Maritime

Maritime Tales of the Sea

mine sweepers and degaussing gear and rendered useless. What a life. I think I'll go
back to the farm. In about two days we'll be passing through the hot spot close off
Norway then I guess the fun will really begin. I'm going to swipe me a tin hat from the
gunnery officer Murray. He has several of them, also a lot of gas masks. Hope we
don't have to use the gas masks. — And so to bed. — with the mines still sweeping
by. Feel like saying the kids prayer — now I lay me down to sleep etc. and if I die
before I wake etc.

May 25

[Written in ink up to this point, the rest of the diary is in pencil. A large, smeared

ink blot is on the lower half of this page, with a penciled arrow pointing to it and the following words:]

Busted Fountain Pen account air attack

[Next page]

May 25

The war came to us today. About 5:30 A M was roused out to stand-by. An

enemy reconnaissance plane was sighted. She circled about far out and away to the

horizon. Every time she came close we let one of our warships let go a burst forcing

him to keep his distance. Occasionally he would drop a mine ahead especially if we

were approaching a fog bank. But we fooled him. As soon as we entered a fog we put

the ship way over to another course avoiding the area ahead of us.

About 6:30 pm about 12 bombers came at us. showed up. At first they circled

about — then in two or threes dive-bombed us. A hail of shot greeted them. One or

two went down in flames. They sheered [sic] off and after half hour or so came at us

several time [sic] — each time to be greeted with a hail of lead. They went after the

cruisers — who had spread out — one remaining in the center of the convoy and the

other three about the outskirts. One plane came close above and machined [machine

gunned] the vessel next to us. His bombs missed. One of our shots hit him and he went

down. Six dive-bombed the cruiser in the middle. Their bombs churned the water in a

huge geyser. But all bombs missed and the sky was covered with shots all about the

planes. None of them got hit direct[ly] but must have been tore up by shrapnel [sic] and

machine guns. They went off after the attack and did not return. Only one of the

freighters was hit. I don't think seriously. She fell out of the convoy escorted by one of

the destroyers. If nec [essary] she will try to make Iceland. One of the ship[s] launched

a plane during the attack. That pilot was a nervy guy taking off in a fighter against a

dozen bombers. He went down after a few minutes. Maybe he was hit by one of our

own ships who mistook him for an enemy plane. The pilot bailed out. A destroyer

went over to pick him up.

Sitting in the radio room at my post most of the time except for an occasional

peek out — with guns thundering all about was pretty nervous stuff. But guess

somebody has to take down the incoming signals.

They left about 10 pm, but guess they will be back. Maybe with a lot of subs

and surface ships. Next two days ought to be pretty exciting. After that we should get

some protection from Russian planes. Personally right now I'd like to be in Coney

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Island or someplace, sitting in the sun, but guess a guy can't have everything. Icebergs
are sighted ahead of us. What with bergs, subs, planes, mines and fog and maybe the
Tirpitz coming out too, everybody ought to be happy.

May 26
Fighting most of day. Subs, torpedo bombers attacked us. No casualties. The

Carlton who was hit yesterday is a subject of discussion. The German official
communiqué as picked up from Dublin broadcasting station said, "German bombers
attacked a strongly guarded convoy near between Iceland and Spitzbergen, sinking one
8000 [ton] freighter and hitting five others." It looks like they might have finished off
the Carlton after she fell behind. Four of the ships flew their flag at half-mast this
morning. They must have been hit by machine gun and shrapnel. Maybe they did like
our crew — stay out on deck to get a good look at the fighting and suddenly get swept
by a hail of bullets.

A shell missed fire in our gun. One of the navy boys, Dowse, yanked it out and
tossed it overboard before it could explode. Took a lot of nerve that. Our navy boys
were all new kids mostly from the south and with only a few months service. All were
never to sea before. Now they have received their baptism of fire are rapidly become
veteran fighters.

Have not had my clothes off in a couple of days. We get our sleep when we
can, between "alerts." Every time I get ready to take a good nap — it seems that is the
time for the general alarm to ring.

The subs attacked several time[s] but seem to get nowhere. Our destroyers just
dump depth charges all around them and either they go to the bottom or beat it. Only
one sub surface[d] and let go a torpedo. It went between two ships just behind us. The
torpedo bombers attacked first from a very low level making it hard for us to shoot at
him without hitting the ship behind you. But the end ships in the lines chased them
off. Then they went to a great height above the clouds where we could not see them
and dropped huge torpedo bombs at regular intervals. No hits.

Am pretty well tired out. Just wanted to turn in and as usual the "black flag"
goes up on the Commodore[s] ship. Black flag is signal for air attack. No planes seem
to be in sight except that dam[n] patrol bomber just circling us about and guiding the
enemy to us. Wish to hell somebody would nab him. Our four cruiser[s] and destro
several destroyers left us suddenly. Maybe they are joining in a sea battle nearby. The
USS Washington and an aircraft carrier is [sic] supposed to be around. Maybe they met
us [sic; "up"] with the Tirpitz. But wish some of those fighting planes come here and
slap down a few of these enemy bombers. Or better still a strong force of Russian
planes. Murmansk is less than 500 miles by line. A bunch of fighting plane[s] with the
hammer and sickle, instead of the swastika would be a very very welcome sight.

May Mar 27
"Where are the Russians? ? ?"

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Wost Worst day yet. About 100 planes went after us. Continuing attack with
stukas, torpedoe[s]—high level, subs and everything they could throw at us. At least six
ships sunk and several hit, some bad, we were unscathed. How? I don't know. Chips
dropped dead from heart attack. We are now less than 300 mile[s] from Murmansk.
Where are the Russians? ? ? Can't they send us any help? That is the question on
uppermost on everybody's mind.

March [May] 28
Two Rooshian destroyers showed up today. Tough looking bastards. And

right on the job.

(May 28 cont.)
Had a few raids during day. Everybody is all tensed up after what we went

through yesterday. And every time the alarm goes we want to jump. The heines send
one or two planes over at intervals. Sometimes they don't even drop bombs, just roar
over us at high altitude out of gun range. Maybe it's what they call a psychological
attack.

We buried Chips at sea today in a solemn though short ceremony account of a
bomber circling and some ships taking pot shots at her.

May March 29
Air alarms during day at infrequent intervals, but no heavy attack. The weather

is on out side. Low hanging clouds make the bastards come within range of our guns
when they attack. Toward evening one bomber zoomed over us — and praise the
Lord he busted out of the clouds in our range. We opened wide on him. The Russian
destroyer sort of heeled over and threw everything but the kitchen sink at him. The
British cruiser guns also blazed away. So did our guns. [I think this is the time when my
father grabbed a pistol or a small carbine, ran out on deck, and fired away at the plane. He was
wearing a blue and white Star of David armband that his father had given him just before he left, with
the words, "Wear it when they shoot at you." I like to think it was the first time in the war that a
Jew, wearing his own battle flag, shot back at the Nazis. He was not supposed to be on deck at the
time, so there is prudently no mention of this act in his diary. He told me about it years later] The
bomber zoomed up in the sky with big chunks torn out of it and drifting down. [A]
Few of the pieces fell on deck. One of the boys got what looks like a hub cap off her.
Anyway I don't think that Heine got very far.

May March 30
Attacked by about 7 torpedo bombers this morning. The rooshian destroyer

was right on the job, he was stationed right behind us and blasted the bombers away so
they let go their torpedoes at a distance, at which we could see it coming and thus
managed to avoid getting hit. The gun crews [cheered? –there is no word here] on the
way them rooshians go into action.
Alarms all day — fighting all day. But we'll get through. They can't stop us now

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May March 30
Approaching harbor — dive bomber came out of sun lite [,] plummet[ed] and

dropped bombs all around us. Then he off with Russians after him. We stood by guns
until last.
7:10 PM — Anchored off Murmansk. In spite of everything the Heines could throw
at us, we have "delivered the goods"

Now I'll relax and sleep for a week

Sam Hakam‘s Murmansk Run Log on MacKay Radio and Telegraph Paper

May-July 1942

May 25

18:45 About 12 planes observed approaching from Port Bow

19:05 Firing heard.

19:14 Firing closer

19:20 One plane hit — smoking badly — maybe he finished Station sending HGYA

taking long dashes

19:45 Plane shot down, pilot bailed out,

20:00 Firing going on all around —

20:07 heavy firing

20:10 Plane went over — shot down — think that makes fifth One ship hit — don't

know how bad.

20:25 Firing ceased — guess planes gone off — what‘s left of them

21:00 Visual Signal; MAN GUNS.

21:15 FIRING HEARD

21:45 Planes coming back.

22:10 Planes went off — wars over that‘s only Round I

May 26 — War on again

00:20 Sub attack Round II

00:57 Alarm off — subs attacking one sub sunk by direct hit

02:40 depth charges went off close by

02:45 firing close

3:10 fog and snow

04:00 Several ships flying flag at half mast — Cruisers went off to NW plus some of

destroyers at full speed — about 1½ hour ago. All appears quiet here now.

Guess it's end Round II

04:06 Plane sighted coming over

04:30 Commodore ship signaling aircraft coming

04:45 still standing by

05:00 Air raid port bow

09:10 aircraft approaching

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Station Station

called calling

10:25 HGYA 500 HGYA sending at intervals for last two day

10:26 CQ 500 GKR 500 QBU

11:07 visual sig — aircraft attack may be expected

11:24 HGYA — HGYA — still sending

11:36 explosions heard — depth bombs? its firing

12:51 enemy aircraft approaching.

13:24 Black Flag up — aircraft approaching

Station Station

called calling

13:26 GBMS 500 GKR 500 QRW

16:00 Air attack — about ten big torpedo bombers attacking from stern —

16:15 Attacking from overhead —

16:23 depth charges going off — guess subs are around

Station Station

called calling

16:27 CQ 500 GKR 500 QRU VA

17:12 time sig & man your guns visual signal — planes returning

17:27 CQ 500 GKR 500 QRU VA

20:15 depth charges going off

20:20 Commodore signal, submarine in vicinity

Station Station

called calling

23:02 CQ 500 HSA 500 QRU?

23:02 CQ 500 DAN 500 QRU

23:03 CQ 500 OUA 500 QRU?

23:03 CQ 500 DAN 500 QRU

23:48 Air attack — torpedo planes

24:00 FL 01 de DAS VA

24:00 CQ 500 SAB 500 QJW 655

May 27

00:05 CQ 500 GNF 500 QRU or

00:25 CQ ― GKZ ― QRU

00:55 heavy explosion nearby

01:00 subs attacking now changing course first went 003° then 20° to

01:04 starboard

02:00 planes went close trying to machine gun sub. we opened up and almost got him

02:10 Took another shot at him

02:28 General alarm again. Few pot shots taken at planes. We going through a lot

of field ice.

03:52 Course changed

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04:01 Switched in one of my big auto alarm batts on to receiver batt line. Receiver

batts down account using rco practically continuously. If I try charge the sound of the

fan sounds like a plane motor and is confusing to those on bridge. Am not using auto

alarm now.

Anyway — have the other set all charged up if I have to use it. And we will be

through this hostile plane area in a day or two when will recharge the batt.

04:30 station sending IFSC and long dashes

Station Station

called calling

04:35 REFB 500 J—500

09:25 Air Attack coming

09:32 Firing starts high level attack — guess they afraid to come too close.

Randolph hit — but still up

10:12 Firing died out —

10:25 Firing commenced again —

10:35 Firing ceased.

10:58 Firing commenced again

11:00 destroyer and one ship hit Steel Worker reported springing leak.

11:28 Firing again — bombs falling nearby heavy attack by dive-bombers — two

more ships

hit — antenna shot down — switched over to emergency antenna.

Alamar reported sunk

12:42 Repaired antenna — carpenter reported died from heart attack —

12:44 Alarm 2 dive bomber coming at us —

Think Empire Lawrence hit.

May 28

10:15 German bom Patrol plane reported as high tailed it off

Come on you ROOSHIAN PLANES

10:20 Patr German Patrol plane back.

11:00 All quiet.

12:00 Heavy depth charges nearby —

12:30 All quiet —

Listening to some nice Russian music the kind mom used to sing when we were

kids —

15:30 Alarm — man guns — Where are the Russians?

16:00 Planes sighted heard approaching — Did not attack

17:00 Flags down — alert over — Lots of icebergs around here.

18:00 Course changed — Heading South —

19:20 Alarm — planes coming

19:32 Firing — some short bursts

20:00 Quiet

20:30 some firing heard

20:30 Heavy firing — pieces of plane reported coming down

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21:00 All clear. — Guess will listen to some nice Rooshian music now. Maybe them

Rooshian planes are intercepting these heines before they get to us. Anyway if

they don‘t get any worse than they have been the last 24 hours we can handle

them ok. But if they start to come as they did all day May 27 then we'll need the

Rooshians all we can get. Got an idea we wont get any more heavy attacks and

the heines are sending a few planes over once in a while for mostly for the

psychology effect. By tomorrow we should be well down toward the Rooshian

coast. Don‘t expect any more alerts until morning.

May 29

02:30 Alarm — battle station — 3 planes sighted

02:35 Firing starting.

02:57 Heavy firing

02:58 Torpedo attack — Aer

03:02 Aerial torpedo attack

03:32 Torpedo attack

03:40 All clear

03:45 Foggy. Thick fog — Hope it stays good and thick.

Station Station

called calling

05:00 URU 500 ARU 500 QRU

RDST ― REFC "

07:30 Fog Lifted

10:00 All quiet — Weather Hazy and Rain

10:06 Heavy depth charge

13:30 Hazy & Rain & High winds.

15:00 Flag signal: Unidentified aircraft approaching

15:05 Destroyer ahead with three salvoes.

15:08 Flags taken down.

15:32 Alarm — Planes

15:35 Aerial torpedo attack.

16:20 Attack flag down — but expected attack flag up

16:55 Black Flag down

19:52 General Alarm — Battle Stations

20:00 Flags down

20:05 Convoy splitting up; some to Murmansk and some to Archangel.

20:30 Alarm — Battle stations

20:32 Firing opening up

20:35 Heavy firing.

20:54 Firing opening up again. We shifted over to main Convoy

21:03 Going full speed to catch up to them hopes we don‘t get caught here alone with

our necks out.

21:18 Going ahead full speed to catch up with main convoy

21:19 Firing near

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21:23 near hits ship jarred violently bombs missed us by few feet. Closest call yet.

21:30 Destroyer came over to inquire if we ok.

21:43 Heavy firing

21:50 Heavy firing Antenna shot

22:00 Firing ceased. down — Repaired

22:23 Black flag down same.

May 30

23:23 Alarm — Battle stations

23:30 Planes coming.

23:38 Torpedo planes probably

23:55 All clear

May 30

01:30 All Clear

03:43 Alarm — Battle Stations

03:46 Aircraft are friendly — At last —

06:12 18:12* new Hit. — Hoses being played on #4

06:20 18:20 Heavy firing

06:25 18:25 Firing ceasing

06:40 18:40 All quiet but standing by. Attack apparently by lone raider who came

diving suddenly out of the sun and took us by surprise — Dive Bomber attack.

