Maritime

Maritime Tales of the Sea

One by one the other crewmen drifted in, absorbed in their on thoughts. They
accepted me as they would another seagull on a buoy, just another denizen of the
marine environment. We were all called on deck to cast off, and my crisp new gloves
were immediately broken in by punishing dock lines. The sun was setting as we headed
out, leaving Baltimore to dissolve in the sweltering haze astern. The ship resonated with
the syncopated throb of the engines and the rhythmic thrash of the partially submerged
propellers, glad to be off the dock and wondering what lay ahead. Sometimes later in
the night, a shadowy figure with a flashlight roused us, ―time to go on watch!‖

On deck, the star filled night and the cool breeze were a welcome relief from
the oppressive heat of the days before in port. Working our way forward on the
catwalk, the bow watch took up its station on the fo‘c‘slehead with the Chesapeake Bay
spread out before and a thin sliver of low-lying land off to port. Up forward the sounds
of the engines were muted, giving way to the soft murmur of the bow wave curling off
astern. When our watch was relieved, sleep came easily.

Morning found us quietly at anchor. Emerging on deck we were astounded to
see a vast armada of ships surrounding us in every direction. It suddenly became clear
why there had been such a long wait for a ship in Baltimore. They had all been
gathered to form one of the first convoys on the east coast. For months, German
submarines, able to reach speeds of 15-20 knots on the surface and 6-8 knots
submerged, had steadily increased their kill rates from a daily average of 10,000tons in
January 1942 to 20-25,000 tons by May-June.

It had become suicidal for any ship to venture alone along our eastern seaboard.
(For some time transatlantic convoys had been shepherding supplies to Great Britain
and Russia. Several of our crew had been on these runs, and some had suffered the
freezing Artic waters as a result of U-Boat action.) From now on, coastwise shipping
would enjoy the protection of aircraft and warships as they traveled in convoys. We
had been collected together at Hampton Roads, waiting to venture out into the
submarine-in-feasted Atlantic

We were each issued black rubber survival suits, which had been developed to
increase chances of survival in the frigid waters of the Murmansk run. In addition to
flotation, these outfits were equipped with flashlights, whistles, and other gadgets to
help attract attention in the water. Resolutely dorky, they seemed out of place in the
warm waters we would encounter and naturally became objects of critique, awe, and
toleration.

On a sunny, clear morning we were ordered weigh anchor and take our position
in the convoy. As we sallied forth from Chesapeake Bay into the Atlantic Ocean, we
were met by patrol craft, Catalina flying boats, and a dirigible, all watching for the
telltale dark shapes of submarines against the light sea floor. We gambled that a wary
U-Boat skipper would not risk exposure in broad daylight. Nonetheless, as we headed
south the sun began to sink and ―The Time of the Submarine‖ approached. U-Boats
preferred dusk-to-dawn operations, when ships could be silhouetted against a moonlit
sky or careless lights ashore.

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Under the protection of our escort, we felt relatively safe, but the dirigible was
soon left behind. We began to hear the resounding thud of depth charges echoing in
our empty holds as the patrol craft began to attack a German wolf pack, which had
been waiting for us off the mouth of the Chesapeake. The convoy steamed south,
passing from one search zone to the next, our navy gun crew always alert. We hugged
the shallow waters close to shore, steaming through occasional rain squalls. These
squalls could drench one end of the ship while the other was still basking in the sun.
Watch duties included standing tricks at the helm. Steering this monster floating oil
tank from the pilot house high amidships proved more of a challenge than I had
anticipated.

I had been advised to pay close attention to the first signs of straying off course,
then immediately counteract it with a compensating turn of the wheel. Minutes could
elapse before the ship would showoff a shift in its rudder. By then, the ship would
already be committed to a wild swing in the wrong direction. This could only be
forestalled by initiation a counter-correction at what one hoped would be the propitious
moment. Blackie had his own way of scolding the errant leviathan into behaving. The
rest of us, lacking his experience and powers of persuasion, had to bear the ignominy
carving highly visible ―S‖ curves in our track, praying that the watch officer wouldn‘t
notice.

At the days end, as the time of the submarine approached, the off duty watch
would collect on the fantail to mull over topics large and small, survival at sea being
among the more imperative; ― this ain‘t like the Murmansk run. We couldn‘t see
nothing—no planes, DEs, nothing. Then BOOM! ----we takes a fish right in the
rudder---― ―you mean, like, right here where we‘re sitting?‖ You bet your sweet @#* it
was. All‘s we could do was carve circles, round and around. The only good thing about
it was the sub---he never could get us lined up again for another shot.

Sooner or later the conversation would work around to an examination of our
own predicament. ―It‘s hotter than hell down there in the compartment.‖ ―Yeah I‘m
sleeping on deck.‖ ―But what about the rain? Can‘t sleep in the rain!‖ ―Hell! just put on
your rubber-ducky suit—that way you‘re blown overboard.‖ ―Not me! I‘m sticking with
one of them old—fashioned cork preservers.‖ ―Are you nuts? You jump overboard
with one of them things on; they come up under your chin and knock you out cold.‖
―Nothing! You‘re better off with nothing on. That way you can dive down and swim
away under the burning oil!‖ ―Ha ha ha! We ain‘t picked up any oil yet.‖ ―No so, we‘re
empty. What d‘ya think then? Empty holds blow up like KA—blooey!‖ ―We was hit off
Scotland. Fire amidships, so some of the guys took off over the rail, some even afire.
The ship kept on a-going for another mile. We got a boat over and went back looking
the guys who‘d jumped. Never did find ‗em‖ Blackie summed it all up; The! @&*moral
is@&*ing stay with the! @&*ship as long as possible‖ To which everyone nodded,
Amen.‖Well, you guys can shoot the bull all night. Me? I‘m turning in below. And
forget the torpedoes!‖

We steamed on, never far from land (the skipper planned to beach the ship in
the event we were hit). The coast of Florida dragged by ―500 miles long and 2ft. high.‖

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Always, the aircraft and escort ships were somewhere in sight. Nonetheless, the convoy
disbanded when we reached Key West. Therefore, individual ships were to proceed
onto their destinations in Africa, South America, or westward to the southern United
States. We arrived as night fell, so the skipper opted to anchor and wait for full daylight
before continuing. This meant we would spend the night over a minefield set to
discourage U-Boat predators. The fantail experts had a field day discussing the
dubiously ―safe‖ aspects of sleeping over tons of submerged TNT versus taking our
chances with enemy submarines. Our anchor clattered out, and an uncharacteristic
silence fell over the ship as the engineers secured the steam plant.

The pilothouse was kept dark and quiet, except for the occasional chatter of
radio traffic filtering out of the wireless room. Some of the other ships from the
convoy appeared to be continuing on alone rather than lose time at anchor off Key
West. The night wore on uneventfully, suddenly, during midwatch, the radio screamed
to life with a frantic SOS from one of the first impatient ships that continued westward
through the night. Even as rescue effort was being mounted, within half hour, two
more vessels broadcast SOS---ships traveling in the same direction we would follow
just a few hours later.

For the remainder of the night, all ears were glued to the reports of fires,
sinking‘s, and urgent rescue efforts. Well after first light, we weighed anchor and
headed west, alone. The old hands who had been critical of the skipper‘s decision to
risk the ship by anchoring in a mine field now stayed quite. Blackie; in his characteristic
way, marveled at the skipper‘s prescience in picking the mine field as the lesser of the
two evils, one of which we still had to confront.

With a blazing sun and glass, clear water, no submarine would risk detection
while search and rescue craft might still be roaming about. By ten o‘clock in the
morning the first of three broad oil slicks marking the graves of last nights victims
appeared. The rescuers were long gone, but the iridescent sea was still littered with a
mélange of crates, bedding, ships gear, and lifejackets. The usually vocal crew fell
strangely silent in the face of this sobering evidence. Well before twilight, the Old Man
saw to it that we were safely tucked into the harbor at Mobile, Alabama.

From that day forward we traveled only during the hours of high daylight,
creeping along the shore in shallow water as our draft permitted. The next day we
ducked into the mouth of the Mississippi River, south of New Orleans. Finally, we
arrived at Corpus Christi, Texas, our destination. After tugboats maneuvered us to the
loading dock Captain ordered engines all stop, and we prepared to take on oil. Our
skipper Frans G. M. Anderson had through his prudence, outwitted the U-Boat
commander seeking our destruction.

SS John D. Archibald would continue on throughout the war, ferrying oil to
Glasgow, Scotland, and Thames Haven, England. When the war ended in Europe, she
picked up cargoes in Curacao and Venezuela and carried them by way of the Panama
Canal to the far reaches of the Pacific war zone. On her return trips, with her tanks
cleaned, she would load fresh water at Gatun Lake, Panama Canal, and carry it to
thirsty Curacao. By the time the war ended in 1945, SS Archibald had transported

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seventy total cargos, comprising 9,991,513 barrels. In 1941 she was sold into
Panamanian registry, and, since then I‘ve lost track of her.

I have never forgotten Blackie and the other merchant mariners, who
unremarkably risked their lives at sea during World WarII. Some people may have
overlooked their services; others have eulogized the character of their generation, as
though it were something unique and remarkable, I believe these stoic old shellbacks
would never consider what they did in the least bit noteworthy. In their after--chow
ruminations on the fantails of their ships, they would probably not think it a topic
worthy of discussion.

Roger Tilton served as an ordinary seaman in the US Merchant marine between
25 June and the 11 July 1942. He then transferred to the Navy, where he served from
1943-1946. Lt. (jg) USNR. A graduate of Stanford University, he also earned a MA
from Columbia University and a MFA from the University of Iowa. He has been a
motion picture producer-director for fifty years and currently as a member of the sailing
crew of the 1863 Braque Star of India, owned by the San Diego Maritime Museum.

JAY WILLIAM TOWNSEND
BELOIT, WISCONSIN

Served on five Liberty ships from April 1944 to July 1946. The Cyrus H.
McCormick, Francisco Coronado, James Fennimore Cooper, Gutxon Borglum, S.S. Snipe. He
turned 15 the day after Pearl Harbor was bombed. At 17 years old he found out be was
colorblind and the Navy would not accept him. In November of 1943 be joined the
Merchant Marine.

I passed and was accepted for USMSTS Sheepshead Bay. I am to go to Chicago
1/04/44. I was put on a slow train, the Nickel Plate Railroad; it went by Lake Erie. We
pulled off for other trains. They were carrying war supplies. It was a slow, dirty ride.
Cinders from the coal engine leaked into the passenger coach. Boot camp was just like
the movies. Learned how to swim in burning oil, gunnery practice (2Omm mostly),
dead reckoning, lifeboat drill, sailing, marching, mopping, cleaning decks and heads. I
got teased for shivering because I was from Wisconsin. I got $55.50 a month for three
months. At 18, I thought it was great.

My first ship is a Liberty, The Cyrus H. McCormick. We have a triple expansion
steam engine and two boilers. We have a three inch 50 on the bow and a five inch 51
on the fantail. There are eight 20 mm guns (four on each side).

The coffee pot is going all the time and there is fruit and sandwiches in the
three messes. They always have leftovers and desserts. Porky asked me if I wanted to
be a baker. He said the captain and the steward were OK with it. It's hard work...hand
mixing 32 pounds of bread, mixing up cake while the bread bakes, making piecrust and
putting it in the chill box. We have some apple pie filling and lots of canned
boysenberries. The canned fruits the crew like the way they are. The ship rolls and
pitches so donuts are out, but sweet rolls are very popular. I like the baking, the crew
calls me Bakes. When I make something they like, they delight in saying: "Bakes you

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made a mistake and made it right."
We are on an eight-knot convoy to England. We are carrying light tanks,

clothing, and bedding to Swansea, England. We went up the Clyde River. Workers
rigged us with cleats and a crapper. We headed to South Hampton loaded with troops,
cats, 90's, jeeps and ammunition trailers. We are headed to Normandy.

I stand watch with the gun crew on the stem gun: a five inch 50. Sometimes I
use the binoculars. Our ship is part of the support group Uncle Victor making the D
Day invasion. My work is done so I go to stand watch on the stem deck (my favorite
place on this ship). 20 mm guns start shooting. The tracers point at a plane low going
away from us. A low plane is on our port side. About the time I get any sense back and
start doing my lock out job, right off on the land side there is shooting. The tracers
point out a plane climbing up from the ships.

