4-Fs (men rejected from military service due to physical or mental
disabilities) as many prime-time players were off fighting in the
war. I saw a one-armed player named Pete Gray playing for the St.
Louis Browns who were taking on the A's. The only distinct thing I
remember about any of the games was the sight of "Buck"
Newsom, an overage pitcher for one of the Philly teams with a hanging
gut. There he wason the top of the mound with the fans looking on,
reaching into his trousers through the waist all the way to the
crotch, either adjusting his jockstrap or scratching his balls. Who
won the game? Who knows? Who cares?
CONCERTS
AND MOVIES
There
were many other freebies for the military men and women. Some of the
leading big bands of that era a large downtown theater. We were
entertained by Kay Kayser, Jimmy Doprsey and Gene Krupa and their
bands. A movie I can recall was "Anchors Away", featuring a
young Frank Sinatra and Gene Kelly dancing and singing away. Whether
we saw that in Philly or during our D.C. adventure, I don't recall.
SIGNAL
GANG MEMBERS
I
made new friends in the Signal Gang, some of whom already had
somecombat experience or extensive sea duty prior to their Little
Rock assignment. Heading the Signal gang was Chief Petty Officer
Clarence Axelson who had been in the regular Navy since the early
Depression years. A gruff but hearty and decent chap who nicknamed me
as "The Russian." Our coloful signalman first class who was
the de facto boss of our group was a hip Boston Irishman named McVey
who sported an ear ring and tattoos and wore a spiffy tailor-made
uniform while on leave or liberty , who had a "booze and broad"
arrangement in an apartment he shared with a young woman in downtown
Philly. Second class signalman Ogden had recently been released from
extended submarine duty in the Pacific for psychological reasons. He
was an enigmatic and studious type who read a lot.
Another
second class skivvy waver was another Bay State boy Robert Lawrence
who served on landing crafts in the Battle of Guadalcanal (1942-43)
who helped to ferry Sea Bee constructionn crews ashore on that hard
fought scene. He claimed to have killed a Japanese soldier on the
beach with a shovel, and was the only sailor I met during my time in
the Navy who had killed someone in hand-to-hand combat. He also
openly boasted about one of his nocturnal liberty practices downtown.
There were some older gay men known as "chicken hawks" who
cruised around the AFL dance plaza in their cars trying to pick up
young servicemen. Lawrence said he'd earn $10 a pop as he allowed
himself to be solicited and fellated in the back or front seat of the
cruiser's car. Ten bucks in those days could buy a lot of beer and
even two or three dollars could buy a female streetwalker, which
Lawrence didn't hesitate to take advantage of either, Surpringly,
nobody on the signal bridge made this an issue with him, at a time
when homosexuality was grounds for immediate discharge from the
military and homophobia was rife, until the Obama Administration
eliminated such restrictions on sexual preferences. Yet if anybody in
the crew had called him a "queer" to his face this husky,
short, somewhat belligerent lad would probably retaliate with a bust
in the mouth. The word "bisexual" was unheard of in those
days. Such was the strength of denial of one's complex sexual
tendencies at the time.
Bernard
Kyle Hoover was another second class petty officer who hailed from
rural Idaho where he had worked in the potato fields during the
Depression years. He swore he'd never go back in the fields after
discharge and would try to operate a small business in his hometown
of Nampa. I kept in touch with him for some years after discharge by
letter, and he had failed in a dry cleaning effort and was having a
tough time running a small gas station at a location where there was
one of them at each corner, others offering full service to
customers. Last I heard of him Bernie was trying to get a printing
apprenticeship in an International Typographical Union shop.
Nolan
E. Riley, from Little Rock, Arkansas, had been busted to seaman
second class after being picked up for desertion and had done a year
at the Portsmouth Naval Prison in New Hampshire. His earlier ship had
been scheduled for Pacific area combat when he jumped ship just
before its departure and holed up with a woman he 'd picked up in a
bar until he was arrested. Since the Pacific war was still on he was
given a second chance on the Little Rock. Nolie was a big drinker
without limit on liberty. A number of times several of us had to
carry half-carry him back to the ship when we ended our night on the
town. I was still a teetoler at the time, confining myself to soft
drinks. He was also an obsessive poker player and would invariably
get cleaned out in the shipboard card games on paydays. He trusted
me, so on pay days he would give me half of his money and told me
that under no circumstances to give it to him if he lost what was
left in a poker game no matter how hard he pleaded. I'd adamantly
refuse his requests and would only give him the other half as we left
for liberty. So at least he had beer money. Riley was also an expert
on the ship's sewing machine He would repair all the bunting on the
signal bridge that got torn as well as other official assignments.