06:53 18:53 destroyer alongside to inquire if all right

06:59 18:59 Attack againing. Heavy firing.

07:06 019:06 Attack still on — Fight! — Fight! — Fight —!

07:10 019:10 Firing ceased. Clear day and brilliant sun make it difficult to see the dive

bombers

07:18 019:18 Think Russian intercept planes fighting them aloft.

07:20 019:20 Firing heard

07:25 019:25 37 miles to land — should be there in about four hours.

07:30 Quiet — but standing by — should see land about 11:30 GMT.

07:35 Destroyer signaling aircraft friendly — but we stand by our guns and shoot hell

out of anything that comes near us.

08:00 Quiet, — but standing by our guns. — three and a half hours to go.

08:06 Four planes sighted — Two more —

08:15 May be friendly — but taking no chances

08:30 All quiet — About 8 planes overhead — Friendly. Must be Russians — but we

stand by. Three hours to land.

10:00 All quiet — Friendly planes overhead — Land in sight.

10:30 Approaching entrance to river to Murmansk — And all hands standing by their

guns. We

Don‘t intend to let them stop us now.

March 30**

10:35 Alarm — Heavy firing

10:38 Heavy firing —

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10:42 Firing ceased.
10:52 Quiet but standing by
11:10 Still quiet — Lot of Russian planes overhead. Looks like these heines are not so
brave when they run into opposition.
.11:30 Twelve Russian planes circling above us. They look fine. We wont let those
damn heines stop us now
11:49 Colum Convoy forming in two columns to proceed down river to Murmansk.
12:00 Entering river. Proceeding down river in single column
14:10 Alarm — Battle Stations — Another psychological attack.
14:20 Boarded by Russians. No one seems to know if raid is still [illegible] still no one

seems [illegible]
14:30 Pilot on board [illegible]
17:05 Am turning off set [illegible] finish. We've delivered the goods

* Sam got his time of day twelve hours off here, due to sleep deprivation and the
midnight sun making twenty-four hours of daylight. He turned the "1" into a "0" in the
stricken through times starting with "019".
** Sam got the month wrong at the top of this, the last page, for the same reasons.

JAMES K. HANNON
MONTGOMERY, TX 77356

I graduated from high school on June 13, 1945, and was enrolled in the United
States Maritime Service on the 16th of that month at age 17. All during that spring the
radio and other media were asking men to get in the fight by joining the Merchant
Marine. Even though the war with Germany was over in early June, a long bitter battle
was forecast for victory over Japan. I tried to join the Navy, but my eyesight was
unacceptable as it also was for the Coast Guard. The Merchant Marine was the only
alternative for a life at sea versus being in the Army. So off I went to training station at
Sheepshead Bay in Brooklyn, New York as a Messman Trainee. My eyesight precluded
deck or engine room service.

A school pal Bill Kelly had been accepted into Radio School and suggested that
I apply. This I did and was also accepted. Along with a class of about 25 others, we
transferred to said school at Gallups Island in Boston Harbor. This was around the first
week of August, 1945. The A-bomb was then dropped in Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
much to the surprise of all. This was truly a secret well kept. As a result the war ended
two weeks later, and the demand for Radio Operators also ended. So, back to
Sheepshead Bay for reassignment I went.

Upon returning there I applied for and was accepted for Purser/Pharmacist
school which lasted until February of 1946. As part of our training we had a month's
assignment at a Marine hospital which tended to the ails of all merchant seamen. This
I completed at Brighton Marine Hospital in Boston, Massachusetts. Then I went back
to New York for ship out assignment and was given an Ensign's commission as Jr.

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Assistant Purser/Pharmacist Mate (age 18).
My ship's assignment was the SS Ardmore, an antiquated World War I tanker

loaded with rust. It was allegedly owned by Marine Transport Lines of New York
City. However, when I reported to the ship in Brooklyn, I was informed that it had
been sold to the Nationalist Government of China and renamed "Yeung Cheng." No
problem because Marine Transport handled all the necessary hiring, provisioning,
etc.

A crew was hired in the conventional manner through the union halls, and we
set sail for Shanghai, China the second week of March arriving there the first week of
June. After a month in Shanghai waiting for transport back to the USA, we finally got
passage on the US General Meigs and set sail for San Francisco. This trip proved to be
my only significant sea experience I had. I returned home to New Jersey and started
looking for another ship. The Maritime Service got you your first ship, and it was up
to you thereafter.

I was successful in getting a new job aboard the SS Francis E. Siltz which was
in Portland, Oregon having just returned from a long trip to the Far East. I flew out
there only to find that the entire Port of Portland was closed to shipping due to a
seaman's strike. However, the home office in New York insisted that I get quarters
ashore and go down to the ship once a day to meet with the Captain and Chief
Engineer in hopes that the strike would quickly end and we could proceed. This
didn't happen. So I flew back home to New Jersey and awaited yet another
assignment. This was in late November of 1946. In late January of the following year,
my previous employer Wessel-Duval of New York City sent me to Mobile, Alabama
to join the SS David B. Johnson. We were to load coal out of Pensacola, Florida and
deliver it to Marsailles, France. We hired a crew, signed ships articles and proceeded
from Mobile to Pensacola where we loaded the Liberty ship's holds full of coal.
Setting sail from there in late February we were on our way to France. However, we
never got there!

After passing the Florida Keys and sailing north to our proper latitude our
navigator somehow screwed up, and the ship hit a dangerous rock bank off of
Jacksonville and had to be extricated from same by sea-going tugs and hauled into
Jax. There we unloaded the coal, went into dry dock and found out the damage. It
was decided by our owners to have the ship towed by tug up to New York for the
necessary repairs. This we did and in late March the ill-fated voyage of the David B.
ended, as did my maritime career.

It was a great experience, but sale of my first ship the SS Ardmore to the
Chinese cost me veterans' status as 1946 was still considered "wartime" due to loose
mines floating around in the Pacific. Through my congressman Kevin Brady I tried to
obtain vets' status, but try as they may, his office was unable to find any record of the
ship's sale.

I went ashore, went to work in a bank, and later that year entered St. Lawrence
University in northern New York where I met my wife -to-be. I married her the day
before graduation in 1951.

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My business career began in January, 1952, with General Electric in
Schenectady, New York and ended in Houston, Texas in December of 1988. With GE
I had assignments in Schenectady; Lynn, Massachusetts; and Plainville, Connecticut. In
1957 I was sent to Houston to train as an Apparatus Sales Engineer. This I did and
that is what I was for the next 30 years - 8 of them with GE and 22 of them with a GE
distributor, Wholesale Electric Supply of Houston.

Along the way my wife of 56 years and I parented 4 beautiful, smart and
successful girls. They in turn married nice guys that are also quite successful and have
families of their own. And so it goes!
August 22, 2007

CHARLES J. HARDT
VALENCIA, PA 16059

As a young lad of seventeen, reaching soon the draft age, I decided to join the
Navy. I went to the recruiting office to join the Navy but found I could not pass the
physical. So the good doctor said, ―Go to the Merchant Marines.‖ So I did! And left
home December 1944 for Sheepshead Bay, New York for a few months and did all
those good things like swimming, jumping off the platform, then out in the bay to see if
I could row a life boat.

I started to train for the engine room but they found they had too many men in
that class, also the deck hands were the same, and the only thing left was the steward
department. After completing all the training I was ready to ship out. I landed on a
worn out tanker. We were out only a couple of days and had to return to port. Then I
was assigned and boarded a liberty ship, the S.S. William McKinley.

After leaving New York we headed for South America to a port in Chili. We
went through the Panama Canal – that was quite an experience – they loaded the ship
with nitrate, which took a week then back through the Panama Canal heading to the
Black Sea.

I was initiated when we crossed the Equator. The Mediterranean Sea is truly a
beautiful sea at night with the moon shining on it.

We went through the Dardanelles at Turkey into the Black Sea, unloaded the
ship at Constanta, Romania, and were there when Japan surrendered, then onto another
port where we picked up ten Russians that were brought back to Baltimore, Maryland
to go to school in the United States.

The next ship was the S.S. Argentina which was a troop ship hauling troops to
England and going to La Harve France to bring a load of troops back home.

We also brought the first English war brides back to the United States on the
S.S. Argentina. What a mess the ship was, not ready to haul sea sick women and
children. There were three or four more trips with women and children. Then the ship
went back to transporting troops.

The war was over. I was no longer needed as a Merchant Marine so I returned
home May 1946.

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STANLEY A. HAUSER
SNEADS, FL 32460

I was born in Bloomington, Ill. Feb. 20, 1925. I grew up there during the
depression years where I went to school. I, like many other young men in my day, was
incensed over the attack on Pearl Harbor. All the young men I knew were ready to go do
their patriotic duty for our country. However I was still in high school. In January 1942 I
was able (with a little persuasion) to get my dad to sign for me to join the Navy. I was sent
to the Great Lakes Naval training center where I completed boot training. After gunnery
school, on an antique gun ship, I was transferred to Brooklyn Armed Guard Center in New
York.

By the time I got to the A.G.C. I was seventeen and was shipped out to
Norfolk, Va. where I was assigned to the S.S. William Johnson, a liberty ship anchored in
the Chesapeake Bay. I boarded ship with fourteen boot camp sailors and one second
class boatswain. Our commanding officer was a fleet man. I hit the sack and was called
to duty at three AM. There was a barge alongside with ammunition for the A.G. The
next morning, we sailed to New York to pick up our cargo, such as trucks, tanks, food,
mail, general cargo and more ammunition.

We went in convoy to England stopping off enroute at Halifax, Nova Scotia, where
more ships joined the convoy before we continued on to Liverpool, England. However, in
heavy fog an oil tanker rammed us on the starboard side (right side) and ruptured our oil
tank. We were able to make it to port for repairs. There was no fire. It took three weeks to
complete repairs which consisted of a patch of wood and concrete on our side. We left
with the next convoy going to Liverpool, England.

After unloading in Liverpool we headed for New York. Running into bad weather
enroute, the patch failed and number three hole was flooded, this made our ship list 40%.
Arriving in New York our ship went in for repairs and we all took a five day leave with
orders not to travel over 150 miles limit that we were allowed. With our ship in good repair,
we were loaded with cargo. Bombs were placed in the lowest hole, with 55 gallon drums of
aviation gas on the upper decks. The ship was a floating firecracker.

Taking the same route to Liverpool we took before, we ran into a wolf pack of
German U-boats south of Iceland. They attacked us for three days and three nights. The
convoy lost ten ships. The third ship behind us was torpedoed. That ship stayed with us for
two days, burning the entire time. Our ship made it to Liverpool. No one slept on the main
deck for three nights. All the guns were manned. The off-duty merchant seamen slept on
the flying bridge. God bless the ― Black Gang” who manned the ships engine room, they
kept our ship going. The depth charges were constant for three days and three nights.

After unloading our needed supplies for the allies, we loaded cargo for North
Africa. We then sailed for the Mediterranean, where we went to Bizerte and Bone, Tunisia.
In port we tied with the H. M. S. Ajax at our bow English ship at our stern. The gun crew
on the English ship advised us to oil our guns because the German dive bombers were on
their way. Nothing happened until the next morning when all hell broke loose.

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For the next ten days and nights, all everyone did was shoot, shoot, shoot. The dive
bombers came from all 360 degrees. The most I counted was fourteen. We had good fire
power support from the high beach area, and the English ship‘s anti-aircraft forty
millimeter batteries along with the Ajax‘s 6-inch guns. The Ajax was the first ship we knew
with radar. Its guns could be firing long before a plane could be seen. She put a black line
of pearls from her anti-aircraft shells that looked like a string of dots on the horizon. Seven
days later the Ajax took a bomb down her stack which killed the crew in the engine room.
Listing badly, the Ajax left port the next day heading to Gibraltar to receive repairs. We
never heard if she made it thru the war. If you know weather she made it I would like to
know.

The S.S. William Johnson was unloading its cargo when the red flags went up to warn
of another air raid. A bomb hit the ammunition on the dock so we had to fight fire and
shoot at the enemy at the same time. The Merchant seamen did not like all the bombing so
when they were off duty they went into the city and stayed at a hotel. This was fine until the
Germans attracted the city with incendiaries. I was on duty that night, and I was attracted
to the light as the town burned. No plane was heard so the Germens must have used high
flying planes. The hotel burned down so the Merchant seamen returned to the ship.

The harbor at Bone was one mile from the air port. From our bridge we could
watch the Germens bomb it, wondering if it would be our turn next. Having been in it we
were too close to really appreciate the intensity and impressiveness of the battle. The port
authority moved us to the seaside of the harbor to load cork. After two days the Capitan
told the authorities the cork was not worth the ship and the lives of the crew. He informed
them he was leaving port. Of course, they did not agree. However the next day we left
Bone.

Our ship had three special visitors. They were G.I. commandos who had
parachuted into Casablanca during the invasion. They only had helmets of first issue. All
their other gear was English. We provided them with clean underwear, shorts and shirts.
These men could throw a dagger across the mess hall, into a playing card on the wall. They
were the best.

The S.S. William Johnson had seen many ships destroyed and lives lost. It returned to
the U.S. with all of its crew unharmed. We received a well earned fifteen day leave. After all
the training we received from our 2nd class boatswain, we passed the first class seaman test.
After all we went thru we were given the third class G.M. rating we wanted. All hands
received the Bronze star and commendation.

JOHN HENNESSY
REMEMBERING UNSUNG HEROES OF WORLD WAR II

On November 2, 1944, John Hennessy of Minneapolis lay shivering in a
lifeboat adrift on the Indian Ocean. Two German torpedoes had just sunk his oil
tanker, the Fort Lee.

Hennessy wasn‘t one of the Navy or Marine veterans we lauded this year, on
the 60th anniversary of World War II‘s end. He was a Seaman with the U.S. Merchant

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Marine: one of the valiant men who delivered the goods-the fuel, ammunition and
supplies that kept the war effort going. Merchant seamen faced peril every day:
German U-boat ―wolf packs‖ in the Atlantic and, kamikazes in the Pacific. Their
casualty rate was an estimated 1 in 26, higher than any branch of the armed services.

Though merchant seamen engaged in military operations, they were officially
civilians. That meant that the moment Hennessy was blown off the deck of his sinking
ship, his wages stopped.

I recently met Hennessy, now 84, at the
Ridgefield VFW, along with five other ex-merchant mariners.

They are members of the nearly 70-member Viking Chapter of the American
Merchant Marine Veterans. Mike Boosalis, a World War II merchant seamen at 16,
described his comrades‘ long, slow slog for recognition. ―We are the forgotten
service,‖ he said. ―We weren‘t recognized as military veterans until 1988.‖

Hennessy joined the Merchant Marine at the war‘s lowest ebb in 1942, when
many merchant ships carried dummy guns, telephone poles disguised to look like the
real thing. He made many trips across the stormy North Atlantic. ―It was so rough you
practically had to tie yourself down to stay in your bunk at night,‖ he says.