We are waiting for an anchorage to unload. It's 10:00 am and we are unloading
onto barges. We stop unloading at sundown with orders to shoot anything that moves.
No lights, no noise. During the night we get the signal to fire, all the ships are shooting.
The tracers make it light enough to read by. The guns all stopped. It got dark and quiet;
then clunk, clunk... spent shells landing on the deck.

There were ships as far as I could see. That's an example of the war going on.
It was a busy time. The Cyrus McCormick was home and the crew was family.

ED TRESTER
AUGUSTINE FL 32080

On my first trip on a liberty ship the S.S. Charles Carroll in 1944 I watched as a
nearby oil tanker burst into flames after being hit by a torpedo killing many men, and
forcing others into the water. Our ship escaped danger and moved on with the other
ships. Escort ships went back to rescue survivors.

We were part of a large convoy headed into the Mediterranean when the attack
took place off our stem. We continued thru the Straits of Gibraltar to Oran and then to
Southern France where we unloaded our cargo of explosives and bombs. That night
German planes bombed docks three miles from where we were docked. If a bomb had
hit were we were docked there would have been a massive explosion as there were four
other ships there unloading ammunition. Luckily our ship escaped danger again.

The year was 1944 I had just turned 17 and I wanted to fight for my country. I
left high school in Brooklyn and enlisted. They sent me to Sheepshead Bay in Brooklyn
N.Y. where the recruits were taught to launch lifeboats and fire 20 MM caliber machine
guns. I served in the Atlantic, Mediterranean and Pacific war zones, as Ordinary
Seaman and A.B.

All in all, I liked the sea life and adventure so I stayed in the Merchant Service
after the war. The Merchant Marine is often called the forgotten service as we did not
receive any G.I. benefits. Many people I know are quite surprised about this fact.
Hopefully Congress will help the few remaining veterans of WW II and pass the
―Belated Thank You to the Merchant Marines of World War II‖ this year.

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After I left the Merchant Service I moved to Jacksonville FL and went into the
insurance business with Met Life as an agent and later to Sales Manager.

I now reside in the beautiful city of St. Augustine, FL with my wife, Maggie,
and I am still active with the insurance business as a broker. I am also a musician
playing drums in my band, E.T. Swings The Thing.

I am a member of the Merchant Marine St. Johns River Chapter of Jacksonville,
FL and travel each year to meet my old shipmate, Harry Hanson, in Baltimore MD
where we visit the S.S. John Brown for the day cruise and a few days of partying.

The travel and the experience that I had as a Merchant Seaman helped me
prepare my life to be a better person. (No Regrets)

DONALD L. TRIMBATH

Several years ago I wrote a short summary of my life in the Merchant Marine
from April 10, 1944 to October 1, 1946. My brother-in-law, Clifford Gamble, was
already in the Merchant Marine and I found his conversations very interesting so, at the
age of 17, I volunteered and began the adventure of my life. I had about six weeks of
boot camp and over 23 months aboard six different ships---four tankers and two
freighters---traversing about ten different oceans and seas along with the Panama Canal
and visiting thirteen different countries and twenty foreign ports.

From my first trip aboard the SS Castana to the last trip aboard the SS
Mormacmoon, being in the Merchant Marine was an adventure I will never forget. The
SS ElCaney was a ship that had some mystery about it and some people thought it was
jinxed. The second assistant engineer went ashore the second night and was never
heard from again. The SS Thomas Stone was an example of waste during the war. To
travel 26,000 miles and never unload cargo was a waste of time and money but the best
experience of that trip was going through the Panama Canal and seeing the engineering
feat of having blasted that narrow passage through mountains and constructing the
locks, keeping in mind the ordeals that the engineers had faced at that time in our
history.

The SS Mormacmoon was my home for a long time and it was a good
clean ship with a nice crew and a good Captain. It was a regular schedule between the
States and the Scandinavian countries. During the time I served, I went to England,

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Scotland, Wales, France, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Poland, Panama, Haiti,
Dominican Republic, Aruba, Dutch West Indies, and Okinawa.

Following World War II, I went to work for Gulf Oil Corp in McKeesport, PA
driving trucks and vans delivering Gulf Oil products to steel mills and service stations
for 23 years after which I became Terminal Manager for Gulf Oil for another 15 years.
I then managed a home heating business for Guttman Oil Company for 5 years.

I became interested in AMMV in 1994 and started three chapters in Western
Pennsylvania—the Mon Valley Chapter, McKeesport; Westmoreland Chapter,
Greensburg; Southwestern Pennsylvania Chapter, Brownsville. I also assisted in
forming the Three Rivers Chapter, Pittsburgh; Western Reserve Chapter, Youngstown,
Ohio; and the Susquehanna Chapter with Clarence Newcomer in Eastern Pennsylvania.
I served as President of the Mon Valley Chapter for two years and as Regional Vice
President of the Valley Forge Region for several years until June 30, 2004. We placed
many books and publications about the Merchant Marine in several local libraries and
initiated services on Maritime Day at Elizabeth, Pennsylvania. Thanks to our efforts,
the merchant marine plaque was placed in the Hall of Valor in the Soldiers and Sailors
Hall in Pittsburgh, PA alongside the other branches of United States military services.

I was married to Martha Makowka for 49 years until her death in 1999. We had
three sons who are all very successful college graduates in the Engineering and
Accounting fields. In 2003, I married Doris Hall and moved to Grass Valley, California
and live happily in a little house in the woods.

ROBERT E. ULRICH

When World War II started, I was 13 and totally intrigued with electronics and
building radios. Most of them didn't work, but coming from a small town there was no
one to advise or train me. By the time I was in my senior year in high school, I had
learned some electronics from magazines and was copying code at about ten words a
minute, having taught myself from a perforated tape machine I rented by mail order.
My goal was to become a ham and a shipboard operator. In those days, you could leave
high school for military service and get high school credit. I went to a radio school in
San Francisco and got my commercial license after 90 days, graduated with my HS class
and was at sea three days later. A few weeks later, we were firing our anti-aircraft guns
at the enemy and they were shooting at us. Over the next 2 ½ years, I became well
acquainted with the radio rooms of the SS Gretna Victory, SS Kodiak Victory, SS York,
and the MS Timber Hitch. I left the sea for college. With no GI bill, it meant doing odd
jobs to try to exist. I studied broadcasting and electronics at San Jose State College,
again going to sea on the SS Marine Phoenix for Matson Lines between semesters.
Broadcasting provided sustenance for the next 20 years for my wife and I and our three
children, giving me a career first as an engineer-announcer in radio and then as a news-
anchor and news-director for local market television stations in California.

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In 1969, I
was appointed Public Information Officer for the City of San Jose, CA, where I worked
for seven years for two fine Mayors, Ron James and Norman Mineta. Mineta is now the
Secretary of Transportation. I then ran a small electronic business for a couple of years
before joining the University of CA in Davis to work with the Cooperative Extension
system. I retired in 1991, after serving as a Broadcaster and later as the Manager of
Visual Media. In retirement, for the following ten years, I operated a hands-on
computer business from home. I am retired again, and honored to be the President of
the Sacramento Valley Chapter of the AMMV. My wife, Nancy, is still working for the
University of California. Together we have five wonderful kids. We live in Davis,
California.

Picture -Robert and Nancy Ulrich -Christmas 2005

ANTHONY “TONY” URBIKAS

Alcoa Trader – Messman 04/30/44 – 08/07/44

Normandy Beachhead (Omaha Beach) G.I.‘s – Invasion material balloon

Edward W. Scripps – O.S. 09/18/44 – 11/11/44

England – Cherbourg France – Glider parts – 6,000 tons of bombs

Talisman – O.S. 01/03/45 – 03/06/45

England – LeHavre France – Food –Trucks – Glider Parts

Richard Rush – O.S. 05/14/45 – 06/18/45

Antwerp Belgium (twice) – Mainly brought back troops

06/19/45 – 08/01/45

Basic Training – Sheepshead Bay (N.Y.) 1944

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WWII Decorations: Merchant Marine Emblem, Atlantic War Zone Bar, Combat Bar
(with Stars)

Birthdate: 7/30/21 Died: 10/02/93
Wife – Valeria 1/17/44

ELMER VICK (Deceased)
COLUMBIANA, OHIO 44408

I tried to enlist in the Marines and Navy the day after Pearl Harbor but was
rejected because of a genetic dental defect. Later I was accepted on waiver by the
Merchant Marines. I spent three months in training at Hoffman Island, New York. I
graduated in November 1942 and was then assigned to an old freighter, S.S. Lena
Luckenbach, as an oiler. We joined a convoy and took part in the invasion of North
Africa. While at Casablanca we were under air attack.

In March 1943 while on the same ship in a convoy to England there were many
sub alerts and some sinkings. Our ship was badly damaged by a collision with another
convoy freighter early one morning while in heavy seas in the North Atlantic. The other
ship had ram does and her bow tore a huge hole on our port side, forward of the
bridge. The other ship was not seriously damaged and rejoined the convoy as it
continued. We were taking on a lot of water, listing and sinking. We're in the engine
room started to flood the skipper ordered ―abandon ship‖ and we took to the lifeboats.
Some hours later a lone American diesel ship bound for England happened by, rescued
us and took us to Liverpool.

We were waiting for passage home when word came that our ship had not sunk
completely. It was towed to Scotland, beached, patched temporarily, towed to dry dock
in Glasgow, repaired and overhauled. The crew stayed in a hotel for the five months
time then sailed in for home. I sailed her one more trip after that. I've been told the
ship was deliberately sunk as part of a breakwater during the invasion of Normandy.
Written June 4, 1992

AL VINSON
RADIOGRAM SIGNALS VICTORY, GERMAN SUBMARINES SURRENDER
This story was prompted by the RadioGram pictured below. It was received, typed and a copy delivered
to our ship's Captain on May 8, 1945. I found it filed away in a box of memorabilia. I was 23 years
of age then....81 now. Although the RadioGram has suffered the ravages of age, as has this writer, I
believe you will see it is still legible, certainly more legible than this author.
Al Vinson

Seems like a hundred, but it was only sixty years ago when WWII ended. From
the Port of Houston, I boarded a Liberty Ship, the SS Joseph N. Nicolette as Third Radio
Officer. On a foggy morning, near the end of April, we made our way down the
Houston Ship Channel to Galveston. We spent the first night far out in the Gulf of
Mexico. As radio operator, I was privileged to have info about ships orders. We were

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sailing east, toward Florida, and I learned we were to join a convoy of forty ships near
Norfolk, Virginia.

Two weeks later, we joined the convoy, and in my first Atlantic storm. Even
with the pouring rain, and high winds, we had such a foggy atmosphere that we
couldn't see the ships next to us. On the bridge, they had contact by signal lights, but
we couldn't see the lights one deck below the bridge. Faith had a supreme test that
long night off Norfolk, as we found our place in the convoy. We sailed East on the
stormy Atlantic before dawn. We were in this storm for two more days. And then the
action really began. I began receiving un-coded radio signals for the first time. Radio
silence was in effect for all vessels during World War II. Only in extreme emergencies,
were we allowed to transmit from our ships radio. We received coded orders each day,
but were not allowed to reply in any manner except by signal lights from ship to ship.
Shore stations sent hourly weather advisories and warnings of hazards to shipping, like
mine and submarine sightings. So I was not only surprised, but excited, to receive an
un-coded message in the early days of May, 1945. Maybe you guessed why. The
message announced the end of hostilities in the European theater...V-E Day...hooray!

Next came the rules of engagement, or disengagement since the wars end. And
that's when the war began for me, my first action since entering the Merchant Marine.
And it was the kind of action I would enjoy. Nothing dangerous, if you rule out our
suspicions and uneasiness with our task. A small boat came alongside our vessel, and
the Convoy Commander came aboard. He didn't go to the Captains quarters, but
directly to the radio cabin. All three radio operators were present. The Chief Radio
Officer advised that our station was now the Convoy Commander's headquarters, and
we had been chosen because our Second Radio Officer was from Allentown,
Pennsylvania, and spoke fluent German. He would serve as interpreter for our convoy
and for the Navy defensive ships which surrounded the convoy. I was the Third Radio
Officer, and soon would be in contact with German submarines in our vicinity. I
sweated more suspicion....and fear. During the next three days, we would be in
communication with four German U-Boats that had been lying in wait for our convoy.
I could now say I was have earned the title every radio operator wore, "S P A R K S.‖

The emblem of sparks we wore on the sleeves of our dress
uniform were gold embossed emblems that identified the wearer as
a Radio Officer.

