Maritime

Maritime Tales of the Sea

On the 8th day of May, I signed on the SS Buena Vista. The Buena Vista was a
gasoline tanker. Although it was owned by Texas Co, it carried cargo to and from any
tank farm or refinery that could fill her up. I‘m not quite sure, but I think the capacity
was 200,000 barrels of gasoline. The War Shipping Administration assigned all cargo
and all destinations. We were loading gasoline in Aruba, the Netherlands, West Indies,
Curacao, the Dutch West Indies, at the Shell Oil Refinery. These islands are about 50
miles from Maracaibo, Venezuela, where the crude came from. The Germans sent U-
Boats to torpedo ships off the coast of Aruba on occasion. We were on alert all the
time we were there.

Our Port of Discharge was usually Bayonne or Elizabeth, New Jersey or
Titusville, Staten Island, New York. These depots were all about 30-40 minutes from
Brooklyn or New York City. During June, July, August and November, I was in the
New York area for one or two days each of these months. Sights I saw were: The
Empire State Building, the Capital Theater, Radio City Music Hall, which had beautiful
artistic decorations, and St. Patrick‘s Cathedral.

The last trip to New York on the Buena Vista was in late November. By
accident, or by a stroke of luck, I had heard about the American Theater Wing
Seaman‘s Canteen. It had entertainment, dancing, free food, and girls. What‘s not to
like?! I went to the address about 7:30 PM and followed the crowd in the food line. I
took my tray of food and sat down at an empty table, and very soon a young lady sat
down and introduced herself as Gertrude Smith…While I was eating she told me about
her family, where she worked, and how she came to be here tonight. This was not her
regular night. She was supposed to be back stage at the preview of a new play, soon to
be opening on Broadway. That play was Oklahoma. She was a professional dancer,
but had decided to give up dancing. It was a stroke of luck that we were both there.
All the time we were talking, the entertainment and dancing was going on around us,
but we completely ignored it. At one point, we got up and danced. While dancing, I
knew where I was, and what I was doing, but I remember thinking, ―How can this be
possible, being here with this lovely girl‖. I felt we must have known each other
before, even though we only met a couple of hours ago. During our dance, I pressed
my lips against her forehead for a split second. She gave no reaction. I know I smiled
on the inside, and I think she did too. She never mentioned it until about a year later,
when I proposed marriage…All of the girls at the Canteen were volunteers and the rule
was that you couldn‘t date any of the sailors you met there. We didn‘t see each other
for about 5 months, but we exchanged letters.

I was called by Texaco to report to the SS Montana in Sun Shipyard in Chester,
Pennsylvania on December 27, 1943. The ship was in for a scheduled overhaul and
was having 5 or 6 guns mounted: Forward, Aft, Midship, Port and Starboard. When
the Montana went to sea, we went to many Ports of Call. Some were: Morocco in
Algiers, North Africa- Bremerhaven, Germany- Montreal, Canada-Nairobi, South
Africa and Rio de Janeiro, South America. I signed off the ship in New York City on
August 1, 1944.

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Next, I served on the SS Indiana. When I signed off this
ship, I took a Leave of Absence to take a course at Dalahanti‘s Technical School in
NYC and study for the Third Assistant Engineer‘s examination Living in Manhattan,
staying at the YMCA to be close to school, meant I was also close to Gertrude. I had
been thinking that after I got my Engineer‘s license, I could support a wife…we were
engaged at Chatham on Cape Cod over the July 4th weekend. I took the exam the first
week of June and the license was issued June 15, 1945.

I signed on the Delaware on July 22, 1945. The Delaware was about three days
out of New York in a convoy on the way to Liverpool, England. We were in the North
Atlantic, under way at about 10 knots. Our ship was in the center of about 50 other
ships with two Navy Destroyers as an escort.

The theory of a convoy is to zig-zag, to change course in formation at a pre-set
time. Your direction is changed for a time, and this enables you to be less of a target
for a German U-Boat torpedo. About 5 PM on the third day out, the ship ahead
caught fire and was burning. The first thought was a torpedo had caused it, but we
found out later that one ship had changed course in the wrong direction. General
Quarters was sounded and all ships went to Full Speed Ahead. We were the 4th ship in
line, and in an hour, we were far ahead of all the other ships. The Delaware was
capable of 19 knots. This class of tanker usually traveled alone. 10 or 11 knots was top
speed for most of the other ships. This was my first and last convoy. A ship‘s crew
usually had 45-55 members. Although the Destroyers picked up the survivors, I never
heard how many. Two hours later, you could see the ship burning on the horizon. A
few weeks later, we saw the hulk of that ship tied up at a dock in the East River in New
York, and the super structure had melted down to the water level.

The Delaware was on the coastal run for the last four months. We went to
Providence, Rhode Island; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Baytown and Port Arthur, Texas
and New York City. The ship was in U.S. Ports every 10 or 11 days. During this time,
Gertrude and I kept in touch by phone and letter. We were planning a January 5th
wedding. We married at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament in New York City on
Jan.5, 1946. After I left the active service I worked for the Veterans Administration
Hospital in Northport, NY and transferred to the Dallas Veterans Hospital in 1963.

Sailing the oceans of the world is a wonderful and rewarding experience. At
times, the beauty of the sky and water, with the sun or moon rising or setting with

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nothing to obstruct your view of the horizon, is a scene of beauty that only God could
create.

In foul weather in the North Atlantic with 60 foot waves breaking over the ship
and you have to hold on to keep from being thrown or knocked down, you are
certainly at the mercy of the elements. You get this hopeless feeling that the ship could
go down without a trace. You know of men being washed or blown overboard. Most
sailors I have talked to, tell me they pray a lot, or try not to think about it. One man
told me he wasn‘t worried, he was ―born to hang.‖

I cherish all the memories that I have recorded in these pages.

BILL BENTLEY'S SEA STORY
The Forgotten Invasion

Six weeks after Normandy a second front was opened on the French Riviera.
After B17's and B24's had pounded coastal installations unmercifully for three days, our
armada moved into the still risky waters.

D-Day for Southern France (8-15-1944) had our S. S. James Rumsey offloading
at H+10…ten hours after the first wave. The troops we brought from Naples shinnied
down the cargo nets we put over the sides, as our booms lowered the amphibious
ducks. All made it safely ashore and had a little breathing room before combat.

About dusk a brave German reconnaissance plane appeared. We were still at
our battle stations and our "gunnies" (Navy Armed Guard) and the merchant crew
loaders banged away at him…my station was a 20 millimeter gun. We could see, by the
tracer rounds, we were short. He made a fatal mistake by trying to get a closer photo of
our Navy Light Cruiser. The sky lighted up as he joined Davy Jones's locker.

We off-loaded most of our cargo onto barges, except for the artillery shells in
the lower holds. After three days in harm's way the Commodore told us to "convoy
up", as our heavy ammo was not needed. After filing thru the Strait of Gibraltar we
reassembled in convoy formation to make the still dangerous Atlantic crossing. Because
of our shuttling between ports in the Mediterranean for many months, we had hull
barnacles and could not keep convoy speed.

I was the A. B. on duty as helmsman when "Flags" received the Commodore's
signal. It was "Good Bye and Good Luck". Needless to say, alone and atop all that "big
ammo", we zigged and zagged and prayed all the way back to Baltimore. At that point
stateside barges took the shells out to sea and dumped them.

P.S. The Navy awarded the Silver Star to the S. S. James Rumsey and to our
Navy Armed Guard.

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Wm. (Bill) Bentley
SS Stephen Hopkins Chapter DFW AMMV – Skipper 1999-2001
Family: Michael, Sally & Margaret, four grandchildren and three great-grandchildren
Careers: Homebuilder, Salesman, Limousine Service Driver, all in Dallas/Ft. Worth
area
Moved to San Marcos, Texas in 2001 to the StoneBrook Senior Community

U.S. Maritime Service – Merchant Marine Chronology

William V. (Bill) Bentley Betty Bentley

I.D. 425 2810 Z 301143

SHIP/TRAINING POSITION FROM TO PORTS

USMS Basic Trainee 06-24-42 09-10-42 St. Petersburg, FL

USMS Gunnery School Trainee 09-10-42 09-19-42 New Orleans, LA

SS Spencer Kellogg O.S. 11-01-42 11-17-42 Baytown, TX

(Tanker) Ft. Lauderdale, FL

SS Joseph E. Johnson O.S. 11-30-42 12-31-42 Havana, Cuba

(Liberty) New York, NY

USAT Meteor (Troopship) O.S. 01-21-43 02-05-43 New York, NY

USAT Siboney O.S. 02-06-43 03-16-43 New York, NY

(Troopship) Casablanca

USAT George Washington A.B. 04-12-43 04-18-43 New York, NY

(Troopship) Shakedown Cruise

USAT J.W. McAndrew A.B. 04-20-43 07-26-43 New York-Liverpool

(Troopship) Oran-Algeria

Gibralter-Casablanca

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Dallas – Married Betty Emmons – August 2, 1943

SS Esso New Orleans A.B. 09-02-43 10-04-43 New York-Aruba
Cristobal-Cartegena
(Tanker) 12-15-43 Balboa-NY
09-22-44 Baytown, TX
SS George W. Kendall A.B. 11-25-43 Tampa, FL
(Tanker) A.B. 12-15-43 New York-Oran
SS James Rumsey Naples-Southern France
(Liberty) Trainee 11-14-44 Invasion
*Navy Armed Guard Silver 3rd Mate 05-02-45
Star Award 3rd Mate 07-02-45 03-13-45 Ft. Trumbull
USMS Officers School 06-29-45 New London, CT
Class 4904-Deck 12-17-45 Houston-Rotterdam
SS Roger Moore Key West-NY
(Liberty Ship) New York-Panama
SS Walter Wellman Canal-New Zealand
(Liberty) Manila-San Francisco

JOHN BERNHARDT
(a.k.a. Bernhardt Joensen)

Bernhardt Joensen was born in 1916 to Johanna Joensen, from the Faroe
Islands, in Copenhagen, Denmark. It would not be until 1949 that his name was
changed to John Bernhardt at the time he became a US Citizen. During his life, John
spent many years at sea traveling six continents, served proudly in the US Merchant
Marine during World War II, married in Poland to Jadwiga Felic in 1949, and settled in
New Jersey to pursue the American dream. They raised two children, Thomas and
Karen, who became the first generation to receive a college education. Today, John is
the proud grandfather of four boys: John, Danny, Mark and Peter.

As a young child, John lived a modest but happy life in a Danish children‘s
community where his mother worked as head cook. They moved when he was six
years old to another community in Copenhagen that served unemployed single men
and his mother continued her employment in the kitchen.

While in the park playing with his soccer ball – the only real toy he had due to
financial austerity – he ran into Christian Bohr, the son of the Nobel Prize-winning
physicist, Nils Bohr. Christian asked John if he had qualified for middle school. When
John said yes, Christian arranged John‘s membership in AB, the Academic Ball club.

John and Christian became friends. He has many fond memories from his time
in AB and Middle School where he played on their junior soccer team. He played other
sports including cricket and tennis.

Despite his happy membership in AB, superior intellect, good performance in
middle school, and the encouragement of at least one teacher, John did not enter high

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school. Rather, at age 14 he took an apprenticeship with a heating supplier where he
learned pipe fitting and other skills in order to make a living.

Copenhagen was a lively place at the time where John‘s spirit drove him to
explore a variety of other jobs including circus master, theater actor and singer.

Despite his limited formal education, he began a lifelong passion in classical
music, opera, poetry, classic literature and nonfiction. His hobbies developed into
writing poems and music, as well as reading about politics, history and philosophy. In
addition to his native Danish, he always held a strong appreciation for languages and
spoke Swedish, Norwegian, German and English.

In the winter of 1940 at the age of 24, John was lured to the sea like many of
his fellow Danes in history. He joined a Panamanian tanker called the MS Leda as a
junior engineer to begin what would become a career at sea that would last for 25 years.

Two months after boarding the MS Leda, Denmark was invaded by the
German army and John became a man without a country. On one trip to Peru, orders
came to bring oil to Japan. This occurred during President Roosevelt‘s embargo,
inspiring John to lead a ―sit down‖ to show support to Europe and its allies. After two
days under threats of prison, the crew voted reluctantly to continue, but not until their
united voice was heard.

In hopes of officially residing in the United States, John left the MS Leda.
Sometime following, the MS Leda was sunk by the Germans.

When immigration procedures required John to leave and renter at a later time,
he briefly joined the Norwegian MS Siranger as a steward. Sometime thereafter, he
heard that the MS Siranger had been torpedoed by the Germans.

John left the MS Siranger for a better position as engineer and electrician on a
Swedish ship in Buenos Aires. During this trip, the degaussing system blew up, making
them vulnerable to enemy magnetic mines. John painstakingly restored it for the safety
of the ship and its crew.

From 1942 until 1947, John proudly served the war years on the SS Brazil as a
member of the U.S. Merchant Marine. During those war years, the SS Brazil carried
five thousand troops to and from Europe in war zone waters. In total, they carried
nearly 150,000 troops over John‘s service. One time they held German POWs that had
surrendered at sea. John‘s fluency in German was highly valued at the time as
interactions with the enemy were necessary until they could get the POWs to their
holding place. Upon conclusion of John‘s tour on the SS Brazil, he was named the
Ship‘s Chairman for the National Maritime Union.

Following the SS Brazil in 1947, John joined the Mormacoak and Mormacpenn.
According to the "The Mooremack News October 1948, ―the Mormacoak saved the
lives of four Greek seamen, survivors of the coastal vessel, Costasa, which sank in a
storm off the Peloponnese peninsula on September 25. Of the 19 persons aboard,
including three women and two children passengers, the four seamen were believed to
be the only survivors‖. John ran the lifeboat that pulled two men out of the water and
vividly remembers the events of that fateful day. John gave one survivor immediate
warmth by holding him on the boat‘s engine until they reached the ship.

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In 1965, John left the US Merchant Marine to spend more time at home with
his wife, son 12 and daughter 6. His career as an electrician continued at AS&R,
Fedders, and Ford Motor Company. He retired from Ford in his mid sixties, after
many years of working 12 hour shifts and 7 days a week.

During these years at home there wasn‘t a lot of free time, but John managed to
develop a strong tennis game with a mean slice. Tennis became a game the entire
family enjoyed.

Thanks to John‘s work ethic, as well as, his persistent pursuit of knowledge, he
became a model for his children that would serve them for a lifetime. His son Thomas
graduated from the University of Notre Dame and Karen graduated from Rutgers
University, producing the first generation of college graduates. Both children enjoy
successful careers in the information technology industry.

When John‘s marriage ended in 1984, he went back to Denmark for nearly 20
years with annual visits to America. Daily bicycle rides in the crisp Copenhagen air en
route to a tennis game or a swim kept him busy. With deep feelings as an American, he
returned in 2001 to live near his daughter in Northern Virginia, where he will spend the
rest of his life.

True to his lifelong passions, John still enjoys reading, music, and lively political
discussion, as well as his German philosophy class and an occasional game of pickle
ball. And then again, at 91, he sometimes simply enjoys reflecting on a long and rich
life.

PAUL L. BESIG
Silver Springs, FL 34488

In 1943 I tried to join the Army and also the Navy. They told me I was color
blind and still only 17 years old. My brother had already enlisted in the Army. I finally
went to New York City and was accepted into the Maritime Service and was stationed
on Hoffman Island in New York City Harbor.