Once, German bombers attacked Hennessy‘s convoy as it headed toward
Naples, Italy, to deliver heavy equipment to clear away destroyed docks. ―We had to
run up cables with giant balloons on them to stop the dive bombers from swooping
down on us.‖ The Minneapolis Star-Journal published a story on the attack, along with
Hennessy‘s picture, on December 8, 1943, 62 years ago today.

On the evening of November 2, 1944, a submarine torpedoed Hennessy‘s ship,
the Fort Lee, as it crossed the Indian Ocean toward Australia to deliver fuel oil. There
was a shattering explosion, and Hennessy found himself floating 60 yards from his
rapidly sinking ship without a life vest. He swam for a lifeboat, clambered aboard, and
- paddling with his hands - managed to pull two crewmates to safety.

The men set sail for Australia, nearly 2,000 miles away. For a week they bailed
water to stay afloat and lived on biscuits. ―We roasted during the day and froze at
night,‖ Hennessy recalls. Below, they could hear the deep rumble of the Nazi
submarine, which followed them, intending to sink any ship that might try to rescue
them. After two days, a storm drove Hennessy and his buddies away from three other

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lifeboats filled with crewmates. ―Finally we saw a ship on the horizon. It was the height
of the elation.‖

An estimated 9,300 merchant seamen lost their lives defending America‘s
freedom in World War II. But after the war they didn‘t qualify for G.I. benefits and
education, housing, health care or job preference. ―When we finally got recognition as
veterans in 1988,‖ Boosalis said, ―I went in for a G.I. housing loan. The banker took
one look at me - I was 61 - and said, ‗Where have you been?‘‖
Retyped from news article by Katherine Kersten, columnist

ROY HISCOCK
THE LIFE OF A MERCHANT SEAMAN

I was born January 15, 1927 in Bristol Maine. My mother was a housewife and
my father a truck driver. I lived in Damarscotta and Round Pond, Maine until about
the age of nine. My mother, brother and myself moved to Bridgeport, Connecticut for
about six months and then to Manhattan, New York City in 1938. I quit school at 16
and went to work in the Brooklyn Navy Yard as an apprentice and learned welding and
blueprint reading.

I worked on the battleship Missouri for about a year until it was launched. I
then worked on an aircraft carrier from keel to flight deck. I was then transferred to
repair work on damaged Navy ships.

On December 30, 1944 at the age of 17 I joined the Merchant Marine. I
graduated from the Maritime Academy at Sheepshead Bay, NY. From there it was to
San Francisco for ship assignment. On May 29 1945 I was assigned to the S.S. Lawrence
Gianella (Liberty Ship Matson Line) as an ordinary Seaman.

Being the first of the new crew I was greeted by the Third Mate. He asked me
which watch I wanted, and not knowing much at the time, I asked him which watch I
should take. He advised the four-to-eight and I'm glad he did, after all, the four-to-
eight does not have to chip paint on standby.

We were loaded with dock building material for Okinawa and other supplies
that were needed. We arrived and anchored in Buckner Bay, Naha Okinawa late July or
early August 1945 and waited for our turn to unload (we unloaded onto barges and they
were towed to shore). While waiting Okinawa was hit by a typhoon of 132 MPH.
Before it hit all ships had to form up in a convoy and put out to sea to ride out the

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typhoon. Our liberty ship took a 46° list and I still thank God we had 20,000 bags of
cement in the hold. It returned us to upright in a hurry and we returned to Okinawa
about a week later to find a liberty ship and a few Navy ships that could not start the
engines high and dry on the beach. After unloading we learned we were going on a
shuttle run in the Philippines. We returned home on June 4, 1946 in Seattle,
Washington at which time I was released from active duty by the Coast Guard.

After returning home to New York I was surprised to learn all my old buddies
were gone except for one. With nothing to do we decided to join the Army. I enlisted
for three years on June 27, 1949 and went through basic training at Fort Dix, NJ. On
our first weekend home we found some of our friends had returned. Three had joined
the Merchant and shipped out of New York, two had joined the Navy and two others
went to Detroit to work in the auto factories.

While in basic, I was selected for instructor school after basic. After graduating
from instructor school I taught the next class of recruits. From there I went to Fort
Benning, Georgia for airborne training and qualified for parachute and gliderman. After
graduation I was shipped to Sapporo, Japan for occupation duty. While on the troop
shipped to Japan we stopped at Okinawa to drop off some replacements. I was
surprised to see a tanker that was sunk during the typhoon. When I was there in the
Merchant they couldn‘t remove the ship so they had the demolition team blow a 100
foot section out between the bow and stern.

In Japan I was assigned to the 511th in Signal Co., 11th Airborne Division; while
there I attended radio repair school, VHF and UHF repair in Tokyo. Our Unit was
recalled to Camp Campbell, Kentucky in March of 1949, and three months later I was
discharged and returned to New York.

After discharge I went to a TV repair school but when I graduated it was
summer and in those years there weren‘t many TV‘s around, so I went to work as an
electrician. After I met my wife to be, Judy, in 1950 she didn't like my being an
electrician so I quit and went to work as a draftsman. Judy and I were married in 1951.

Our first child, Susan, was born in 1954 and grew up to become a teacher. She
teaches mentally and handicapped children. Our second child, Roy, grew up to be a
stationary engineer at a recycling plant. Our third child, Steve, grew up and joined the
Marines. Roy had three children, one boy and two girls. The boy joined the Air Force
and served two tours in Iraq. (I also have three great grandkids).

I worked most of my life as a draftsman for a hollow metal manufacturer
(fabricated doors-frame-elevator cabs and entrances from 20 to 126A steel). In 1982 I
moved to Florida at age 55, too early to be retired, and again I was lucky, my boss asked
if I would continue to work for him. I said yes and for 10 years he mailed the
blueprints to me. I scheduled the work and drafted all the frames for production. At
65 I retired. I'm 80 now and still active -- I bowl on Mondays, go to the gym with my
wife on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and play senior softball on Wednesdays and Fridays.

Looking back on life it couldn‘t be any better.

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WILLIS M. HOFFMAN
CRAWFORD, NE 69339

1945 Wrigley Donna Mae
Monument on and Willis
Hoffman on
Catalina their 50th
Island wedding
anniversary in
1997

I enlisted in the Merchant Marine at Denver, Co. Feb. 5, 1945 at the age of
18. I received my Basic Training at Avalon, Santa Catalina, Ca. and was assigned to
the Tanker SS Mission San Antonio, which was in dry dock. I caught a cold and
became sick while doing cleaning and preparing for stores and was taken off the day
of signing and placed in an Army Hospital at Los Angeles Port of Embarkation. Six
weeks later I was released with a leisure heart beat and enlarged heart caused by
acute arthritis, they told me.

I immediately went to Wilmington and signed on the SS Castle Pinkney,
another tanker in dry dock. We sailed out of San Pedro on June 12, 1945. I was
messman for the Navy Gun Crew. I had a lot to learn and they were a very tolerant
and nice crew of men. Lt. Trueblood was their Commander, and one fine gentleman.

We docked at Honolulu over night for extra supplies, sailed on to Ulithi July
1, unloaded Navy Special, arrived Manus July 13, 1945, Port Morsbey July 18,
Thursday Island July 20, went through the Great Barrier Reef to Port Darwin July
23, and were turned south about 300 miles as the Navy was capturing the last of
Japanese fleet in the Indian Ocean.

We hit the edge of a hurricane, which was real rough and we were real sick,
and arrived in Abadan, Iran on 8-9-45; arrived Darwin 8-31-45; went thru Balabac
Straits convoyed by Australian PBY Plane, and a Corvette Ship because of mines in
the Straight. Arrived Tacloban 9-6-45, a very sobering sight, unloaded, arrived
Eniwetok Island 9-23-45, arrived Panama 1 0-13-45. The guns and the Navy were
removed as were the Steward and Captain. We received Ex Navy Lt. as Captain and
we all moved up in the Galley. The new Chief Cook got an infected arm and we left
him in Honolulu and he lost his arm. We were all moved up again, I was Third
Cook.
Arrived Letye 12-12-45, unloaded, arrived Singapore Jan. 4, 1946, arrived Abodan 1-
18-46 took oil from Iraq side of river, arrived Colombo, Cylon 1-28-46, arrived
Singapore 2-3-46, arrived Letye 2-8-46. The Captain ordered Helmsman to go port
instead of starboard and we hit a reef and ended with 120 ft. dent 6 ft. deep at
deepest point. Arrived Lifoda Water Hole 2-15-46, arrived Guian Samar 2-16-46.

On the way to Japan we ran into the edge of a Typhoon they said. I was last in

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line carrying stores from amid ship and as I turned the corner aft the ship rolled
starboard and a wave hit and I ended up with both legs over the side sitting on the
deck with both hands on the bottom rail.

We arrived Yokahoma Bay, anchored Yokasoka 2-23-46. We were anchored
about a mile from the Battleship Iowa. There was a boiler explosion, I believe and
several were lost.

On 3-19-46 we left Japan and sailed towards Panama. We were south of
Hawaii when we ran onto a tidal wave that caused a crack in the gangway amidships.
Arrived Panama 4-11-46 and went through the Canal and sailed north to Mobile,
Alabama between the Yucatan Peninsula and Cuba, arrived Mobile 4-18-46 signed
off 4-19-46. We were paid in cash and I saw my first $1,000 bill.

This farm boy got on a bus and headed for NE, and I am still farming and
ranching.
Donna Mae and Willis Hoffman on their 50th wedding anniversary in 1997

ALLEN K. HOLT
2ND MATE

Very few sailors who served in the Merchant Marine escaped having some kind
of enemy action. Looking back, I want also to remember the interesting places and
interesting experiences we had not related to actual battle. For me I was fortunate to
climb Sugar Loaf in Rio, Table Top in Cape Town, South Africa, and the Great
Pyramid in Cairo.

I also sailed among the icebergs going to Goose Bay, Labrador in December of
1942. However my most interesting experience happened about 10 days after V.E. Day.
My ship was taken over by the British Merchant Navy in January of 1945 for shuttling
supplies to Belgium. We mostly sailed out of South Hampton and while in port I was
allowed to use the officer‘s club of the R.A.F. I made friends with various pilots and
they were continually inviting me to go on bombing raids with them to Germany. I told
them I had enough action on my ship, but told them that if they would make a trip with
me, I‘d make one with them. They refused saying it was too dangerous!!

We arrived back in England a day before V.E. Day for loading more supplies
for another trip. After about 10 days I met my friends at the club and they said they
were expecting me, because they were leaving on a one day trip tomorrow and wanted
me to go with them. They guaranteed me that we wouldn‘t be shot at, wouldn‘t tell me
where we were going, but to bring a carton of cigarettes for money!!

To understand the purpose of this trip I‘ll have to give you a little background.
Many months prior to the invasion the allied forces played a cat and mouse game with
the Germans keeping them off-guard as to where the invasion would take place,
thereby stretching out their defense forces. Rumor had it, that the English let the
Germans receive a secret message saying they would invade Holland and Denmark. To
counteract this possibility the Germans placed hundreds of thousands of soldiers along
the shores up Holland, Germany, Denmark, and Norway. When the allies took Berlin

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and Germany surrendered, all this area was out flanked and they also surrendered
without a shot being fired. Their headquarters were at The Hague in Holland.

The pilot and co-pilot picked me up at my ship about 6 a.m. and took me to the
air base and to their bomber which was parked on the runway. They started warming
up the engines, setting me in the back of the plane on a drop seat and said we would be
leaving as soon as their passengers arrived! Shortly a jeep pulled up at the door and
three British Generals in full dress came on board with briefcases, side arms and about
20 ribbons each on their uniforms. One sat next to me on a drop seat and the other
two, directly across on two other small drop seats, all of us not 6 feet apart. They asked
me what I was doing on board and I told them I was a friend of the pilot. They also
asked if I were a ―Yank‖ and I told them yes. We took off and not a word was
exchanged between anyone because of the excess noise of the engines. After about 1 ½
hours I felt the plane circling and finally landing. There were no windows in the plane
so we couldn‘t see out until they opened the door. Once they opened the door and I
could see out I got the shock of my life. The plane was surrounded by hundreds of
German soldiers in full battle dress with all their guns!! I still didn‘t know where we
were or what was going on. While the pilots secured the plane I followed the Generals
off to be greeted by a German General who escorted us to awaiting jeeps. Once the
pilots joined us we were off through about 10 miles of bombed out buildings and
rubble and no people. We finally arrived in the center of town which was not bombed,
except for the railroad station and parked in front of the mayor‘s office. The Generals
told us to wait for them in the small park across the street and not to leave the area. I
was finally able to quiz the pilot and find out that we were in The Hague and had come
to accept the surrender of the German Northern Army!

We used my cigarettes to have lunch and buy various small souvenirs and gave
away the rest. One cigarette was worth one Gilder, one Gilder was worth $0.70 U.S.

The meeting was over about 4 pm and we returned to Southampton and to the
Officer‘s Club for dinner. Over drinks the pilot asked me how it felt to be in on the
surrender party and to be the first Yank to land in Holland after the war. We had a
toast on that. I told him that the most interesting part was that how sailors seem to
always end up in situations without even trying!!
A.K. Holt 5/29/2007

DON JACKSON

I was born in Newcastle attended Ben Franklin and senior high school here. I
left home when I was 16 and went to Baltimore, Maryland finding work in a gas station
until I was 18. At that time I got a job at Bethlehem Steel Mill in Sparrow Point,
Maryland. I was working there when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Subsequently,
I was transferred to the Fairfield shipyard where liberty ships were being built, one
every 10 or 11 days. I was a ―holder-on‖ in a riveting gang.

Later on I quit at and enlisted in the Marine Reserve with a requirement that I
served in the Merchant Marine. I thought my shipbuilding experience would be a plus -

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it wasn't. I was assigned to the training station at Sheepshead Bay in Brooklyn, New
York and eventually completed training and received certification as a
Watertender/Fireman. However I usually sailed as an oiler.

As an oiler, I sailed on Liberty Ships, Victory ships, C-2 and C-3‘s. I was an
oiler on a liberty ship and was on the first assistant‘s watch. When the trip was
completed we arrived back in New York. The first said he would call for a Third
Assistant and they were scarce and probably not available so I sailed as acting Third
Assistant Engineer. Unfortunately, a Third Assistant came to the ship but the First sent
him back and told me I had to get a license officially. About a month later I took the
test in Portland, Maine, passed it and received a Third‘s license. I went to the dock
where my friend from the first ship had been docked -- it was gone and I never saw
him again.

Thereafter I sailed as a Third until I had sufficient time for Second‘s license. I
went to the United States Maritime School in Seattle, Washington and sailed out of
Seattle as a Second Assistant. I then sailed out of Mobile, Alabama as the Fourth
Assistant for about a year and then left the Merchant Marines. I went to college
earning a Bachelor of Arts degree and later a Juris Doctor of Law degree and practiced
law in Maryland, the District of Columbia and Virginia for over 30 years. I specialized
in the practice of trademark and copyright law and the litigation of such cases.