Very weak signals were received from the submarine, and
each contact went directly to our Second Radio Officer to be
deciphered from our hand copy. All three operators copied the submarine signals.
Where one of us missed a word or two, odds were that another operator would be able
to copy. My ears ached from the strain to get every character of the message. None of
us ever copied a complete message, but by combining the copies, we had a good
message.
Our message to all area submarines gave orders for surrender, with instructions
to surface, flying a black or blue flag. The subs were receiving the same instructions by
high frequency radio from their commanders. In the next three days, four U-Boats

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surfaced, flying their beautiful blue flags, and were at once met by our Navy Destroyer
escort ships. Three of the subs were escorted to Norfolk, and one to Boston.

(The messages below are copies of the front and back page of the old RCA
forms we used at the time.)

The above action required no more than 36 hours. We were unable to find
what action took place when the Navy Destroyers and Escorts approached the German
submarines to accept surrender. A few days later, I was in conversation with one of
our signalmen who talked, by light signals, with a signalman on a Navy Destroyer
Escort. He told our man that the Germans were as nervous as we were, and offered no
resistance to the terms of surrender. Further, he said they were flying the largest blue
flags he had ever seen...most made from bed sheets...to be certain that our Navy
interceptors knew their intent.
Al Vinson

DON WAGY
FORT WORTH, TEXAS 76133

I joined the Merchant Marines in Liverpool England having resigned as a Jr.
Aircraft Machinist (a civil service position) with the Eighth Air Force Base Air Depot
Buttonwood, England. We were known as civilian technicians.

I sailed on 14 ships on deck in the 3 ½ years I went to sea. Freighters and
tankers got stuck in the South Pacific on one fourteen month voyage that included the
invasion of the Philippines. For 30 days we had 1400 airmen and all their supplies on
board. For 145 days we laid at anchor in Hollandia, New Guinea, and then the troops
made their initial landing at Clark Field in Manila where they proceeded on the
invasion. The Japanese weren‘t too happy about it and we were strafed by Kamikaze
who crashed into four liberty ships.

I sailed to England after VE day where I met and married my girlfriend and
sweetheart. In 2006 we will celebrate our 60th wedding anniversary.

When the war was over I went to trade school and learned TV repair and
opened my own shop; several years later I bought a second shop that I owned and
operated both for 24 years. I took a position as electronic technician/maintenance at
Freightmaster (a division of Halliburton) and maintained the computer controlled

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machines. In the big recession of 1979, I took voluntary retirement because of my age.
By this time I was a pretty good electrician and went into maintenance for Champion
Parts.

I retired in 1987 and haven‘t worked a day since. My wife retired in 1989 and
we travel and camp in our travel trailer.
Ah – The Good Life!!!

LAWRENCE (LARRY) WETMORE

Larry Wetmore, my father, was too old for the World War II draft. He thought
he could contribute more to the war effort in the Merchant Marine than as a payroll
clerk at General Electric plant making aircraft instruments. He had previously worked
for Eastern Steamship Lines in the comptroller department.

In February 1942, the War Shipping Administration was given control of all US
commercial ships for the duration of the war. All of Eastern‘s ships were converted for
other duties such as hospital, cargo, or troop carriers. Eastern Steamship Lines became
Agents of the War Shipping Administration in the operation of Liberty and later
Victory ships in the war effort. Through his contacts with Eastern, he found himself
learning to be a purser awaiting his first assignment.

Many years later, while in his late sixties, he started to write his Merchant
Marine Memoirs…….one chapter for each voyage. He must have kept extensive
records, copies of ships logs, memos, and personal notes, and had a fabulous memory.
In each chapter, he wrote about the progress of the war at that time, included bits of
history of places visited, as well as the personalities of crew members, telling the story
of Merchant Marine crew members carrying out their duties on hazardous seas. In later
years, the Merchant Marine Magazine would publish excerpts from his Memoirs.

Larry Wetmore was a purser/pharmacist mate on Liberty ships. A chronology
of his voyages follows:

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1. December 1943: SS Eugene E. O‘Donnell; Capt. Harvey L. Dunning;
Liverpool, England; cargo of equipment and P-38 aircraft.

2. March 1944: SS Eugene E. O‘Donnell; Capt. Harvey L. Dunning; England;
cargo of explosives.
D-day +2 to Utah Beach followed by 7 shuttles from Southampton to Utah
and Omaha beaches; vehicles and troops from 81st and 101st Airborne
Divisions.

3. September 1944: SS Galen L. Stone; Capt Harvey L. Dunning; Iran, Saudi
Arabia, Mozambique, Egypt

4. July 1945: SS Calvin Austin; Capt. John L Daugherty; Philippines; supplies for
the South Pacific.

5. January 1946: SS Samuel Johnston; Capt. Kenneth Glover; Italy, Algeria,
Gibraltar, Angola, Egypt.

6. June 1946: SS Samuel Johnston; Capt. Frank Farrar; Germany via North Sea;
cargo of wheat.

7. January 1947: SS James C. Blaine; Capt. C. D. Davis; Denmark; cargo of coal.
8. April 1947: SS Evangeline and SS Yarmouth; converted back to cruise ships;

Capt. Harvey L. Dunning; cruises from New York to Bermuda, Nassau,
Miami, and Cuba; Eastern Steamship Lines.

The following is from Merchant Marine Memoirs by Larry Wetmore:
Vessels manned by merchant seaman were involved in every major invasion of

World War II, including Iwo Jima, Okinawa, and Normandy. By the end of the war,
the Merchant Marine had provided crews for more than 5000 ships with an average
delivery rate of 8500 tons of war materials per hour around the clock. During the first
three or four weeks after D-day, a shuttle service was maintained by merchant ships
between England and the French coast. The shuttle delivered 189,000 vehicles as well
as food, fuel, munitions, and other vital supplies.

Also, thousands of soldiers were carried to Utah and Omaha Beach assault areas
during this period.

Over the course of the war, 733 merchant ships of over 100 gross tons were sunk
with the loss of 7678 seamen. More than 600 merchant seamen were captured by the
enemy and 62 died in captivity. The Merchant Marine Academy at King‘s Point, NY
was the only service academy that sent cadets into combat prior to graduation because
of the critical need of their contribution to the war effort; 142 cadets were killed in
World War II. There were proportionately higher casualties in the Merchant Marine
than in the Army or the Navy. Only the Marine Corps had proportional slightly higher
casualties.

In the aftermath of World War II, the merchant seamen were pretty much
ignored or forgotten. It was only in January 1988 that they were accorded full
Veteran‘s status, 43 years after the end of the war. By that time, a considerable number
had died and most of the living were in their sixties or seventies, too old to take

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advantage of most of the Veterans Administration benefits which had been available to
veterans of the other services.

Following his purser duties on cruise ships for Eastern Steamship Lines after
the war, he worked in management for RCA Service Company in Massachusetts,
Colorado, and Connecticut. He retired to Hudson, NH for almost 30 years and
Arlington, TX for three years.

Bruce B. Wetmore, Colonel USAF (retired)
Larry Wetmore died April 15th, 2006 at the age of 97.

JIM V. WHITE
DALLAS, TX 75229

Member - National Maritime Historical Society - Steamship Historical Society of
America
1944-1952 Merchant Marine- Atlantic-Pacific-Mediterranean War Zones -1952-1960
U.S. Marine Corp.- Korean Service-F.M.F. Pacific-Drill Instructor MCRD San Diego,
CA
1960 to Present - Owner Collection Agency - President American Collectors Assoc.,
Texas
MY CHIEF MATE
HELEN L. WHITE – VETERAN U.S. ARMY

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My Ships Tug H. T. Debartilatin
Tug Russell S.S. Cape Lookout
M. V. Irene Chotain S.S. Fort Charlotte
S.S. Bulkero S.S. Caleb Strong
S.S. Hovenweep S.S. Gulfwave
S.S. Felix Alexandern S.S. Robert Stockton
S.S. Alexander Doniphan S.S. Elko Victory
S.S. W.W. McKee S.S. McKenzie-U.S. Engineers
8.S. Western Sword S.S. Crown Trader
S.S. Silver Peak S.S. Nancy Lykes
S.S. P.W. Sprague S.S. Marine Merchant
S.S. Pan Main MSTS. General Nelson Walker
S.S. George Gershwin S.S. Esso Worcseter
S.S. Esso Bridgeport U.S.S. APA 202 Menifee
S.S. Esso Chester
U.S.S. APA 210 Telfair

Every Ship that sails from the Bay takes my heart as a stowaway.
Hello, Charlie Nobel, wherever you are!

A.J. WICHITA
RICHARDSON TX 75080

My interest in the sea started with stories I read while hiding from the nuns
during recess at Assumption Parish School in South Omaha Nebraska. While in high
school, friends of mine and I borrowed a boat along the Missouri river and headed
south. We lost an oar trying not to crash into the pilings going round a river bend.
The Platte River came into view as it emptied into the Missouri. It was slower moving,
and we were able to beach our boat on a sandbar.

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Pictures: (L) 1944 Boot Camp / Merchant Marine (R) 1954 US Navy

A year later, in 1943, I was 16 and bucking rivets at a B29 plant. I saw a sign in
the lunchroom about the Merchant Marine, and as soon as I turned 17 I pressed my
parents for permission to join up. With mixed feelings, they let me go. A trainload of
farm boys and I were shipped to Sheepshead Bay in Brooklyn, New York. The Coast
Guard trained me to be a fireman/watertender.

My first ship was a Liberty just returned from Murmansk. The survival rate on
a Murmansk trip was not too good. Men would troll the bars along the docks offering
seamen a few hundred dollars to sign over their insurance policies.

In the 8 years as a merchant mariner, none of my ships were in a firefight or
torpedoed. The ships lookouts always kept a sharp eye out for floating mines and for
the magnetic ones we kept degaussing equipment faithfully energized. The sea,
nevertheless, provided its own potential for getting hurt or losing your life. While at
anchor in Gibraltar, our ship was dragging anchor in a storm and we tangled with a
British vessel. Our ship banged into her #4 hold hard enough to rip a gaping hole in
the side. The American and British seamen on deck were shouting at each other. I
remember the Brits shouting ―Hit her again you bloody Yanks!‖ And we did. The
British seamen would stick mattresses in the gapping hole but not fast enough to slow
the water down. The bulkheads between the hold and engine room were not
watertight, and the boilers exploded. The ship sank, and they lost 4 men.

In the Oran harbor the ship ran aground dodging other sunken ships but we
were able to pull off the mud bank in a few hours. We went on to Livorno, Italy. The
people in Italy were so hungry they were in our garbage cans looking for food. The
Captain ordered all food not needed for the trip back be left for the Italians.

In 1947 I signed on with the SS Biddeford Victory scheduled for Buenos Aires.
This was more like a cruise you would pay for as we spent a month at the docks in
Montevideo and Buenos Aires. We did see where the German Battleship Graf Spee had
been scuttled rather than let the British capture her. In Rio De Janerio we were made
welcome but noticed buildings around the dock were full of bullet holes. My next trip
to South America was on a tanker to Venezuela. The ship pulled into port just in time

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for a revolution. We were sent dockside for several hours until it was all clear. The
citizens here take their politics very seriously.

1953 Korean War
US Navy

In 1948 I was on the SS Stanvac Palembang. As the ship maneuvered into the
estuary of an Indonesian river, I was caught up in an electrical explosion and was blown
across the engine room. First aid was basic. Hold the patient down while bandaging
and an offer of the captain‘s brandy afterwards! My eyes were scorched, and I could
not see well for several days. The Goanese cabin stewards hand fed me for seven days.
The unlicensed deck and engine crew under this Panamanian flag vessel were
Mohammedans from India and Catholic Goanese stewards from the Isle of Goa.