After Basic Training my first ship was the Gripsholm. We carried German
soldiers POW‘s in perfect shape to exchange them for American GI‘s who could never
fight again from lost legs, arms and battle fatigue. We sailed to Lisbon, Portugal with all
lights on so as not to be torpedoed by German submarines.

My next ship was the SS Pan Pennsylvania, a supertanker carrying 100 octane
gasoline and on deck were trucks and tanks destined for England. At 8:00 AM in the
morning still in sight of New York City lights we were torpedoed by a German U-boat.
Below is a photo of the burning ship and the U-boat after it was cut in half by a
destroyer escort.

―The U-550 on the surface after being depth charged by Joyce and taken under
fire by Joyce and the other Des. Her victim, the tanker SS Pan Pennsylvania, burns in the
background, 16 April 1944. Note the German crewman gathered on the U-boat's
conning tower.‖

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From there we were picked up and carried to Ireland. In the month we were
there we visited Scotland and England, we returned to the U.S. on the passenger ship,
the Il De France. It seems coincidence that in 1953 I attended a sales meeting in
Richmond, Virginia for Larus & Bros Company that I worked for in New York state
and a Vice President of the company was on the De Joyce and took the photos of my
ship burning.

www.uscg.mil/hq/g-cp/history/articles/U550.html
My next ship was a Liberty ship with troops and tanks and LST‘s on deck and

we headed for England. We kept sailing around England and while in London Harbor
we watched the buzz bombs flying and dropping on London.

Then we joined a huge convoy and headed for Normandy, France and D-Day.
We discharged our troops and cargo and watched the battles taking place on Normandy
Beach.

After this I sailed on a troop ship to India carrying troops for the Battle on the
Burma Road.

In 1946 I was honorably discharged by the Coast Guard in New York City.
Another thought, while overseas during the war I kept getting notices from my draft
board. They finally caught up to me in 1953 and drafted me for the Korean War – by
the Army!

I was a songwriter and wrote the song, ―A U.S. Girl Like You‖ after WWII.

ROLAND BISHOP

When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, I was sixteen years
old. I was born and raised on a farm in Britton, Texas. I attended school in Mansfield,
Texas where I played football, basketball and ran track. I was a member of Mansfield
Church of Christ.

I joined the Merchant Marines October 14, 1944. My basic training was in St.
Petersburg, Florida. After basic training, I was assigned to the training ship American
Sailor for Special Training. After graduation I made two short trips up and down the
coast on the H LeChatelier and SS Ca/onia. My first extended trip was on the Thomas H.
Summers carrying war materials to Liverpool, England. My nephew, Paul Wilson, and I
boarded the Caribbean in Houston, TX and sailed to Japan carrying fuel oil for the
battleships. Afterwards, I made several trips to Europe on tankers and Liberty ships.
One such tanker was the SS Carnifex Ferry. My rating was Bosun. A journal kept by my
good friend and shipmate Wayne Hannon has helped me remember many details of
this trip. We boarded the Carnifex Ferry on January 3, 1945. The next day we loaded our

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cargo of 100 percent octane gas at Texas City. While we were loading the ship a heavy
storm came up breaking all of the lines and hoses connected to the ship. The ship
began ramming another ship. The ship was in danger of blowing up but we finally were
able to secure the lines. On January 9th we left for our destination which was unknown
to us at the time. On January 16th we hit another storm. It lasted for thirty-six hours. At
times the bow was completely underwater. The ship was doing a 35 degree roll. We
crossed the Atlantic and dropped anchor off Dover. That night a Swedish ship crossed
our bow and pulled us into them. We had a large hole in our bow and had to transfer
gas from our forward tank to raise the bow out of the water. We sailed up the Thames
River to Canvey Island where a temporary bow was put in made of cement. We sailed
into the North Sea and into a heavily mined area. I was called to the wheel house to
take the wheel after one of the crewmen was injured. We then sailed up the Weser
River to a German submarine factory which America had bombed repeatedly. We
unloaded the gas and went back up the Weser River to Bremerhaven where the ship
was put into dry dock to make the necessary repairs to the bow. After the ship was
repaired we returned to the Mobile, AL where the ship was put in dry dock.

Then, I sailed on the SS Fort Mims as an Able Body Seaman and Bosun from
April 1946 - August, 1946. Then, I sailed on the Cape Faro as a Wiper from August -
October, 1946. After serving in the Merchant Marines from October, 1944 to October,
1946, I returned to Texas and married Pauline Garland of Britton, Texas. We had four
children. My oldest son served as a 2nd Lieutenant in Vietnam. My youngest son served
in the US Navy for six years aboard the USS Bainbridge and the USS Proteus. I now
have: four children, eight grandchildren and seven great grandchildren.

KENNETH BLUE
(Excerpted from Ken's book CIVILIAN AT RISK)

In the summer of 1941 I was 16 years old. In that year, near the end of the
great depression, my parents were not doing well. My dad had a stroke and could not
work. My brother, Raymond (18 yrs) supported the family. I was still in high school
and had a newspaper route. I truly wished I could help the family more.

One day, in early June, I made my usual stop on my paper route at Rolly
Northern's Texaco Station in my home town of Harbor City, California. Joe Petersen
(about 19 or 20) was telling how he got his Seamen's Papers and a job on a Merchant

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Ship. As Joe told his story, I listened. Seamen's Papers could be issued at age 16 but,
under 18, one needed an affidavit from ones parents. I went home and explained this
to my parents.

I cut a deal. If I could get a job on one of the ships out of San Pedro,
Wilmington or Long Beach, I would make more money, that summer, than I would
all year on the Paper route. Besides Mom would probably save money on groceries
by not feeding me at home.

My parents bought my scheme. One of my newspaper customers, Mr.
Fresenius, ran a Real Estate Office. He was nice enough to type an affidavit of
permission and notarize my parent‘s signatures. With my birth certificate and the
affidavit in hand, I went to the Shipping Commissioners office in San Pedro.
Everything was in order and I left with my Z and E Certificates. The E certificate
allowed me to sail as Ordinary Seaman, Engine Wiper or Messman.

The next order of business was to find a job. I followed the shipping
column in the paper. One evening I was waiting, with suitcase packed, out side the
General Petroleum docks on Terminal Island. The personnel manager appeared at
the gate and said "you want a job as a Wiper? - Kid" My first job was on the S/S
MOJAVE an 85,000 bbl tanker. We sailed up and down the Pacific Coast - San
Francisco, Portland and Seattle.

World War II was already raging in Europe. All U.S. Merchant Ships, including
the MOJAVE, had large American flags painted on their hull. This was to symbolize
our neutral status in the War. Sailing in the Pacific was relatively safe but American
ships had been fired on in the Atlantic. As I traveled up and down the West Coast,
that summer of ‘41, there were disturbing signs of the oncoming war. The Todd
Shipyard in Seattle was converting the old American President Liners into troop ships.
The Boeing Company had three shifts building aircraft for war. In San Francisco Bay,
Japanese tankers waited for the Oil Embargo to be lifted (it never was). The V.S. Navy
was assembling the parts and pieces for an anti-submarine net at the Golden Gate.

In late August, the S/S MOJAVE was slated to carry a cargo of oil to
Vladivostok, Russia. I wanted to make that trip. I would have received a War Risk
Bonus. Mother said No! and insisted I return to school.

I began the '41-'42 school year at my old high school. I impressed my electric
shop teacher, Mr Carvill, by getting my Amateur Radio License. To qualify for this I
had to send and receive Morse Code at 13 words per minute. I really had set a goal of
16 words per minute to qualify me for a Commercial Radio License which I could use
for a Radio Operators position in the Merchant Marine. Mr. Carvill suggested I
transfer to Frank Wiggins Trade School in downtown Los Angeles. He even wrote a
letter of introduction to the radio instructor. This was a lucky break and for the rest of
high school I had a concentrated course in radio operating. I completed High School
on my 18th birthday with a Commercial Radio License and High School diploma.

With Pearl Harbor and the U.S. entry into WWII, Merchant Marine radio
operators were in short supply. I was assigned to the S/S GULFSTAR and we were
soon in the South Pacific. Battles were raging on Guadalcanal and in the sea around it.

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The GULFSTAR was sent to Espiritu Santo, a forward supply base for Guadalcanal.
The GULFSTAR'S next mission was three trips to Dutch Harbor, Alaska during the
winter of '43. We supplied diesel fuel for the retaking of Kiska and Attu in the far
Aleutians.

After six months on the GULFSTAR, I took a break and went home. My next
two ships were new Liberty ships out of Cal-Ship on Terminal Island. The first was the
S/S JOSHIAH D WHITNEY and we went only to Hawaii and returned. The
WHITNEY was chosen for modification in the shipyard and the captain said he didn't
need a radio operator for the lengthy layover. I went back to Cal-Ship for the S/S
ANDREW T HUNTINGTON. The HUNTINGTON took me around the world.
We crossed the Pacific Ocean and Indian Ocean and deposited War Material in India.
We reloaded with a cargo of manganese and returned by way of the Red Sea,
Mediterranean Sea and Atlantic Ocean. I have considered this trip the most perilous
one that I made. Merchant Marine ship sinkings in the Indian Ocean and the
Mediterranean were high in 1943 and the cargo of manganese was dangerous. If hit
with bomb or torpedo, ships loaded with this cargo went down fast. We also returned
with the U.S. Navy Gun crew from the S/S ELIAS HOWE. which was sunk ahead of
us in the Indian Ocean.

My next four ships were the nice new T-2 Tankers. They had turbo-electric
drive and a very nice radio room. On the S/S MECHANICSVILLE, we returned to
Espiritu Santo to unload a deck cargo of airplanes for the U.S. Navy then delivered our
petroleum to the fleet invading the Marshall Islands. I next served aboard the S/S
TABLEROCK. I made several trips to the newly acquired bases in the Marshall
Islands. A trip to New Gunea on the S/S FT WILLIAM completed 1944 and in Jan
1945 I was assigned to the S/S UMATILLA. We were now being sent to the far
Pacific, to an atoll called Ulithi. Ulithi was a far advanced base and our Armed Forces
were in the Philippines and Okinawa. We were sent to Curacao and Aruba in the
Netherlands West Indies for our cargo. These were very long voyages. In May,
Germany surrendered, and in August we dropped the Atom Bombs on Japan. They
surrendered. I thought the UMATILLA would return to the United States. This was
not to be. We made another trip around the world. To Italy, to Bahrain in the Persian
Gulf and finally to the Philippines. I had completed three and one half years at sea. I
had enough seagoing. I upgraded my radio license and took a job in an AM Radio
Station and made a career in Broadcasting.

RICHARD L. BORCZAK
Surprise, Arizona 85374

It was June 21, 1944 and I was graduating from high school in Detroit,
Michigan. It was two weeks after D-Day, June 6, and the invasion of Hitler's Europe
was progressing well. I was afraid that the war would end before I had a chance to
join the Navy in fighting for my country, so I immediately went downtown Detroit to
the Navy Recruiting Center. Alas, after going through the physical, I was told that

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they would not accept me due to one weak eye. I pleaded with the recruiter to take
me in on a waver or something. The answer was no.

Wondering if I could be accepted by
another examiner, I returned twice more with same results. Finally, I was told that I
should see the U S Maritime Service recruiter in the same building who could
possibly use me to sail in the U S Merchant Ships. I jumped at the chance and, to my
joy, I was accepted and was told that I would be called as soon as they got together a
group of Michigan. Recruits. I had to have my parents sign for me as I was still 17.
My mother would not, but I convinced my dad that I really needed to join in the war.

I was sent to Sheepshead Bay for two months of training in September, 1944.
I took a test and made Radio School and started early classes, but when I heard my
group was being shipped out, I asked to be included. On November 4, 1944, I was
assigned as Utility Man on a new Liberty Ship, the Raymond V. Ingersoll, and we
sailed to Italy. A few days after leaving New York we joined a convoy and went
through a serious storm which caused us to lose an AB sailor overboard along with a
lifeboat. The convoy lost three sailors during that storm. After being sea-sick for
three days, I never again became sick while encountering many stormy days over the
next two years. We were part of an 80-ship convoy and although there were a couple
of submarine alerts, we did not see any action. I spent New Year' Eve in Naples
Harbor. We returned to Baltimore at the end of February.

I next spent four months from March to July, 1945, on the SS Fort
Cornwallis, a T-2 tanker, delivering oil up and down the coast of Europe and Africa
from the Caribbean, Columbian and Venezuelan Oil refineries sailing without a
convoy.

I next sailed as an Ordinary Seaman from August to December, 1945, on a
Liberty Ship, Waigstill Avery, to four different ports in Italy. We brought back 319
US soldiers to Norfolk, VA after converting our ship to handle troops.

From December 24 to August 12, 1946, I sailed as an Able Bodied Seaman on
the SS Fort Cumberland, a T-2 tanker. We sailed from New York delivering oil from
the Red Sea to Portugal, Italy, Ceylon, making three trips through the Suez Canal. We
were in the Pacific when the Atomic Bombs were dropped. We went through the
Panama Canal and I was in New York on V-J day when the war ended. It was a
spectacular day!

At that time and especially now, I felt I was contributing to our final victory

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and I am proud that I was able to serve in the Merchant Marine. I know that we were
able to deliver everything that was needed to our troops and Allies to make the
victory over Germany and Japan possible.

I am most honored to have my name and photo appear as the World War II
Honoree representing the US Merchant Marine Veterans in the National World War II
Memorial calendar for February, 2003.

I went to the University of Michigan, got married in 1948, to my bride, Sandy,
of 58 years, I retired from Ford Motor Company after 34 years as a Plant Resident
Service Engineer, a wonderful experience. We have four children, six grandchildren
and one great granddaughter. All wonderful.

My five years as Captain of the Stephen Hopkins Chapter of the AMMV in
Dallas/Fort Worth, Texas, are the most memorable of my life. Yes -- It has been and
is a great life.

DAVID J. BREWER (Deceased)

I left New York on November 26, 1943 with a large convoy of approximately
300 ships. I was a Liberty ship fireman and watertender. B.B. Backston was our captain.
We returned to Baltimore March 26, 1944.

About 3 weeks later on December 15th we were going through the straits of
Gibraltar while having our supper around 5 P.M. when the general alarm went off. The
reason for the alarm was these two planes went through and bombed 2 ships, then
went back around for the second try. Everyone went to their battle stations. Mine was
the first 20 MM gun tub starboard side forward of mid ships house. I passed my cabin
and grabbed my life jacket and helmet on the way when I got up in the gun tub. The
armed guard sailor was in his sling on the 20 MM and a German dive bomber was
coming from astern, first about level with the gun and this 17 year old kid got to firing
the 20 MM – the German was in his sites and the line of tracers got his canopy and his
head and he crash-flipped into the water. About 2 rows over the Germans partner was
doing the same thing and the results were the same.

OZA F. BROWN
BAY CITY, MICHIGAN 48706

I got my feet wet when I left school in March, 1944 at the age of 17 (I did get
my diploma) and started sailing the Great Lakes. I started out as coal passer on the
Steamer S.B. Way, shortly after, a fireman (hand fired). It sure put the muscle on plus
callosity on my hands. After a short time on two other vessels I went aboard the
Steamer S.T. Crapo, a cement carrier out of Alpena, Michigan. Last part of September I
signed off and departed to New York and the War Shipping Administration.