I am now retired, single, and have returned to my roots in Newcastle.

FRANK L. JARVIS
EUGENE, ORE 97405

When I was 17 I joined the Merchant Marine. This was in Nov. 1943. I took my
seamanship training aboard a sailing ship moored at Pier 42 in San Francisco, sponsored
by the S.U.P. (Sailors Union of the Pacific).

After training, where I learned the nomenclature of the sea, such as boxing the
compass, tying knots, etc., I went to the Coast Guard offices where I was issued my
seaman‘s papers on Dec. 30, 1943. I went to the Union Hiring hall and was signed on
the Ship Absaroka, a steam schooner built in 1918 in Norway. I was signed on Jan. 7th,
1944 and sailed up the coast to Coos Barf and up the Columbia to Portland, picking up
lumber and on to Pearl Harbor, stood watches on the bow and wheelhouse, watching
for Japanese subs and vessels, returned to S.F.

Next ship was the S.S. Mission San Jose where I signed on as an Able Bodied
Seaman an Quartermaster. She was built at Sausalito, Calif. by Marinship Shipyards,
across from San Francisco. Was 522 feet in length and carried ―Hi Octane‖ gas out to
the Marshall Islands at Enewetok and Majuro Atolls supplying the fleet oilers to the
carriers. Ran shuttle runs through the Panama Canal to Aruba and Curacao and back to
Pearl Harbor and the Marshall Islands from Mar. ‘44 to returning to San Pedro, Calif.,
Dec. 30, 1944.

March 24, 1945 signed on to T-2 tanker Broad River and sailed to the Carolina‘s
chain of atolls, (Ulithi) shuttling between the Dutch West Indies (Aruba & Curacao). We

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Maritime Tales of the Sea

were in Pearl Harbor on VJ Day. I signed off the Broad River late Nov. of 1945 and went
back and finished high school in Sept. 1946 and graduated Jan. 1947. I then went to
Officers Training school and graduated Mar. 1947, returned to sea May 1947 on the SS
Broad River again until Feb. 1948, signed off in New York, returned home and went to
work for Owens Corning Fiberglas on July 5, 1949.

I was called up in Aug. 1950 before the draft board, as I was not considered a
veteran, but was rejected due to an osteomyelitis, an injury incurred when I was 12
involving my foot.
Sincerely, Frank L. Jarvis

QUINTON CROWDER JOHNSON

A summary of my Merchant Marine service during World War II (as told to
Carol Johnson on December 26, 2006):

During my service in World War II, I was in every major theater of the War
except the Mediterranean. I joined in the Merchant Marine in November of 1941 after
being refused by a local doctor for the Army. I had been working as an automatic
welder on the Shasta Dam for Western Pipe and Steele, a company who also had a
contract to build Victory Ships for WWII. I volunteered for the Merchant Marine at
work. After I volunteered, I went to engineering school from December 1941 through
June 1942 at Port Hueneme, California.

After I completed engineering school, I rode the daylight train to Oakland,
California where I shipped out as a Junior Engineer on the SS Gulf Queen, a tanker with
towing equipment. The ship had a gun mounted on the stem, but the gun was not
tested until after the ship was at sea. We towed two dragline dredges to Palmyra Island
where the ship left the dredges to be used to make a harbor. Then we went from
Palmyra to Honolulu and arrived about six months after Pearl Harbor was attacked.
Our ship was loaded with ordnance taken off the sunken battleships in Pearl Harbor
for our next assignment, to take two large barges of ammunition to Tonga Island.
Throughout this voyage, we were trailed by Japanese submarines. The ship had to
zigzag its course because of the subs. It was during this zigzagging that I was injured.
The zigzagging with something being towed caused a hard time in the engine room.
We went from a 30 minute round of servicing the engines to a 15-minute round of
servicing the engines. I slipped on the wet floor and to keep from falling into the
engine, I grabbed the hand rail. My foot was caught on the ramp and I stretched my
whole right side from my rotary cup to my mashed right foot. I lost the toenail on that
foot and the toe and heel were cut open.

We met the Battleship Missouri on its maiden voyage and our ship serviced it
with ammunition from the two towed barges and aviation gas for its helicopter and fuel
oil for the ship. On September 13, 1942, I got a shore pass on the Tonga Islands to
seek medical attention for my injuries. At this time, the Tonga Island was under
quarantine so it took a special pass to go ashore. I have a copy of the original pass
signed by the quarantine officer which allowed me to go ashore. After that we spent

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the next year taking ordnance from ships in Pearl Harbor and distributing it different
islands all over the Pacific. Then the Gulf Queen went back to San Diego, CA. When I
got to San Diego, I found out that my brother had lost his leg due to an accident on the
farm and I went home for a few months to help with the farm until my brother
recovered. After this I returned to sea, but I have had pain and problems from this
injury ever since it happened.

Next I went to Texas City, Texas and sailed on the SS Gulf Crest which made
several trips hauling oil from Venezuela to Texas City and fuel oil to New York City.

Then I went back to sea sailing out of San Francisco to Biak Island in the
Solomon Island chain on the SS Nathan B. Forrest. We took a shipload of B-25's to
General Douglas MacArthur's headquarters at Biak Island. While I was at Biak Island, I
once rode on General MacArthur's personal B-17 as a guest of the plane's chief
maintenance officer. The SS Nathan B. Forrest then picked up a load of scrap iron and
took it to New York City via Panama Canal. During this trip back to New York the
war ended.

In 1946, I went back to sea on the SS Lane Victory sailing from San Francisco
thru Panama Canal to New York where the ship was refitted for a month. We then
took breeding pairs of animals to Europe as a part of the reconstruction of Europe.
After crossing the Atlantic Ocean, we went up south of England, up into the English
Channel and anchored off the White Cliffs of Dover. Then we went up the Kiel Canal
to Gdansk, Poland and unloaded the animals there. The Baltic area had lots of mines
and the ship almost got sunk a couple of times. Once we were going half-ahead and got
orders to go double-astern. The ship had hit a mine cable, but we got astern quick
enough to avoid exploding the mine. After we delivered the ordnance in Poland, we
went back to New York City for another load. When the ship reached New York, I left
the Merchant Marine to go home in the summer of 1946.

I am currently a member of the SS Stephen Hopkins Chapter of the American
Merchant Marine Veterans.

JAMES A. JOLLY
SUBMARINES AND SINKING SHIPS, ATLANTIC COAST TO ATTU INVASION

My early years were near Turlock about 80 miles southeast of San Francisco,
where my dad had a dairy farm. I earned my amateur radio license while a junior in
high school. During the summer, after my first year of college, the year 1941, I read in
the QST magazine about a school at Gallups Island, Boston Harbor, operated by the
Coast Guard for the U.S. Maritime Service. Graduation qualified you to sail as a radio
operator on U.S. merchant ships. The qualifications to attend were a high school
education, an amateur radio license and over 18 years of age. Later the amateur radio
license requirement was dropped. My home was inland. I had never even been a
passenger on a large ship, but the idea of seeing the world as a radio operator on a ship
that sailed the high seas was very attractive. I figured I could qualify and applied. By
the end of the Summer I was on a train on my way to Gallups Island. I was in class at

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Maritime Tales of the Sea

Gallups Island when Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese on December 17, 1941.
I advanced one class and so was ready too graduate in May of 1942. Unfortunately just
before formal graduation I became ill with scarlet fever. My class went off to sea and
left me behind. My story begins when I was well and ready to go to sea.

My first ship
Soon after I returned from a week of sick leave, recovering from the scarlet

fever, I received my orders. The first set of orders were simple enough, they included a
train ticket to New York City where I was to report to the U.S. Maritime Service
Office, it was my understanding that most of the graduates had reported to the union
office for assignment so this seemed unusual. I received a new set of orders. This was
quite a surprise. They told me I was assigned to a ship that needed a radio officer but
that no more details could be released because of security. I had walked into a cloak
and dagger type of drama. I was given a set of orders with instructions and tickets for
the first leg of my trip. I was to go immediately to the Airport; there I was to take a
plane to Jacksonville Florida. I was to stay at a particular hotel. At the Hotel desk in
Jacksonville was an envelope for me. My orders were to go to the airport and take a
plane to Miami and again to check into a specified hotel and check at the desk for an
envelope.

I followed all of the instructions and arrived at the Miami Florida hotel. The
instructions for me at the Hotel desk said that I would be contacted the next morning
in the Hotel lobby. The next morning a seedy man approached me in the hotel lobby
and ask if I was James Jolly, did I have an I.D. etc. He then said he was my driver and I
was to go with him and he would take me to my ship. He didn‘t want to tell me any
more at that time. After leaving Miami and driving for some time he said we were
headed for Key West, Florida. This was an interesting drive down the keys of Florida.
Much of the highway is over bridges that connect the keys (islands). After many hours
of driving we arrived at Key West. The driver took me to the dock. At the dock was a
large ocean going tug with the name M.S. Edmond J. Moran. My orders told me to
report to the captain. The captain, Hugo Kroll, a short stout man of many years with a
pipe in his mouth and a friendly smile greeted me and said, ―Son we have been waiting
here for more than seven days expecting your arrival. Now we can get under way.‖ We
were at sea within the hour.

The M.S. Edmond J. Moran was a powerful diesel electric twin screw ocean
going tug. It was new and had made only one voyage before I joined her. The radio
room was a combination radio room and sleeping quarters for the radio officer. The
equipment was of new design similar to what we had been trained on at the Gallups
Island radio school. Included was an auto alarm that would notify the bridge and the
radio operator anytime it was on and the radio operator was off duty. I was the only
radio operator so it was necessary to use the auto alarm during my off time. I stood
watch from 0800 hours to 1200 hours and again from 2000 hours to 2400 hours,
midnight.

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S.S. Umtata
One of the early assignments of the Tug M.S. Edmond J. Moran was to go to St

Lucia to tow a ship. The ship was the S.S. Umtata. It was loaded with iron ore. It had
visited the harbor at St Lucia for fuel and had been torpedoed while tied to the dock.
The torpedo had hit midship and destroyed the engine room. The U.S wanted the cargo
so a crew, somehow, were able to plug up the hole with concrete. The water in the
engine compartment of the ship was pumped out and the S.S Umtata was again
floating. With some help from harbor tugs the M.S. Edmond J. Moran was able to put
a line to the bow of the Umtata and tow her to sea. We had one Navy escort with us.
The escort was faster than we were as the tug could only make eight to ten knots
pulling the very large Umtata. The seas were favorable and after several days we were
off the coast of Florida. To take advantage of the Gulf current we were traveling
within sight of land. This was before the strong rules about black out on shore had
been enforced. As we passed Miami there were many lights on shore. For a submarine
this was ideal for at night we and the Umtata made a silhouette target. Even though we
had a Navy escort, the German submarine waited until the escort, in its circle around
us, was on our land side. The submarine then torpedoed the S.S. Umtata. It was the
middle of the night. The captain ordered the tow line to be cut so that the sinking
Umtata would not drag the tug down with it. We then circled and picked up crew from
the Umtata. The Navy escort did the same. As far as I know all crew were rescued.
We then went into the port of Miami and landed the crew there. Navy personnel
arrived to question the officers and crew. After a day in port we were on our way
again. The fate of the submarine was unknown. The U.S. Navy escort did attempt to
locate the submarine and did drop depth charges, but there was no proof of contact
with the submarine. After a torpedo attack it was normal for a German submarine to
dive rapidly to escape.

Propeller speed
Why didn't the German submarines torpedo the Tug? The answer was very

interesting. The tug was diesel electric, twin screw, with high speed propellers. At
cruising speed the propellers turned at about 170 revolutions per minute. A normal
steam driven cargo ship had a propeller speed of about 70 or 80 rpm. The Navy escort
ships had a propeller design similar to the tug and their propeller also turned at about
170 rpm when they were cruising. Submarines had listening devices and could find a
ship by listening to the propeller sound. They could identify a cargo ship and a Navy
escort ship and where one was a target the other was a potential disaster. This was a
fortunate protection for we spotted many submarines during the months spent along
the East Cost and the Caribbean Sea. When they heard the Tug they would submerge
and hide from us. A few months after I came aboard the tug we were taken into dry-
dock and 40 MM guns were mounted on the Port and Starboard sides of the bridge and
equipment to release depth charges over the stern were installed. We had the potential
to destroy a German submarine. We did not have a Navy gun crew because there was a

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lack of bunk space on the tug. The crew of the tug went through 40 meter gun
operation and the procedure to discharge depth charges.

Windward Passage
One of our assignments was to join a convoy of three troop ships that were

headed for passage through the Panama Canal. We started from an East Coast port and
progressed south toward the Canal. The Windward Passage is the passage between
Cuba and Haiti. It is narrow enough to see across on a clear day. The water through
the passage is relatively shallow. As it is a major sea lane, German submarines would
lay on the bottom until they heard a ship, then surface, take an advantageous position
and then torpedo the ship. The submarines had the preference of firing a torpedo from
a position of broad side to the ship. This reduced the error and was most effective if
the hit was midship. For this reason a submarine would most often surface to port or
starboard. The troop convoy was well protected by Navy escort vessels who
continually circled the convoy. The convoy consisted of three troop ships, three tugs,
and several Navy escort ships. As we approached Windward Passage the lead troop
ship, that carried the admiral who was in control, sent orders using flags for the ships to
form a line with a tug between each troop ship and the third tug to trail the third troop
ship. The M.S. Edmond J. Moran was in line following the lead troop ship and just
ahead of the second troop ship. All went well. The formation was in order as we
approached Windward Passage. Then the alert, submarine in area, flags went up on the
lead troop ship. Minutes later a submarine partly surfaced inside the ring of Navy
escort vessels and to the Port side of the lead troop ship heading at an angle directly in
line to collide with the M.S Edmond J. Moran. The submarine commander, observing
the situation immediately started to submerge. Because of the forward speed of the
submarine and the short distance to submerge the top of the conning tower was still
just disappearing under the water as it attempted to pass under the M.S. Edmond J.
Moran. The top of the conning tower struck the Tug near midship with a resounding
thud, passed under, apparently damaged and continued its course to the starboard.
Two escort vessels soon passed over the area where the submarine was headed and
dropped depth charges. An oil slick appeared which usually meant the submarine had
been killed. However, the release of oil could be a decoy to make the Navy think that
the submarine had been hit a mortal blow. It was Navy policy to retain surveillance of
the immediate area for a period of time to listen for any movement from the submarine
or to further take action if the submarine was still intact and tried to surface. The Navy
escort commander knew just how long a submarine could remain submerged if it was
still operational. The official report was that the submarine was destroyed. The convoy
continued its voyage passing Guantanamo Bay and then on to the entrance to the
Panama Canal. The M.S. Edmond J. Moran took leave of the convoy at the Canal and
headed back into the Caribbean.