In 1950 our Stanvac ship was turned over to Italy in Palermo. We were given
three months vacation by the company. The second officer and I decided to tour Italy
by train. We had the opportunity to see the Pope in person. While in Rome the
English language newspaper announced North Korea invaded South Korea. This was
the beginning of the Korean War. In time, my name came to the attention of the draft
board and they had me scheduled for the Army.

Fortunately, the Navy was willing to give me a commission. The day it arrived
was also the day Mary Lib Stavinoha from Temple, Texas and I was married. It was the
start of a 50-year romance and a family blessed with five beautiful daughters.

For the remainder of the Korean War my assignment in the Navy was aboard
the USS Whitehurst as engineering officer. During a layover in Guam, I went before
the Coast Guard board to take a chief engineer‘s exam for merchant vessels. I thought
with this last endorsement I would be able to land a good stateside job after my Navy
discharge. Not so. In 1955 jobs were scarce. My first job was selling vacuum cleaners.
Later Carrier Corporation gave me a job developing planned maintenance programs for
customers in the Southwest.

Having long aspired to have my own company, I bought into the Krackett
Company producing snack chips for the food industry. In 1964 I started the Aqua
Shield Chemical Company producing water repellent coatings. Other subsequent
products were a line of soap products called King‘s X and Maid-Brite. In 1976, I

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founded Hi-Tech Oil Blends to produce and export lubricant products and operated
for the next 31 years.

In 1997 William Daly, former Mayor of Chicago, then Secretary of Commerce,
appointed me to a five-year term on the Texas District Export Council. The purpose
of this council is to help small companies with their export problems, thereby
encouraging small businesses to move American products into other countries.

In 2007 I was elected National President of the American Merchant Marine
Veterans Association. This was not a direction I planned to move in, but was
encouraged by several people to run for office. It would have been easy to turn down
the idea and coast into the sunset, but the thought of serving the people who had the
greatest influence in my life was reason enough to go for it.

But the 1944 picture is still in my mind—leaving South Omaha High School,
leaving Nebraska, boarding a train with a bunch of gung-ho recruits just dying to serve
their country. It is my hope that I will meet some of these magnificent men again one
day. God Bless America!

2004 Veterans Day Parade

Col. Oliver North & A.J. Wichita
celebrating Veterans Day

JACK (J.D.) WILLIAMS
CHECOTAH, OK 74426
By Wayne Wade – The Indian Journal – Thursday, July 14, 2005

A 55-gallon barrel in front of Williams General Store in Onapa has ―BOOTS‖
painted on it and next to it is a single gas pump. Owner Jack Williams, 78, sells a little
of both and a lot more. His store defies description.

Customers, some who have traded with Williams a lifetime, and some new
ones, leave his store feeling like they got lots more than they paid for. The former U.S.
Coast Guardsman and merchant marine operates his business on Onapa Road on the
west side of U.S. Highway 69 and the Onapa overpass.

Born in Fame, Okla., on May 17, 1927, Williams moved with his brother, Cole,
and his mother and father, Ruby and Marion Williams, to Onapa in 1929 where the
elder Williams opened a store across the tracks on the eat side of old Highway 69. In
1939, he moved across the highway on the west side and built a store that he sold in
1944, then moved his family to Brush hill and bought a farm.

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In 1945 at age 17 in his senior year, Williams decided he needed to see some of
the world because ―all them other boys were going.‖ A World War I veteran who
carried a leg wound from the battlefield in France that developed into rheumatism, the
elder Williams discouraged his son from joining the Army so Jack went to Muskogee to
join the U.S. Navy with Onapa‘s Ransom ―Perk‖ Herron. At 115-pounds – five pounds
under Navy requirement – he finished his senior year after turning 18 in May that year
while World War II was raging in Europe. Merchant seamen affiliated with the U.S.
Coast Guard were needed and Williams received a train ticket to Kansas City, took the
exam and was told he was three pounds shy of the required weight. They believed him
when he said he had been ill and had lost weight. He and a bunch of other enlistees
hopped a train that very night that took three days to get to California for training.

Williams‘ first ship assignment was aboard the USS Jeremiah Dailey, a liberty
ship, and off they sailed to the Pacific, through the Panama Canal in the old ―Shot up‖
ship, right at about the time the war ended in Europe. They put in at New Orleans,
Williams hitched a ride on a trolley car to downtown and ran into two seamen from
Brush Hill and Onapa – Joe Kusler and Wayne Ledbetter. Merchant marine members,
they wanted to join Williams on the Dailey. They sailed to Mobile, Ala., and a big ―bone
Yard‖ (where they retired or decommissioned naval vessels after the war). Williams
took the ship‘s bell and a meat cleaver off one of them and sent them home. He and his
buddies returned to New Orleans, got assigned to the USS Nathaniel Courrier, sailed to
North Africa and ports located in – Casablanca, Morocco; Bizertta, Tunis; and Algiers;
on to Genoa, Italy; Dubrovnik, Yugoslavia; Split in Trieste; Barcelona, Spain; Le Havre,
France, Paris; Rotterdam, Holland; and Bremen, Germany. With the ship unloaded,
they returned to New York.

One day, in the Mediterranean, while Williams and Ledbetter were chipping
paint on the top deck, a tall, thin fellow exited one of the ship‘s empty holds, and seeing
that he was not a member of the crew, they questioned why he was on board. ―Take me
to your captain. I‘ve been in the French Foreign Legion!‖ He told the captain that he
was once an MP in the U.S. Army, was caught in an army merchandise confiscation
scheme, got 20 years and wound up joining the Legion. He weighed 195 pounds to
begin with but after six months in the Legion he weighed 130 pounds.

William‘s buddy, ―Perk‖ Herron, had been in
Alaska in the Merchant Marines. After a trip back home, all four returned to New

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Orleans and caught the USS Fred E. Joyce, sailed to Dubrovnik, Yugoslavia, hauling
wheat and left-over army rations from the war ―to feed all those people over there,‖
said Williams. They received $50 to $80 per month working for shipping companies
and United Nations Relief Authority (UNRA). Next came the country Trieste and the
small town of Split. Passing the Rock of Gibraltar, they received orders to sail to
French West Africa and the Canary Islands where they left a sick crewman; then the
French Ivory Coast to pick up coffee beans; the Gold Coast for mahogany logs for
about 45 days; returned to the Canary Islands to pick up the recovering crewman;
stopped at Casablanca; then sailed to Le Havre, France; unloaded and the ship took
liberty in Paris.

The hometown traveling quartet sailed to Portland, Maine, and caught a bus
back home. Kusler got married, Herron went back to school, Ledbetter went to
California, and Williams returned to New Orleans and caught the USS Mountain Wave
(later changed to the USS Golden State).

The USS Fred E. Joyce Liberty Ship in 1945 sailed the high seas as a merchant
marine ship. Four area seamen served aboard the vessel, including, first row at left – Joe
Kusler, Onapa. Second row, at left – Ransom ―Perk‖ Herron, Onapa; and third row far
right – Wayne Ledbetter, Brush Hill.

Williams, who owns a store in Onapa, saw places in the world during his travels
that few ever dream of seeing – Casablanca, Algiers, Italy, Yugoslavia, Barcelona, Paris,
Holland, New York City, and points beyond.

STANLEY WILNER
PALM BEACH GARDENS, FLORIDA

This story is one that I found in the Armed Guard Pointer published by Charles
A. Lloyd of North Carolina. When I read this I was impressed and touched by what I
had read and I called Charles for permission to include it in this book. He in turn
helped me get in touch with Stanley Wilner. I called him and received his blessing. As
you read his story you will discover as I did that this man went thru hell for this
Country that we live in today. Only by the grace of God did he survive to tell his story
as a prisoner of war to the Japanese.

Stanley Wilner was born in New Jersey and at a very early age his parents
Morris and Dora Wilner moved to Norfolk, Va. where he grew up and went to school.
Stanley attended Blair Jr. and Maury High School where he graduated in 1938.

The following is the testimony of Stanley Wilner before the House Committee
on Veterans Affairs. April 18, 2007. Thank you Mr. Chairman and members of the
Committee for Veterans, Affairs.

My name is Stanley Wilner I am the first official Merchant Marine Veteran of
World war ll. I was captured by the German Navy and turned over to the Imperial
Japanese Army occupation forces in Singapore. I remained a prisoner for more than
three years and three months.

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After graduating from High School in 1938, I received an appointment to the
US Maritime Service from the late Senator Harry Flood Byrd of Virginia. I spent three
years as a Merchant Marine Cadet. On August 21, 1941 I graduated to Deck Officer
and third mate with a commission of Ensign in the US Naval Reserve. I served as third
mate on the Excaliber, one of the Four Aces passenger ships in the Mediterranean.
When Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, I was in Lisbon, Portugal. After returning I
immediately went to the Naval board in New York to enlist. I was rejected and sent to
serve on the M.S. Sawokla, an Army Transport ship.

In the midst of all this activity I met and married my wife Carol. But before we
had a chance to take our honeymoon, the Sawokla set sail for a three month
deployment to India and the Persian Gulf with supplies to set up an Army Base in
Bahrain, Iraq. Upon my return I was to be promoted to Lt. J. G. or full Lt. in the US
Navy Reserve. Most importantly my new wife and I would take our honeymoon.

In November 1942, the Sawokla, steaming south of Madagascar, was stalked,
fired upon, torpedoed and sunk by the German Raider, Michel [Mik-el]. The Michel
was deceptively disguised as a merchant vessel but equipped with a lethal arsenal. The
German Raider fleet was as effective as the U-Boats in sinking allied supply vessels.

The Michel‘s log shows that the Sawokla sank almost immediately. I was the
Officer on watch with a staff of eight lookouts. I woke up in the water, badly wounded
and cling to a piece of wreckage. About three hours later the Michel picked me up. I
remained in the sick bay for about three months. I was given excellent medical
treatment. The next day the Michel sent out its scout plane and torpedo boat to pick up
the wreckage so there would be no trace of the Sawokla. That action resulted in the
Navy Department declaring me dead. Thirty seamen and nine members of the Armed
Guard survived the attack. We were now captives of the third Reich.

The Michel sank more ships while I was on board. One ship had one survivor,
another had thirteen. The Japanese would not let the Michel out of the Pacific blockade
for its return to Germany. Low on food and fuel, the Michel docked in Singapore and
turned over its prisoners to the Japanese. The Michel‘s Doctor had given me a letter to
give to the Japanese. The Japanese sergeant took the letter, tore it up and hit me with
his rifle butt. Hard un-Godley times were just ahead.

We were billeted Changi jail which was built to hold about six hundred
criminals. The Japanese had herded anywhere from 10,000 to15, 000 prisoners,
including women and children, within its walls. Initially, we lived in huts outside the
main building, while we worked at the docks. My clothes were in shreds from the
Michel‘s attack. I had kicked my shoes off in the water. I would live in these tattered
rags, barefoot for over three years. The only other clothing I received was when an
Australian gave me a piece of cloth that I used as a loin cloth.

The Allied POW‘s who had surrendered in Singapore still had clothes and mess
kits. All I had was a tin can for water which I used for the next three years. For the
remainder of my captivity I did not shave, brush my teeth or cut my hair or receive any
medicine or enough food to remain healthy and fit.

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As if it could not get worse, it did. The Japanese sent us up country into Burma
and Siam [Thailand] to build the Burma Siam Railroad, known as Death‘s Railway. Its
path crossed over the River Kwai. In Singapore we were crammed into small railroad
cars. We could not sit, but were packed in standing position, barely able to move at all.
There was no ventilation. Several of the men had dysentery. With no toilet facilities you
can use your own imagination as to what happened. The railroad car quickly began to
smell like a sewer barge. The smell would not wash off. Every nine or ten hours the
train would stop to take on coal and water. We were let out for about fifteen minutes a
day over the course of five days.

On arrival, we were marched twenty miles a day for six straight days to get to
the location of the railroad. Before my capture, The U.S.S. Houston and the 131st
Battalion, known as the lost Battalion went missing. I caught up with some of the
survivors on Death‘s Railway. For some reason, only a limited number of Americans
were sent up country by the Japanese.