I met a fellow who lived 25 miles from my home and on November 1, 1944 we
went aboard the S.S. Olney as firemen/watertender and left for Houston Ship Canal --
what a rust bucket. When we took a shower we had to put a towel over the shower

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head to catch the oil. After several days of boiler work we took on some oil at or near

Corpus Christi. Then we went back to New York and dropped anchor and a speed boat

took us to shore. We left for home for a few days and then went back to New York and

the War Shipping Administration. They didn‘t have oilers on their board so I took the

subway to Union Hall (lower Manhattan). Their board showed 2 oilers needed at

Chester Pennsylvania Shipyard. We went aboard a brand new T2 vessel, the S.S. San

Pasqual. The Chief said they weren‘t ready to be released for about 4 or 5 days and if

you wanted to go home for Christmas, be back no later than day after Christmas.

When we returned, our ship headed up to Philadelphia to be degaussed. We

then were on our way to Port Arthur, Texas, for a load of aviation fuel. After we were

loaded, we headed to New York and up the Hudson River. We dropped anchor to take

on some aircraft, but the Captain received orders to lift anchor and get going to meet a

convoy. We made it just in time.
Several days later I was on watch with the 2nd Engineer and making my rounds

when I heard a noise that I never heard before. I grabbed my life jacket. The Engineer

asked me, ―Where you going Brownie?‖

I answered, ―I‘m getting out of here.‖ He laughed and said that were just depth

charges going off. This was during the day and we could see three black smoke plumes

on our starboard side about a mile ahead. It could have been ships that were torpedoed.

Also, just ahead was a ship with Army soldiers aboard. They had lost their

steerage. We arrived in England and had a chance to ride one of their double deckers

and stop for some of their beer. We departed the next day to catch a convoy.

We had heavy seas most of the way. The Second Cook was having appendicitis

problems and our Captain tried to get a destroyer to take him off. Because of

submarine pack they wouldn‘t take a chance. As we got closer to the East coast a

destroyer finally came along our port side and shot us a life buoy. The cook took a few

dunks as the ships were rolling and dipping. Later the convoy started to thin out and we

were on our own headed for Port Arthur.

I signed off on 2/19/45 and returned to the Great Lakes on 4/16/45 (late fit

out). On 5/26/45 as we were docking at Alpena, my father was waiting to give me a

letter from the Draft Board. Into the Army I went. After my tour of duty, I returned to

the Steamer Crapo on March 10, 1947 as a fireman and left sailing for good on May 14,

1947.

I went to work on the New York Central Railroad as a brakeman and later a

conductor. I retired after 42 years. Young boys play with ships and trains, as an adult I

did that to… but I got paid for it.

I got married to Eva June in 1952 and was a widower in 1982. I have had a

good companion, Mary Andrews, for the past twenty years.

You got your health You got your wealth

Thank you for your article in the American Legion Magazine. I‘m a life member.

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Left to right: James Brown, William
Brown, George Brown, Oza Brown, George Brown (father), Estella Brown (mother).
1946 Family picture: All brothers sailed the Great Lakes.
Bill and Oza sailed Saltwater (Merchant Marines)
Paul: 28 years in Navy – Chief Petty Officer, Aviation Ordinance
Bill: 2nd Engineer – Merchant Marine (Esso)
George: Army Air Force, 1940. Retired as Master Sergeant. Stationed at Hickam Field
when Japs bombed Pearl Harbor.
Oza: Fireman/Oiler both Great Lakes and Salt water; Merchant Marine Veteran WWII
& Army
Father: Machinist – Round House foreman, NY Central Railroad
Mother: THE BEST

RICHARD R. BROWN
Seattle, WA 98101

I was born in Wymore, Nebraska on 30 October 1924. After graduation from
High School in 1942, on my eighteenth birthday I enlisted in the U.S. Maritime Service
at Topeka, Kansas believing I was joining a branch of the Military Service of our
Country. I attended USMS basic training at St. Petersburg, Florida, graduating in June
1943. Upon leaving St. Petersburg, we took a Troop Train to USMS Geary Street
Graduate Station in San Francisco, CA. From there I was assigned to the S.S.
Kekoskee, Pacific, and on a later voyage the ships crew was awarded a Combat Bar
Ribbon.

January 1944, I transferred to the new T - 2 Tanker, S.S. Grande Ronde at Swan
Island Shipyard in Portland, Oregon where we traveled to the South Pacific, Caribbean
and South America. The ship served as a temporary re-fuel station for a group of
WW-I Four Stack lend lease destroyers manned by the British Royal Navy operating
north of New Guinea.

In June 1944 I returned to Wymore on my first leave and married my
hometown sweetheart, Uldene Mason. Much later, after the war, we were blessed with
two sons, Steven and David. Uldene died in 1970.

In July 1944, I joined the Liberty Ship S.S. William McKay, New York, and we
traveled through the Atlantic, Caribbean and South America.

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In February 1945 I was selected to attend USMS - OCS, Class of 5064 E, in
Alameda, CA. During this time period I was designated Coxswain of the Schools all
Engineer Student Lifeboat Crew that won the 1945 Maritime Day Lifeboat Race on San
Francisco Bay. At graduation I received a US Coast Guard Third Engineers License and
commissioned Ensign USMS plus receiving orders to attend advanced training at
USMSDTS, Milwaukee, WI, which continued aboard USMSDTS M.V. Cape Frio, New
York. Upon completion of this advanced training I was ordered to report to the USMS
– WSA in San Francisco for sea duty. I was assigned as Third Engineer on the C1-A
AV-1 type ship, the MV Reef Knot, Pacific Theater, Okinawa, Philippine Islands,
China, Manchuria, Korea and Japan until the official end of hostilities in December
1946.

The MV Reef Knot was owned by the US Government and operated during
the war years by Alaska Steamship Company, Pier 42, in Seattle, WA. This company
became ships owner in December 1946 and I continued my employment, serving in all
the ships in their fleet, which included the US General Service Administration ships, the
M.V. Honda Knot, dedicated to the Korean War and from 1966 into 1970 as Chief
Engineer aboard the Creighton Victory dedicated to Vietnam, until my last voyage as
chief engineer of the Liberty ship S.S. Chena just before the company went out of
business in 1972. (Point of Interest: the Chena was at the dock in Valdez, Alaska, during the
1964 Alaskan Earth quake.)

US Merchant Marine Veteran WWII / Korea / Vietnam
From 1972 – 1996, I served as Chief Engineer on all the ships in the Alaska Marine
Highway Fleet, in Juneau, Alaska. In February 1987, I married Jacqueline Gallagher of
Seattle, Washington gaining her son Paul, and daughters, Kathy and Ann. Our children
are of the same age group and have enriched our lives. Jackie died in 2003.

USCG License Issue 15, Chief Engineer – Steam – Motor – Gas Turbine, Unlimited
Horsepower. Captain USNR, Retired.

WILLARD R. BROWN
President, 8 Times from 1992 – to 2003
L/S John W. Brown-Chapter-AMMV

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I was born in Redbank, Tennessee on 5/16/1926. The Brown family relocated
to Rossville, Georgia the following year, which is where my growing up years took
place. I came to Baltimore, Maryland in the early spring of 1942 and started working at
the Fairfield Shipyard as a helper in the engine room and eventually to the ship-fitting
department. I met my first wife in mid-summer of 1942, Mary D Arcilesi, and on 5
January 1943 we were married and divorced on 11/15/1946.

In November 1944 I joined the Merchant Marines and ended up in Sheepshead
Bay, N.Y. On Feb. 22, 1945 I was assigned to the S/S Augustine Heard and sailed from
Baltimore, MD, to ports in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Melbourne, Al. Calcutta,
Ceylon, ID. Darwin, AL. Leyte Gulf Ph. Okinawa, Jp. Honolulu and back to Baltimore,
Md. in the distinct position of head Dishwasher. (Best job I have ever had.) This trip
took from 03/22/1945 to 02/16/1946 and I was awarded the following Medals North
& South Atlantic, North & South Pacific, and the Indian Ocean.

April to June 1946 I signed on the S/S Patrick B. Whalem, which delivered
grain to Antwerp, Belgium. August to October 1946 the S/S Richard J. Hopkins we
delivered coal to LeHavre and Rouen, France. In 1947 I signed on as an Ordinary
Seaman aboard the S/S Malcolm M. Stewart sailing from Baltimore, Md., up through
the C&D canal to Philadelphia, Pa., on up to New York Harbor to top off the load to
Port of Spain, Trinidad to take on fuel on to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, Port Alegre, Brazil
to complete unloading. Then we received orders for Montevideo, Uruguay. Then we
moved over to Buenos Aires, Argentina to load cow feed for Helsingborg, Sweden,
stopping at the Cape Verde Is. for water on to Helsingborg Sweden to unload then 27
ports in Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Bothnia and finally returning to New York on 17
Sept. 1947 ending my seafaring days.

In late 1947 after returning to Baltimore I was employed as a bus driver with
the Baltimore Transit Authority. Here I also met the lovely woman who would
eventually become my wife.

The U.S. Army along with my friend and neighbor decided I was needed in the
Army so they drafted me in June 1950. I was united in marriage to Charlotte Marie Ahl
on 21 Jan.1951 and still remain married to this day. I was sent to Korea Nov. 12, 1951,
and worked my way to the rank of M/SGT E7 and completed my term in late Sept.
1952. I served for 6 yrs as a reservist and stayed on for a total of 36 years and retired. I
accepted an appointment as a Warrant Officer in Logistics in 1969 and also retired as a
CW-4 in 1986. I returned to my job with the Baltimore Transit Authority and worked
my way up to Street Supervisor.

In 1955 I took a job with the Pennsylvania Railroad in a position as Brakeman,
Conductor and Yardmaster.

In 1961 I was again called by Uncle Sam to serve as a reservist during the
Berlin/Cuban crisis and was able to complete my education and receive my high school
diploma.

In 197l I was employed by 97th ARCOM, as a civilian Supervisor for the
Equipment Concentration Site. In 1983 I moved on to become the Property Book

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Office for Harry Diamond Laboratories (Named after the man who invented the Bomb
that would go off about l0 to 20 feet above a target) from whence I retired in May
1986.

My wife Charlotte and I have just celebrated 54 years of marriage and come
January 21, 2006 will make it fifty-five years. We had two lovely daughters Janis E.
Brown (Kuska) Karen Ann Brown (Davis) and three grandchildren.

WILLIAM N. BUDIN

I was born February 5, 1921 in Manhattan, New York. I graduated from Little
Ferry Grammar School in New Jersey in 1936, and Lodi High School in 1940. During
my senior year, my father, uncle and I attended an aircraft mechanics school. A
representative from Wright Aeronautical sent me to a Paterson, New Jersey vocational
school. I was trained as a professional precision gear grinder in the manufacture of
Wright Cyclone and Worldwind aircraft engines. My dad was hired in the experimental
engineering department and helped manufacture Wright's first jet engine. I was
classified by the Army and Navy Air Forces as 2-B, (Essential to Industry), and could
have been deferred for the entire war. Instead, I decided to join the Air Force with my
lifetime schoolmate and friend, Tommy Stimpfel. We waited for three weeks for word
from Washington. Soon Tommy and I would be in danger of being reclassified as 1A.
We enlisted in the Maritime Service and were sent to Hoffinan Island for boot camp.
At the time, the Merchant Marines were desperate for enlistees. After two months of
training, I was notified to report to a Major in the Air Wing Command. I met with
Amelia Earhardt's navigator, Commander Harold Manning, who was in charge of
Hoffman Island. (Manning and Earhardt split when they disagreed on their air routes.)
I requested to remain in the Maritime Service so I could graduate and sail with my
friend Tommy. The Air Force acknowledged my request and wished me good luck and
smooth sailing. The Air Force would welcome me back if I changed my mind.

Tommy and I sailed together for Atlantic Refining Company in Philadelphia.
We sailed on the tankers W. Burton and WC Yeager in the Atlantic, Pacific, and
Mediterranean Theaters of War in World War II. The vessels carried gasoline,
kerosene, bunker C., and aviation fuel for Admirals Nimitz and Halsey. The war ended,
but we didn't return home until 1946. There weren't many jobs after World War II.
Although newspapers and window signs advertised "Hire A Veteran," we were not
classified as veterans. I looked everywhere for employment, then I enrolled in a private
New York City Merchant Marine Academy directed by Captain Schultz. I passed five
days of Coast Guard exams for an Unlimited 3rd Officers License (unlimited tonnage,
and length on all waters, oceans, and rivers.) I attended Sperry's, Loran, Radar, and
Gyroscope schools in Brooklyn, and fire-fighting school in Earl, New Jersey. In
Brooklyn, I signed a one-year contract with the Army Transport Military Service, and
was sent to Yokahama, Japan, where I sailed as Chief Mate on the TY-481 tanker. After
two months Captain John Paul, Jack Silver, and I were hastily transferred to L.S.T.
1055. There had been a mutiny on the vessel and we replaced the crew. Days later, The

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Army Corp of Engineers, Geodetic Survey, Graves Restoration, and special
government services boarded the vessel under Commander C.O. Hicks--Captain. We
were on a special mission to Guam, the Philippines, Iwo Jima, Nagasaki, Okinawa, and
other islands. After a year and a half of sailing through typhoons and rough seas, we
returned to Sasebo, Japan. I visited Hiroshima and Nagasaki; I just couldn't believe the
destruction. (The devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans reminded
me of the destruction in Hiroshima.)

In the fall of 1948, I returned home and opened a used car business, gas
station, and a trucking company called "Mercury Express Lines." I attended Traffic
Manager Institute in New York City. When I was 32, I married Eleanor Dunkhase of
Leonia, NJ. After I sold the trucking company, I worked for United States Trucking
Corporation, New York City. I drove a bulletproof armored car tractor 565 and trailer.
I hauled silver, gold, Canadian furs, opium, liquor, cigarettes, and American bank notes.

In 1973 I moved to Zephyrhills, Florida. In Florida, I worked for Ryder
Trucking, Central Truck Lines, Howard Hall Trucking, and C. F. Industries. In 1975,
C.F. Industries built an $83,000,000, one-of a kind, self-unloading phosphate/nitrogen
fertilizer vessel. In 1976, when I was 55 years old, I attended Church Seaman's institute
in New York City, and Page Navigation School in New Orleans. My Chief Mate, and
later Captain, Bill Penswick, turned cartwheels on deck when I passed the Coast Guard
exams for the renewal of my 2nd Mates Officers License. From 1976 to 1989, I sailed as
2nd Mate on the Jamie A. Baxter, CF I.

I retired at age 68. Today, I live in Florida. I have two
children, Linda Garbarino and Daniel Budin. Linda and her husband have two
children, Matt and Veronica; and Danny and Mary Ann have two children, Jessica and
Kevin. Danny is an engineer sailing for Maritrans, Tampa, Florida. Danny is a Navy
veteran who followed my footsteps in the United States Merchant Marine.

At this time, I want to say "thank you" to all our servicemen in World War II
including the Maritime Service of Merchant Marines for their combined patriotism and
valor. Everyone did whatever he or she physically could do for victory and freedom,
and it taught us that no one is indispensable.
Picture – 1943 summer: Bill Budin, Carl Ebenau, Tom Stimpfel in service WWII. The
day before we all left for unknown destinations in WWII. (Lifetime friends and
buddies). I was in a Maritime Service uniform, Carl in his Army uniform and Tom in
his partial Maritime Service uniform.