Since he had free access to the ship's sewing compartment, he'd also
do repairs and adjustments on his shipmate's uniforms for a fee,
which earned him extra money. Nolie was a warm-hearted, generous
Southerner.
Cook
First Class Carnahan was along-time regular Navy man, another heavy
boozer and a whoremonger. As the Navy grew during wartime, somehow he
made first class as a cook. But he was totally hapless as a real
cook. So the mess hall wouldn't let Carnahan anywhere near the food.
The only thing he was allowed to make was Kool-aid which he'd ladle
out into our glasses as we passed by in the chow line.
CLOSEST
BUDDIES
Besides
my old Sampson friends I became close to several others with whom I
hung out on liberties the rest of the time I was on the Litle Rock.
They included a guy from Jersey City named Jim Moran who liked to
read as much as I did. He was the first to introduce me to JamesT.
Farrell's "Studs Lonigan" series which could be found in
the shop's library. It was there I first ran into popular Southern
writer Thomas Wolfe, whose "Time and River" and "You
Can't Go Home Again," which I devoured. There were Gerry Brown
and Gerry Gaffney, two Irish lads from Brooklyn. Larry Bachman,
another Brooklynite, had been a printing pressman in civilian life
and a member of the Pressmen's Union, with whom I discussed trade
unionism. Tom Boyd was a Signalman Second Class from Erie, PA. Roger
Bellows was a rebel and shipboard prankster whose father was a
business administration professor at Wayne State University in
Detroit. Joe Belonis from the radio shack hung out with us skivvy
wavers quite a bit as well.
THE
OFFICERS
As
I've mentioned I learned to dislike the caste system of commissioned
officers over enlisted men. Therewere some decent officers like
Commander J.T. Hazen who was the ship's Executive Officer, a former
Merchant Marine Officer who was warm and humane toward enlisted men.
But our Captain William E. Miller, Annapolis Class of 1919 or so,
whon was the onlyone of his class who hadn't made admiral yet, who
had no combat experience. So he was eaer to get into Pacific action
to pick up combat credits so he could to be able to get promoted to
the admiral's rank. A short, mean, little bastard whom we
disdainfully dubbed as Wee Willie Miller. He was a harsh
authoritarian disciplinary type, who looked on enlisted men as so
much spittle. He ran the shiplike an arrogant tyrant, a Captain
Bligh. His chief Communications Officer, an arrogant sort named
LT(JG) R. W. Parker was of Miller's ilk, also thoroughly disliked by
enlisted men.
ENSIGN
GEORGE C. HASTIE
The
wartime Navy was chronically short of officers, so when a likely
prospect was sworn in, they'd be rushed through a 90-day training
program befrore commissioning and then rushed into active duty. They
were called "Ninety-Day Wonders."
One
such was Ensign George C. Hastie, a 20-year-old Ivy Le ague type,
good-looking, well-mannered, and incredibly naive. He was something
of an innefectual bumbler. We all considered George a big joke. About
the only order I ever heard him give was an admonition about our
shoeshines. We'd be in the middle in our usualblue collar garb of
dungarees and blue work shirts, chipping paint on the signal bridge
prior to repainting, but the only concern the good ensign seemed to
have was that our shoes weren't glistening enough in their polish.
Ensign
Hastie also got seas-sick after maneuvers after our shakedown cruise
with other warships off Newport, RI, He was on the main bridge with
the captain and other high brass, got pale and upchucked on the deck.
An enlisted man was called to clean up Hastie's mess. A few days
later he was transferred to a battleship, where the rocking and
rolling wasn't as pronounced as it was on our ship. Imagine how he
would have been as an officer on a destroyer?
Our
"90-day wonder" was also very religious in some
fundamentalist Protestant belief. While he was on our ship he offered
to conduct Bible study classes to thesigfnal Bridge gang, But the
only disciple he succeeded in getting was a gay, skinny radioman
striker who was more in heat for George's athletically-honed body
than for any religious indoctrination. He seemed indifferent to the
ensign's preachings nor did he get near the officer's skivvies who
was oblivious to his charge's designs.