While the movie, Bridge over the River Kwai made this episode in history
known to many, it did not reveal the true brutality of the Japanese and the suffering of
officers and enlisted men, who starving and diseased, built a railroad through jungle on
virtually no food and one cup of water a day. We worked from dark to dark. More than
100,000 human lives were sacrificed. Some counts are as high as 300,000 and include
native women and children.

Two indelible memories of extreme brutality that have haunted me in
nightmares come to mind. A British soldier who had lost an arm and a leg was
responsible for heating the Japanese officer‘s bath water in a fifty gallon drum. One
night, while returning to camp we heard a terrible commotion in camp. We were made
to line up to witness his execution for overheating the officer‘s bath water. I can still
hear his screams to this very day. The second was an outbreak of Cholera. We were
given only one cup of boiling water a day. The scathing tropical heat took its toll on us.
Some were so desperate for a drink of water; they would drink from the River Kwai.
The natives living up river used the river for everything, including human waste
disposal. Many thousands contracted cholera and died.

I was assigned to collect the victims in our camp who were dead or near death
and burn them. If we refused, the Japanese would shoot you on the spot and add you
to the pile. Such a situation was impossible to comprehend then as it is now. No
explanation is suitable. And no amount of years makes it any less horrible for me. The
Railroad was completed in about two years. Those who survived were sent back to
Singapore. I was sick with beri-beri, dysentery, malaria, pellagra, scurvy and ringworm.
All kinds of sores covered my body. Out of the original 525 plus men who went up
country with only 116 returned.

When we were liberated all Allied prisoners in the Far East and Murmansk were
flown from Singapore to the 142nd Army Hospital in Karachi, India, which is now
Pakistan. I was 25 years old, weighed 75 lbs. and infected with every disease imaginable
The Doctors told me that I would be the luckiest man alive if I lived to be 50 years old.
The Army medical care was nearly the last time as a Merchant Marine that I received

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any medical care from the government for my service. The Doctors and nurses in the
142nd cried when they saw us. They had never seen human beings in such bad shape. In
fact, the first night we slept on the floor not wanting to mess up the white hospital
sheets.

From India on our trip back to the States, the Merchant seamen were soon
forgotten. The other POWs were issued new uniforms and given spending money. The
Mariners received one shirt and one pair of pants, plus a pair of shoes. I was unable to
wear the shoes. We had spent a month in the Hospital before we were flown back to
the States. We landed at a military airport outside Washington, D.C. My wife came to
take me home.

I was unable to adjust. The Government gave me one month‘s pay of $250.00. I
was admitted to the Marine Hospital for two weeks. I was told I was fit for duty and
was discharged. I had large ringworm on my stomach. As the result of being hit with
rifle butts in the back several times, I eventually had to have back surgery. For nearly a
year I suffered with malaria, walking around I would pass out. I suffered continuous
nightmares. I was lucky to have my family taken care of me. A British Doctor who
took care of us in the camps would send me medicine for the jungle rot on my chest. It
took two years of dental work to save my teeth As a POW I had a large psychological
issue to overcome. It was well over a year and a half before I could return to work.

I tried working for the Maritime Commission pricing war surplus ships for sale
to foreign countries. The work required travel and I was unable to travel and had to
resign. My wife and I took over a family business that brought us some success over
the years, but I have never stopped being a prisoner.

I attended two River Kwai reunions with Dennis Roland [deceased], my
shipmate and POW buddy. I was the only POW who refused to walk across the bridge
with our former Japanese captors. In the cemetery before the walk, memories of all
those who were sacrificed for the Japanese railroad came flooding back, I could forgive,
but refused to forget.

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CHARLES C. WILSON I.D. # 407052
SS STELLA LYKES C2 STEAM TURBINE

I am 79 years old; sound in mind and body. This is my biography beginning at
age 17.

I was hired by the Texas and Pacific Railroad at age 17 at the passenger station
in Fort Worth, Texas at the same time I finished Polytechnic High School. On
October of 1944 I enlisted in the Merchant Marines and left for basic training in St.
Petersburg, Florida on the 21st. In on January 1st I was assigned by the War Shipping
Administration (WSA) as a ―fireman coal passer‖ to a coal burning ship that was
reconditioned in 1927 for a coast wise trip. After that ordeal was finished I returned
home for 10 days; then reported to Galveston where I joined MMU and was assigned
as a Wiper‖ in the engine room on a newly built ship – the S.S. Stella Lykes which was
equipped with radar. We took it on a shakedown cruise with a skeleton crew and
―degauge‖ in Charleston, S.C.; then to New Orleans where it was loaded with jeeps in
crates and small army trucks. We departed for ―unknown‖ until we entered
international waters where we were told we were going to Odessa, Russia. In March of
1945 we arrived at the Rock of Gibralter (the mouth of the Mediterranean. As we
passed Italy (Boot Hill) we were advised that Germany had surrendered which made us
all happy. We traveled to the end of the Mediterranean Sea, thru Istanbul to
Constantinople and into the Black Sea. After entering the Black Sea we came upon the
first Liberty ship built for World War II – the ―S.S. Patrick Henry half sunk resting on
the ground with two German floating mines. Around the 1st of April in 1945 we
proceeded to Odessa where we docked alongside our sister ship, the ―Ruth Lykes‖. We
were there for 10 days after which we proceeded to Romania where we took on oil for
36 hours, and then on to Marseilles, France. After about a week we left the
Mediterranean and headed to the Panama Canal and on to the South Pacific Marshall
Islands (a place called Enewetok). We had been anchored a couple of months when in
the morning of August 14, 1945 Japan surrendered. Kamikazes hit that very night.
The ships were anchored close and at least 3 were sunk and 1 carrier damaged. The
shore batteries did an excellent job knocking them out of the air however, and the zeros
crashed so close we could see the pilots slumped in their seats.

Charles C. Wilson
on the left Jan. 1945

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Two weeks later we went to Okinawa Bay where the ―Missouri‖ was anchored.
We were advised that the biggest typhoon in Okinawan history was headed our way,
and we hoisted anchor in an attempt to avoid it. However, we ran right into it and the
ship listed as much as 42 degrees (capsize at 52 degrees). It cracked the hull at the #1
hold but the bilge pumps took care of the leak. We returned to Okinawa after 3
terrifying days and 2 nights and were there when Japan signed the treaty.

When our Armed Guard went ashore we requested stationery since we were not
considered members of the armed forces we couldn‘t use E-mail. Our ship and 5
others in our group were reported ―lost at sea‖ by Lykes Bros. Steamship Lines and we
had been unable to get any information to our families that we were safe. When the
guards returned to the ship they told us that the American Red Cross had refused to
give us stationery because we were not members of the Armed Forces. We will
never forget or forgive them for refusing.

After approximately a month we were anxious to go home since the war was
over when a naval launch approached the ship and a naval officer came aboard. I was
surprised to see my uncle, Lt. Joseph Burrell. All the mates gathered around him asking
him to find a way to get us out of there. He promised to do his best, and after about a
week we hoisted anchor, dumped all equipment and ammo (except the equipment in
the holds) out to sea. We traveled back through the Panama Canal at 18 knots non-
stop to New York. All happily went ashore and I arrived home on the 22nd of
December in 1945 for ten days.

I took several other trips on three other ships; tug ―Messenger‖, ―Stella Lykes‖,
the ―S.S. Andrew A. Humphreys‖, ―S.S. Bernadine‖, and the ―Salvador Brau‖.

We traveled thru Amsterdam to Rotterdam, to Naples, Venice, Tunisia (Bizerte)
and Tunis. Then on to the Ivory Coast in West Africa (Talahati), Romania, Odessa
Russia, Marseilles, the Marshall Islands and Okinawa, Japan.

After putting in my 28 months combat waters I received my discharge from the
U.S. coast Guard and WSA. I consider my tour with the Merchant Marines my
graduation from a 17 year old youth to a 21 year old man. It was an often dangerous
adventure in frequently deplorable conditions (food shortages, etc.) but I wouldn‘t trade
the experience or the contribution I feel I made to the war effort.

After being discharged I returned to my job at the Texas & Pacific Railroad,
and at age 23 married my dear wife. We‘ve been married for 55 years and have a son
and daughter and four grandchildren.

I was Station Master at the T & P and sent the last passenger train heading west
out of the passenger station in Fort Worth in March of 1967. I also greeted the last
passenger train incoming from the west that same year. I remained with the railroad in
various positions until I retired in December 1986 at age 60 after 43 years of service.
I‘ve been retired for 18 years.

I would be very happy if anyone derives some benefit from reading this.
If this service to our country doesn‘t entitle us to a Compensation Bill, I can‘t
imagine what would. I‘m 79 – one of very few who are left.

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Note: Ironically, I was in the Mediterranean Sea when Germany surrendered in
WWII and in the south Pacific at Marshall islands when Japan surrendered…..halfway
around the world. December 17, 2005

JOE WILSON
MAYPEARL, TEXAS 76064

I was born October 1926 at on the farm where I grew up. I attended school in
Maypearl where we learned our ABCs and respect for this great country that we live in.
I graduated high school in 1944 and began my life as a farmer. This was what all young
men who grew up on a farm or ranch were expected to do. Times were hard during the
depression and everyone in the family was expected to carry their respective load. As a
young man in high school my buddies and I were all very much aware of the war that
was going on. I knew I was going to answer the call to duty when Uncle Sam was ready
for me.

One of my buddies heard about the Merchant Marine and how they would take
you at 17. Being anxious to do our part as patriotic citizens of the good old USA we
went to Dallas and enlisted in the US Maritime Service November 15, 1944. We were
sent to St. Petersburg, Fla. for eight weeks of training at the USCG training school. We
were tested and given a choice to serve as a deck hand, wiper or messman. I chose the
deck dept.

When I graduated St. Petersburg after only eight weeks of training I was sent on
a bus to Miami, Fla. where I was put on a Navy PBY and flown to Balboa Panama
where I joined my first ship the SS Henry Wells. This ship had been in the Pacific and
had lost some crew members. I was replacing an AB vacancy. The ship went from there
to New York where I was discharged and went home on leave.

My next ship was the MV Gulf Wing. I signed on in Port Arthur, Texas March
29, 1945. This was a coastwise tanker that made trips up and down the eastern seaboard
carrying oil and gas from the refineries in the Gulf. I made three or four trips on the
Gulf Wing before I was discharged from the ship in Charleston, South Carolina 5-22-
45. My next ship was the SS William Dotson in the port of Houston on 6-19-45. She
was loaded with tanks, bombs, and personnel carriers for France and Italy. Our first
port was Marseilles in south France.

This port was almost leveled by bombing raids. The harbor was littered with
half sunken ships; however we found a place to dock where we unloaded some of our
cargo. We then moved down the coast to the port of Sete, and discharged more cargo
there. It was in Sete that we ran into a piece of submerged steel and damaged the
propeller. While trying to repair it a one foot piece was broken off one blade. To
balance the ships propeller a piece of like size was cut off the other blades. This
resulted in the ships speed being cut to half its normal speed with some vibration to
contend with. We unloaded the rest of our cargo in Naples, Italy and left for Newport
News, Va. crossing the Atlantic at maximum speed of 4 knots.

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I caught my next ship the SS Hoke Smith in Galveston, Texas, on 10-23-45.
Leaving Galveston with a load of wheat we set course for the Mediterranean Sea and
Oran, in North Africa. Sometime in December the Boatswain who was my room mate
went completely berserk and had to be cuffed and restrained. He was turned over to
the US Army in Oran and I was promoted to replace him. From there we went to
Dubrovnik, Yugoslavia.

It was snowing there and very cold. Going up the river into the port of
Dubrovnik the river channel had been mined by the Italians when they occupied the
port. There was another ship ahead of us that was leading us in thru the mine field. Its
luck ran out when it hit one. The Capitan ran the ship aground to save the cargo or as
much of it as he could from getting wet. We proceeded on into port and were there
about two weeks unloading wheat. Torn up during the war there was very little
equipment left to handle cargo.

Wheat was shoveled into bags then tied and placed into a cargo net and
winched to the dock. There was a crew of stevedores in each of the five cargo holds
doing the same thing. On the dock there was a line of horse drawn two wheeled carts
receiving the unloaded wheat and hauling it away soon to return for another load. This
really seemed primitive to me. With their railroads bombed out and no trucks what else
could they do? We were two weeks unloading.