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JIM BUCK BURNS
Canton, Texas 75103

When I turned eighteen years old on January 11, 1945, I went to the draft board
and registered for the service. The draft board allowed me to join the Merchant
Marines. In late March we left for California and from there went on to Catalina Island
for basic training. Thirty days later found me shipping out from San Pedro, California
on the SS Crater Lake T2 Tanker GE. I shipped as a wiper. Our first stop was the
Hawaiian Islands, then on to the Carolina Islands. When we reached the Admiralty
Islands, a Navy barge nearly ran us over. Every man on board the craft bailed except
the engineer, the radioman and myself. That barge got within three feet of us but
missed. In August I was promoted to Fireman. We loaded oil and shuttled it from
Ceylon to Hawaii and returned to San Pedro, California where in October, 1945 I
received my Fireman, Water Tender and Oiler papers.

My service period held many exciting experiences. Merchant Marines had a
tradition of initiating the new guys with a terrible hazing when they crossed the equator
for the first time. There was a long wind shoot stretched out on deck. Presiding over
this event was the Chief Engineer who wore a mop on his head and was hailed as King
Neptune. He ordered the blindfolded greenies to drop drawers and crawl buck naked
through the shoot. As each sailor bent over, their rears were painted with the most
disgusting, rotten mixture that could be concocted and then they were sprayed with a
fire hose in the rear all the time they were trying to get through the shoot and survive.

The closest call to battle danger our ship had was in the Indian Ocean. We had
five Navy armed guards on our ship. One of them spotted a torpedo heading for the
fantail of our vessel and managed to stop it. If hit, we would have been sunk in 10
minutes. We manned the guns and stood guard all night. A Navy destroyer (sub-chaser)
was in the area and stayed with us for 3 days to be sure we were safe. And, finally, while
in Savannah, GA. one of my buddies and I turned on the general alarm and created so
much havoc that the Commander of the port called in every man on our ship to find
out who did the deed. Guilty parties were sure to be severely dealt with and I was pretty
nervous about my questioning. However, one of the 2nd mates on the ship with whom I
had become pretty well acquainted stuck up for me and told the Commander I

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wouldn't do anything like that. He said I was one of the best crewmen on board, so my
questioning went pretty easy. That was a very lucky day.

For a young man who had never left Texas, I sailed a number of fine ships
including the SS Seuer De La Salle Liberty, SS Bald Butte Oil Tanker (which we had to
pilot to the bone pile off the New Jersey coast due to heavy oil leaks) and the SS
Chantilly T2 Tanker GE. I saw much of the world and many ports from Venezuela and
Argentina to Holland, The Netherlands, Scotland, England, Ceylon and up and down
the East and West Coast of this great country. Not bad for a boy from Van Zandt
County, Texas. I was discharged as 3rd Assistant Engineer on November 8, 1946.

I went back to school and graduated in 1947 and my school sweetheart, Veta,
and I also married that year.

My post service years were spent driving for the Dallas Transit System and long
distance hauling all over the USA for Auto Convoy. My brothers and I formed a home
building business and later built a hardware and farm supply store in 1963. We operated
it for 26 years. I am currently involved in real estate and travel whenever possible.

My wife and I have been married 59 years and live in Canton, Texas. We have
three wonderful children who have the shortest apron strings in the state.

WILLARD BYRD
BURLESON, TEXAS, 76028

Hello, my name is Willard Byrd and I was born in Petersburg, Virginia on
January 17, 1927. I grew up during the depression years in Waynesboro Va. where I
attended school while living at home. Most of my summers were spent on the farm in
Dinwiddie or Amelia County with my grandmother or other relatives. I dropped out of
high school in January of 1944. I went to work at the Naval Operating Base in Norfolk.
After several failed attempts to join the Navy, they told me about the Maritime Service.
I joined the Maritime Service in the spring of 1944. I was sent to Sheepshead Bay where
I completed my training in August 1944.

My training at Sheepshead bay included two weeks on the SS American
Mariner. My most memorable event on this ship was during lifeboat training. Our
coxswain always wanted to be the first boat out. One morning, as the PA system came

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on for the Capt. to give his orders, the coxswain turned loose the painter line that was
holding us in close to the ship. This was unfortunate because the Capt. ordered all
boats that were in the water to be brought back aboard. The Capt. had decided the seas
were to rough. Since we were drifting away from the ship the coxswain ordered us to
lay on the oars and row. No matter how hard we tried the current was too strong and
we found ourselves getting further and further away from the ship. It wasn‘t long
before all but one or two of us were sea sick. Soon we were all too sick to row and
were throwing up. I was lying in the bottom of that boat convinced that I was going to
die. I said Dear Lord! You helped me to get in the service to fight for my country and
now I am going to die before I finish my training. Realizing our predicament, the Capt.
sent the motor launch to rescue us. Somehow I survived.

I joined my first ship the Liberty SS. John Stephens that left Norfolk in convoy
Sept.1944. We carried Troops and General Cargo to Bari, Italy. It was during this trip a
British tanker that had joined our convoy in the Azores was sunk while enroute to
Gibraltar. In the 80 ship convoy she was in the lane to our starboard (right) side, and
one ship ahead of us. This was about 12 days out of Norfolk. I had just gone to sleep
after getting off watch at 4AM. Suddenly the whole ship shook from an explosion, and
the general alarm sounded. Since we were in a designated war zone where submarines
were known to be; I had been sleeping in my clothes. Grabbing my lifejacket I hit the
deck running forward to my battle station as hot shell man on the 3‖ 50 forward gun
turrets.

As I ran forward I could feel the heat from the burning oil or gas from the
tanker. There were men in the water struggling to get away from the fire. Depth charges
were going off, and there was a destroyer escort cruising in the lanes between the ships
admonishing all ships to hold their position and speed in the convoy. No merchant ship
was allowed to stop and render aid. We were told the British escort would pick up
survivors. I did not see them pick up survivors. That terrible scene still haunts me
today.

Somewhere off the coast of Sicily a couple of German aircraft flew over the
convoy. Every ship was shooting at them but unable to hit them as they were too high.
A week later we arrived in Bari. At that time Bari was known as the Pearl Harbor of
Europe. On December 2, 1943, German bombers almost destroyed the port. When the
bombing began, there were seventeen Merchant ships including five American ships
berthed or anchored inside the breakwater. Some were ammunition supply ships, some
tankers carrying high octane gasoline, and many other supplies needed to carry on the
war.

One of the ships that was hit was the SS John Harvey that was carrying mustard
gas (unknown to port authorities), to be used against the Germans only in the event
they started using the same gas on the Americans or their allies. The mustard gas took a
heavy toll on the port in human lives. Hundreds of people died from mustard gas
poisoning before the cause was determined, civilian and military alike. Our ship
donated paint and labor to paint the Red Cross club that had recently opened in

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downtown Bari. This was a year after the raid and they were still talking about it,
especially deaths caused by the gas when that ship was hit.

We returned to New York at the end of November 1944 and I was discharged
off the ship. And went home to Norfolk, Va. I signed on the seagoing tug Trojan
within 2 weeks after leaving the Stephens. I made one trip towing barges between
Philadelphia and Norfolk and decided I had enough tug boat experience so I got off in
January 1945.

I joined my next ship the SS. Hall J. Kelly within a couple weeks after leaving
the Trojan. We left Norfolk in February 1945 for Mobile, Alabama then on to
Theodore, Alabama. After taking on a cargo of 10,000 ton‘s of ammunition for the 3rd
or 7th Naval Fleet, we departed Theodore for the South Pacific. Our destination‘s
included Manus in the Admiralty Islands, Hollandia, New Guinea, and on to Taclobin,
Leyte where we supplied the Navy Ships involved in the invasions of Japanese held
Islands. While off the coast of Mindanao enroute between Hollandia and Leyte we
spent a hard night riding out a very fierce Typhoon. When we came out on deck the
next morning, all flags in the convoy were at half mast. We were told that President
Roosevelt had died. We all felt it was a great tragedy that he did not live to realize
victory in the Pacific.

Leaving Leyte in July 1945 our next port was Honolulu, where we discharged
some unstable ammo that we had picked up at Leyte. In route, we passed Tinnian and
Guam Islands. The same route the Indianapolis took when she was sunk three weeks
later. We were told there were submarines in the area and we were on high alert all the
way past Guam.

We arrived back in New York August 13, 1945 just in time for the celebration
in Times Square the following day for Victory over Japan. Words cannot describe the
elation and relief that I and my shipmates felt. It was truly a time for celebration. There
were so many people in the streets, cars and busses were unable to move. Ticker tape
and confetti filled the air falling from open windows high above. Servicemen were
dancing with anyone that would dance with them.

Later that day I ran into a friend from back home, his wife and sister-in law.
Downtown Times Square New York was teaming with people that had been
celebrating since the news broke earlier that morning. My friends wanted to get off the
streets. It was decided we would go to the ballroom of the hotel across the street from
the Penn Station where earlier that day, I had purchased a ticket to return home to
Norfolk, VA. I was having a wonderful time drinking everything that was set before
me and dancing with my date. Every time a new party came in they would set up the
house. Our table was filled with drinks.

The last time I remember looking at a clock it was about 9:15 PM. The lights
went out for me. I woke up being put on the train by two little ladies from the
Serviceman‘s Aid Society. They informed me that my friends had brought me to them.
My friends had found my ticket in my shirt pocket, and the key to my rented locker.
After recovering my sea bag they saw to it that I was in good hands before they left me.

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I still had my payroll in my pockets. What wonderful friends to celebrate with and what
truly special volunteers. I made four more trips before being caught up in the Army.

I signed on the SS Henry T. Rainey on Oct. 22 1945 at Norfolk Va. She had
just been placed back in service under the control of the US Army. Our trip was
supposed to take us around the world ending up in San Francisco. However, after
leaving New York where we had taken on a load of beans, we ran into a fierce
hurricane in the North Atlantic. Our ship was all but destroyed. Rogue waves took out
the right wing of our bridge. It was torn back over the #1 lifeboat rendering the davits
useless in the event we tried to launch the boat. I was the AB on watch at the helm
from 8pm to after 12:45 am fighting to keep the ship headed into storm so it wouldn‘t
capsize. We lost a total of three lifeboats and all life rafts. Approximately two weeks
later, we limped into Trieste, Italy.

At that time the port of Trieste was under control of the British 88th Infantry
Div. The British had a club about a mile up the hill from the pier where we were
docked. We were invited to participate in the club activities while ashore. At this time
the governments of both Yugoslavia and Italy were fighting over the control of the city
since it was on the border between the two countries. At night there was occasional
gunfire heard from different factions that were fighting. This made it very dangerous
to be on the streets at night. As a result we were restricted to the club after dark and
the one street leading up to it. We were also told not to be on the street after dark
unless we were with a group of five or more.

One night we had been dancing, eating and enjoying ourselves when my watch
mate, able seaman Costa Tsikuris became ill and wanted to return to the ship. The night
was young that no one else was ready to leave. After being unable to get a group
together he decided to go alone. I tried to talk him out of going but with no success. I
decided that if Costa was going I would go with him. Over everyone‘s objections we
left.

When we walked out on the street we could look downhill and see our ship.
The ship and the guard house were the brightest lights out that night. The street was
poorly lit with three or four street lights between us and the ship. We noticed a group
of 5 or 6 local men about 2 blocks down the street from where we were standing. As
we got closer to them they moved across the street to our side. Looking at one another
we decided to cross the street ourselves. They immediately moved back across the
street. Each time we moved they moved. We decided that we were going to have to
fight, like it or not. Just as we made that decision to prepare for the fight, a large
German Sheppard dog caught up to us from behind and started walking between us.
This dog was a British guard dog with a harness on that had a hand grasp on top which
I took hold of. The dog looked up at me, wagged his tail and boy were we happy to see
him. When we got close to the group blocking our way our friend let out a low growl
and they moved off the sidewalk. We spoke to them and went on to the ship without
further incident.

The British guard dog is trained to work with one man. He will not let anyone
but his handler touch him or his harness. I knew this and wanted to show off to my

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shipmates. I was going to take him on board with me. When we got to the guard gate
the guard asked to see my pass which was in my billfold. I turned the dog loose to take
out my billfold. After showing my pass I turned to get my dog and he wasn‘t there. I
called him and looked around but he was nowhere to be seen. When I asked the guard
if he saw where the dog went I was told I must be drunk because there was no dog with
me. The guard told me he had been watching us all the way down the street and there
was no dog with us. Neither Costa nor I had a drink that day or the day before. I have
since decided God in Heaven was looking after us that night and this was our Angel
Dog.

Our ship was so badly damaged when we arrived in Trieste, Italy the Army sent
us back to Baltimore, Md. I sailed on one other ship before my last voyage on the
Marine Marlin.

In 1946 I joined the crew on a C-4 the SS Marine Marlin. After 3 round trips
between Kingston Jamaica and the States‘ we were ordered to Brooklyn, New York
where we docked at the pier behind the French Liner Normandy. It was still docked
where it had been towed after it caught fire in the New York harbor and partially
burned during the war. It was waiting for a newly established French Government‘s
disposition. One of my shipmates on that trip, Al D‘Agostino, whose story is also in
this book, lives in Arlington Texas. We see each other often and I consider Al as a very
close friend. Al is also a coeditor of this book.

Our ship was refitted for passengers to transport displaced persons from South
and Central America back to Europe including German Nationals some of which were
hard core Nazis. We knew that below decks prisoner cells had been installed to handle
up to 225 individuals. The ship was under the control of the US State Department. At
the time of departure there were only two unarmed State Department men on board.
Before the trip was over we had a total of 15 State Department personnel under arms.
This was necessary since we were picking up former German Nazi operatives in South
and Central America, many of which were considered extremely dangerous. Some of
these people had escaped Europe to South America and Mexico, shortly before or
immediately following the end of the war. These Germans were taken from Police
custody in Uruguay, Brazil, Venezuela, Columbia, and Mexico.

Since Argentina was neutral during the war and a source of war materials and
food for Germany during the war period, they granted amnesty to all the German
citizens that wanted to stay there. German citizens that wanted to return to Germany
were free to go back. These people were offered free transportation on the Marine
Marlin back to their respective countries in Europe. There were a lot of them including
crewmembers of the German Pocket Battleship Graff Spee.

The Graff Spee was scuttled off Uruguay in 1939, to keep from being sunk by
two British ships the Ajax and her sister ship the Exeter, assisted by the New Zealand
Destroyer Achilles. Two ships the Ajax and the Exeter ships had engaged the Graf
Spee in a battle at sea. The Ajax‘s six inch guns could not penetrate the armor of the
Spee. The Exeter with eight inch guns was able to penetrate the armor and exploded in
a vital area of the ship killing some crew and crippling the ship. The Graff Spee made

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for port in Uruguay chased by the H.M.S. Ajax and the H.M.S. Achilles. These three
ships were now lying off the coast waiting for the Graff Spee to leave. The German
Captain Hans Langshorst opted to scuttle the ship to avoid certain loss of his crew‘s
lives. History tells us that when he attended the funeral of his dead crew his salute was
the standard naval salute. The other German crew there presented the Nazi stiff arm
salute. Three days after the funeral in a Montevideo cemetery on December 18, 1939
Capitan Langshorst took his own life.

The Germans that were considered too dangerous to run loose on deck with
the other passengers or the ships crew were kept in cells below decks. In Willemstad
Curacao we embarked English passengers going to Southampton, England, which
almost incited a mutiny aboard ship by the Germans. Some of the Germans did not
feel the British passengers should have been allowed on board the ship. It just
happened that our skipper served in the German Navy during WWI. He took care of
the problem in short order. He was the best captain I sailed under. We went from
there to LaGuaira Venezuela, Barronquilla Columbia, Vera Cruz Mexico, Lisbon
Portugal, Bilbao Spain, Southampton, England, and on to Bremerhaven Germany.