SHOOTING
FOR SIGNALMAN 3rd
Around
this time I was asked by First Mate McVey to start studying for
promotion for Signalman Third Class. I needed to pass written as well
as practical tests dealing with semaphore, flashing signal lights and
flag hoists and petty officers' standard duties. I worked hard to
prepare and was successful in the promotion.
One
of the duties of petty officers was to serve on shoe patrol duty
during liberties. Your name was placed into a pool, and you got
called up in rotation as SPs from time to time. Signalman POs got to
serve along with boatswain's mates during man overvboard drills on
lifeboats, Although we weren't in a combat area yet, I was assigned
to my battle station during our shakedown, which was being the
non-com in charge of Signals Aft, a backup station to the main signal
bridge in case the latter was blown away during battle.
Signals
Aft was an open tub, high above near on the rear masts to which we
climbed up a rung steel ladder attached to the bulkhead of the ship.
Just below our bridge was a gun tub with a detachment of Marines
manning some 40-millimeter rapid-fire pieces. Their job was to blast
away at Kamikaze planes which would be trying to crash into our ships
or at aircraft carriers our cruiser was designed to protect. As a
result we signalmen would be totally exposed to any aircraft trying
to plunge into us as we had no shelter. If a Japanese Zero was to
zoom down on us, we were instructed to aim our signal lamps to blind
the pilot's eyes hoping he'd crash into the sea and not into us.
(Thanks a lot, guys!)
While
we were still at the Philly Navy Yard a badly battered cruiser came
into our docks from the Pacific war zone for major repairs. It had
been in heavy combat and both signal bridges had been blown away by
Japanese air strikes resulting in heavy personnel casualties. A nice
feeling, since we were projected to join Admiral Halsey's fleet for a
possible invasion of Japan.
Caribbean
Shakedown
Finally,
the USS Little Rock was commissioned in Philadelphia on June 17,
1945. On July 21, we left on our shakedown cruise in the Caribbean
with the naval base at Guantanamo Bay in Cuba our destination.. The
shakedown cruise of several weeks was to check out all the bugs in
the new ship and to engage in maneuvers to test its utility. It
offered the crew pracrtical training in operating a warship at sea.
There would be a lot of gunnery practice. Most of the crew was young,
with no combat or other sea-going experience. Guantanamo Bay had been
a US naval base since it defeated Spain in the Spanish-American War.
Although Cuba was nominally an independent Republic, the Platt
Amendment in 1902 gave the USA the right to operate the base at
Guantanamo in perpetuity to this day.
Today
"Gitmo" retains its notoriety as a prison for Iraqis and
Afghans rounded up indiscriminately during our invasion of these
countries after 9-11. Although nominally independent, for years our
capitalist imperialism had effect say-so in Cuba's politcs and
sugar-based economy, collaborating with corrupt and dictatorial Cuban
governments until the overthrow of the Batista dictatorship by the
Castro Revolution of 1959. Actually, Fulgencio Batista wasn't even in
Cuba in 1945 during our shakedown. He had served as president from
1940-1944 and temporarily bowed out of the top job and was living in
the US at the time of our visit. In 1952 he came out of exile and
seized power in Havana and exercised increasingly corrupt iron rule,
catering to US crime bosses who controlled gambling and prostitution
patronized by free-spending tourism.
We
saw none of this as our four-hour liberties were confined to the
naval base. We weren't able to visit Guantanamo City where most of
the Cuban civilian work force commuted from daily to theiir jobs on
the base. I wasn't drinking yet then, although my ship-mates told me
the Cuban beer at the base bar was excellent, compared to the weak
3.2 composition allowed in the United States after repeal of
Prohibition, so I just stuck to soda pop during liberty,which was
shorter than four hours.as our ship was anchored out in the Bay
because the water was too shallow for it to dock, forcing us to take
longboats to reboard after our Wee Willie Miller limited outings.
Perils
of Gunnery Training
We
left Gitmo shortly, out into the choppy Caribbean waters, where we
maneuvered for hundreds of miles, putting the ship through all kinds
of trials. Then off to the Island of Culebra, near Puerto Rico for
fusillades of gunnery practice. The local fishermen didn't appreciate
us very much, but they weren't able to do much before the might of
the world's foremost military power which ruled Puerto Rico as a
colony. At that time we had no protective devices for our ears which
were exposed to non-stop explosiveness of our big guns for days on
end. Besides that, the Marines in the gun tubs below our Signals
Aft, were making merry with the firepower of their 40-millimeter guns
making it even tougher for our ears. I attribute my current
near-deafness at age 87 to that early Navy experience at age 19-20. I
did OK until my early 60s when my hearing began to deteriorate. We
had more heavy artillery and firepower than cruisers generally do
because we were designed for aircraft carrier protection and offshore
coastal bombardment.