We left Dubrovnik with the guns that had been stripped from the ship that had
been mined along with the crew and took the crew back to Oran. We carried the guns
and ammunition back to Baltimore where I was discharged and went home to Texas
and then on to Galveston.

I left Galveston, Tx. on the SS Santa Fe Hills, a T-2 tanker. After discharging
our cargo of fuel in Naples Italy we headed back home. About three or four days out of
Bermuda we had a steam turbine blow up leaving us dead in the water. The seas were
rough, high winds, and swells were so bad the ship, empty with very little or no ballast,
rolled around like a cork. It was 4 or 5 days before a tug out of Hamilton, Bermuda got
to us. It took the better part of 2 days getting a line to us in the rough seas so they
could tow us into Hamilton. A US Navy tug took us in tow from Hamilton to Newport
News, Virginia. What a trip; it was several days before we arrived, I was happy to be
back on US soil. I took my discharge on May 10 1946 and headed home to Texas.

I made three trips on the SS High Flyer, a C2 type cargo ship out of Galveston
to Piraeus, Greece, Naples Italy, and other ports I can‘t remember in Spain, and France.
I signed off the High Flyer in New Orleans on November 23, 1946. The ship went
from there to the Port of Texas City, Tx. where it was destroyed in a massive explosion.
I never heard from any of my friends on that ship. I do not know if any survived.

I married my sweetheart Dorothy in 1944, so returning home after that trip I
settled down and never went back to sea. I went to work for Armour & Company
(meat packers) as a salesman for several years traveling all over Texas. We moved back
to Maypearl in 1952 where I continued to work for Armour and farm. We raised twins.
Cherry our daughter lives in Haltom City, Texas, and her twin brother Kerry lives in
Crescent City, California.

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Maritime Tales of the Sea

PAUL RICHARD WILSON
SERVED IN THE MERCHANT MARINES FROM 1944-1946

I was just a country boy in high school when I would bring scrap iron to a stock
pile in the middle of the school yard. I didn‘t know at the time but it was sold and
shipped to Japan. All of the kids and I were doing our part to help fight the war. Most
of my friends, my brother, and my male cousins were either already in the service or
were talking abut joining. This had been on my mind for some time so on the Monday
after I turned 17, I found myself on the way to Dallas to join the service. My friends
and I piled into the car armed with birth certificates, Social Security cards, and parent
permission forms ready to serve our country. By the time we got to Dallas, we were
ready to give up our high school dreams and begin a new adventure as a Merchant
Marine.

It was the spring of 1945 when I caught a train to Catalina Island, California to
attend the Maritime School for my basic training. After about a week of training, I felt
an unbelievable pain in my stomach. My cabin mate helped me to the medics. After a
few pokes and prods, I was sent to the surgery room to have my appendix removed.
They sent me home for a couple of weeks to recover before I shipped out.

When I returned back to basic training my unit had already shipped out. I got
my orders for my first steam ship, the S.S. Muncie Victory. On May 2, 1945, we left port.
I was assigned to the Officer‘s Mess. We headed up the coast to Seattle, Washington

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where we were loaded with incendiary bombs to be delivered to the Marshall Islands
and Guam.

On my way back from San Francisco, I caught a ride on a milk train to
Brownwood, Texas. I just so happened to run into friends going back to Mansfield so I
caught a ride home with them.

After my first assignment, I was able to come home and marry my high school
sweetheart. I finally had enough money to buy her a ring. After a short time off, I left
my new wife to get our small house on the farm ready to begin our lives together.

My next steam ship was in February 14, 1946 the S. S. Front Royal, out of
Galveston, Texas. We were headed Coastwise on this assignment. I had learned more
about the ship by now, and I received the Fireman-Watertender ticket. I was assigned
to watch the gages of the steam turbines that kept the ship headed to the next port. We
made our way to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I went right back on the S. S. Front Royal
in Philadelphia and headed out to foreign seas. We went down by Rio, then across to
England with a load of oil.

What would be my final assignment was on the S. S. Caribbean out of Houston,
Texas. Heading out to sea with a load of oil, we got our orders to head to Japan. Our
ship was heavily armed with 20 mm guns, 3‖50‘s cannons, and 5‖50‘s cannons. The
Navy was there to help but when we were on alert, I was a loader for the 20mm.

I remember good food and dark starry nights. By the moonlight, I watched for
subs, torpedoes, porpoises, and the occasional whale. There was even a huge hurricane
that we went through getting to Japan. I was in the boiler room monitoring the gages.
My body was tossing back and forth on the instruments. Finally, I just grabbed hold of
a pipe to keep from being tossed about.

There was once a ship that came so close to ours that I could have reached out
and touched her side. I still don‘t know who‘s black, dark ship it was that slipped
passed us in the dark of night. We finally caught up with our convoy and made our way
to Tokyo Bay where there were rows and rows of ships. Come to find out, we were just
a few ships over from the 3rd Fleet where the treaty was signed to end the war. I was
just a few ships away from history being made. We found out later that Tokyo was
bombed with the Incendiary bombs that we helped carry over. After refilling the big
ships with oil, we headed back to New York and I caught the train home to my family.

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After 4 different tours, I came home to work for Swift, Co. in their lab testing
baby food. I didn‘t have a high school diploma and my experiences were limited. I
eventually was able to work my way up to the boiler and engine rooms there where I
was one of the last people to shut the plant down in 1968. Because the boilers were the
same as the ones on the ship, I was able to use my experiences in the Merchant Marines
to grow and advance my career at Swift.

I came a long way from a country boy to helping man ships in a war situation.
Looking back, I missed not having the recognition like the other soldiers in the
branches of the armed services. I am proud to have been a Merchant Marine and I am
proud to be recognized as serving in a branch of the Armed Services.

LEON A. WORTMAN
TO CATCH A SHADOW (EXCERPTS FROM THE BOOK)

The deck crew readies our ship. The Chief Engineer is building a head of steam
in the ship's engines. With a great roaring sound as it breaks a channel in the ice pack,
the Joseph Stalin moves forward, stops, reverses engines and then moves forward again.
In four hours the Joseph Stalin's brute force clears the area around the six departing ships
to allow us to move under our own power away from the dock at Molotovsk, North
Russia.

The Chief Mate, Mr. Thompson, estimates the ice is at least six feet thick. Our
ship is last in line and follows the narrow channel through the broken ice. The North
Russian weather is clear and calm, but still extremely cold. We move at a speed of about
four knots toward the mouth of the White Sea.

Suddenly, with an exceptionally loud cacophony of grinding sounds, the ship
shudders violently. It continues to shake viciously as we try to move forward! The
General Alarm bell sounds! Possibly a mine! Not a torpedo! No U-Boat could have
broken through the ice.

The Ship's Officers and the deck gang race around the ship, looking down over
the sides, at the ship's bow, starboard and port sides and the stern. The Chief Engineer
is at the stern. He rings the bridge and, using the lookout's telephone, tells the Captain,
"We've hit a huge, submerged log stuck in a giant block of ice!"

"What damage, chief?"
"I think one of the screw's blade's been badly bent, Captain!"
"Can we continue in the convoy?"
"Depends on the convoy's speed. We daren't do more than five or six knots,
Captain!"
"Okay, chief. Come to my cabin, please. You, too, Mr. Thompson."
I tell the two radio operators and the gunnery officer what we think happened.
At normal speed, we would have a full day's run in the perilous Barents Sea west to
Murmansk. A half hour later, the Captain comes to the radio room and asks me use the
signaling light to report to the commodore of the convoy, a British freighter, "Struck
log. Bent screw. Max speed 6 knots."

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The commodore signals, "Stand by." Fifteen minutes later he signals, "Convoy
speed is 10 knots." End of message.

This means we must straggle behind the unescorted convoy, proceed alone.
Perfect weather for U-Boats and Luftwaffe. Captain Hudnall issues orders for everyone
to wear life jackets all the time. I stand by the Captain. Both radio operators are on
watch. At our speed, it's going to be a long day and a half, almost two days between
here and Murmansk.

Freighters traveling unescorted usually bring U-Boats to the surface. They take
the crew prisoner or set them adrift in lifeboats to freeze. When everyone is clear, the
U-Boat shells the ship, a procedure less costly than launching a torpedo. The Chief
Engineer comes to the bridge to discuss a repair plan with the Captain. The empty ship
rides high in the water. He proposes to slowly pump water into the empty #1 hold
while we are en route to Murmansk. This will begin to raise the ship's stern and screw
out of the water. As soon as we drop anchor at Murmansk, he'll speed up the pumping
until the screw's bent blade is completely out of the water. Then, they'll put one of the
large life-rafts over the side as a work-platform, tie it to the ship's stern and the entire
engine gang will work full time cutting off the bent edge of the blade. How long will it
take? No one has a better plan to propose, so the Captain approves.

Impossible to explain, despite clear, blue skies and calm seas, we neither see nor
hear the slightest indicators of the enemy. We sail as though on a pleasure cruise--but
with our ship's bow gradually going lower into the water and our stern beginning to
rise. At last, we enter the Kola Inlet and head for a group of ships anchored in
midstream.

Word has apparently been spread among the ships in Kola Inlet about the
probable demise of the John La Farge. The moment the other American freighters
recognize us, they blow their whistles for minutes on end and raise a heck of a joyous
noise! We blow our whistle repeatedly in happy response. We find a clear spot and drop
anchor off Murmansk.

All hands are eager to help launch the life raft and tie it to the ship's stern. In a
few hours the bent screw is clear of the water. All day and night, under floodlights and
ignoring frequent bombing runs by enemy aircraft, the engine gang works without rest.
Twenty-four hours of heroic hard, manual labor payoff. The bent part of the blade
silently drops into the sea and the water is pumped out of hold #1.

Our ship is ordered to move below Murmansk to Kola for a load of ballast
materials. Our holds are filled with pulp wood. Excellent. It floats! After taking on all
the ballast we can hold, our ship moves back to Murmansk. Our maximum speed is
estimated at 10 knots.
--------------------------------------

June 1, 1944. Once again, our ship anchors off Gourock. But we do not move
to a dock. We are directed to steer to Loch Ewe, one of the numerous and exquisitely
lovely inlets and lakes on Scotland's west coast. It's a short run. We arrive and find an
enormous assembly of ships at anchor-freighters and warships of many types. British
Commandos and American Rangers are training and practicing beach landings. Live

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ammunition is being used by the "defenders." Two-men submarines, amazingly tiny
craft, are moving about the Loch under an overcast sky.

We've been listening closely to the short-wave news broadcasts. Certainly, the
invasion of Europe is to take place any day now. Exactly where and when? A well kept
secret, of course. We expect the John La Farge will be in the invasion fleet. With a cargo
of pulp wood? Strange. Perhaps we are going to be a troop transport. We're all
guessing. None of us really knows.

On June 3, 1944, a British officer comes aboard the John La Farge, hands
Captain Hudnall a large envelope to be opened today at 1300 hours and then he leaves.
The envelope contains the usual convoy documents for the Captain, Chief Mate,
gunnery officer and radio officer. The destination is not given, only our position in a
convoy and a compass heading, which takes us essentially due west of Loch Ewe. Two
hundred miles out we will receive, by signaling light, a new heading and our next
rendezvous position. Departure time is 0600 hours, June 4, 1944. The ship's unbalanced
propeller continues to make us vibrate and shake. Nothing can be done about it now.
Convoy speed is to be 10 knots. We can barely handle it. Our damaged and missing
screw-blade restrains our capabilities.

There's the commodore's signaling light! We're now 200 miles west of Scotland.
I call out the heading and rendezvous information to the 1st Mate, Captain Hudnall and
the gunnery officer. We rush to the chart room to enter the data on the map and
estimate our probable destination. If we continue sailing in a straight line and the
weather holds up, we could be in New York City in approximately 15 days.

Our radio is tuned to the BBC. "Today, June 6, 1944, the invasion of Europe has
begun!" It appears we are not part of the invasion fleet. All of us have mixed feelings.
We are glad the long-expected battles have begun. We feel a sense of having deserted
our soldiers by heading back to the United States at this time. However, we are
somewhat relieved. After long months in the Arctic, we'll be home and warm again.