During the trip our first mate noticed that the one inch cable which ran
between the foremast and the aft mast was showing rust. He requested the Bos‘n to
have some one to slush it down with a white lead and tallow mixture. This cable runs
from top of one mast to the very top of the next mast. The Bos‘n informed the Mate of
his problem who asked him to check the other watches for a volunteer and to offer
them overtime. I accepted. Climbing to the top of the mast I secured bos‘ns chair to
the cable and climbed in. I lowered a rope down to get my supplies from the deck
below and went to work. With gloves on I would dip my hand into the bucket and
apply it to the cable.

While in Brazil we had embarked some Portuguese families going to Lisbon.
Some of the children had their heads shaved because there was some evidence of lice.
It was a beautiful day with the ship gently rolling from side to side. There was a little
boy maybe three years old running up and down the deck with the roll of the ship and
yelling at the sea gulls. The ship had just rolled enough to put me over him when a
marble size drop of my mix dropped out of my glove. I watched it corkscrew down
hitting this little boy in the middle of his shaved head. He stopped running and gently
placed his hand where it hit. Looking up at the seagulls he went running yelling mama,
mama, when she got to him he pointed to the seagulls and his head. I was laughing so
hard almost fell out of the bos‘ns chair.

After disembarking the remainder of our passengers in Bremerhaven we
embarked some German war wives who had married US Service men and German
nationals including Jews that had been in concentration camps waiting execution by the
Nazis. We arrived at Ellis Island New York on Sept. 18, 1946. On Sept. 25th, I was at
Fort George Meade, Maryland trying on my new army uniform. After boot camp at
Aberdeen proving ground Maryland I was sent to Fort Lawton in Seattle Washington
enroute to Japan.

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I spent the next year, December 1946 thru December 1947, with the
occupation forces in Japan. My company was the Army Transportation Corps 805th
AMSR. When the Korean War broke out I joined the Air Force and served four years.
While I was stationed at Sheppard Air Force Base, Wichita Falls, TX, I met the
beautiful young Lady that I was destined to spend the rest of my life with. Mildred and
I have been married now 56 years. We were blessed with 2 sons, 2 grand daughters and
3 great grand children. While in the Air Force I completed my High School education.
After the Air Force I took a job with the Chance Vaught Corp. in Grand Prairie Tex. I
was with the Air Force Reserve wing at Hensley Field in Grand Prairie during this time.

In 1958 I went to work for the Dept. of Defense, Air Force
Plant Representative Office working in Quality Assurance. I retired from the
Government in May of 1975 having spent 27.5 years in government service. After my
retirement I built some houses and in 1982 began work as an insurance adjuster. I carry
a Texas State Adjusters Licenses although I am currently fully retired.

NICHOLAS J. CAICO
Hillsborough, NC 27278

I was born June 1, 1925 in New York. I graduated from Oceanside High School
in 1942 and worked for Sperry Gyroscope Corporation for 9 months. I applied to the
U.S. Air Force but was turned down because I was color-blind, and I did not want to
join the Army or Navy, so I joined the U.S. Merchant Marine.

I was sent to Sheepshead Bay, NY, for basic training. I tried seaman and engine
course which I did not like so I was sent to Gallups Island in Massachusetts for radio
training. I didn‘t like that either so they sent me back to Sheepshead Bay for
Purser/Plumber Mate training.

Upon completing that course I went to work for Diamond Steamship Lines as a
Purser. I made five trips to European area including Italy, North Africa, Belgium,
France and Ireland. On all these trips torpedo attempts were made, and while we were
docked in Naples we were strafed by enemy planes.

My last two trips we brought back war brides. When the war ended I went to
work for Gulf Oil Corporation and was there from 1947 – 1983 for a total of 36 years.

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CLYDE DEAN CARPENTER

In January 1944, our High School Superintendent made an announcement that
any senior boy, whose grades were at a certain level, would receive his diploma if he
enlisted in the military service.

I went to Denver, CO and enlisted in the Merchant Marines 2/17/1944. I
turned in my school books, and waited for the report for duty call. I was called to
report at Denver 04/01/1944. We were sent to Avalon, CA on Catalina Island for
training, from there we were sent to San Francisco and issued Seaman‘s papers
05/09/1944. I was assigned to a Victory ship in San Francisco that did not need
messmen or utilitymen as it was in dry-dock being converted to a troop transport ship.
There were no jobs in the Union Hall in San Francisco at that time so I took a little trip
back to Nebraska and up to Portland, OR and signed on a new tanker at Swan Island
shipyard on 06/09/1944.

I made two trips on this ship. The first trip was from Portland to Los Angeles
to Hawaii and back to Los Angeles. The second trip was to Suva in the Fiji Islands,
Guadalcanal and back to Los Angeles. Following these trips, I went home to Nebraska
briefly, got married to Zolita Morris, went to Seattle and shipped out on a very old
gasoline tanker to Alaska and the Aleutian Island chain all the way out to Kiska. On the
second trip to the end of the island chain we had just started the return trip when we
were warned about submarine activity in our area. The seas suddenly were really rough,
waves probably ninety feet high. The ship went through most of these waves with
waves coming over the bow and flooding the whole ship. The ships propeller was out
of the water at the top of the waves and did a couple of revolutions then down into the
bottom of the trough before the next wave crashed over the ship. When the propeller
was out of the water the ship really got jolted when the propeller did a couple of
revolutions. If you were seated the jolt would bounce you right off your seat. The ship
was an old riveted together job; I was told by the old-timers aboard that we were lucky
that the ship was not a welded together job because riveted ships had some ability to
twist and welded ships sometimes broke apart in this kind of seas. There were reports
of Liberty ships breaking apart in Alaskan waters during these times. I think that it was
probably connected to a very severe storm that occurred south of there near the
Philippines.

I know that I had a guardian Angel because there was no particular reason that
I opted to go to Seattle to ship out that September. During the time that I was doing
two trips to Alaska, the deadliest battle of the Pacific involving Merchant Marines
occurred, the Battle of Leyte. Had I shipped out of Los Angeles, I probably would have
been on one of the ships involved in that battle.

After the Alaska trips, I came back to Nebraska for a quick trip home. My good
friend, Bill Morgan, was home at the same time. He had joined the Merchant Marines
in December of 1943 and also trained at Catalina Island and was still on the island
when I went to San Francisco. We both went to San Pedro, California and signed on
the S.S. Hovenweep 12/02/1944. We made two trips on the Hovenweep to the South

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Pacific to several islands delivering high octane fuel to bases that needed it. We were
ordered back to Los Angeles while we still had a lot of fuel undelivered. This was
pumped over the side. The reason that I mention dumping this gasoline is to emphasize
the need for gasoline rationing back home. When we got back home, I stopped in
Cheyenne, Wyoming where my parents were now living to borrow their car and get
some gasoline for military furlough. The generous people at the ration board in
Cheyenne gave me coupons for four gallons of gasoline. I made other arrangements for
gasoline.

After my visit home, we shipped out on the S/T Newberg to the South Pacific
on 6/04/1945 from San Pedro, CA. We went back to Halmahera with high octane fuel.
On board we had a new type of jet plane that was painted black with a non-reflective
finish so it could not be seen in the air at night. Tankers often carried some sort of deck
cargo. On a previous trip on the S.S. Scottsbluff, we had a load of Corvair‘s that we
delivered to some island, probably Guadalcanal.

The first day at Halmahera we lay at anchor until after dark and moved up to
the dock to unload. At 10:00 P.M. and at 2:00 A.M. the Japanese bombers came over
and tried to blow a hole in the bottom of the bay where we had been anchored. We
moved out into the bay in the daytime and back to the dock at night. The ship was
anchored in a different spot in the bay every day and every night at 10:00 and 2:00 the
planes came over and bombed where we had been.

Native ―Bum‖ boats came alongside every day to trade trinkets for cigarettes
and soap or whatever. Some of the ―Natives‖ looked just like Japanese. I think that
they were spies spotting our exact location in the bay for the nighttime visitors.
Halmahera had been by-passed and cut off by our forces and there were still about
20,000 Japanese on the island, cut off from supplies and isolated until after the war was
over. Searchlights would pick up the brown bombers and ground fire seemed to scare
them off. One night something black darted through the beams of the searchlights, like
a bat going through a backyard light. I think it was a plane of the type we had delivered,
probably not the ones we brought, but planes already at Halmahera.

One day we didn‘t move away from the dock and suffered a daytime raid by the
Japanese bombers. I was standing on the fantail when they came over. One bomber
started his run a few seconds too soon. On the far side of the bay there were several
hundred small barges moored, gunwale to gunwale. His first bombs hit in the middle of
the barges and blew them skyward like so many matchsticks. His load of bombs
continued one by one, plunk, plunk, plunk right straight at our ship. His timing was off,
he ran out of bombs several hundred feet out from our ship. There was nowhere to run
to, we just stood frozen in our tracks and it was all over – that was the end of the raid.

We went back to Panama for more fuel and back to Halmahera, then to
Panama and on up to Corpus Christi. At Corpus Christi the captain received an inquiry
as to our need to proceed to Fort Worth, Texas. He answered ―Wheels.‖ We were sent
on to New York City where Zolita met us and Bill and I signed off on 11/19/1945 and
returned to Nebraska. I did not return to sea and was drafted in March of 1946, but I

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was 4-F and being drafted was only a formality. I started my post war life, and my
friend, Bill Morgan went back to sea for two more years.

I spent about five years working at cooking and other types of employment
then went to Cheyenne, Wyoming and worked in a very good shoe store. After a few
years in Cheyenne and Casper, Wyoming, we went to Salt Lake City and owned retail
shoe stores until 1993 when we came back to Chadron, Nebraska to retire at home.

We have been happily married for sixty two years this coming September. God
has blessed us with two great children, a daughter and a son, six grandchildren, and six
great-grandchildren. It‘s been a great voyage. (Picture taken in 2006)

SHIPS SERVED ON DURING WORLD WAR II

Ship Tanker Shipped as From To
06/09/44
S.S. Scottsbluff T-2 Tanker Messman 09/26/44 08/26/44
12/02/44 11/15/44
S.S. Mojave Very old Tanker Galleyman 06/04/45 04/17/45
11/19/45
S.S. Hovenweep T-2 Tanker 3rd Cook

S/T Newberg T-2 Tanker 3rd Cook &

Chief Cook

ROBERT E LEE CAUBLE

I was born the ninth child of twelve sisters and brothers, in a small town in
Missouri (the town no longer exists). There were seven girls born before the first boy.

In 1944, at the age of 15, I joined the Merchant
Marine telling them I was 17 years old. I had to take a physical. The doctor found I had
a valve in my heart that didn't close correctly (which I already knew). However, I knew
I was a strong farm boy and could do as much or more than most of the other guys.
My friend, Alva Mason, who was also 15, had just passed his physical at the same time.
I forged the doctor's name from his form and went on to finish the rest of the exam
without a hitch.

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I went to boot camp at the U.S. Maritime Training Center at Santa Catalina
Island, California with group # 487. Our rowing crew took first place. Diving off a 30
or 40 foot tower into burning water (gas was poured on the water and lit) gave our crew
confidence that we could survive anything. (Brave or just young and dumb?)

My brother Nelson, who was in the Merchant Marine also, said that he landed
on one island and asked about the ship I, was on. My ship had just left there the day
before.

The first ship I sailed on was the SS Anabella Lykes as a mess man. It was
loaded with troops and only sailed 8 knots and took us eight days to get to Pearl
Harbor from San Francisco. In Pearl Harbor, we pulled right up to the big clock tower.
We left there with a large convoy. We made a stop at Enewetak Island where
something went wrong with our electrical equipment and we couldn't raise our anchor.
We had to transfer our troops to other ships, which I believe, this same convey went
on to the invasion of Iwo Jima. When the repairs were done, we went to Saipan where
there had been recent fighting, as there were lots of dead Japanese soldiers still on the
beaches.

I sailed on other trips, working in the engine room as an oilier and wiper. The
last ship I sailed on before the war ended was the SS St. Lawrence Victory. We stopped
at Manila, Philippine, in Aug. 1945. We were unloading our cargo on Aug. 6th when the
first Atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. We all celebrated the end of the war.
But we were wrong...Japan didn't surrender. Three days later on Aug. 9th the second
Atomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, finally convincing the Japanese to agree on
Aug. 14th to an unconditional surrender. We hurriedly loaded every big black limousine
and the 32nd Air Refueling Division and headed for Yokohama. Rumor was that we
stopped in the middle of the night at Okinawa to pick up someone very important. I
didn't remember stopping there until I sent for the secret Log book 2 years ago and it
said we were there Aug 24, 1945.

Our ship was the first merchant ship to come into Tokyo Bay. It was 8 days
(the way I remember) before peace was signed aboard the Battleship Missouri. A
Japanese tug towed us into the dock, where a beautiful expensive white yacht was
moored. I was shocked when the tug towed us right into the yacht and it splintered and
slivered down below the dock. Not a word was said. Shortly after we arrived, a U.S. fuel
tanker came into the Harbor followed by a Dutch East Indies Hospital Ship. Our cargo
of Limousines was unloaded for the U. S. and allies dignitaries, who were to fly in for
the unconditional surrender. The 32nd Air Refueling Division disembarked to refuel the
planes in which the dignitaries would arrive.

We saw the prisoners of war coming down to the ships any way they could.
They looked horrible, starved, some only 80 lbs. The Dutch Indies hospital ship
assisted the ex-prisoners.

Our crew was allowed to go ashore, but only if we were armed. We got rifles
out of the Japanese warehouse although most of us didn't have any ammunition (yeah,
really dumb). Some of the crew went to Hiroshima; some wanted to see Nagasaki. Six
of us decided to go see the Imperial Palace. The businesses were all shut down. The

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trolley and a food line were all we could see open. We hopped aboard the trolley. A few
women were on this trolley and were fearful over how we might treat them. They
moved away from us as far as possible. There were just a few thousand people left in
the city of Tokyo. Most of the Japanese people had headed for the hills as they thought
the Americans would be as brutal to them as they were to the American prisoners.
When we arrived at the Imperial Palace, the Imperial Marines were still there and
prepared to die to protect the Emperor. We sat on a grassy knoll and soon an imperial
guard appeared, then a few more. As more gathered closer to us to look us over, I
decided they didn't look friendly and we got out of there. Later, we heard they were
killing themselves in the palace, as well as others at the same time we were there.

A few days later, an unconditional surrender was signed on the Battleship
Missouri. The soldiers then occupied Japan and we headed back to San Francisco. We
made history again by being the first Merchant ship to sail the great circle route through
the Aleutians Island since before the war. A picture of our ship was in the San
Francisco newspaper as one of our crew was an artist and had drawn the rising sun on
the smoke stack with the St. Lawrence Victory going though the rising sun.

I sailed one ship after the war The SS Blue Jacket. I arrived home May 24, 1946.
The St. Lawrence Victory was the last casualty of WW II. It hit a mine off the coast of
Yugoslavia March 25, 1947.

I married my high school sweetheart and worked in the pipe
trade for 44 years. We had four children, 10 grandchildren, 8 great grandchildren. I
started out of the piping local 38 in San Francisco, CA. I moved to Kennewick, WA, in
1948 and worked out of local 598 until I retired. I started the Mid-Columbia Chapter of
Merchant Marine and US Navy Armed Guards September 10, 2002. We now have 49
members. We have enjoyed the comradery of our fellow sea mates. We have made all
the conventions except the one in Atlantic City.