Aggressive submarines

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As the war progressed there were developed ways to protect the merchant ships
that were moving up and down the East Coast. One of these was over night anchorage
areas that were protected by steel nets. One such anchorage area was established near
the port of Key West, Florida. To enter the anchorage was a twisting narrow path with
secret instructions known only to a pilot that would guide a ship into the anchorage.
The perimeter of the anchorage, just outside of the nets had mines located at strategic
points to further protect the anchorage area. On one occasion when the M.S. Edmond
J. Moran was in the Key West area Captain Kroll decided to spend the night in the
anchorage. The anchorage offered rather smooth water while the sea at the time, was
rather rough as the result of a storm that had just passed. The M.S. Edmond J. Moran,
being only 125 feet long, rolled and tossed quite violently in rough seas. So we were
anchored in this apparent haven when somehow a German submarine figured out how
to penetrate the safety zone, and torpedoed a tanker. It was well into the night. There
was a very large explosion followed by flames many feet high. The entire crew and ship
were all lost. It was a very disconcerting experience. We were not informed how the
submarine penetrated the safety net. We also never heard if the submarine was
detected and destroyed.

Sparks the helmsman
One assignment of the M.S. Edmond J. Moran was to salvage a torpedoed ship

off the coast of the Georgia. The seas were moderately rough. It was difficult to get a
line aboard the damage ship. The tug had an aft steering position as well as the normal
bridge steering position. The aft steering position was well up on the tug and gave a
very good view of all operations to the aft. The tow line machinery and the storage of
the towing cable and hawser were all on the aft deck. For this maneuver Captain Kroll
had shifted the ships controls to the aft steering position. The steering position
consisted of a wheel to turn the rudder. As the wheel was turned right or left (which
would turn the tug right or left) there was a pointer indicator that showed the amount
and direction the tug would turn in points. Each point represented five degrees.
Straight ahead was zero with eight points going either right or left. Also adjacent to the
wheel was a control for speed. The tug was diesel electric. The diesel engines ran
generators. The generators were connected by electrical cables to the motors. There
were two 2000 hp diesel engines, each with its own generator which was connected to
the motor that it would drive. The tug was twin screw with a separate motor on each
propeller. With this arrangement the helmsman had complete control of the speed of
the tug. The control made it possible to go from zero to full forward, back to zero and
then full reverse. The major calibration was in one eighth steps. During an operation
of this nature it could become very stressful and a man could be easily injured or the
tug damaged as a large wave came crashing across the deck. To have maximum help on
deck captain Kroll had sent the helmsman to assist the seaman on the aft deck and was
operating the controls of the tug by himself. He found that he needed to be more free
to move around from side to side or what ever to best direct the operation. He called
for the Sparks, I responded to the call. When I came to the aft control position Capt.

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Kroll ordered me to take the helmsman position. He barked out orders, two point to
the left, four points to the left, six points to the right, half forward, stop, half reverse,
stop, quarter forward, on and on. Apparently the captain was satisfied with my help.
We managed to put a line on the ship. Soon the helmsman, on duty, returned and I
was relieved. This all happened so fast that I hardly was aware of what went on.
Captain Kroll said, "You did a fine job Sparks, back to the radio room" that was all. It
was a memorable day for me, being in control of that large sea going tug with two
thousand HP diesels being controlled by simply moving the forward - aft engine
control

Chesapeake City -the assignment
During December of 1942 the M.S. Edmond J. Moran was ordered to

Chesapeake City, MD to take in tow two large empty flat barges. The barges were 100
feet wide and 300 feet long and could carry 200 tons. The destination of the barges was
not disclosed, but the orders were to Cristobal, Panama. At Cristobal we were further
ordered to proceed through the Panama Canal towing the empty barges. Each time a
port was designated we would then obtain further information to proceed to the next
port. This chain of commands took us to Puntarenas, Costa Rica, Salina Cruz, Mexico,
San Pedro, California, and Seattle, Washington. Each stop was mainly for fuel, food
supplies, and new orders to proceed to the next port. We arrived in Seattle 23
February, 1943. The total trip took 80 days. The reason that it took so long for the trip
was that the M.S. Edmond J. Moran was towing the two 100 ft by 300 ft barges. The
speed underway was probably not more than 6 knots, perhaps less in bad weather and
perhaps more in calm weather. Most of the trip was without major incidence. We did
have a Navy escort until we entered the Panama Canal. Only a few days out of
Chesapeake City, in the Atlantic Ocean, our escort discovered a German submarine
either planning to attack us or simply was watching the shipping lane that was our path.
In any event the escort took all of the proper actions to sink the submarine using many
depth charges.

Puntarenas, Costa Rica
This fuel and food supply port was interesting because the dock was relatively

new and adequate to accommodate large ships. The Germans had been very active in
this area of Central America. The steel docks and other improvements of the port had
been the work of the Germans. Now that the U.S.A. was part of the Allies in the war,
the Germans had returned home or at least were not visibly active in this country
although the Germans were quite active in opposition to the Allied effort in some of
the South American countries like Columbia and Ecuador. The tug was in port long
enough for the officers and crew to have a few hours of shore leave. At that time the
streets of Puntarenas were sand. The buildings were very simple; few had doors or
windows which were not needed because of the tropical weather. We were warned not
to drink the water or eat the food, but it was ok to drink their beer, which was enjoyed
by some.

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Gulf of Tehuantepec
The normal ship lane (path) between Puntarenas and Salina Cruz crosses the

Gulf of Tehuantepec. This gulf is noted for bad storms that seem to appear out of no
where with little advance warning. Because of his concern Captain Kroll decided to
hug the coast and follow a much longer path to get to our next port of call, Salina Cruz.
During this segment of our journey, by luck, the weather remained quite reasonable, so
the long path was probably not necessary, but it did afford the crew the opportunity to
see the coast line as we progressed north. While crossing the Gulf of Tehuantepec we
encountered a sea of large turtles. They were perhaps two to three feet across their
shell and so closely spaced as they swam along that it appeared so solid that a person
could walk from one to the other along the back of their shells. The crew captured
one of the turtles. The steward (cook) planed to make turtle soup, which did not
materialize. It was estimated that the turtle that was caught was over 100 years old, so
it would have been very tough. The crew saved the shell as a trophy.

Seattle Washington
It was while in Seattle that we learned we would be going on to Alaska. Our

final destination was still not known. We were issued very cold weather gear, parkas,
gloves, fur lined boots, all the clothing needed for the very cold Alaska. We were also
put through a military type training program and each member of the crew, including
the captain were issued an M3 rifle. We were given instructions on maintaining the M3
and had considerable rifle range practice. A Naval gunnery officer was assigned to the
tug, but because of space the naval officer did not have a Navy crew. His job was to
direct the crew of the M.S. Edmond J. Moran if need be.

On to Alaska
When at sea the crew was told that the next major destination would be

Kodiak, Alaska. To get there we went up through the Inland Passage on to Safety
Cove, Canada, Ketchikan Alaska, Excursion inlet Alaska, Thumb Cove, Alaska and
finally arrived at Kodiak on March 16, 1943. On the way the Navy gunnery officer had
all of the crew participate in scheduled practice sessions using the 20 MM guns
mounted on the Starboard and Port near the bridge and in firing the M3s. A target
would be thrown overboard, perhaps an empty crate from the galley, with a flag added.
This was an interesting target to shoot at, but the noise from the 20 MM cannon was
not very pleasant.

Kodiak Alaska
In the winter it is very cold and has lots of snow. The walking paths from the

dock to the buildings had a wall of snow on each side. While in Kodiak the officers
were invited to the Officers club and the crew was invited to the non-commissioned
club. We took on new supplies, refueled and were soon on our way. The instructions
were to rendezvous at a specific longitude and latitude where we would expect other

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ships. The route to the rendezvous was via Dutch Harbor, Unalaska, Makuslin Bay,
Chumanski, and on to the point of rendezvous. As we progressed along the islands of
the Aleutian chain the weather was most difficult. The unique winds in that region are
called ―Willie-Walls‖. They blow very strong in one direction and then for no known
reason will suddenly change direction. In one harbor during a strong storm we were
anchored heading into the wind with the engines full power ahead and were still drifting
toward the shore – when for no reason the wind changed direction only to attempt to
blow the tug out to sea. The sun was seldom seen and fog, snow, and/or rain were
expected most every day. On our voyage from Dutch Harbor to Attu, which was the
point of the rendezvous we pulled several grounded ships free that had the winds place
them on the shore.

Invasion of Attu, Holtz Bay Alaska. (May 1943)
May 11, 1943, D day, was the high light of days in Alaska. This was the

invasion of Attu by the American troops. The Navy battle ships USS Idaho, USS
Nevada and USS Pennsylvania were constantly blasting the shore with their big guns.
In addition to the battle ships there were Navy cruisers, and destroyers and at least one
small carrier that made up the Navy task force. The shore of the island was very steep,
also there were not nearly enough landing craft available as the invasion of Attu was in
competition with other war efforts, so the landing craft were augmented by the use of
tugs and barges. The technique used was to place one of the 100 foot by 300 foot 200
ton capacity barges on each side of a sea going tug. There were other large sea going
tugs besides the M.S Edmond J. Moran that had towed barges to the invasion. The
tugs would then come along side of a troop ship. Men and equipment were loaded on
to the large barges. Once loaded the tugs would head for shore with a barge on each
side. The tug pushing the barges would strike the beach and the tug would tread water
to hold the barges against the steep beach. Ramps were put down and bulldozers lead
the way for the mechanized equipment and troops to follow. While the landing was in
progress, there were bombers overhead and the Navy ships were continuing to shell the
Japanese placements. And no surprise to anyone, the Japanese were returning the fire.
The M.S. Edmond J. Moran was strafed during the early hours of the landing. During
the first few days of the landing over fifty trips were made from the troop ships to the
beach by the tugs with the barges on each side. One Japanese plane dropped a bomb
within 500 feet of the M.S. Edmond's stern. The M.S. Edmond J. Moran took a serious

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shaking, but no major damage. All members of the crew of the Edmond J. Moran were
awarded the combat ribbon as recognition for their participation in the invasion of
Attu.

Final Note
I had been on the M.S Edmond J. Moran for a year and three months. It was

decided to replace the crew. I was sent back to the states as a passenger aboard the S.S.
Indian Arrow, a Liberty Ship and arrived in Seattle, September 9, 1943.

Following my voyages on the M.S. Edmond J. Moran I made several voyages to
the South Pacific on the liberty ship S.S. Samuel W. Williston. This was followed with a
voyage to Europe on the Victory ship S.S. Frontenac Victory. My last ship was the S.S.
Young America, a C-2 troop ship that was assigned to bring home troop from South
Korea and Japan.

Upon returning home I went back to college. I earned a degree in physics from
the University of Pacific, Stockton, California. After college I went to work for Eitel
McCullough (Eimac Tubes) and worked first in their research laboratory and then later
as a factory engineer and finally as the Manager of the Industrial Microwave Division.
After 19 years I left Eitel McCullough and returned to college to earn my doctorate
degree at the University of Santa Clara, Santa Clara, California. I was an associate
professor at the U.S. Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey, California, for seven years
and then a professor at Sacramento State University, Sacramento, California, for 14
years. I retired in 1990, and was granted the title, Professor Emeritus.

I am active on CW, W6RWI. I am a member
DXCC and enjoy many phases of amateur radio. My wife Rose is also a licensed
amateur, W6QPV. We have been married 62 years; have three grown children, seven
grandchildren, and four great grandchildren.

THOMAS H. JONES
RICHARDSON, TX 75080

I served as Second Radio Officer on the Liberty Ship SS Joseph Alston, which
carried supplies to Europe, and American troops returning from the European Theater.
My last crossing voyage on the Alston began from New York just before Thanksgiving
1945 and ended up in Marseilles, France to pick up returning U.S. soldiers.

Docking in Marseilles was interesting, since we had a British skippered tug on the
starboard side, and a French skippered tug on the port side, fighting over who had

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charge of the tow. Much loud tooting, and bullhorn swearing, was going on in both
languages, and our skipper, out in the wing, swearing at both in Portuguese. We
managed to dock; avoiding collision with ship remains sticking out of the harbor water.
A freighter from Bremen had been blown up on the beach just in front of us.

On the homebound leg, we learned that the British minesweepers had been active
in the area, and had already cut loose numerous cable mines deposited by the Germans.
As the weather turned bad, the sweeper/cutters hauled for home, leaving the freed
mines to float where they may. The third Op and I were up on the boat deck watching
our departure. As we looked astern, both of us spotted a mine bobbing in our wake.
Not a word was exchanged and it disappeared almost as fast as it had surfaced.
Hopefully, it sank to the bottom.

All were anxious to get the troops back to New York before Christmas. The worst
Atlantic storm in 100 years launched soon after we had cleared the Mediterranean at
Gibraltar. We had a Portuguese Captain (Capt. Jose Domingues) who, in these
conditions, navigated by inspecting the color of one peeled potato tucked up in the
bow. Nobody went near that spud, and I mean nobody. It was ten days or more before
we were able to get a solid fix, and then learned we were well south of the Azores - not
a very direct route to New York from Gibraltar.

Our holds contained 400+ members of the Army Air force 550th Fighter Group,
with 99% of them violently ill for days. Not a pretty picture. In the best of times, a
single hot meal daily might have been prepared by the Army mess crew, but in these
conditions, crates of apples were the only food available. I understand that apples help
with seasickness but not ever having trouble, I never found out if that was so.

Arriving in New York, we encountered a dock strike, and after lying off for a
while, were directed to drop troops in New Jersey. I never knew if the troops all made
it home from Christmas.

Subsequently, I signed foreign orders aboard the Alston and proceeded to
Galveston, Texas, to load grain and return to the Med, still in troop ship configuration.
While in Galveston, February 1946, the WSA (War Shipping Administration) removed
all Liberty Ships from troop transport duty. That action negated the requirement to
maintain 24-hour radio watch, so a group of thirteen radio officers were on trains out
of Galveston, mine being to Baltimore and the shore list!

Upon reaching my homeport Baltimore, I learned that the ROU (Radio Officers
Union) was making about one ship every thirteen weeks. I was registered for the draft
and quickly decided to join the U. S. Navy. When honorably discharged, I entered
college under the GI Bill, and continued my career in electronics.

MELVIN JONESON

It was June 14, 1943 and I was at the age of 17. I was full of desire and
adventure, with a deep longing to serve my country. I was with a group of young men
from Seattle, Washington where I was sworn into the Merchant Marine.

Upon the completion of the ceremony, we formed a column of three abreast

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and were marched from the enlistment headquarter on Second Ave. to the King Station
in Seattle, where we boarded the train heading for Sheep Head Bay Training Station in
New York.

We received our new seaman's
clothing as well as our immunization shots. The training station in New York was
where we learned the meaning of Obstacle courses. We soon learned we had muscles
that we never knew we had. We also were spending hours each day learning all about
the ships that one day we would sail. Little did we know that the Merchant Marine had
an infantry and we would be trained to march. After six weeks of intense training, we
were sent to Baltimore, Maryland to board a large Transport Ship for one week of
hands-on training. After hands-on training, we were sent back to Sheep Head Bay
where we had intense gunnery training, which involved the 20mm machine guns and 3
inch fifty anti aircraft guns.