"Man
Overboard" Drill
One
aspect of our at-sea trainuing was lifeboat drill. A dummy would be
thrown overboard unannounced and then the alarm of "man
overboard" would be spread. Therewere lifeboat crews designated
for every watch aboard ship, including one signalman. I was
designated for that chore on my watch. When the alarm sounded, we'd
all head for the lifeboat, quickly don foul weather gear to protect
us from the sea's turbulence as the boat was lowered. We'd bob upand
down in the rough, choppy Caribbean and sometimes our mother ship
would pull awayn out of our sightline looking for the dummy. My job
was to watch for flashing light code from our signal bridge which
would indicate the dummy's location for us, once it was sighted from
the cruiser. I'd acknowledge the message and pass the word to the
coxswain and we'd head for the dummy and retrieve it when spotted.
Then I'd send a message back to the ship with my light to indicate
the dummy had been secured. The sea would be so rough when I stood up
use my light that two men would have to hold on to me so I wouldn't
be washed overboard. It was a memorable adventure for me.
Hiroshima-Nagasaki
and the War ends
On
August 6, 1945 we got a strange message through the Radio Shack. We
had a daily bulletin on events of theday through the radiomen of
world events (censored), but the radiomen would often let us know
what was happening before the printed bulletin arrived Since the
Radio Shack was on the deck directly below the Signal Bridge,
sometimes we'd hear these messages before the captain did. This was
one about a strange bomb none of had ever heard of dropped on the
Japanese city of Hiroshima which pulverized it. Of course, this was
the atom bomb which later became the doomsday threat of the Cold War,
the spectre of which still hangs over our heads. It turned the city
into powder and ash and decimated about 140,000 people. On August 9,
another A-bomb levelled the city of Nagasaki with about 70,000
obliterated instantly. Over the following five years another 130,000
of both cities died of radiation poisoning.
"What
the hell is this," we pondered as we had countless questions and
few answers. On August 15 we heard another message that Japan had
surrendered. Outside of the Radio Shack \"sparks", we
Signal Bridge "skivvy wavers" were the first to hear of it.
The joyous word spread like wildfire throughout the ship. The
swabbies were ecstatic and celebrated the best they could, without
alcoholic beverages as we didn't have the rum rations that the old
British Navy reputedly had.
Actually,
the captain may have been the last to hear of it, as he was eating
his supper in his sea cabin on the deck just above us. I saw a Marine
orderly rush past us to inform him of the Japanese surrender. He had
his dinner tray on his lap when the Marine arrived. Accoding to what
the Marine told us later, contrary to the explosive ecstacy of the
crew, Miller was so enraged that he allegedly threw his food tray
toward the ceiling when learned that the war was over. Now his dream
of combat points was shattered as was possibly his ambition of being
promoted to rear admiral. I felt he was the type to that would have
sailed into Tokyo Bay alone with guns blazing to delight in the
glories of war and promotion. He was our Captain Queeg, the mad
Captain Ahab.
Back
to Git'mo
Immediately
following the end ofthe war, the commander of the cruisers of the
Atlantic Fleet ordered all cruisers to report to their nearest port
of call to celebrate with a three-day holiday from all deuty.We were
300 miles from Guantanamo and off we went. As we sailed into the
harbor to anchor I was on watch and was studying the action through a
long glass. The harbor was teeming with hundreds of vessels all
celebrating the war's end. I looked up at the sun-drenched burnet-out
hillside and saw some strange movement all along its slopes. As we
moved closer, it turned out to be dozens of GIs stripped to T-shirts
and shorts, drunkenly rolling down the hillsides in ecstacy.
All
the ships in port were a filthy mess, deserted except for a skeleton
watch, wit the rest getting smashed around the clock. Our executive
officer Cdr. Hazen was delighted. but not Wee Willie Miller. The USS
Little Rock was not part of the celebration. Millerr ordered an
intense three-day work detail in port where the ship wopuld be
scraped, painted, and scrubbed to get it into A1 shape.He allowed
only one-quarter of the crew to go on liberty each night, and only
for four ours, while most of the crews of the other ships were ashore
having a ball around the clock
Our
spirits were dampened. I never got to go ashore at all , because on
the fourth day, my liberty turn, we were at sea again. Being
Depression-Era youngsters, many of my shipmates were planning to
reinlist and make the Navy their career for its job secuirity. But
after this draconic experience under Wee Willie Miller, most changed
their minds. Including our friend Radioman Joe Belonis.