U-Boat activity on the return trip is non-existent now. Hard to believe. The
German Navy hasn't surrendered. Better keep our eyes open. Our escort is small. Most
battle-capable ships are taking part in the invasion of Normandy. Perhaps all Nazi units
are concentrating on Europe.

After an uneventful crossing, we see our landfall. The top of the parachute
jump at Coney Island, Brooklyn. When we reach land again, first thing everybody's
going to do is drink gallons and gallons of milk. Then go home to see their families.
They haven't heard from us, nor we from them, in the longest time.
--------------------------------------

I board the John La Farge as an interested visitor. Captain Hudnall invites me to
stay for dinner. It's great to sit in the salon again with my good friends, Mr. Thompson
and George Leitner. The new Chief Engineer has gone ashore for the evening. His 1st
Assistant is new. The 2nd and 3rd have not been selected yet. Same for the 2nd and 3rd
Mates. The Captain's being very selective. "Yes, this ship's going back to North Russia.
She needs a Chief Radio Officer."

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George turns to me. "How about it, Sparks? We proved we work well
together." Captain Hudnall smiles. Mr. Thompson and George smile.

One week later, the convoy forms in lower New York Bay and I'm on board,
assigned once again to the DF watch. We have the starboard coffin comer. Too bad. It
means once again we're an ammunition ship.

The new Armed Guard officer, Lt.jg H. Unterman is a very congenial guy.
Unterman and I are about the same age and immediately become good friends. Because
of our destination, two experienced Navy radio operators are on board to assist me.
Usual accommodations. Four hours on watch and eight off. The new Chief Engineer,
Mr. MacDonough is a jolly, short, gregarious, white-haired "ole sea animal," as he calls
himself. His self confidence and faith in the John La Farge reinforce us. His assistants are
all experienced seamen, but they're loners. The 2nd and 3rd Mates are cheerful,
experienced and knowledgeable. Yes, indeed. Captain Hudnall has again hand picked a
fine group of officers.

As before, the convoy heads toward Halifax to pick up more ships and escort
vessels. It's strange to be voluntarily repeating the last trip. Maybe this time we'll have
favorable weather as well as no U-Boats, floating mines or air attacks. Maybe North
Russia will be warm. Dream on!

As soon as the Canadian contingent joins us, the convoy is instructed to change
its heading to a more northerly bearing.
--------------------------------------

As soon as the Canadian contingent joins us, the convoy is instructed to change
its heading to a more northerly bearing. This brings us to the southern coast of
Greenland. The next maneuver has us sailing north by east, skirting the ice-covered
white coast of Greenland. We receive a signal to head southeast, in the direction of the
United Kingdom.

I take the early morning DF watch and begin the routine of sweeping the radio
spectrum while rotating the DF's direction-sensing loop antenna. The 1st and 2nd Mates,
using their beloved sextants, take the ship's bearings quite often during the daylight
hours. Both of them are beside me in the chart room plotting the convoy's course, and
updating our position on the charts.

A cold chill races down my spine. In my DF's earphones, I hear a repeated: dit-
dit-dah-dah...dit-dit-dahdah...dit-dit-dah-dah. The U-Boat homing signal! Quickly, I rotate the
loop antenna to determine the direction from which the signal is coming. I call out the
bearing with respect to our ship to the Mates and race to the flying bridge and the
signaling light. Captain Hudnall's there. "We've picked up a weak U-Boat signal,
Captain. Approximately 50 degrees!" A few seconds later the commodore's signaling
light responds to my "attention" call. I send the short message, "Weak dit-dit-dah-dah, 50
degrees." I wait for acknowledgment, switch off the signaling light and race back to the
DF.

Within minutes, I hear a weak U-signal at 90 degrees. And another 120 degrees.
Still another at 180 degrees, directly astern of the convoy. The Captain and the 1st Mate
stand next to me as I call out the bearings. The 1st Mate charts the U-signals' bearings.

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The 3rd Mate comes in to the chart room. I ask him to get one of the Navy operators to
join me. At this critical moment I don't want to give up the DF watch. Continuing to
call out the U-signal bearings, my assistant writes them on a slip of paper. He knows
exactly what to do. We'd rehearsed it, just in case. He races to the flying bridge and
sends the information to the commodore's ship and then returns to me at the DF.

A few minutes later, maybe five minutes later, an urgent call comes from the
flying bridge. "The commodore is signaling us!" My assistant races to the bridge. The
commodore's message gives us a new heading to be executed in the next five minutes.
The Captain and the 1st Mate huddle over the charts. "This heads us for the west and
north coasts of Iceland."

Night time now. The Ü-signals haven't stopped. I'm unable to determine their
distance from the convoy. I can only estimate by the relative signal strengths whether
they are closing on us or losing us. Signals are getting stronger. A wolf-pack is closing
on us. New dit-dit-dah-dah signals put a U-Boat directly ahead of us.

The convoy hugs the west coast of Iceland, changing headings frequently. We're
sailing between the coasts of Greenland and Iceland. When we reach the most
northerly point of Iceland, we receive new headings. East toward Norway to the North
Cape. We're not turning back. The convoy's going to try to run for it!

The convoy's speed is increased to 11 knots. Fair weather continues and the
ocean remains calm. Unfortunately, conditions are just as exceptional for the U-Boats!
Their homing signals are becoming stronger. They're moving closer to the convoy!

By the time we are well past Iceland, I've reported 15 different Ü-signals. It's
daylight now. By word of mouth rather than by sounding the General Alarm bell, the
Armed Guard and merchant crews are instructed to take their stations and be ready for
action. Everyone on deck wears a life jacket and tests the small, battery operated red-
beacon lights clipped to their life jackets' collars. The tiny corvettes are no match for a
U-Boat wolf pack. How'd they ever decide to send a convoy on the Murmansk run with
so small an escort?

We see a group of ships astern closing on the convoy at a rapid speed. Our 5-
inch-38 cannon aims carefully but holds its fire. Lt. Unterman is at the stern cannon
studying the approaching vessel with his large binoculars. The stranger is signaling now.
Good news! It's a U.S. Coast Guard Cutter and several corvettes. Coast Guard Cutters,
the Captain tells us, though not heavily armed are often faster and larger than
destroyers. We sound the ship's horn in salute to the cutter as she comes close to our
beam and passes us. Perhaps with all the U-Boat radioactivity, those who make such
decisions have carefully reconsidered the chances for survival of our poorly defended
convoy. The Captain opens his sealed orders. From Gourock we are to move north to
Loch Ewe, Scotland. The convoy will sail from Loch Ewe to North Russian ports.
Because of renewed U-Boat and Luftwaffe activities in the North Atlantic, the escort is
being significantly increased for this specific run.

Finally, we depart Loch Ewe and form the convoy to Russia. More ships are
approaching. The commodore signals these are additional escort vessels. Our positions
are changed to make room in the starboard column for a baby aircraft carrier, a

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converted freighter with slow-flying British Swordfish biplanes on board for spotting
U-Boats. Several British destroyers also join us. The U.S. Coast Guard Cutter leaves,
probably to escort a west bound convoy. As the convoy heads north into the open
ocean west of the Hebrides Islands, the ratio of escorts to merchant ships now appears
to be one-for-one.

Half a day out of Scotland, the convoy's speed is increased to 11.5 knots. We're
heading straight for the North Cape, the northern tip of Norway, in the Barents Sea.
The temperature is dropping rapidly. The days are going to be short, the nights very
long. The Luftwaffe is well within striking range. I continue the DF search, listening
especially for "A"-signals.

Suddenly the escort's voice communications radio, which has been quiet up to
now, breaks into a series of rapid, short messages. The General Alarm bells ring! They
seem louder than ever. I run to the starboard wing of the bridge. The commodore and
the escort are flying the black flag: enemy in the vicinity! I race to the flying bridge for any
new instructions from the Captain. He points toward the stern of our ship. I see six
aircraft, low on the horizon, slowly flying back and forth in some sort of formation, too
far away to enable positive identification. Lt. Unterman, the Armed Guard officer is on
the flying bridge with a telephone connected to all the gun turrets and the fore and aft
cannons. He has been told this is a typical tactic of the Luftwaffe, intended to jangle
everyone's nerves. At some point in time, not a very long time, the aircraft can be
expected to turn and race in to attack the convoy's stern. And that's exactly what
happens! The aircraft are JU88 dive bombers and each is also equipped with a single
torpedo!

The corvettes are running close to the convoy. The destroyers are further out.
Our gunners track the airplanes' movements. I race to the radio room where the two
Navy operators are on duty. With a deafening roar and formidable concussions, the 5-
inch-38 stern cannon begins to fire. It fires again and again, shaking the ship severely
each time. Within seconds, the anti-aircraft guns on the flying bridge and at the ship's
stern start firing, which means the JU88s are close in and flying low. Our 3-inch-50
cannon at the ship's bow and the 20mm anti-aircraft guns add their sharp, raucous
voices to the discordant concerto. The combination of ear-splitting ack-ack-ack and
booming blasts make it impossible to monitor the radio.

I step out onto the small deck aft of the radio room and look to our starboard.
An airplane skimming the tops of the waves is making a torpedo run directly toward
our ship! Just a speck at first, it slowly grows larger as it closes the distance. All the
starboard 50mm guns and the fore and aft cannons concentrate their fire on the
torpedo plane. I am transfixed by the sight. My ears shut down. My brain shuts down.
Everything seems to be happening in silent, slow motion.
With no more than seconds to go before the plane is close enough to loose its torpedo;
a shell from our 5-inch-38 explodes under the plane's right wing. It is tossed up into the
air, cartwheels and crashes into the ocean with the torpedo still attached to its
underside! Our guns swing around and prepare for the next attack.

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The JU88 dive bombers fly over the convoy and, at a safe distance, circle the
convoy for another run. Several more torpedo planes make runs but are driven off by
the combined fire from the destroyers, corvettes and armed merchant ships. No
torpedoes have yet been fired by U-Boats. Unterman's guess is they'll wait for darkness,
come in close to the convoy and launch their attacks.

The two Navy radio operators join me on the afterdeck. All we can do is
observe the action. Another pass is made by the JU88s. One starts a low-level run on
our column. Our stern gun, the 5-inch-38 is firing as fast as the men can feed it shells.
Several other ships in the convoy are throwing all the fire they can at the plane. The
noise is deafening. I hold my hands tightly over my ears and watch the speeding dive
bomber, now in a descending angle, as it closes on its target--our ship! The shells from
our stern cannon explode in the air creating huge puffs of smoke and deep-throated
roars. Suddenly, the attacking dive bomber goes out of control and plunges into the
ocean, downed by one of our shells!

The remaining JU88s fly over the convoy. Unable to come in at a low altitude,
they climb out of the range of the convoy's guns, turn to starboard and fly off in
formation. The torpedo planes are probably over the horizon and out of sight.

The attack ends as suddenly as it began. Several minutes later the black flags
come down. All clear-for the present. I ask my radio operators the name of the
gunner's Mate in charge of the 5-inch-38. "Comerford. Jim Comerford.‖

"I'd sure like to shake his hand. Gad, what shooting!"
I'm alone on the midnight to four watch. A knock on the door.
"Sparks? I'm Jim Comerford. May I come in?"
May he come in? You bet! He's the hero-of-the-hour on the John La Farge. I
don't know how the generic hero is supposed to look, but I estimate Jim is about 25
years of age, a husky redhead, almost handsome, 6'2" Irishman. He's frowning,
definitely depressed. I shut the door and point to the chair at the typewriter.
"Sit down, Jim. Can I get you anything?" I pause to study his expression. "Why
do you look so downhearted, Jim? You should be proud. You knocked down a dive
bomber and a torpedo plane in the first attack on the convoy! You saved the ship and
probably our lives!"
He hesitates. "I'm not sure how to say this. But… He pauses. Begins again.
"But, technically, I missed the dive bomber."
I'm surprised, baffled and amused. "Missed? I saw it drop into the ocean. What
do you mean 'technically I missed,‘ Jim?"
He looks up at the ceiling. "Well… you see. I set the range and timing for the
proximity fuses in the shells. That particular shell was supposed to explode directly
under the plane and disable it. Instead, the shell went through the plane!‖
Is he kidding? "But you did shoot it down, Jim."
"In gunnery school that would be a technical miss."
"No, Jim. Technically the JU88 was destroyed and we're okay. You saved the
ship and a lot of lives."