Upon completion of our basic training, a small group of us was sent to
Savannah, Georgia to pick up a brand new Liberty ship. On board ship we were
assigned to our duties. I being an AB was assigned the 4 to 8 watch, my officer was
the first mate on board. My duties were two hours behind the wheel and two hours on
look out. Leaving Savannah, GA we headed for Charleston South Carolina where the
ship was degaussed.

The next morning we headed toward New York City. We Passed the Statue of
Liberty and watched many tugs pushing the Queen Mary into its berth. We occupied a
berth just a few piers away from the Queen Mary. We loaded our cargo for England.
Just a few hours before we were to depart, we were all informed to meet in a room on
the pier. In this room, we were met by a group of religious leaders who seemed
concerned about us and our well being.

At that time many ships were being sunk in the North Atlantic Ocean. I should
have been grateful for their concern, but being a rebellious individual, I had neither
time nor patience to listen or take in what they wanted me to hear. Since I had been
raised by foster parents who were very religious, I felt that I had been subjected to
enough religion. I had a negative attitude at this time.

Because of the many ships that were being sunk in the North Atlantic, we were
issued a full body rubber survival suit. On my first look out, I donned this massive
rubber survival suit on my small frame, I was 5' 10' and weighed 130 lbs. I assumed my
position on the port wing.

I observed the beautiful sky line and once again I was able to view the Statue of
Liberty. Standing there on the port wing, I felt the urge of nature and I went for the
closest head. With my rubber suit down to my knees, a tremendous explosion

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occurred. A British Corvette dropped two depth charges quite close to our ship. My
survival suit was dragging behind me. I forgot why I had to come to the head in the
first place and rushed to the bridge to find the first mate behind the wheel. The other
AB had to run to his quarters to get his life jacket. I relieved the first mate and took
over the wheel. Then I thought back to those religious moments of my youth. Maybe I
shouldn't have been so rebellious, and I now felt there was a Higher Being.

These are the many things that I, as a merchant seaman, remember bringing
much needed supplies through the dangerous N. Atlantic Ocean. Later I was
privileged to bring supplies to the fighting forces in the New Guinea area in the South
Pacific.

To this day, I feel I did my duty to bring much needed supplies to the
European theater and the South Pacific.

From the Mid-Columbia Newsletter Editor's desk:
This is only a drop in the bucket of Mel's story as he was on the Murmansk run and his ship was
bombed out1ium under him. He was rescued but spent a long time recovering. He promised to write
that story another time. Mel found the Mid-Columbia Chapter in Kennewick Washington the first
month it was founded. He read a letter to the editor in the Motor Home magazine about the Merchant
Marine and its chapters written by Nelson & Shirley Cauble. He and his wife has been a big asset to
our chapter as his wife Lila Mae Joneson is our Sunshine lady and part time Secretary.

JOHN SULLIVAN JUSTIN, JR. (deceased)

John Sullivan Justin, Jr. ("John") was born in Nocona, Texas on January 17,
1917 to John S. Justin, Sr. and Ruby Justin. John, his mother and dad moved to Fort
Worth Texas in 1924 where John resided until his death on February 26, 2001. During
his childhood days John worked for his father in the boot plant, threw a paper route
and always the entrepreneur, he and his friend Charles Tandy (founder of Radio Shack)
manufactured belts in his garage from scrap leather they got from the Justin Boot
Company.

When WWII broke out, John a licensed accomplished pilot, set out to join the
Army Air Corps. However when the Army informed him that he would be an
instructor rather than a pilot, his interest quickly changed to joining the Merchant
Marines. Since John had always been a businessman, he took the purser's test and
received his chief purser's license. On June 19, 1942 Ensign John S. Justin, Jr. reported
to the Will R. Wood which was one of the older liberty ships based in Galveston, Texas.

His job as the chief pursuer was to handle the ships' payroll, sign the men on
and off the ship, order supplies and take care of the ships paperwork. As they left
Galveston loaded with heavy military equipment destined for England, the Wood
encountered a hurricane and almost sunk. They dumped the Sherman tanks overboard
which were lashed on deck and lost all the lifeboats. They made it just south of the
Florida Keys and received some emergency repairs and then limped all the way to New
York for complete repairs in the New York shipyard.

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After repairs the Wood joined a convoy headed for England. John spent the next
three years traversing the North Atlantic. As John recalled it was a never changing life
of on-duty and off-duty. On one trip to England, John recalled being attacked by a
German submarine. The submarine fired two torpedoes at the ship, but the torpedoes
got tangled up with the ship's streamers which were long ropes towed by the ship with
explosives tied to them. They were the only defense the ship had against torpedoes.
When the torpedoes and the steamers' explosives got perilously close to the ship they
all exploded at the same time, severely damaging the ship's hull and the drive shaft.

After an heroic effort on the part of the engineer, the ship was saved and
limited power was restored. During this touch and go situation John stayed on the
bridge with the ship's important papers and cash locked in a metal box waiting for the
captain to issue abandon ship order at which time John would throw the papers
overboard to prevent them from falling into enemy hands. As was the rule, the convoy
and Navy protection continued to England, leaving John's ship to limp to England
alone and unprotected. As John stated ''we were sitting ducks for the German Navy",
but, luckily, no German submarines were around and they made it Milford Haven, a
British naval base near Cardiff Wales. In 1945 John left the Merchant Marines to return
to his belt business.

In the early 1950's John acquired the controlling interest in the Justin Boot
Company which was founded in 1879 by his grandfather. John combined his very
successful belt business with the boot business and embarked on at fifty year business
endeavor of creating the $600 million dollar Justin Industries Company, which was
ultimately acquired by Warren Buffett and Berkshire Hathaway. John was known as a
brilliant businessman with a strong work ethic, making savvy but fair business
decisions.

John served his community as well as his country. After several years on the
Fort Worth City Council, John was elected mayor and served from 1961 to 1963. John
and his wife Jane were constantly seen promoting the western culture and way of life.
John was chairman of the Southwestern Exposition and Stock Show for almost 20
years providing leadership and vision for its growth and continued successes.

John received many honors and awards during his lifetime including being
inducted into the Texas Businessman Hall of Fame. One award that John was
particularly proud of was the Charles Goodnight Award which is presented to the
person who has done the most to promote the western lifestyle. John and Jane
continue their service to their community through the Jane and John Justin [charitable]
Foundation which among other things supports and promotes the western culture.

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DR. LAWRENCE W. KERKOW. Ph.D.
Universal City, Texas 78148

The 15 months I sailed with seasoned Merchant Mariners was the best
education a lad from the Midwest could dream, or to quote from my friend‘s book, it
was a ―FAST TRACK TO MANHOOD." As a patriotic 17 year old Wilson High
School Senior with Parental Blessing and High School Principal support, I enlisted in
The United States Maritime Service at St. Paul, Minnesota on December 27, 1944.

Several enlistees boarded a train bound for the great state of New York. We
arrived at The Merchant Marine Training Center, Sheepshead Bay, NY on January 1,
1945. Every morning during ten weeks training, we formed a line at the drinking
fountain for our daily dose of Sulfa Tablets. Survival training by Naval and Coast
Guard Personnel presented a wide spectrum of challenges from coordinated marching
drills, launching and rowing lifeboats to polishing floors. The duo of Henry Compretto
(sp) and I would take turns at driving the electric buffer to get the floor looking glass
clear. It took us only a short while to master the physics of balance while manipulating
this machine into perfect consequence.

I think the Abandon Ship Drills at the indoor swimming pool provided
memorable entertainment to all present. Some members of our class had never been in
water over their heads before and were ordered to jump from a 40 foot tower, with
Kapok Lifejackets secure, into the deep end of the pool.

Today when I think of those experiences and antics, I wonder if the US Navy
and US Coast Guard Instructors ever had doubt of winning WWII.

After graduation, I lost track of Henry and was assigned to a Liberty Ship in
Bayonne, NJ, for two titillating voyages on the North Atlantic. V-E Day, May 28, 1945
changed the war effort focus to the Pacific Ocean. Several of us seaworthy veteran's
boarded a train for the West Coast and signed on with The US Army Transportation
Service, Seattle Washington Port of Embarkation. I drew second cook duty under Chef
Norman Shane aboard the "Heather FS 534" skippered by seasoned Captain Hall. We
sailed up the pleasant Inland Waterways to Alaska and across the turbulent Gulf of

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Alaska to the Aleutian Islands where hostile action kept us alert. I compliment the US
Army Medical Service for their hospitality while recovering from injuries. Thereafter,
while on limited duty aboard Seattle Harbor Vessels, I attended Officer Upgrading
School. V-J Day August 15, 1945, caught most of us main stream volunteers heavily
into assigned long term duties. We were shocked when the ATS announced some
months later March 1946 that our services were no longer needed and we were relieved
of duty.

Part of my WWII Merchant Marine Records were since found and returned to
me.

With patriotism still running high I immigrated into the US Army Air Force,
traveled the world by air for 25 years and retired to be with my spouse, June. I did a 2
winter stint with the Minnesota Department of Health before settling in Universal City,
Texas. We have a great community here and I served it well for 30 years as Certified
City Clerk, Councilman and Mayor, building recreational parks, business park
development and a municipal golf course. I served to Charter the Texas Scholar
Program at our local High School, formed to encourage students to take the core
curriculum subjects of Math, English, Science and Language for their entire four years.
Success was measured by maintaining a ―C‖ or better average grade, which we believe
better prepared them for the business world. Served as President of The MetroCom
Chamber of Commerce Diplomats, organizing business relocation and Grand
Openings. President, Universal City Industrial Development Corporation for many
years.

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57th Wedding Anniversary July 17,
2005. God Bless Everyone who served and is serving our great country to preserve our
precious freedoms. God Bless America.
WOODROW C. KING
STORY OF S/S JOSE NAVARRO

Everything was going "All is Well." I came off of the helm in the wheelhouse,
at 12:00 midnight, where I had just come off of my 8pm to 12am watch, the weather
good and the sea calm. Our position was the Indian Ocean, off the coast of India about
175 miles, running with our nets down at a speed of approximately 10-11 knots.

Now it is Christmas morning at home, but December 26th,
1943 here and very warm. I went to the galley for a snack & coffee and then some of
the boys called me into a fouxal and they were boozing it up a bit as they had found
some liquor that evening. We were in there for quite some time, but during this time a
friend of mine, William Stafford, was preaching Atheism, others were telling tall tales
and carrying on. About 3:00am I went to bed and very much asleep. At 4:00am I heard
a loud explosion that knocked me out of my bunk. The door opened and water began
coming in. Then I knew that we had been torpedoed. I ran to my station where I was
in charge of lowering two lifeboats, one on top of the other, which was port side
forward station. We were hit on the starboard side just forward of the net, we were
listing badly in the drink, taking on water, making the port side real high and very hard
to lower the life boats, and there was barely enough line on the fall's to reach the water.
Douglas Sheppard, an oiler was on the other end of the falls, and we had lowered away

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one boatload, then the second boat (with only the 3rd assistant in it) one end of the
falls was dropped, throwing him (the 3rd assistant) out and into the water below. The
1st mate was on the bridge and saw this and said" It's up to you King" and he went on
with his business. I hesitated, and then over the side I went, he was all the way in the
water, one end of the boat was almost hanging in the water. I pulled him into the boat
then they chopped the falls, He was very badly hurt. The Captain came off in my boat,
as it was the last one to leave the sinking ship. When daylight came our boats & rafts
were scattered all over the horizon. It took until noon for us all to get together. Snake
Rivera, an oiler, was on a raft and asked if they could tie on to us, we all did this so we
wouldn't drift apart. It was so very hot, many of us hardly had any clothing on. I had
only my pants, no shirt and no shoes. By this time we had a lot of sharks swimming
around us. When they got close we would poke at them with our oars. We had to see
that everyone kept their arms & legs inside the boat. Occasionally a mule would swim
to our boat and try to get in, and we poked then with an oar, soon no more mules,
only sharks. We had mules aboard for Burma Road, our destination was Calcutta India.

We were all tied together now, we made up a little game of asking each one,
―Did you pray?‖ We found out that everyone had prayed. About that time William
Stafford spoke up and said" All of you that were in that fouxal last night and talking
about Atheisiam and there was no God," he said" don't believe anything that I said
last night, because I no longer believe that way, because I prayed last night also."

Then, that afternoon we in my boat took a vote on how much water we
should drink. I think we finally decided on about 4 oz. twice a day. So you know we
were thirsty all the time. We were approximately 50 miles off Leper Island, so we
decided to rig up and set sail for there. My boat was over loaded and it was hard to
move about. When evening came and it was almost dark we were still surrounded
with sharks and then we saw a periscope circling us. We were told forehand, that
usually in these waters that the lifeboats were strafed, killing everyone and sinking
the lifeboats. I thought to myself, if they open fire I will jump over the side, kick my
feet to ward off the sharks and stay low to the water level to dodge the bullets but
just a little later & darker we heard & saw and explosion. The sub had torpedoed
what was left sticking out of the water, which was the small part of the S/S Jose
Navarro stern. We went through the night and into the next day, until the
afternoon. We were picked up by an English Corvette, manned by and Indian crew.
That evening we got water and sandwiches, on the lower deck the crew was having
their pottage from a big black pot, eating with their hands. There were three naval
officers aboard. We slept on deck that night and the next morning arrived in
Cochin, India. There we were taken to a native camp of thatched huts. No
mattresses only rope springs and a net to keep out the mosquitoes, insects and
snakes. We were told that the English & American had a communications break
down. Our government didn't know where we were; finally we were picked up &
traveled three days by train on flat cars to Colombo, Ceylon. They took us to an
English & Australian rest home and were given gray uniforms as well as shirts,
shorts, and shoes, they treated us royally. I guess they felt sorry for us as we had

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very little clothes on, and had lost about 30 pounds each, and we all had long
beards. Also, the American Red Cross gave each of us two packs of cigarettes and
some razor blades. We returned as passengers with the same accommodations the
soldiers we had carried over with the mules and that was in the hole, but we were all
very happy with everything and on our way home. We stopped at the Suez Canal &
Port Said for a time, then on to Cairo, Egypt for a few days. One evening we went
to a large hall, which was a USO there in Cairo, it was early and not many there yet
and the hall wasn't very well lit & I saw an American Army soldier dancing a little
like Fred Astair. I told some of the boys I had a friend back home that danced liked
that and his name was Chalkie Colyer from Blackwell, Ok. and as he got closer, IT
WAS HIM!! We were really glad to see one another so far away from home.

While there, we saw the Sphinx and the pyramids, went into one and saw King
Chopps Tomb. Also we rode camels. Then on to Alexandria for a time and there we
saw one of the largest wax museums, then on threw the Straits of Gibraltar, into the
Atlantic and then to New York and there we were greeted by the Red Cross and
reporters who took our picture and interviewed us, asking us everything about the
sinking. After the interview, I was asked to come to Radio City to tell my story of being
torpedoed, and pulling the 3rd assistant out of the water and into the lifeboat. They
offered to pay my expenses while there but I declined, because I wanted to take the
train with the others that was going home.