JOHN CAWLEY
Rockland, MA 02370

Saga of the US Army transport SP19-FS19
My stewardship on this ship began on May 29, 1943. I and three other men

from Sheepshead Bay New York Maritime training station were sent to Boston,
Massachusetts to be the deckhands on her. I lived in Boston and was able to go home
before reporting on her. After spending the night at home I went to the Boston army
base where she was. The tide was low and looking down at her I was amazed how

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small she was. She was only 114 feet long. After signing on with the first mate I was
assigned to my quarters in the forecastle. My salary was $870 per annum - $78.50 per
month. From this amount we had to buy our own clothing parkas, hats, mittens and
whatever else we need. We bought them at the civilian workers store-Army PX or give
a naval ship was tied up at our dark from its ships store. We were put on watches of
four hours on four hours off, an able body and an ordinary Seaman per watch.

We did not know at the time that we were being investigated by the Army
Intelligence Service. I found out about this in March 2006. This came about when
looking for my records, the Army human resources center in St. Louis sent my records
now declassified as it was at that time 1943 noted as confidential.

From records received from the Army transport Museum this ship was built
with others in 1943. She was of wooden construction and she was one of 318 to be
built for use as coastal freighters. The lists I received were for FS ships, meaning
freight supply. They were all listed in numerical order. When it comes to FS19 it
shows the number but the rest of the information is blank. The other ships record use-
disposal is noted, most turned over to the Coast Guard, and what happened to them
noted.

She was 114 feet long and if I can remember correctly had two diesel engines;
the fuel and water tanks were aft. We had two lifeboats on the upper area aft, and a
small dory to be used going ashore. There was a 50-caliber machine gun bolted to the
upper forecastle, we had no shower facilities, also no health unit. Her hold was quite
large for such a ship. The draft was low because we had to sail close to the shore to
make deliveries. The number FP 19 came to the fore when it showed up as this number
on convoy S.G. 26 going to Greenland.

I never found out what happened to it after the war. One historian noted the
Army was not in particular awe of the ships; they were just cargo vessels for really wet
places so it kept no treasured histories for its great transports as did the Navy from an
Army transport historian. (F.P. meant – Freight Personnel – and we were always
known by that number.)

THE CREW: The ship had a crew of (16)-(13) civilian and (3) Army: 3
officers-Norwegian citizens; 4 deckhands; 3 engineering officers; 1 oiler; 2 messmen; 1
radioman-Army; 1 gunner-Army; 1 cook-Army.

Our quarters were as follows: In the lower forecastle were 7 bunks, 4
deckhands, 1 oiler, and 2 messmen. Upper forecastle: the second officer. Back of
bridge: Captain and first officer. Area below bridge: 3 engineer officers, radio operator,
gunner, and cook. This area had the bunks for passengers we were carrying. Also wash
area. There were places for the galley – head dining for those people. The people in the
forecastle had dining space – head – wash area.

THE VOYAGE BEGINS
On May 30, 1943 we sailed northward from Boston to Greenland. We were so

small that we ran alone as we felt no sub would bother with us. On our way we ran into
a bad storm in the Gulf of Maine. Most of the crew got seasick and the ship was heavily

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damaged. It was like a shakedown cruise for crew and ship. We arrived in Halifax –
Nova Scotia – Canada badly in need of repairs. We were about two weeks there waiting
for parts from the States. While we were there we could not leave the ship. (Waiting I
presumed for security check). We finally sailed to St. Johns – Newfoundland – Canada
where we were to join a convoy to Greenland. On our way there we found out what we
were to be up against: ice and icebergs off the Newfoundland Coast. Also on our way
to St. Johns we were transferred to Greenland Base Command 6-15-43. We sailed from
St. Johns to Greenland on 6-22-43 as part of convoy #S.G.26. The convoy consisted of
five Merchant ships – U.S. Army FP 19 and U.S. Army Transport – Armstrong. We
had four U.S. Coast Guard cutters and four small Navy ships heading for duty there.
We arrived at Narsarssuak, Bluie West I B.W.I., our home base on 6-29-43. (In further
notes I will always write B.W.I.)

ENVIRONMENT: Greenland is the largest Island in the world – 840,000
square miles, 84% is ice cap. It was under control of the Danish Government. The only
areas that were inhabited were along the Rocky Coast. The population averaged about
50,000. To reach many of the villages you had to sail up ice choked fjords, sometimes
they were very narrow. During the summer months it was daylight 24 hours and in
winter darkness 24 hours. The temperature in summer averaged 35 to 50 degrees and in
winter 10 to 20 below zero. This environment to us from the States was very
inhospitable, but we learned to live in it. The main industry for the natives was fishing.

OUR DUTIES: Our duties and responsibilities came about because Greenland
was a stopover for planes flying to Europe. The only spot on the Southwest Coast that
could be used as an airstrip was B.W.I. most of the flights from the States started in
Presque Isle – Maine with stops in Goose Bay – Labrador then B.W.I. on to Europe.
The base had Quonset huts some barracks for personnel. There were huge gasoline
storage tanks for plane refueling, as well as large area for diesel storage. There were
facilities for these civilian workers, there were also the usual places for medical,
recreation, and eating; in other words a typical Army base. There were docs for
unloading, tankers, cargo ships, and areas where the coast guard, maybe and our ship
was berthed.

Our job from this base was to re-supply the radio, weather and range finder
stations (West Coast: Narsak, Gamatron, Simiutak and Prince Christian Sound; East
Coast: Comache Bay, Angmarsalik and some small ones whose names I cannot
remember) with all the items they needed to function properly. To the men their mail
was very important, we also took replacement personnel. I believe their length of duty
on these remote outposts was six months.

Once we had to bring back a soldier who committed suicide. These stations
were in God forsaken spots, and boredom was rampant. They were scattered on small
rocky islands or outcroppings into the ocean. Because of the course they were flying
some of these bases were near villages

One of our jobs was to bring all kinds of supplies-food, etc., to large Danish
settlements. We did this because their ships were unavailable. The two main villages
were on the West Coast and on the East Coast. From the larger villages smaller boats

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brought the needed supplies to outlying villages. These small boats were manned
mostly by natives. To get to the East Coast instead of rounding Cape Farwell with its
treacherous waters-Davis Strait and Denmark Strait meeting into the North Atlantic-we
sailed through Prince Christian Sound. Once we were escorting a Norwegian freighter
through there, we suddenly stopped in slush ice. She was so close it hit us -- she just
slid along our port side-lucky. On one of our trips up the East Coast we were so close
to the Arctic Circle the captain sailed across it for the experience.

We always seem to be on the move the minute we docked from one trip,
supplies were being loaded for the next. At Biwi the loading was done by the Army
Port Battalion, these were mostly longshoremen from Boston and when we got to our
destination, we did the unloading. If the station did not have large boats we unloaded
onto rafts – oil drums with planking pulled by outboard motors. If the area was frozen
in, we used sledges pulled by dogs. We were assisted by the Army personnel. At the
Danish villages they had docks and the unloading there was easy. Wherever we went
they were glad to see us.

A few other jobs we did was if the Navy ship USS Bowdoin was not available we
guided convoys through ice. Once I took the opportunity to ride in the blister of a
P.B.Y doing the same job. If Army nurses and Red Cross workers were delayed at
B.W.I we took them down to the fjord so they could see the native village, I think we
did this twice. If pilots went down on the ice cap we took mushers and their dogs to
the closest drop off spot so they could go after them. We got so proficient in our work
that whatever job that had to be done – good or bad – we got it done!

When we got back to B.W.I the first thing we did was to get a shower. We had
no shower facility on our ship. We either went to the Army base or if a Navy or Coast
Guard ship was beside us we went they are. We used whatever was available to do
laundry. We restock our personal supplies at the PX warships store. For entertainment
I only remember movies, once in a while. I never saw a USO show if one came there.
Across the Fjord was Norse historic site ruins of a church built by Erik the Red‘s wife -
- I never saw it. If on a trip we needed water we would pull up to a glacier that had a
pool or berg, or floe that had a pool, we put our pump in action and filled our tanks.

Repairs: we did our own repairs. Examples: we needed a new bow, ours was
shredded from hitting the ice, as they were wooden they shipped a new bow-by plane-
with the metal sheathing needed. We ran the ship ashore at high tide in Julianehaab,
tied her up and with the help of the Danish citizens there replaced the bow. When the
tide was low the work was done we lived on the ship when it was listed sideways. When
we needed a new propeller we went to Ivigtut where divers replaced it, whatever small
items that needed replaced – engine parts, deck equipment – we replaced them.

Dangers: while working out of B.W.I. our ship was in ice most of the time.
While below you can hear the ice scraping along the wooden hull, it was an eerie
sensation. You did not know if it was to break through. The other situation was being
frozen in the ice. That happened to us once. You were always afraid of being crushed.
When it happened to us the United States Coast Guard cutter Sturis broke through to
us. Another danger was if a good sized chunk of ice fell off a glacier, it would cause a

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large wave. Not only would the swell be a problem it would push the ice floes against
the ship. In the summer some of the crew would go swimming among the ice floes.
Soon our experience in Greenland would end. The weather was so bad we could not
sleep or stay in the forecastle. We had to cross the open deck for our stations. We slept
and stayed mid-ships in the quarters where the Army personnel stayed when we took
them to their stations in Greenland.

Coming Home: When we signed on in Boston in May 1943 it was a contract for
one year. When the year was up in May of 1944 we demanded that we'd be relieved
(mutiny). Actually we had no way of getting out of there. We were stuck. The Army
prevailed on us to stay until a relief ship could be sent up. They should have planned in
advance for the change in ships!! They said our experience was invaluable. They needed
us.

We left B.W.I. in early October in a convoy. I tried to get the convoy data but
the Navy said it was unavailable. At that time a fierce hurricane was roaring up the
north Atlantic coast. It struck us between B.W.I. and St. Johns, it was a horrible trip.
They had a naval ship close to us, but if we capsized they would not have saved any of
us. In addition to the naval ship, the troop transport in the convoy kept us in their lee-
side so the seas would be calmer on us. How we existed I will never know, eating –
hygiene – doing watches – day to day duties, it was heroic on such a small ship to do
what we did in that storm.

When we finally reached St. Johns we were in bad shape. Instead of leading us
through the U-boat nets first we were held up outside. We went in last - the reason-the
convoy ships wanted to give us a great reception. Whistles were blown - men stood at
the ships‘ railings waving their caps and cheering. I guess they figured we deserved it
after such a harrowing voyage.

After a day in St. Johns we headed south. The weather was still bad so the
captain pulled us into Sydney Mines-Nova Scotia. We stayed overnight and we sailed
through the Bras D‘or Lake out to Strait of Canso. He found out we could fit through
the locks there, it was a smooth trip, and our next stop was Halifax.

We finally arrived in Boston and a few others and I who lived in the area got to
go home overnight. We sailed through the Cape Cod Canal, stopping in New Bedford-
New Haven and finally to the Brooklyn Army base on October 16, 1944. We were
discharged from there. We spent one year, four months, 16 days aboard her!

Gratification: we knew we did a great job supplying the Army stations who
reported weather to the planes flying to Europe. It was not until later an Army reporter
wrote about D-Day. Your weather tomorrow is from the Arctic today - Greenland. In
the Arctic today every Yankee is contributing a worthy share for the freedom of
tomorrow. Greenland and the Arctic: we were the ones who supplied the stations, for
we were in Greenland on D-Day.

Mystery of the FP-19 FS-19: in my research of what happened to this ship, I ran
into serious questions about her.

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1. Why on the list of the U.S. Army transport ships of this size the FS 19 was shown
with a blank space and noted ― number not used.‖ All the other ships had their use
and disposal records noted, will why were we change from FS 19 to FP 19?

2. Why were we investigated by the Army intelligence section for security reasons
when you sailed on other merchant ships you were not checked?

3. On our way to Greenland when in Halifax and St. Johns we were not allowed
ashore.

4. Why did we have an army radioman instead of a merchant marine radioman? I can
see why we had an Army gunner onboard; he could man our machine gun on the
forecastle.

5. Our three officers were Norwegian citizens who spoke fluent Danish, this was the
language of the people in Greenland

6. If I remember we had other gadgets on board that only the radioman operated and
was off limits. At that time the Germans had weather and radio stations in
Greenland that were being hunted and destroyed.

7. As we were always on the move on both coasts supply in our outposts and the
Danish villages, and being inconspicuous could we be listening in our radio to all
transmissions, after all Denmark was in German hands and some transmissions
could be suspect.

8. This could only be conjecture on my part for everything about our service up
bearer does not show any way or. Why?

LEWIS E. CLANTON, LT, USN (RET)

I went to sea in June 1944 at the age of 16 and my first ship was a two masted
schooner operating out of Miami throughout the Caribbean. We hauled food stuff,
farm machinery, rum, coffee, sugar and just every thing you can imagine, whatever was
going to or from the islands. In January 1945 I caught a Liberty ship (The SS Santiago
Igleases) in New Orleans. We loaded 501 Army Mules and took them to Northern
Italy. It was so cold there that mechanized equipment couldn't operate. We had 13
Army Veterinarian Officers aboard and 50 Soldiers to take care of the mules. The
mules were in stalls on the main deck and in the t'ween decks and the lower holds were
filled with cases of beer.

After we had discharged the mules and beer in Leghorn, we went back to
Naples and loaded 5000 German POW'S and took them to Oran, North Africa where
there was a large POW compound. We didn't have any facilities for them so they were
loaded in the T'ween decks and the lower holds and were aboard for two days and
night. One of the crew traded a POW a pack of cigarettes and an orange for his Iron
Cross. When the left the ship, they left behind all kinds of uniforms, helmets, gas masks
in the holds and we threw a million dollars worth of it overboard. Can you imagine
what it would be worth today?

I paid off in Hobooken, NJ and signed on the SS Sieur De La Salle in New
York. We got underway and went back to New Orleans and loaded a full cargo of

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Ammo at a place down river called Bellchase. When we were near loaded, the Captain

called all hands aft to the Number 4 hatch and told us that he had just found out that

he was sick and needed an operation and would have to payoff and break the articles

but if we would promise to stay aboard, he would get the Coast Guard to allow us to

have 400 cases of beer aboard for our use. We all agreed but the Coast Guard thru a fit.

We then threatened to walk off but after much gnashing of teeth they agreed and we

got 400 cases of Jax aboard. We were allowed to purchase two bottles at noon and two

bottles for the evening meal and were not allowed to store it up. It never created a bit

of trouble until it ran out. About the SS Sieur De La Salle, the reason that the Capt. was

able to get us the beer was that we were almost ready to sail and if he broke the articles

and the crew followed him, there would be a delay in sailing because crews were not

available in New Orleans and it would take a while to get a new crew.

We were the first Ammo ship to be allowed to transit the Panama Canal in

wartime and they took no chances and we had no trouble. Armed Marines and Sailors

came aboard and set up their own sound powered telephone system and no orders to

the helm, engine room or forecastle could be obeyed until it was repeated on their

phones. All gun mounts were locked and the magazines had a guard on them. I was the

Helmsman for the 8 hour transit and could not be relieved and had a Navy

Quartermaster standing right behind me to take over if I did anything wrong. When we

reached the Pacific side, a Pilot boat came out and took off the pilot and the

Guards and we were ordered to keep going. I liked the Merchant Marine and would

have made it a career if I didn't have the Draft Board on my neck.