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Jim sees the humor in the situation. He sits upright, breathes deeply and slowly
begins to smile until he breaks into a full tension-releasing laugh. "Whew! Glad I came
here to talk with you. The word around the Armed Guard is you're okay. Thanks.
Thanks a lot, sir!"

"Jim. As far as the officers of this ship are concerned, you made a direct hit, not
once but twice today. Enjoy the glory, pal! You can bet, as soon as the John La Farge
docks, the bos'n will paint two large silhouettes of airplanes high up on the smoke
stack. The ship's victory emblems! Our score card!"

All we have to do is make it around the North Cape to a friendly port. Right?
Right!

S.S. BRAZIL VICTORY
VC2-AP2 Class Victory Ship, 455 ft. long, 62 ft. wide. 23 ft. draft, 8500 HP loaded,
speed 18/19 knots, 8,000 gross tonnage

JOHN KENDRICK WRIGHT
RICHARDSON, TEXAS 75080

On August 14, 1920 Jess and Bess Wright were blessed with the birth of their
second son, John Kendrick. John developed a strong interest in working on the family
farm on the edge of Vernon, Texas and in becoming an Eagle Scout. He accomplished
the rank of Eagle Scout with gold palum leaf. While in high school he played clarinet
with the marching band and graduated in May 1938. He worked while enrolled at Texas
Tech College of Engineering and graduated with a B. S. in Industrial Engineering.
While at Tech he was a founding member and officer of the service fraternity Alpha
Phi Omega and played with the ―Going Band from Raiderland‖ for three years.

After graduation from Texas Tech he worked for Westinghouse Electric in
Pittsburgh, Pa. moving to the elevator factory in Jersey City, N. J. They had 100% of
the U.S. Navy contracts during W.W. II. He worked as an assistant plant engineer until
he resigned to volunteer in the U. S. Merchant Marines. He entered the U. S. Merchant
Marine Academy Basic School at San Mateo, Ca. May 18, 1944. Below is an account of
the ships he sailed until his discharge August 1946.

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In June 1947 he requested withdrawal from the Marine Engineer‘s Beneficial
Association. He returned to the New York City office of Westinghouse Electric as an
Assistant Service-Construction Engineer and worked until Feb. 1, 1949.

In February 1949, he began working with the J. C. Penney Co. in their New
York home office in the real estate/ construction department as the first Mechanical
Field engineer. In June 1949 he was transferred to the regional office in Kansas City,
Mo. This position required travel throughout the U. S. While working with the J. C.
Penney Co., John designed heating and air conditioning systems, acted as an overseer to
their installation, accepted competing systems, trained store personnel in the operation
and maintenance of the systems, and when necessary supervised the repair or
replacement as needed. After 35 years of service he retired with the accomplishment of
visiting over 364 company stores and offices.

He married Josephine Brennen, a pretty, sweet, lovable bank teller, in March
1952. They were blessed with 2 daughters and a son and eventually 5 grandchildren.
They celebrated 35 years of marriage and many years in Richardson, Texas.

Currently, John is active in his local American Merchant Marine Veterans Chapter,
the Stephens S. Hopkins, as Purser.

HARROLD EUGENE “GENE” WRIGHT
TYLER, TX 75701

Now for the rest of the story; Kendrick‘s younger brother by four years was
also in service for the war effort. He was born in Vernon, Texas August 28, 1924 and
graduated from Vernon High School and attended Texas Tech during WWII as an
electrical engineering student. In high school he worked for the local radio station and
became a Ham amateur radio operator, W5KPO. He also became a commercial first

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class telephone radio operator which allowed him to work at the transmitter plant of
KFYO in Lubbock while he worked on his B.S. in electrical engineering degree which
he earned on September 1, 1944. Wright was given a direct commission in the US
Navy and assigned to work as an Electronics Field Engineer with the Electronic Field
Service Group of the Naval Research Labs all under the Navy Bureau of Ships, the
agency responsible for all Radar, Sonar, and other electronic gear of the Navy.

His most outstanding effort was performed with the Submarine Forces of the
Pacific Ocean Area under the command of Vice Adm. Charles A. Lockwood who had a
special project to send 18 submarines into the Sea of Japan through submarines mine
fields. Special Gear for the locating of the mines was developed for Submarine by West
Coast Research Labs and manufactured on the west coast for installation in 18
submarines.

Wright was sent to Guam in early 1945 to perfect the operation of the special
gear that effectively all 18 submarines to go into the Sea of Japan before the end of the
war sinking over 110 Japanese vessels helping bring a quick end to the war.

LTJG Wright later became a Petroleum Engineer and worked actively in the
East Texas oil fields.

USS HOLLAND / SUB. TENDER TWIN DOLPHINS

REFERENCES

1. Valour at Sea – Canada‘s Merchant Navy - written by Patricia Giesler
2. www.vac-acc.gc.ca/remembers/sub.cfm?source=history/other/sea/second
3. American Merchant Marine at War, www.usmm.org
4. http://www.merchant-navy-ships.com/index.php?id=39,0,0,1,0,0
Image credit: Photos of Lobnitz floating pier, Phoenix floating caisson under tow, and

Whale floating causeway, and paintings by Dwight C. Shepler of "Mulberry at Work"

and "Storm on Gooseberry" are from U.S. Army Transportation Museum, Operation
Mulberry web site (Reference #5, above) and are reproduced here by permission of the

Museum Director.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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BIOGRAPHY INDEX Maritime Tales of the Sea

Allard, Raymond Farley, Frederick
Allison, Ian Ferguson, Dale
Arkison, Owen Fields, Hardy
Baker, George Flatow, Bernard
Barker, Moses Forti, John
Baumgarner, Asa Fox, Irvin
Beaumont, Dean Frere, Charles
Bell, Wilbur Udell Gallagher, Thomas
Bennett, Herbert Gile, Douglas
Bentley, Bill Greenberg, James
Bernhardt, John Hakam, Samuel
Besig, Paul Hannon, James
Bishop, Roland Hardt, Charles
Blue, Kenneth Hauser, Stanley
Borczak, Richard Hennessy, John
Brewer, David Hiscock, Roy
Brown, Oza Hoffman, Willis
Brown, Richard Holt, Allen
Brown, Willard Jackson, Don
Budin, William Jarvis, Frank
Burns, Jim Johnson, Quinton
Byrd, Willard Jolly, James
Caico, Nicholas Jones, Thomas
Carpenter, Clyde Joneson, Melvin
Cauble, Robert Justin, John
Cawley, John Kerkow, Lawrence
Clanton, Lewis King, Woodrow
Cooper Jr., Robert Kinney, Karl
Corbett, John Kinter, Ed
Cortese, Tony Labelle, Maurice
Cross, William Lamp, Paul
D‘Agostino, Al Lawson, William
Dale, C.M. (Beech) Lord, George Jack
Delrich, Raymond Luikart, Walter
Dhabolt, Jack Lyau, Richard
Donly, Charles Lyon, William
Durand, M.C. Makowski, Hilary
Ebeling, Raymond Manzolillo, James
Ekoos, Bob Marrs, Clyde
Elliott, John McCamy, Richard
Ellison, Lester McConley, Ted
Erickson, Erick McDonnell, J

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McMullen, Clint Maritime Tales of the Sea
McSpadden, John
Mellish, Dan Sevier, Warren
Miller, Glen Sinz, Robert
Murray, Arthur Skinner, Harold
Nesbit, John Smith, Ralph Nelson
O‘Connor, Wm. Smith, William
Osborne, Joe Southwell, Philip
Panella, John Spangler, Don
Patterson, Warren Stephenson, Cale
Pavkov, William Taylor, Ralph
Paxton, George Tilton, Roger
Peterson, Conway Townsend, Jay
Peterson, George Trester, Ed
Phillips, Gene Trimbath, Donald
Piercy, Rodger Ulrich, Robert
Pinkerton, Frank Urbikas, Tony
Pixler, Willie Vic, Elmer
Plowman, Herbert Vinson, Al
Potts, John Wagy, Don
Powers, TA Cotton Wetmore, Lawrence
Rice, Richard White, Jim
Rich, Ira Wichita, AJ
Rines, Frank Williams, Jack
Robas, Leo Wilner, Stanley
Roberts, Maurice Wilson, Charles
Roland, Dennis Wilson, Joe
Schroeder, Lloyd Wilson, Paul
Seals, Jay Wortman, Leon
Wright, John
Wright, Harrold Eugene

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

WE WOULD LIKE TO THANK THE FOLLOWING WHO CONTRIBUTED SO
GRACIOUSLY TO HELP MAKE THIS BOOK POSSIBLE

BRUCE FELKNOR
CONGRESSMAN BOB FILNER
GEORGE LEONARD HIRSCH
U.S. NAVY ARMED GUARD:

CHARLES A. LLOYD
VAN C. MILLS
CHESTER A. POPKE
CANADIAN AND AUSTRALIAN MARINERS:
VETERANS AFFAIRS CANADA
CAPTAIN E.A. FLINT
LESLIE BULLOCK
LES ELLISON
HENRY B. ROWLAND
JUSTIN FOUNDATION
AMON G. CARTER FOUNDATION
JOE CAMPERSON
SS STEPHEN HOPKINS CHAPTER
DR. DAVID ENGLEKING, IN MEMORY OF HIS DAD, E.E. ENGLEKING, ARMY AIR CORPS,
DURING WWII
LEROY & SANDRA GILLAN, IN MEMORY OF HIS DAD
WOODROW KING
PAUL E. LAMP
CLINTON MCMULLEN
GENE PHILLIPS
HERBERT PLOWMAN
T.A. ―COTTON‖ POWERS
HARRY Q. WASSON
CHARLES WILSON

AMMV BOOK COMMITTEE:

WILLARD BYRD AL D‘AGOSTINO SAM LANE
JOHN MCSPADDEN
R. NELSON SMITH A.J. WICHITA SANDY MORAN

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EDITORIAL NOTES

WE WISH TO THANK EVERYONE WHO PARTICIPATED IN THE MAKING OF THIS BOOK.
STORIES WERE SUBMITTED FROM PEOPLE ALL OVER THE WORLD; SOME ALREADY
DECEASED AND SUBMITTED BY THEIR FAMILIES.

ADDITIONAL WWII MERCHANT MARINE BOOKS ARE LISTED AT THE FOLLOWING
WEBSITE: HTTP://WWW.USMM.ORG/BOOKS.HTML

DUE TO SPACE LIMITATIONS, EDITORIAL LICENSE WAS TAKEN IN THE PRINTING OF
SOME STORIES.

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ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Al D‘Agostino grew up in Rochester, New York, and lives in Arlington, Texas. Willard
Byrd was raised in Waynesboro and Dinwiddie County, Virginia and lives in Burleson,
Texas; they live less than 20 miles apart.
Al and Willard followed a unique pattern in Service to our country; during WWII they
both trained at Sheepshead Bay-Brooklyn, both served in the Merchant Marine, and in
1946 both served as crew on the same ship, the SS MARINE MARLIN.
As members of the AMMV SS Stephen Hopkins Chapter, they became acquainted and
realized that they both served on the same ship at the same time without knowing each
other. Al was in the Stewards Department and Willard was in the Deck Department.
The SS MARINE MARLIN had embarked on a highly secretive trip for the US State
Department stopping at eleven ports in South America and Europe repatriating Nazi‘s
who had infiltrated to South America escaping capture during the war and returned
them for some to face trial at Nuremberg, Germany. The SS MARINE MARLIN
carried a passenger load of over 5000 with over 200 hostile German‘s in cell block
below decks.
After WWII, Al and Willard both served in the Army. During the Korean War, Al
served with the Signal Corps. in Korea. Willard was in the US Army Occupation Forces
in Japan and the Air Force during the Korean War.
After the Korean War Willard continued working for the Government until he retired
with 27.5 years total service in May of 1975. The last 25 years before final retirement he
worked as an independent insurance adjuster.
Following the Korean War, Al attended Cornell University and received a Bachelor of
Science degree in Hotel Administration in 1956.
Al is the current Skipper of the SS Stephen Hopkins Chapter AMMV and Willard is his
First Mate.

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