In a few days I arrived in Tonkawa, Ok., where my mother lived, my sister lived
there with her as her husband was in the Air Core and was away. It was just after dark
and I came walking in. They heard my footsteps and my sister said, ―That sounds like
Woodie, my brother, coming up the street." My mother said surely not, as she had been
notified that I was missing, Then I walked in the door and they both almost fainted.
We rejoiced together and thanked God that I was back, safe on American soil.

KARL KINNEY
CEO OF EASTERN OKLAHOMA MARINERS CHAPTER AMMV - TULSA, OK

I was born in Arkansas City, Kansas, July 25, 1923, and moved to Tulsa,

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Oklahoma with my parents in 1929. I attended Tulsa Schools and graduated from
Central High School, attended Tulsa University, and left there to work at McDonald-
Douglas Bomber Plant bolting on the outer wings of the 8-24 Liberator bombers. I
wanted to be in the service to help our country more and tried to enlist in the Marines,
Navy and Air Force, but was not accepted. The Navy recruiter said the Merchant
Marine Service needed men. I signed up with my buddy, Everette Brown, who lived
across the street from me. He serves as our Chapter's Judge Advocate. We rode the
train to New York on July 26, 1943, and we trained at Sheepshead Bay. Everette's
uncle took us to see Sonja Henie perform August 22, 1943. Our physical trainer was
Tony Galento, a professional prize fighter. Jack Lawrence, Lt. (jg), who wrote our
Merchant Marine song, "Heave Ho! My Lads, Heave Ho!" was the leader of the band.

I got my papers and signed on to serve as a Wiper on the SS Francis L. Lee,
and we sailed out of Norfolk, Virginia on October 2, 1943. On our way, the Third
Engineer let the water run over into the fire box and killed the engine. A destroyer
circled us and told us to get out of there right away. Our first port was at Oran, North
Africa, arriving on October 30, 1943. Then we went to Bari, Italy and had a turkey
dinner November 11, 1943, at the Imperial Hotel.

Our captain and crew saw the German reconnaissance plane flying over, and
we hurried to leave without any ballast. That was a rough ride, but our lives were
saved. Bari Harbor became the Second Pearl Harbor when the German planes flew in
and bombed it on December 2, 1943. The SS John Harvey secretly carried deadly
mustard gas bombs which exploded. Seventeen ships were destroyed, and more than a
thousand civilians, navy sailors and Merchant Mariners were killed and injured. We
sailed home from Bizerte, North Africa and arrived in Baltimore, Maryland on January
5, 1944.

I was a Messman on my second ship, the SS Alcoa Guard, which sailed on
February 7, 1944, from Baltimore to Santiago de Cuba. We picked up a load of
manganese dioxide. We were discharged March 21, 1944 at Philadelphia.

My third ship was the SS John Blair, and I served as Utility Man. We signed on
in Baltimore on April 4, 1944, and sailed to Cagliari, Sardinia. We unloaded bombs
there, and I had the opportunity to ride on a B-25 bomber during a practice run. We
then landed at Oran, North Africa, on May 2, 1944. We saw two movies while ashore.
Arrived in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and was discharged from ship on June 9, 1944.

I boarded my fourth ship, the SS Walker Taylor in Philadelphia on July 11,
1944, and was a Messman. Our first port was at Khorramshahr, Iran in the Persian
Gulf. On the way there, we ran aground at Aden. At Khorramshahr, I saw Irving
Berlin's "This Is the Army," and we delivered supplies to the large Army base. We
crossed the equator on October 10 and received a certificate from Neptune Rex. My
buddy, Paul Baker, and I got passes on October 20 at
Lourenco Marques, Portuguese East Africa, a neutral zone, bought our train tickets for
45 cents, and rode in a private compartment. We took a boat trip on a river and saw
hippos, birds, giraffes and native village women washing clothing. We went ashore and
had a nine-course dinner at a large hotel. Then we took the train back to the city. Our

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ship picked up our cargo of sugar and left for Marseille, France. December 7, 1944, we
attended a 6 Port Special Service Franco-American Revue starring Edith Piaf, Port
Swingsters and Yves Motand. We talked with a Scottish soldier in a kilt to get
directions to the theatre. We arrived in Philadelphia, January 16, 1945.

I boarded my fifth and last ship, the SS Algic, on February 17, 1945. Went
from Philadelphia to Antwerp, Belgium, but on the way, we were rammed on our bow
and sailed on into Antwerp for repairs. In our off-duty time, we waded in mud up to
our waist to board a deserted German mine sweeper and picked up various papers,
letters and a nameplate "AtlasWerke, Aktiengesallschaft, Bremen, No: 45393. We
visited Antwerp, and I bought a Belgian hare coat for my fiancé. We learned that
President Franklin Delano Roosevelt died April 12, 1945. We arrived in New York on
May 21, 1945.

One other time in the Atlantic, we were also rammed in the fog off the Grand
Banks of Nova Scotia. While on watch, we saw a Norwegian fast ship coming and
yelled the alarm. The ship turned, and it knocked off our running lights and fog buoy.
We sailed into Halifax, Nova Scotia for repairs. The people were very nice, giving us
warm coats and feeding us in their homes.

I arrived in Tulsa from New York in time to see my fiancé graduate, May 25th.
We were married on June 3rd at the East Side Church of Christ. We had a big
celebration for our 60th anniversary last year, and this year, for our 61st, we will be at
the AMMV 20th National Convention.

We were
blessed with two children, Daniel and Kathleen. Dan and his wife, Donna, have one
child, Ashley, and she will graduate this June 9 from Goochland High School in
Virginia. Our daughter, Kathy is married to Walt Erwin, and they have three children,
Matthew, who graduated from Oklahoma Christian University, and is married to Niki.
Holly graduated there also, and works in Tulsa. Kyler has two more years to finish at
OCU. They all live near us in Tulsa and Jenks.

Now, to continue my Merchant Marine story....after we had our honeymoon, I
went down to New Orleans to ship out again, but found out that I could stay, rejoin
the Merchant Marine Service and attend the Cooks and Bakers School near the
Cabildo. Helen came on the steam train on July 2 to continue our honeymoon. We
found an apartment and lived there until August 29th. There was a huge celebration on
August 14th when the war with Japan was over.

We returned to Tulsa and I worked for the City of Tulsa in the Engineering
Department the latter part of my 36 years and retired. We love to travel and have

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cruised to several of the areas where I sailed during my service in the Merchant
Marines.

ED KINTER
PORTERSVILLE, PA 16051

When I was listening to the radio broadcasts of the German planes bombing
the free city of Danzig, little did I think what part I would play in the world‘s greatest
conflict?

In 1943, I was 18 and a sophomore in high school, which made me eligible for
service. I was unfamiliar with the Merchants, other than if you didn‘t like it, you could
go to another branch of the service, however, the Navy appealed to me.

After school was out in late May, I was working at the American Bantam Car
Co. in Butler, PA. This is where the Jeep was invented, but they were unable to produce
the quantities that were needed. The government turned to Ford and Willis, but did
give Bantam contracts for ¼ and ½ ton trailers. I worked in shipping, crating these and
loading them onto the railroad cars.

While this was helping the war effort, I wanted to do more. By late July I was in
a line at the Navy recruiter in Pittsburgh. When the man ahead of me finished signing
up, the recruiter gave him some grief. Hearing this discouraged me on the Navy, and
when the recruiter turned to me, I asked where the Merchant Marine recruiting office
was.

At the Merchant Marine office the physician said that I had extremely flat feet. I
insisted they never bothered me so he passed me and I reported to Pittsburgh on
August 5, 1943 to board the train to S. Petersburg, FL and basic training.

The trip to Florida was educational. I received several hot foot pranks. I slept in
the Pullman upper berth and put my money belt in the pillowcase. Awaking in the
morning and eating in the dining car, the waiter put a bowl on the table with two
quarters in it. By shaking it, he called to our attention that he wanted a tip. Upon
returning to the Pullman car, our bunks had been converted to seats. After a while, the
porter returned my money belt, nothing missing. This showed me the honesty of
strangers.

On arrival in St. Petersburg, we were greeted with hair cuts, shots, showers,
shots, uniforms, shots. The shoes didn‘t fit, but I got used to them.

We were billeted in the Vanoy Hotel where there were dances in the ballroom
every night. The Buddy Rich band played a couple of time.

The parade ground in August was very hot and we had to march several blocks
to the training base on the waterfront where training was in signaling with flags,
abandoning ship, lifeboat, knot tying, and rigging on the old Joseph Conrad square
rigger. We also had a training cruise on a large ship in the Gulf of Mexico.

Upon graduation, we were sent to Savanna, Georgia to await assignment.
Having gone home on an emergency leave, I was separated from those of my class and
when I returned I was assigned to the George E. Badger along with three others who

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were old time Southerners. The boatswain and an A.B. (who were Afro-Americans)
signed on this ship. There was open rebellion with threats of destruction of property to
bodily harm. The FBI came aboard and mediated the dispute resulting in the blacks all
sleeping together and the whites together, even when they were on different watches.
Being the only Northerner of these new sailors, I was assigned watch with the black. In
the end, I had no trouble. On the second trip the black A.B. took a liking to me, giving
me steering instructions and siding with me against the black boatswain.

The trip across the North Atlantic and in convoy was extremely rough in
January, but I never got sick until going up Clyde River. My watch A.B. described
channel sickness and successful ways to combat it. This ship was loaded with general
war cargo and while in convoy we steered a zigzag course and had several depth
charges go off close to the ship, but as far as I know no ships were lost.

Glasgow is a fine sure port. I found a large dance hall, forget the name of it,
where a band played and I met a Scottish lassie, Peggy Hamilton. We danced and
dined. When I left the last night ashore, saying goodbye, she said, ―Adieu,‖ which she
said until we meet again.

We returned to New York with a load of Scottish rocks and dirt as ballast.
Signing off, I went home where my mother knew all about my stay in Glasgow, as
Peggy had written me a letter that beat me home. Of course a mother just had to open
it and was quite pleased that I had met such a nice girl. I made two more trips to
Glasgow and each time dated Peggy, but it ended there.

One trip, I think on the Dwight E. Moody went to the Mediterranean. It was
quite ‗hairy‘ passing Gibraltar, as there had been reports of subs in the area and Spanish
frogmen attaching explosives to ships and laying mines, but the passage was uneventful.
We docked in Oran where the Arabs had long sticks with nails on the end that they
would fish bedding and clothing out of our portholes.

From there, we went to Marseilles and had several general quarters, as German
planes were in the area. When it was found out we were completely loaded with ammo,
we had to shift to the Part de Bock where we anchored out and unloaded onto
freighters.

Coming back to the dock, after an extended bar visit, it was decided to take a
shortcut through a field three fourths of the way through, we heard frightful shouting
and waving from those at the bottom of the field. You can imagine our surprise upon
leaving the field to read a sign, ―caution, mine field."

While at Port de Bock, we examined a German ammunition bunker and were
amazed to note rifle ammunition with compressed paper rather than lead. There were
also landmines and potato mashers (hand grenades). We took some off the ammo and
poured the powder out and kept them for souvenirs. The potato mashers scared us, so
they were left alone

We were at sea when President Roosevelt died. The Armed Guard had his
gunners in dress uniforms and they stood at attention for a time as a tribute to their
fallen leader.

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One of the Liberties I was on had been rigged with torpedo nets. They were
readied but we never deployed them. In the rigging, the boom was collared at the cross
trees and refused to release, even with two of us A.B. up there pushing and kicking.

One crossing of the Atlantic in convoy we hit heavy fog off the Newfoundland
Banks. The fog was so thick we played out the trailing plane astern. This device rippled
the water and made a phosphorous glow that the bow watch could see and gave the
following ship notice how close it was. This fog lasted about one and a half days and
we had several near collisions

I was on the four-to-eight watch and about to be relieved from the wheel at six
by the other A.B.; he had brought coffee to the mate and was standing with me getting
his eyes accustomed to the light. We always passed word on neighboring ships and how
they were keeping positions. There was a Canadian whaler on our starboard quarter
who couldn't control her speed and was constantly steering port to avoid ships ahead.
As we were discussing this she was hit and was a ball of flames. We could see men
lowering a lifeboat and at least one got away. The ships sunk in less than two minutes.
The Naval Escort was dropping depth charges as the convoy moved on. I don't know
how many, if any, of the Canadian whalers were saved, or if the sub was sunk.

One trip into Antwerp, Belgium, we were completely loaded with cheese and
fresh eggs. When we docked the Army drivers asked if there was anybody from
Pittsburgh. I said, ―Butler.‖ He was from Butler County, someplace. He took me out to
dinner at a fancy nightclub where the waiters were in tuxedos and there were strolling
violin musicians. I was amazed that the restroom was attended by two uniformed
maids. Ladies were using commodes on one side while I was using the urinal directly
across from them

Buzz Bombs were plentiful and were landing all around. We said if one hit our
ship, it would be the biggest cheese omelet around.

One trip on a tanker we were we pulled into Marracaibo Bay. I was amazed at
the forest of oil wells in the bay. While at dock we were invited to use the swimming
pool at the oil company‘s country club. The invitation was withdrawn when some of
our black crew showed up.

The tanker was so deep in the water that flying fish landed on deck. They were
amazing creatures about 8 inches long with fins for wings that had a span of about 11
or 12 inches. I decided to preserve one of the flying fish. First I gutted it, salted the
inside, stuffed it with cotton, and sewed it shut. Two days later, it stunk and was thrown
overboard

I was in the Marine Hospital in Pittsburgh with a hand operation, when the
Germans surrendered so didn't get to celebrate. I was in Drammen, Norway when
word of the A-bomb was dropped on Japan. We went ashore and celebrated. The next
morning the boatswain turned us out to work saying the war was not over yet. This
went on for about a week, celebrating each night and working with a hangover the next
day.

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Maritime Tales of the Sea

I was amazed at how modern Oslo and Drammen were. There was no sign of
distruction and the harbor was full of pleasure craft and beautiful girls in abbreviated
swim wear.

One of my trips was to Cienfuego, Cuba where we were tied at a cold dock.
There was a tent bar not too far from the dock and boy were their drinks powerful! On
the way back to the ship I was concerned about falling off the dock into the water and
no matter how my buddies try to keep me on a straight course I ended up in the coal
pits on the opposite side of the dock. When we finally got back to the ship, they carried
me up the gangplank, bumping my butt. I was aware of everything that was going on
but couldn't move or speak. They deposited me in the first shower inside the
deckhouse, the mate looking in at me stated that I was a sorry looking mess, but I
couldn't state my thoughts that he was no raving beauty, either. In spite of trying to say
for them not to turn the cold water on, they did. They stripped me and put me in my
bunk. Surprisingly, the next day I had no hangover.