We were 53 days a sea when we got to Leyte in the Philippines and after a few

days we got underway and went up to Linguyan Gulf and we stayed there until the war

was over.

My 18 birthday was August 6, the day the bomb was dropped. We had

Kamakazies all over the place but none of them ever made a pass at us. When the war

was over, we off loaded our ammo and got underway for Anawetok in the Marshall

Islands and loaded 59 Navy Enlisted and brought them to San Pedro, CA.

We anchored in San Pedro Bay and off loaded the Sailors and were told that we

would go to a berth in about 4 hours and would be paid off. Later the pilot came

aboard and instead of going to a berth, we got underway and went back thru the Canal

and ended up in Houston, TX. Our Articles stated that we were to be paid off

in the final port of discharge in the Continental U.S. and were to be given First Class

Air transportation to New York and as we had run out of laundry and had to wash our

own sheets and towels we were owed a lot of overtime. We got none of this and were

paid to take the train in Coach to New York. We should have been paid off in San

Pedro. We paid off in Houston under protest and I never heard another word about

what happened.

I made AB and continued sailing until late September 1947 and as I was now of

draft age and they were breathing hard on me. I joined the Navy, got caught in Korea

on Minesweepers and stayed and made a career out of it with two tours in Vietnam.

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In 1968 I had 20 years in the Navy and I applied to the Coast Guard for
permission to set for Second Mate License and it was approve and I passed all the parts
except the flashing light part and before I was to take it, the Navy made me an offer
that I couldn't refuse and I never completed the test. I stayed in the Navy for another
five years after that.

ROBERT COOPER, JR.

Robert Cooper Jr. was born on 12/28/25 in Loranger, Louisiana and was raised
on a dairy farm graduating from Lorange High School. On December 3, 1943 he
enlisted in Maritime Service in New Orleans and was sent to St. Petersburg, Florida for
Basic Training.

Small World: During Basic Training Robert was taking off his shoes after going
to a movie. Two of the other guys were chasing each other and one jumped over him
and hit a flange and died with a very severe head injury. Robert had to go to the Coast
Guard injury area for questioning. Woodrow Allen was the officer in charge of Key
West, who happened to be from Loranger, his hometown, When he saw Robert he
said, ―You‘re Miss Lizzie Cooper‘s boy.‖ He was glad to see a familiar person.

He stayed in St. Petersburg from December to March and was accepted as a
cadet midshipman in the United States Merchant Marine Academy (Kings Point, NY)
based on grades and physical fitness. Only two of thirty-seven were accepted into the
class and the two men were from Hammond and Loranger, La. The other man, Curtis
Bloomquist, was sent to Pas Christian, Mississippi.

Robert was sent to San Mateo, Ca. for approximately four months (March-July
1944) for Basic Training. He was deployed for sea training on the S/T Owyhee (a
woman). He served on the Owyhee from 07/06/1944-06/21/1945. Robert was
commissioned for six months of sea duty and was to get off in the Panama Canal Zone.
The chief engineer, Charlie Kuhn, would not take the ship out unless the two cadets
(Robert Cooper Jr., and Joe Saez) remained on the ship. He stated that no one else
could run the Bailey control system. Joe was familiar with the system because he had
trained at the Ford Trade School in Detroit, Mi. This ship was responsible for carrying
one hundred octane gasoline containers for the United States Army and Air Force.

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He arrived in Baltimore and took a thirty day leave to his hometown in
Loranger, La. Because of the extended time at sea and his time at the Maritime
Academy, Robert was able to obtain his maritime engineers license as a third assistant
before he returned to the Academy from his leave. On his visit home, he visited his
folks and his lady friends (Mom included). Robert and Joe were the only cadet
midshipmen who had their Marine Engineer License. They were also two amid six
thousand other cadets who received war zone ribbons for Atlantic, Pacific and
Mediterranean. Most cadets only had one war zone ribbon.

Some of his best memories were of making friends. After the war, he continued
to correspond with 2nd Assistant Engineer from the Owyhee, Wallace Potter, who lived
in Pennsylvania until his death in 1996; and Bob Bristol from Manakata, Minnesota
who he met in San Mateo, Ca. at Basic Training until his death. He was unable to find
Joe Saez, the Academy boxer, after leaving.

At any rate, Robert reported back to the Maritime Academy in Kings Point, NY
in August 1945. He was discharged from the service after VJ Day and came home the
last of November and went to work with the Louisiana Department of Highways and
Development. He married on February 9, 1946 to Lela Oliphant and to this union they
had (5) five daughters.

Robert retired in 1980 from LDT&D as District Construction Engineer. He
then went to work for FEMA as Public Assistant Engineer for 23 years retiring again in
2003.

JOHN J. CORBETT
WILLOW GROVE, PA 19090
Regional V.P. Valley Forge Region

A long, cold, wet voyage to hell and back....not quite what I, along with two
other seamen bargained for when we signed up to sail on the SS Horace Luckenbach in
New York in December of 1944. The SS Horace Luckenbach was built before World
War I in Osaka, Japan, so it was already an old ship in 1944. It was quite a Deckhands
nightmare. She had 6 holds and 4 booms to each hold and it was layered in rust. It was
no longer permitted to transport overseas. Prior to World War II, she made runs
carrying lumber from the U.S. west coast to the east coast. When World War II began,

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she was placed into the North Atlantic now transporting general cargo and
ammunition. Now both deck and engine gangs slept aft on the fantail of the ship. They
installed a five inch gun tub on top of the crew's quarters which was so rusted out
around the base that we had to keep inserting wooden plugs into the holes to keep
water from coming inside the ship. The Atlantic more often than not was lapping the
sides of the ship and coming over the sides so viciously that there was usually serious
flooding in the crews' quarters. Nothing could be left on deck. All three watches had to
sleep in one large room. There was not much rest to be had on this ship due to
relieving watches, mopping up water and the never ending playing of cards. At times,
mainlines were a necessity at times to get mid ship and to the bow watch. The North
Atlantic is a bitter cold and rough sea.

When we arrived in Antwerp Belgium the Canadian Infantry was mopping
up the German resistance. We received shore leave and the next day, a V-2 rocket hit
the Rex theatre which is one of the largest theatres in Europe. As a result of the
blast, hundreds of people were injured and killed and they were looking for
volunteers to help dig out the wounded and dead. There were four or five cranes on
train tracks that were unloading the Luckenbach onto Army trucks. At the time, I
happened to be painting the ship on the starboard side companionway when a V-2
rocket hit along side of our ship. The cranes were blown away and I was hit in the
temple with shrapnel. They never found the operators of the cranes and fourteen
men died in that blast. The English Field Hospital was responsible for fixing my
wound. Once the SS Luckenbach was repaired, my buddies George Nerud and
Quentin Helfrich and I returned home… but it was a long, cold, wet trip in hell. To
this day, I still suffer from the results of my injury to my head.

I returned home to Philadelphia at the end of the war to see what life had in
store for me now. Prior to the war, my stepfather who was a plumber had signed up a
lot of houses to be hooked up to sewers that had to be put off due to the war. So, I
became a plumber. I worked in ditches all day and spent most of my nights in the bars
with my buddies who also came home. But my mother who expected a 17 year old son
to come home was not too happy with this routine and she made it very clear to me
that I had to change my ways. So, I decided to go back to sea.

I signed up on the SS Frank P. Reed with Goodyear Rubber Company with my
old buddy George Nerud from Chicago. We would be gone for a year. We eventually
came home to New York with a load of pepper and rubber. George had an infected

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hand and they had to take him off and placed him into quarantine. I never saw him
again. After four years of sailing, I came home and met my wife to be but I still
continue to sail until I was ready to marry her.

I came ashore and worked again with my stepfather and married my wife. Her
father was a builder, so I served an apprenticeship under him and was a carpenter. I
loved it. I built our house where we raised our five children. I was the happiest man in
the world. In the years that passed, I build a summer house on the NJ coast. I
eventually received a letter and a picture from my buddy George that he had married a
girl named Elaine and drove big equipment in a quarry. We wrote each other and then
it stopped. After a long time, a Private Investigator found out that George died in
1990. I remained friends with my buddy Quentin who lived in Baltimore. We remained
just like we were brothers until he passed away last year.

I lost my wife three years ago and so now I spend a lot of time traveling with
the AMMV, running the High Seas Mariners Chapter and being the Regional Vice
President of the Valley Forge Region. So, life gave me a wonderful family, the ability
to build houses and to enjoy the AMMV.

TONY CORTESE
Rancho Mirage, CA 92270

I was born Antonio Cortese on June 14, 1919 in the coal mining town, Primero,
Colorado. My parents, Giuseppi Cortese and Francesca Cavavetta, were both born in
Italy, and were betrothed when my father was 15 and my mother was 12. My father
came through Ellis Island when he was 17 and later sent for my mother. They were
married in the US and settled in Primero, Colorado where my father was a miner. I
was one of 11 children born to my parents, but only 8 survived. The 3 eldest boys
were all taken in the influenza epidemic. After a mining accident my father broke his
back and was let go by the mining company with no compensation until my father
sued and was awarded a $35,000 settlement. With that money the family moved to
Richmond, California where my father became a factory worker. All of us kids started
working as soon as possible to help support the family. Our experiences and exposure
were limited but we had a rich life in many ways, and we learned many things from my
father including wine making. I was lucky enough to join the Boy Scouts and
participated in the Scouts, along with swimming and boxing during my early years.

I had been offered sports scholarships at both the University of California and
Stanford after graduating from high school; however, we were a poor family and
expected to work to help the family. Education seemed frivolous in those days, so I
opted to go to work immediately after high school. My first serious job was at the
Standard Oil Refinery in Richmond, CA where I trained to become a machinist and
eventual plant manager. I did find my way to UC, Berkeley while at the Refinery as
Standard Oil gave me a scholarship to UC in Mechanical and Electrical Engineering. I
continued with this program for 3 years and during that time married my first wife,

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Cleo. I also found my way to singing during these years as I had discovered that I had
the gift of a tenor voice. I studied classical music also at UC Berkeley.

Then December 7, 1941 came along, and the world changed. My world was not
an exception. At the advice of a friend I joined a new branch of the armed services,
the United States Maritime Service (USMS), established by President Roosevelt, to
maintain and supply the armed forces in their respective theaters of war.

I reported to the induction center in Alameda, California where I was issued a
khaki uniform and began basic training and survival training. In the event that we
would have to abandon ship, for example, if a ship carrying aviation gasoline was
torpedoed, we were instructed to jump off the ship with our arms criss-crossed holding
the life jacket to prevent the life jacket from breaking our neck when we hit the water.
The most memorable part of this exercise was jumping into the water when it had
been set ablaze with kerosene.

After two weeks of basic training in Alameda we were dispatched to a newly
established training base for the USMS on Avalon, on the Catalina Islands off the coast
of Long Beach, CA. Two passenger ships that had been carrying tourists between the
mainland and Catalina Island had been requisitioned by the USMS for training
purposes. One ship was dedicated to training engineering officer candidates, and the
other to train deck officers. With my machinist experience and my background in
mechanical and electrical engineering at UC I was a candidate for engineering officer
training.

Upon completion of the training we were bused to the US Coast Guard
Headquarters in San Francisco to take the marine officer's license examination, 4 days
of intense testing on engine and boiler room problems. License in hand, and now a
USMS ensign, I reported directly for assignment to a ship.

My first assignment was aboard the M.E. Lombardi. I was then assigned to the
W.H. Berg where I assumed responsibility as the Third Assistant Engineer and sailed
on this ship for the next three years. The Berg was a tanker capable of carrying
approximately one hundred and fifty thousand barrels of aviation gasoline and a crew
of about 60 men. My first action came one day when we were about ten or fifteen
days out. I recall it was exactly 12 noon on New Year‘s Day. I was lying down on my
bunk, reading. It was a very clear and calm day, and all of a sudden, a general alarm
sounded. I hit the deck just as the Navy Ensign Armed Guard officer yelled that there
was a Japanese submarine out there on our port side firing at us with a deck gun. The
Japanese apparently thought that they could blow us up with a deck gun rather than
wasting a torpedo! They were operating so far from their home base that they wanted
to save their torpedoes, which they might do if they were able to hit The Berg with a
well placed shell from their deck gun. Our crew immediately started firing a 5-inch
cannon and after two shots, we hit the submarine just to the rear of their conning
tower.

The ―amidships‖ portion of the tanker contained a series of partitioned tanks
for carrying ―aviation gasoline‖. There were small copper tubes that ran from each
individual tank, all the way up into the main mast and into the ―horn.‖ The horn

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vented dangerous gasoline fumes out of the storage tanks. At the base of the horn,
there was a ring gear of approximately 24 inches in diameter. Under normal conditions,
the horn was always pointed ―aft‖, out of the wind, to vent the dangerous gasoline
fumes coming up from the tanks. On one very stormy day, somewhere in the mid
Pacific, the winds and heavy seas caused the main mast to bend causing the horn at the
top of the mast to get locked in a forward position. Water began to flow down into the
horn to the tanks and to displace the gasoline with heavier sea water. This forced the
gasoline up and out of the fuel tanks and onto the deck. It then drained into the bilges
creating the danger of a deck fire. In such a storm where the ship for a time was
almost engulfed in sea water the height of the main mast and the bridge were the only
visible structures above water. The diligence and knowledge of the engineer and the
deck officer on watch was crucial to maintain the ship moving in a forward direction.
If the ship had not been maintained on a course into the storm, it would have rolled
over on its side and all would have been lost.

I was summoned to meet with the chief engineer and the first engineer and was
asked to volunteer to climb the main mast to do whatever necessary to return the
―horn‖ to its aft position out of the wind. This meant having to get onto the catwalk
that extended from the after house to amidship where the main mast loomed
approximately 40 feet above the deck. Attached to the main mast was a steel ladder
running up to the top of the mast, and I needed to climb this ladder to get to the horn
and determine why it was locked into the wind, and then correct the position by
turning the ―horn‖ around and out of the wind.

I found a hammer and a large screw driver and watched through the porthole
with the chief engineer and the first engineer until such time that the ship was at the
bottom of a wave and moving forward. When the ship reached this point the
engineers opened the door of the hatch and I ran down to the catwalk to the main
mast, and I proceeded to climb up the ladder as quickly as I could.

By now the ship had reached the top of a mountainous wave and was now
poised to go down into a deep valley. As I reached the top of the mast the seas were
up to my neck. To protect myself from being washed away by the tremendous force of
the water I wrapped my legs and arms around the ladder and held on for dear life! As
the wave subsided I saw the problem. The small gear at the end of the shaft had
jumped up and locked itself in that position. Now the ship was on a downward course
again. So I held on and rode up and down until the ship began to climb, and for the
second time, I found myself hanging on for dear life against the great force of the
water. As the ship was cresting a giant wave, with a well-positioned blow of the
hammer, I was able to knock the small gear back into place. I descended the ladder as
quickly as possible and successfully turned the handle on the shaft that turned the ring
gear on the vent out of the wind. Then I ran back across the catwalk and up the 4 or
5 steps into the arms of the chief engineer and the first engineer who were holding the
door open for me. I rushed in and they closed the door behind me just as the next
wave hit!