Reflections
on the Bomb
In
the foregoing paragraphs I described the celebratory joy of us
servicemen when we realized WWII was over. Yet none of us thought
anything about the monumental horror that was visited upon the
citizens of Hiroshima and Nagasaki with our A-bombs. This factor
remained remotely abstract to us as our own personal wishes had
finally come true. I've reflected on the significance of this
travesty ever since during my life and concluded this was totally
unnecessary and was the mother of all terrorism before and since, and
this time under official US government initiative and sponsorship. We
can hardly pass judgement on other aggressive war making powers when
we ourselves are as guilty of such monstrous crimes against humanity
then and ever since. .
General
Douglas MacArthur considered that the devastation of the bombings was
of no military significance but they did terrorize and murder huge
numbers of civilians in densely settled areas which has haunted the
survivors and their descendents ever since. All this happened during
the young Presidency of Harry S.Truman, aided and abetted by
cohorts like James Byrnes. Japan knew it was thoroughly beaten even
before the bombs and was desperately seeking to surrender through
various sources. Truman knew this, referring to a telegram sent to
Russia seeking peace, writing in his diary about the "the
telegram from Jap Emperor asking for peace."
One
argument for the bombing that 80-90% of Americans still believe
through constant mainstream capitalist media misinformation, is that
the lives of countless Americans would have been lost in any land
invasion of Japan. Truman himself in that debate pulled a figure out
of the air of 500,000 casualties while Churchill added to the
hyperbole with a million. But that country was totally defeated and
it leaders desperate to give up. There was no reason for an invasion.
Another
prominent dissenter was Joint Chiefs of Staff head Admiral William D.
Leahy who said: "The use of this barbarous weapon at Hiroshima
and Nagasaki was of no material assistance in our war against Japan.
The Japanese were already defeated and ready to surrender."
General Dwight D. Eisenhower pleaded with Truman along similar lines
and was ignored. Ernest J.King, commander in chief of the US Fleet
and Chief of Naval Operations, stated that the naval blockade and
prior bombing of Japan in March, 1945, had rendered the Japanese
helpless and that the use of the atomic bomb was both unnecessary
and immoral.
One
primary reason said to have motivated the final decision to bomb was
the late entry of Russia into the war against Japan, as a warning
shot against the Soviets' bow, to keep their noses out of the US
sphere of influence. British scientist P.M.S. Blanchett wrote that
dropping the bomb was "the first major operation of the cold
diplomatic war against Russia." But to try to obliterate the
population of two Japanese cities to prove that point is beyond me.
Just plain evil. The assaults on Hiroshima and Nagasaki also had a
class angle in their prelude in the saturation fire bombing of huge
working class urban centers in the European theater like Dresden,
Cologne, Hamburg, Berlin, besides Tokyo, intended to demoralize their
civilian population who sustained what was left of their industries.
In essence it showed that the Allied Forces outdid the fascists at
their own game in their war against civilians.
I
have been opposed to the obscenity and insanity of war ever since
that time and have been active in campaigning against them as
instruments of corporate domination of the world in an imperialist
mission to exploit its human and material resources. When Truman ran
for a full term as President in 1948, I did not vote for him due to
his crimes of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but supported the Progressive
third party candidate Henry A. Wallace who did badly. Not that it
made that much difference, but I should have registered a protest
vote then for Socialist Norman Thomas, whose basic philosophy was
closer to my basic values as they evolved through the succeeding
years. .
If
readers of these Memoirs wish to examine evidence of my arguments
against the use of the Bomb, do read the late historian Howard Zinn's
last book: "The Bomb'", City Lights Books, 2010, 79 pages,
and Gar Alperovitz's "The Decision to Use the Bomb."
Return
to Philly
With
the shakedown completed off we sailed back to the Philly Navy Yard
for repairs on flaws that were discovered during our Caribbean
training cruise. It looked like our deployment to the Pacific region
was now history. After we docked the Captain went to Washington DC on
business for a week. Cdr. Hazen became acting captain in Miller's
absence. He realized Miller's vengeful behavior to the crew at
Guantanamo on liberty restrictions and more than made up for it.