We loaded raw sugar. A cargo net load was lowered into the hold where the
stevedores worked in three man teams. Two would place the bag (250 lb.) onto the
back of the third, which would walk to the side and drop it in place. Every so often
they would trade positions. During lunch times, they cooked what looked like bananas
(plantains) over portable gasoline blowtorch stoves. These fellows never wore shoes
and had calluses on their feet that extended half way up the side and appeared to be
3/8" to 1/2" thick. On one trip we brought German prisoners back to the United
States.

My last trip was a load of coal going to South America. I only needed about two
months of sea time to get my certificate exempting me from the draft. The war was
over and after surviving all those trips, I wanted to get on with my life at home.

I got my two months and more as after discharging the coal, we went to Santos
and picked up cotton. Then to Capetown, Singapore, Hong Kong and Shanghai; where
it was interesting to ride a rickshaw and see the coolies carrying large, heavy loads (over
a ton) with a series of poles and cross poles and lots of muscle power.

Finally on our way home with about 30 soldiers, at the Panama Canal we
unloaded the soldiers and went to Tocopilla, Chili and picked up nitrate. Talcahuano
was all desert, it was interesting as there were no waterproof roofs, only enough to keep
the sun out.

Now headed home. No, another stop in Buenaventura, Colombia, to pick up
coffee, then through the canal to Port Arthur, Texas, to unload the nitrate. No payoff
as we still had coffee to unload in New Orleans. No payoff, as there was a seaman‘s
strike so we kept some coffee and sailed to Mobile, Alabama. Final port of destination
in the U.S., where we were paid off.

All those years at sea, we had only coffee to drink and maybe milked for a few
days. While in China, I bartered with a Chinese stevedore to get me some tea, giving
him a carton of cigarettes. The next day he arrived with a bale of tea that would fill a 50
gallon barrel. When we paid off it was still in the galley. I often wonder whatever
happened to it as I only used about a pound.

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Maritime Tales of the Sea

Dick Humm, the Mason Brothers, and I bought a car and drove through to
Baltimore where they bought my share and I caught a train to Pittsburgh and finally
home after nine months, crossing the equator, the International Dateline, and a trip
around the world.

With my draft exemption in hand I returned to civilian life only to find out that
during the Korean Police Action, a new draft law was enacted and the draft board
wouldn't recognize my exemption certificate, so I joined a local National Guard unit
that had been Federalized and spent two years in the Army.

MAURICE LABELLE
EULESS, TX 76040

THE ACCIDENTAL MARINER
Unlike many merchant seamen, I joined the merchant marine mostly in

desperation, wishing to serve my country in time of war; my enlistment in the U.S.
Navy in April of 1945 was apparently stuck in a bureaucratic crack. Several of my
friends and I signed up on the same day that year and all of them were called into
service within weeks. Weeks went by as my buddies went through boot training and
there was no word from the Navy to report to be sworn in.

In July, with still no word from the Navy and the admonition from the
recruiting office that an inquiry would only serve to delay matters, I decided to visit a
cousin in the State of Maine who had recently been discharged from the U.S. Army Air
Force. His brother had been through the U.S. Merchant Marine Training School
located at Sheepshead Bay, N.Y., and had been assigned as an ordinary seaman on a
tanker in the Pacific. The European part of World War II had ended in May and the
war with Japan was winding down and I feared that I would not get the chance to
serve, so I traveled to Portland, ME, with my cousin to obtain more information about
the Maritime Service program.

While there, we were told that the most important thing that any young man
could do for his country, since the U.S. Military services were shutting down drafting
and recruiting men, was to serve on the merchant ships that badly needed crews to help
bring back our service men and bring badly needed supplies to many parts of the war-
torn world.

As soon as I returned home to Rhode Island from my visit, I told my parents of
my intention to sign up for the Maritime Service to train for the merchant marine. My
father, an 18-year Navy veteran of World War I and II was immediately opposed, citing
the very real dangers of serving on merchant vessels during wartime. I didn't heed my
father's warnings and would only realize the potential danger after I had spent three
months training for deck duty at Sheepshead Bay and assigned to the merchant marine.
There was very little talk about the war hazards during training, with most of the
emphasis on maintaining safety during hazardous weather. Perhaps an interesting aside,
while at Sheepshead, where I had been made a training petty officer as a result of my
years in the Civil Air Patrol. My principal duty was to march my unit of 55 men to class

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each day through a maze of hundreds of other units criss-crossing in every direction
throughout the base. One day as we assembled for formation, an officer addressed and
asked if any of us knew how to type. I knew how, but we had been admonished not to
volunteer for anything, and so I did not raise my hand. A former high school classmate
of mine, who had also joined the Maritime Service at the same time, raised his hand and
was quickly whisked out of formation. I would not learn until much later how wise his
decision was and how stupid I was. He had been sent to officer candidate school
located on Catalina Island in California and in just three months was commissioned an
ensign in the U.S Maritime Service, U.S. Navy and Coast Guard and assigned as a
purser of a troop ship in the Pacific! The next time that opportunity knocked, I
responded.

The war had been over and most of the serious fighting had subsided
throughout the world in December 1945 when I was sent to a shipping station in
Norfolk, VA, to be assigned to an ocean-going tugboat, the Relief. As an ordinary
seaman on deck, I learned that the work could be back-breaking and quite hazardous as
we struggled to pull one of a number of Liberty ships that had washed up on the beach
at Cape Henry. The eight-inch hawsers that were used in attempting to free the
grounded ships were covered with slippery clay and it was difficult to maintain balance
on a deck covered with sleet. It was sometimes my duty to focus a search light
wherever light was needed during around-the-clock operations. The Relief was a World
War I ship operated by the salvage firm of Merritt, Chapman and Scott, and had few
amenities. The food was inadequate and facilities for washing virtually non-existent. As
a result, I acquired an infection that needed medical attention not available on board. I
was put on shore to fend for myself. Although we worked long shifts, getting little rest
or sleep, I received just enough money to pay for a train ticket back home, with no
money left over for food. Luckily, I still had my Maritime Service uniform and wore it
to get a serviceman's rate; otherwise I would have been stuck in Norfolk.

I recuperated at home and once I felt well enough, I headed for New York to
find a new ship. I had no union ticket and I found out that getting a ship was not a
simple matter of being available. Fortunately, I was befriended by a young New York
seaman who helped me get a temporary ticket on board the S.S. Wayne MacVeigh, a
decrepit-looking Liberty ship. It was early January 1946 when we left our East Side
berth and headed for Pensacola, FL, to load up with coal and lumber to be unloaded in
Marseilles, France and additional ports in Italy, Greece, through the Suez Canal to the
Philippines to pick up our servicemen and bring them home—at least that was the
itinerary that had been promised. I learned what had been promised could be canceled
readily.

What could have still been a wonderful experience throughout turned ugly
while we were in Pensacola. One of the deck hands, an immigrant from Estonia, came
into my room one day and demanded that I share in paying for a bottle of liquor. As an
eighteen year old, I was still wet behind the ears, and it was not legal for me to drink. I
politely told him that I would not be participating. I was not quite prepared for his
reaction. He swore an oath and pulled out a knife with a blade approximately eight

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inches long and came towards me. I reached into my wall locker to grab my pee coat to
fend off the attack. The enraged seaman must have thought that I was reaching for a
gun or other weapon and he backed off and exited quickly. I soon learned how
defenseless one could feel on board a civilian ship with no real authority. It would have
been my word against his if I had gone to the captain.

Unfortunately, this was not to be the only dangerous incident encountered by
me. I'm embarrassed to relate that the same roommate who had befriended me by
getting me aboard turned on me over what one might consider a minor slight. As
young as I was and an only child, I had not learned to share possessions liberally. I had
what may have been the only personal radio on board and foolishly had expected him
to ask me if he could use it in my absence. When he used it the first time, I stupidly told
him that he should have asked me. I never imagined or realized the extent of his
reaction. Our friendship was definitely over, but I would soon know how far his anger
would go.

A few days later, he and the Estonian crewman and I were on deck preparing
the booms positioned over the hatch for loading lumber. My roommate instructed me
to stand by the boom atop the hatch. He told me something to distract me and in flash
I saw the outer boom swing toward me. I ducked just in time to avoid being crushed
between the booms. As a matter-of -fact, the booms actually caught the top of my head
and it was a miracle that I only suffered a headache from the incident. After that, it was
every man watch his back. Again, it would have been the word of two against one,
although I probably should have signed off at this point; however, I determined to stay
on with the hope that matters would improve. Actually, there were no more attempts to
harm me and I even believed that they were either in fear of their own lives or did not
want to face duty with a crewman missing—probably the latter.

We left the tranquil waters of the Caribbean Sea and entered the Atlantic. For
the next couple of weeks, we ran into a horrendous storm, with waves some crewmen
estimated to be as high as 100 feet at one point! Some days we did not advance a single
mile as the unrelenting sea pounded our ship. At one point, I was on the helm, trying to
keep the ship on course. I had taken extensive weight training and was quite strong for
my size, but it took every bit of my strength to hold the wheel against the tremendous
pressure on the rudder. When I felt myself getting extremely seasick, I told the captain
on the bridge that I needed help, but he either did not hear or understand me or chose
to ignore me. After struggling to keep things down, I started to vomit and lost control
of the wheel. The wheel began to spin wildly out of control and before help could
arrive, the ship was being broadsided by the huge waves. We were very close to
capsizing. It took two men, using all their strength to turn the wheel and direct the ship
headed into the storm. It would be some time before I would be at the helm again,
directed to take all my watches on lookout.

Approximately half way to our destination, we received radio orders to change
our destination to Oran, Algeria. There was unanimous disappointment and a feeling
that we had been had at this point, but altogether not a unique situation. By the time we
reached Gibraltar, we were resigned.

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One of the most spectacular scenes I've ever experienced occurred as we
traversed the Straight of Gibraltar early one night when the sun was going down in the
west and a full moon arose from the east.. Many of you have undoubtedly seen that
sight and it must be burned in your memory. That thrill would be surpassed a few days
later when I was on bow watch and spotted what looked like a floating mine ahead and
to starboard several hundred feet away. The captain on the bridge must have already
spotted it because the ship began to turn to port almost immediately. The mine looked
huge as it floated harmlessly by approximately fifty to a hundred feet away. We had
been told that the Mediterranean had been swept clean of enemy mines by the British
Navy, but rumor had it that as many as 70 ships had been sunk or damaged after the
sweep. The thought occurred to me that, had it been at night and I was on bow watch
and the mine had not been spotted, I would not be writing this account!

When we arrived at our destination, the Port of Oran, evidence of the earlier
landing there by Allied Forces was still very much in evidence. A few ships were still
resting on the bottom, only their upper decks and masts visible. Many buildings along
the mountain were pockmarked by bullet and shell holes, the church or chapel sitting
high above the port atop the Atlas Mountain Range was heavily damaged during the
landing and aftermath. The city of Oran itself showed very little damage. I was amazed
and impressed by the beauty of the architecture of many of its buildings which bore a
strong Muslim flavor. When off duty, I would climb up the highway zig-zagging up the
steep cliff leading to the downtown area and leisurely walked around the city,
occasionally with a fellow crewman.

Poverty and lack of every kind of essential were in evidence everywhere. We
would see men rummaging for food in our garbage cans. Stealing from infidels by the
mostly Muslim stevedores was apparently no crime for them and we soon learned to
keep our quarters locked because they would steal anything that wasn't nailed down.
Although they were forbidden to enter the ship's quarters, we had to chase some of the
intruders out.

While we were in Oran for a couple of weeks unloading, my roommate
returned to the ship one day, completely stripped to his undershorts. He had been
robbed of all his clothing, expensive wrist watch, and money, lucky to be alive.
Crewmen from a nearby ship from Beaumont, TX, were not so lucky. Some were also
robbed and had their throats cut. That helped to explain why some Texans carried a
brace of pistols when on shore. Although this was illegal under French law, the port
gendarmes either ignored the practice or were reluctant to confront the armed men.

We would hear of more violence when we left Oran and proceeded to the Port
of Phillipville, also in Algeria, to unload the rest of our cargo. Although all was peaceful
in Phillipville, I would learn to my dismay after I had foolishly wandered off into the
countryside on a bicycle ride with a young French lad who had befriended me that a
massacre had taken place recently. The jihad against the French had taken several
hundred lives in the city of Constantine, which was at the time a major Foreign Legion
post. Rumor had it that the Legionnaires had taken their revenge against the natives.
This was the beginning of the long campaign to kick out the French who had been

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there for a century and made Algeria part of Metropolitan France. The French
eventually abandoned that policy under DeGaulle after years of civil war, but, as you
know, the war between the jihadist and the secular government of Algeria persists to
this day and has killed hundreds of thousands of people. Those who believe that the
jihad began with our invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan after 9-11 don't know the history
of the conflict between Muslims and non-Muslims with the advent of Mohammed.

I don't want to leave you with the impression that my experience in Algeria was
all negative. There were many pleasant exchanges and meetings with local people which
were enhanced by my ability to speak French fluently. I attended a dance in Phillipville
one Saturday night which featured the beautiful music of the 1940s. An interesting
sidelight to that experience was an encounter I had with a beautiful blond woman who
was very conspicuous by her outstanding appearance. It turned out that her interest in
me was not romantic at all. I was told that she was the head of a black market operation
and had amassed a great deal of money. With that money, she planned to meet an
American who would marry her and take her to America where the marriage would, in
all probability, be ended. We spoke at some length, but she apparently found me
wanting and also with no intention of fulfilling her dream of coming to America.

We left Phillipville sometime in late March and headed home. Completely
unknown to me because I only received one of dozens of letters that were mailed to
me, my best friend and cousin from Maine had died of a diabetic coma. Also unknown
to me was that his brother, who had served earlier in the Pacific, was aboard a nearby
ship nearby bound for Gibraltar to refuel, as we were. But still more mystifying, the
youngest of the brothers had somehow gotten a berth in the engine room of a
merchant ship out of Portland and was also in the Mediterranean area nearby at the
same time! We would not learn this until we compared notes some time later. After
refueling in Gibraltar, the Wayne MacVeigh headed for New Orleans. The sea was
calm, except for huge swells that made everybody seasick but me as the ship went up
and down like an elevator. Even the captain was heaving overboard. So, I got my
revenge for all the brickbats I had endured earlier.

Going up the Mississippi proved to be a delightful experience. Navigating the
100 miles or so from the Gulf of Mexico, fighting the strong current, the obstacles, and
the curves, was a strain on the old rusty and worn Liberty. It was amazing to discover
the hundreds of ships anchored at or near New Orleans. After a week there, most of
the crew opted not to sign back on and we chartered a DC-3 to fly us back to New
York. We landed in Charlotte after experiencing some engine trouble. After a day's wait
there, we took off, but one of the engines apparently did not develop full power and we
grazed a burn on takeoff. It was an apprehensive flight, not knowing if the
undercarriage had been badly damaged, but we landed at LaGuardia Airport without
incident.

My homecoming was a happy and sad one when I was greeted by my parents,
only to find out that my best friend and cousin had died suddenly that January. I had
been home just a couple of weeks enjoying my return when word came that the Draft
Board was out to draft merchant seaman into the U.S. Military to fill depleted ranks

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