Normally, ocean-going vessels carry back-up machinery to support all of the

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generators and pumps that are vital to the operation of the ship. On one voyage
aboard the Berg en route to the South Pacific to rendezvous with the aircraft carrier,
―The Hornet‖, for gasoline refueling one of our ship‘s two main generators failed. We
switched to the second generator and completed our mission refueling the carrier.
Since we were deep in enemy waters the aircraft carrier‘s planes circled during the
entire refueling operation protecting our ships. As soon as the fueling was completed
there was a mad scramble to disengage fuel hoses and the lines which held our ship to
the carrier. After the separation occurred it was full speed ahead keeping in mind we
now had only one main generator to safely return home. Within one or two hours of
our separation from the aircraft carrier our only operating steam generator failed. We
were now dead in the water, in enemy waters, with no power to return to safety or
home. The only lighting left was from a small diesel emergency generator that
automatically went on when all power was lost providing for only emergency lighting
in the engine room. The chief engineer and the first engineer both came into the
engine room, and I happened to be on watch.

When the chief engineer asked me to see what I could do about this generator
problem I started to examine the generator. We slowly removed all the bolts
surrounding the cover (bonnet) of the generator and lifted the bonnet off the generator
to determine what had occurred. I discovered that the forward main bearing was
completely burned and the main shaft had been scored and damaged. To repair this
would require that the entire 12 foot armature be lifted out of the generator to repair
the damaged part of the shaft bearing. We lifted the armature out of the generator,
brought it into the machine shop and put it into the lathe. It was obvious that the
bearing had been overheated and that the heat had caused the bearing babbit to melt
and the shaft surface was scored. To make the repair I needed to clean up the scored
shaft and then find a piece of pipe that could be used as a sleeve to slide over the
damaged shaft and to return it to its original diameter.

The miracle was that when I searched the machine shop for a piece of pipe I
found such a piece, that by some ―rare‖ chance, had been left in a storage area when the
ship was built in the shipyard. I used inside and outside calipers and determined that
this piece of pipe was exactly the right size to provide me with a sleeve to slip over the
damaged shaft. I then needed to bore the inside of the pipe to size in order to fit the
shaft. I also needed to find a way to make a mold to line the bearing case. I created a
mold from flour and water that I requested from the galley to pour a replacement for the
babbit and restore the bearing. Eventually, I was able to restore the bearing and the shaft
and return the armature to the generator. We then lowered the bonnet and tightened
the bolts, and within six to eight hours of being dead in the water we started the
generator and restored electrical power to all the necessary machinery supporting the
operation of the engine and boiler rooms. It seemed as though it was an act of God that
the piece of pipe was left in a storage area of the ship that would have normally been
swept out and discarded.

I was overseas somewhere in the South Pacific when our radio operator came in
to the officer‘s mess at dinner time with a radiogram announcing that President

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Roosevelt had died. Little did we know at the time what the consequences of his death
would have on our status as veterans of World War II. Only later did we find out that
we did not have a GI Bill. There is a quote attributed to General Eisenhower which
stated, in essence, that the D-Day invasion of Europe on Anzio Beach could not have
been accomplished without the Merchant Marine who supplied the munitions and
equipment. Over a hundred Merchant Marine ships were torpedoed and there were six
thousand merchant seamen lost in the icy water of the North Atlantic making the allied
invasion possible.

The news of the war ending came over the radio while we were at sea
somewhere between Pearl Harbor and San Francisco. Strangely enough, there was no
rejoicing or celebration. We had almost a quiet feeling within ourselves of ―Thank God‖.

On my last trip home after the war ended I met my baby, Kathy, for the first
time. She was a delight and a beautiful child. She married a physician and lives in
Boise, Idaho. Their daughter, Bonnie, is a PhD teaching art history at the University of
Texas, and their son Peter is also a PhD, teaching laser technology at the University of
Colorado.

I had made
up my mind that after the war, if I survived, I would go to the Julliard School of Music
and pursue an operatic career. While at sea I wrote to Julliard and expressed interest in
attending. They responded by inviting me to come to New York and audition, which I
did. I was accepted and pursued music until the first sign of a hearing loss appeared.
This had unknowingly begun during the war. And so, after much angst I finally decided
to leave New York and return to California where I embarked on a longtime career in
the auto business with my brothers. The business was named the ―Cortese Brothers‖,
and it flourished. My second wife, Francesca, and I lived very comfortably for many
years with our 2 daughters, Christina and Acela. Both girls have married, and I now
have 7 more beautiful grandchildren, all are still in school.

One of the best things that ever happened to me was when I was invited to join
the world renowned Bohemian Club in San Francisco. It became my outlet for my
singing which I had to abandon earlier. I became a Bohemian as an entertainer and
have been in this club for more than 50 years where I have been lucky enough to sing
and act in the company of world leaders and famous celebrities.

I am now almost 87 years old now and live with the love of my life, my 3rd wife,
Bobbe. We have a wonderful home in Rancho Mirage, CA where I play a lot of golf,

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swim and enjoy my golden years. Bobbe is the true blessing in the twilight of my life,
and we have been married 20 years. We have one dog together, Anise, and she is a very
bright light in both our lives.

WILLIAM M. CROSS
GREAT LAKES – MIDWEST CHAPTER

I was approaching the age of 18 in the fall of 1944. The war continued and I
was quite certain that I would have to serve in the armed forces. I explored the
possibility of the US Navy V-12 program and of the Merchant Marine Cadet Program,
which were designed to train men for officer rank in these services. There was a flood
of applicants for each program so I didn't have the opportunity to go either direction.
A neighbor of ours in Chicago heard that I was trying to make a suitable choice for
enlistment and she suggested I speak with her brother, who'd served as a deck sailor in
the ranks of the United States Merchant Marine. We got together and he told me what
if was like to serve in this branch. I learned you had to get training for service by
enrolling in the US Maritime Training Program so I followed through on this
suggestion, since I would be able to accumulate funds for going to college after the war
(there was no GI BILL as yet for serving in either the army or the navy), and I felt that
serving in the USMM would enable me to travel extensively. I went ahead and applied
downtown in Chicago and was accepted.

Several dozen of us newly sworn-in Maritime Service applicants left Chicago on
December 19, 1944, bound for Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, NY, and the location of our
assigned maritime time. Our training lasted until the end of April, 1945. The training
program consisted of six weeks of rigorous basic training, including 12-hour watches in
freezing cold.

Later training included intensive swimming, about 300 yards each day, and
varied exercises to toughen you up, including climbing ropes, trying all types of knots.
Shortly after spring arrived, we were sent to Baltimore and spent 3 weeks on the
training ship getting practice in steering the ship, doing lookout duty, tying up the ship
to a dock when we came into port, as well as painting the ship's hull. There was also
training in reading semaphore signals, Morse code flash messages, and the flags used to
communicate from ship to ship. I was able to earn a signalman's ticket by going in to
South Ferry, Manhattan, and passing the appropriate tests, along with deck officers,
captains and mates. The war was moving toward its end in Europe, so we were told
we'd be sent all the way across the country to Seattle for assignment.

After a 3-day train ride we arrived in Seattle and were billeted in a community
center. After some conversation, I learned that this building was originally a Buddhist
Temple belonging to the Japanese community in Seattle. The people had all been sent
to detention camps right after Pearl Harbor in Utah and Nevada. I felt badly about that,
learning earlier that no one of Japanese ancestry in the U.S. had ever been found guilty
of espionage.

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Voyage # 1: I was assigned to the SS Peter De Smet and was assigned a bunk
with three others, receiving the rank of acting able seaman, a notch higher than
ordinary seaman. After several days the ship set sail for Prince Rupert, B.C., to get its
cargo. Upon arriving in Prince Rupert and tying the ship to its dock, the ship was lined
with wood planking in order to fit its cargo in more safely and solidly so that the cargo
would not shift and endanger the ship once we were out in the Pacific. After nearly a
week, our vessel was sent over to Watson's Island, an army base near a Native
American village. We learned that our cargo would be thermite bombs and that we
would sail to the Mariannas Islands to deliver them to the US Air Force.

Once we were away from the forbidding scenery of the western Canadian coast,
the ocean calmed down and fortunately after a day or so my seasickness subsided and
then disappeared. Just a gentle roll - the ocean was beautiful. We had several weeks of
travel westward with flying fish jumping in and out of the ocean near us, a blackfish
(small whale) spouting water, and watching the rains come in gradually over us from a
distance, and then at hand.

Our captain was a great guy; he had a swimming pool constructed from some
tarpaulins and lumber. The ship's mascot was a kitten who'd been injured, but was
nursed back to health and to adulthood by an attentive and caring crew. We docked at
Tinian Island after arriving in the Mariannas, and in several days unloaded our cargo of
bombs. You could see wave after wave of planes flying out to bomb Japan, and then
other waves coming back from the raids. Only later did I begin to experience the
horrible awareness of what happened as a result of these raids. Once the cargo was
unloaded, we set sail for San Francisco.

A sobering sight greeted us as we came around the north of Saipan Island, just
north of Tinian. You could see the suicide cliffs, from which hundreds of Japanese
farm workers and civilians had leaped to their deaths, believing that if captured, the
American military would torture them. A long trip home - 31 days - a great thrill to
come under the Golden Gate Bridge, and then to see the harbor. Another wait of 5
days, and then I got to go home for several weeks before my next assignment. I'll skip
dealing with trip # 2, since though we sailed many miles, four sets of Pacific Islands
including the Philippines, we never unloaded a stick of cargo, returning from the
Philippines to San Francisco in January 1946.

Voyage # 3: I took the train to New York in March 1946, to sign on for my
3rd voyage. I had no idea at first where I'd be going. I went down to Lower Manhattan,
where I learned that seamen were needed to sail ships to Russia. I asked before signing
on where this ship would be going, and was told ―Odessa‖. I agreed to this assignment,
having never been in either the Mediterranean or Black Seas before. After a week or so
of loading cargo, we set sail on the Joliet Victory for Odessa.

We arrived in Odessa, in the southwestern part of the Ukrainian Soviet
Republic, and remained there for about 15 days unloading most of our cargo. We
brought supplies to help the people rebuild their farms and cities, under the
sponsorship of the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration. One could

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come and go somewhat freely. A Russian soldier with a Thompson submachine gun
guarded the ship, and you had to show your ID to him to go on and off.

The city had been extensively destroyed by fighting between Soviet and
German armies. Farther into the city all you could see after a street or two was nothing!
Miles and miles of streets and trolley tracks with no buildings, nothing but rubble – all
you saw were pieces of masonry and brick for acres. Women were everywhere --
running trains, buses, small businesses, just about everything going was run by them.

The few men visible were nearly all amputees, except for soldiers. Many civilian
and military people, wounded and maimed - many with one limb lost, but quite a few
with two gone. In the middle of the city was a prisoner-of- war (PW) camp. It
contained hundreds of Hungarian and German soldiers who'd been captured by the
Soviets. They lived during the night in housing surrounded by barbed wire, and during
the day were marched out to help rebuild the city. While we were in the city, the first
anniversary of VE Day (Victory in Europe) was held. Several companies of Soviet
troops, from Soviet Asia, judging by their appearance, marched through the center of
the city.

There were several opportunities to speak with people who were at least
somewhat articulate in English. One man, in charge of loading cargo from our ship into
waiting trucks, tried somewhat unsuccessfully to teach me the Russian alphabet and a
few words. I asked why his nation had kept 40 million PW‘s in Russia after the war's
end. He replied, '''what would you do if these people came in and destroyed so much of
your nation?" This interchange helped to give me a new understanding of the terrible
suffering and loss of life and resources experienced by the Soviets. Others would see
you on the street and would say, ―Look, ‗Amerikans‘ we're your friends -- we don't
want war! Let's be at peace!"

When we'd unloaded the cargo in Odessa, we then went to Constantsa (in
Romania) to refuel with oil for the trip home, and then sailed down the coast to Burgas,
Bulgaria, where we remained for 9 days, unloading more relief supplies, fertilizer and
other materials for agriculture. We took on about 30 people who were US citizens.
These were Bulgarians who'd come to the U.S. years before, but then had gone back to
Bulgaria during the Great Depression. They had much to share about their war
experiences.

The next and last stop before returning to the U.S. was Poti, in Georgia, the
Georgian Soviet Republic at that time. We were to load our ship with a cargo of
manganese ore, essential for making steel. So across the Black Sea we sped, and shortly
after leaving Burgas arrived at Poti. After loading up and securing the holds (sealing
them with tarpaulins), we began the trip back home. Not so quick, however. A near
disaster: In other nations, ships have to use the pilots from those countries, so the pilot
got on and started to give orders, "full speed ahead!" The captain told him that this was
a much faster ship than he might have realized but the pilot didn't listen. I was up in the
bow of the ship working with the rope lines, coiling them up for storage. We were
supposed to go out between several breakwaters but actually were headed for a
concrete dock! You couldn't do anything…here came the dock, and all of a sudden,

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WHAM! The ship was stopped. Word came back from some of my shipmates
including the helmsman that the captain lost it. He screamed and yelled at the pilot,
"you idiot -- you'll wreck my ship! Get out of here or I'll throw you overboard!" and
overboard meant a 40-50 foot drop into the water. Luckily, the ship was coming into
the dock at an angle and received only a minor dent.

Voyage # 4: This trip turned out to be my last. I decided to see what was
available in Baltimore and took the train down. It turned out that jobs were getting
scarce, the war was over and everything was slowing down. After standing in a long line
I asked at the hiring hall what was available. The man in charge asked, "Want a quick
trip to Hamburg? Just take about a month". I jumped at the chance -- that's all the time
I'd need to complete my time as a seaman, get an honorable discharge, and then come
home, perhaps to return to school. So I went out to my new assignment, to the SS Am-
Mer-Mar (American Merchant Marine). I had to take a lighter (a small boat) out to this
ship, which lay anchored in Baltimore Harbor.

I got a job as a deck maintenance man. Before we could sail for Hamburg we
had to load up with oats to provide food for people in West Germany who'd lost their
crops due to flooding. So we shifted to several different sites in Baltimore Harbor until
all the cargo holds were filled. Before we did this, however, we had to dock at the foot
of Broadway Avenue in Baltimore. Our ship came into the dock a little too fast since
the lines weren't lowered to the pier to be fastened soon enough. One could see an
accident about to happen. A small lighter was docked just in front of our berth. The
owner, seeing our ship coming at him and fearing his little boat would be damaged,
stood up, put his hands up, as if to stop us, and cried, "STOP STOP!" And then it
happened, a sickening crunching of wood occurred as our vessel sliced off the back of
his boat.

The trip home was a very different experience than the peaceful one going
over. Coming back through the English Channel in a fog, we were nearly rammed by a
Norwegian vessel. Luckily, both ships heard each other's horns blowing and both
turned aside to avoid a collision. Farther on, we were passing through the Bay of Biscay
when a lunar tide caused the ship to do a very extreme roll - the vessel went 38 and 1/2
degrees - a few more, and it would have capsized. How could this happen? Our ship
was supposed to go to Cardiff, Wales to take on a load of slag which would act as
ballast to hold the ship down in the water, and would prevent the violent rolling that
nearly sank us. But no "there wasn't time!" Fortunately, the next phase of the trip was
less eventful and we arrived safely in New York, hearing an exciting World Series in its
last stages. I went over to New York (to Manhattan) from Bayonne and filed for my
seaman's honorable discharge. (An aside: Our ship, the Am-Mer-Mar, went down and
sank on its next voyage carrying a load of soybeans to Larvik, Norway, on New Year's
Day, 1947. I wondered just how many of my shipmates might have signed back on -
and what happened to them!)

Now What? Some of us bribed the driver of the shipping company to leave us
off at Penn Station. I bought my railway ticket back to Chicago. The war is over so you
must pick up where you left off, the past seemed years and years behind, how to begin

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