Three-quarters of the crew were allowed on liberty every night and
didn't have to return until morning. We were a happy bunch. Hazen's
generous, humane spirit was appreciated by all of us.
Transition
After
the LittleRock was declared "shipshape" after the
renovation and repair period, we awaited our next assignment. My
active Naval Reserve status called for a discharge six months after
the resolution of the war. There was a point system in place which
determined the time of your discharge. I still had a long way to go
as my reserve status was activized in June, 1944. Most of the
longer-serving men were let go immediately unless someone wanted to
ship over. So newer recruits came aboard as replacements, including
our Signal Bridge. Commander Hazen was promoted to Captain and was
assigned a ship of his own. We were all sorry to see him go, and had
hoped it would be Wee Willie who was reassigned. To no one's
surprise, he instituted a more stringent liberty policy on his return
to command. Parker was promoted, and although I've forgotten his name
he was replaced by a more decent sort of communications officer to
oversee the Radio Shack and Signal Bridge. Our morale greatly
improved as a result.
South
America Next
Some
weeks later our new assignment came. The USS Little Rock was
instructed to go on a five month "Good Will" tour of Soutrh
America. Since it would be months before we were discharged our
signal gang looked forward to this new adventure. To get to see this
vast continent was exceptionally appealing. Our first port of call
would be San Juan, Puerto Rico, then on to Rio de Janeiro, which we
would visit three times and several other smaller Brazilian ports,
inclding the coffee port of Santos, the rail gateway to the teeming
metropolis of Sao Paulo. Then we'd head south, round Cape Horn and
hit several Chilean ports including Valparaiso. Next would be Callao
in Peru, the port for the ancient city of Lima. From there we would
briefly visit Santa Elena in Equador, on and through the Panama Canal
Zone stopping at Balboa and Colon, and sail into the Atlantic. Our
last South American stop would be at Cartagena, Colombia. As it
turned out, our terminal stop was at Norfolk, Virginia.
Now
that I look back on it, it was to assert the Monroe Doctrine through
which the US expressed its dominance and control of the Souithern
Hemisphere, as being in its sphere of sole imperial linfluence. This
would include demonstrating our gunnery's overwhelming fire power to
Latin American politicians and military chiefs. I concluded even then
that it was more than a Rooseveltian "Good Neighbor"
gesture among equals.We were to skip Argentina, then under the
popular fascistic rule of Juan Peron and hostile to the USA. We did
visit other authoritarian countries who were our pals because they'
allowed our capitalist investors to run amok in their economies. The
Monroe Doctrine spelled out that "speak softly but carry a big
stick,' whether it was the Republicans or Democrats in power. In this
instant case, the USS Little Rock would be the Big Stick.
Mamma
Sells the Farm
Meanwhile,
back in Westminster my mother was wondering what to do with the farm.
She was managing the chickens by herself and making a fair debt-free
living.But she couldn't take the hard physical labor indefinitey. She
had been widowed at age 50 and had a young child to raise. She didn't
know how to drive with only the Flanagan's bus line offering service
a few times a day to downtown Westminster. To get to Fitchburg for
heavier shopping, like Blanche DuBois, she had to frequently "depend
on the kindness of strangers." So she asked me if 'd want to run
the farm after discharge now that I wouldn't be a combat casualty.
But now that I'd seen a bit of the world, I just couldn't see raising
chuickens in Westminster, which never really appealed to me. I guess
the old WWI ditty spoke to me: "How ya gonna keep them down on
the farm after they've seen Paree." I didn't want to see her
breaking her back any longer than she had to. So I suggested she
peddle it .althouigh the farm had provided the only home I can
remember having. My own post-discharge plans were to complete my
printing apprenticeship, hoping to become a journeyman printer and a
member of the International Typographical Union. So as we set sail
for South America, Mamma put the farm up for sale, the farm my
parents had worked so hard to build. During the five months that I
was gone, she succeeded in selling it to a retuning second-generation
Swedish-American Army veteran, who was able to utilize his GI Bill
benefits to purchase the farm He had a Finnish-American wife and
young daughter at the time. When the farm changed hands, Mamma rented
an apartment in downtown Westminster and moved there with Irma to
await my return. I will end this installment now, and when I find
time to write it, I'll be highlighting my South-American cruise for
you as the next stage of this Memoir.
End
of Installment 5
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