We Remember
1933-1941
1933-1941
Launch of the USS Portland, 21 May, 1932. Portland was put into commission nine months later on 23 February, 1933. Click on the photo for a larger image.
The following narrative is excerpted from a lengthy interview with Leo Potts, recorded for the Naval Historical Foundation’s Oral History Program on 21 September, 2001. Leo, one of the original crewmembers - a Plankowner - reported aboard after the ship had been launched and helped put the USS Portland into commission. He served aboard from 1933 to 1942 when he was transferred to another heavy cruiser. In these excerpts Leo describes what it was like getting the ship ready for commissioning and his part in the commissioning ceremonies.
COMMISSIONING
Leo Potts
Plankowner
Potts: She [USS Portland] was within the [Boston] Navy yard getting ready to go on commission. There were three or four hundred yard workman aboard torches going, people painting that thing, chipping hammers going just, just a madhouse.
She had a scheduled date to go in commission; she had to be spick and span and spotless and everything. Ready to go.
…when I got aboard, they’d already moved most of the crew aboard. What they did, they moved the crew aboard and they’d all take over their part of the ship, start cleaning it and getting it ready go in commission. So we [Leo was assigned to the Quartermasters] had our compartment, our living compartment and the bridge, the chart house, the conning tower, after steering station that we had to clean paint and get ready. And we used paint by the gallon, boy, I mean, and the yard workman you know, they didn’t care what kind of shape they left some of it. If they weld this, they welded it. You go chip to weld and wire brush it and paint it. You red lead and then paint it. You just red lead and war colors, everywhere. Everybody had a paintbrush.
Interviewer: Were you there for the actual launching of the ship?
Potts: No …just commissioning. You see they launch them then it’s a long time between launching and commissioning. They launch them before a lot of the equipment goes aboard.
I went aboard between the launching and the commissioning.
[During the commissioning ceremonies] I was out on the commission pennant. I was busy. (chuckling)
Interviewer: So, you hoisted the commission pennant up?
Potts: Yes, and of course, [in] your dress blues. You know, your personal little individual thing. That's about it. Yeah, you know, you see all the people, and this stuff, and the band playing and all that, and the dignitaries, gold braid. The guys of the quartermaster gang, the detail on how to set up. You'll do this, you'll do this and you better do this right, and all this stuff.
You know the commissioning pennant is fastened to what they call a pig stick and the halyards are fastened to that pig stick. And it’s fixed so, that the stick will go completely above the hoisting part. It sticks up about eighteen inches above everything else and the commissioning pennant is on top of this. And when you run it up and down you bring pig stick and all down with that.
Yes, I hadn’t been in the Navy long, scared to death, afraid you’d do something wrong. “I’ve got to do this.” Then the Yeoman hollers, bugle blows, up go the colors, up go the commissioning pennant, pretty neat. Of course, everybody had worked on it; everybody knew pretty well what they were supposed to do. It went real smooth. I commissioned a PC boat over there. It was a far cry from the Portland commissioning. (chuckles)
Interviewer: So, you commissioned the Portland. You were a Plankowner.
Potts: Yes. I guess it was 1936, maybe later than that, when they took up the first plank before there was ever a repair to one of the decks. Of course, those decks were all teakwood. And they were, the seams were caulked together. Every seam had tar put in it. Oakum, a cork and fiber, a caulking fiber, put in that and then tar on top of that. All you could see was a fine seam of tar between each board. Of course, the decks were kept cleaner than most people’s tables, holy stoned every week. Scrubbed down every day, every day. There better not be a speck of dust anywhere. It was good training and a good life.
COMMISSIONING
Leo Potts
Plankowner
Potts: She [USS Portland] was within the [Boston] Navy yard getting ready to go on commission. There were three or four hundred yard workman aboard torches going, people painting that thing, chipping hammers going just, just a madhouse.
She had a scheduled date to go in commission; she had to be spick and span and spotless and everything. Ready to go.
…when I got aboard, they’d already moved most of the crew aboard. What they did, they moved the crew aboard and they’d all take over their part of the ship, start cleaning it and getting it ready go in commission. So we [Leo was assigned to the Quartermasters] had our compartment, our living compartment and the bridge, the chart house, the conning tower, after steering station that we had to clean paint and get ready. And we used paint by the gallon, boy, I mean, and the yard workman you know, they didn’t care what kind of shape they left some of it. If they weld this, they welded it. You go chip to weld and wire brush it and paint it. You red lead and then paint it. You just red lead and war colors, everywhere. Everybody had a paintbrush.
Interviewer: Were you there for the actual launching of the ship?
Potts: No …just commissioning. You see they launch them then it’s a long time between launching and commissioning. They launch them before a lot of the equipment goes aboard.
I went aboard between the launching and the commissioning.
[During the commissioning ceremonies] I was out on the commission pennant. I was busy. (chuckling)
Interviewer: So, you hoisted the commission pennant up?
Potts: Yes, and of course, [in] your dress blues. You know, your personal little individual thing. That's about it. Yeah, you know, you see all the people, and this stuff, and the band playing and all that, and the dignitaries, gold braid. The guys of the quartermaster gang, the detail on how to set up. You'll do this, you'll do this and you better do this right, and all this stuff.
You know the commissioning pennant is fastened to what they call a pig stick and the halyards are fastened to that pig stick. And it’s fixed so, that the stick will go completely above the hoisting part. It sticks up about eighteen inches above everything else and the commissioning pennant is on top of this. And when you run it up and down you bring pig stick and all down with that.
Yes, I hadn’t been in the Navy long, scared to death, afraid you’d do something wrong. “I’ve got to do this.” Then the Yeoman hollers, bugle blows, up go the colors, up go the commissioning pennant, pretty neat. Of course, everybody had worked on it; everybody knew pretty well what they were supposed to do. It went real smooth. I commissioned a PC boat over there. It was a far cry from the Portland commissioning. (chuckles)
Interviewer: So, you commissioned the Portland. You were a Plankowner.
Potts: Yes. I guess it was 1936, maybe later than that, when they took up the first plank before there was ever a repair to one of the decks. Of course, those decks were all teakwood. And they were, the seams were caulked together. Every seam had tar put in it. Oakum, a cork and fiber, a caulking fiber, put in that and then tar on top of that. All you could see was a fine seam of tar between each board. Of course, the decks were kept cleaner than most people’s tables, holy stoned every week. Scrubbed down every day, every day. There better not be a speck of dust anywhere. It was good training and a good life.
Photograph taken in 1933-1934, showing Portland crew members holy stoning the port side deck next to the number 3, 8 inch gun turret.
Front cover of a crew member's personal photo album for the first two years after Portland was put into commission.
Postal cover franked 29 March, 1933, the first day of postal services aboard the Portland. Click on the photo for a larger image.
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A photograph from the 1933-1934 Logalbum showing a member of the Marine detachment and deckhands in front of the number 3, 8 inch turret at the aft end of the ship. Click on the photo for a larger image.
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AKRON
Howard Benge, USMC Vol. I, p. 3
Plankowner
I reported aboard in early 1933 as a Private from Boot Camp at Paris Island via Sea School at Norfolk. Except for the NCOs, the entire marine detachment seemed to be "fresh caught." I was assigned as the Captain's Orderly and, to give me a place to study for Naval Academy Prep School exams, was given the Marines storeroom to police. I was also a pointer on the port side 5" AA on the hangar deck. I smashed the end of my middle finger, right hand, when the lid to the ammo storage fell on it.
On our first cruise after leaving Boston (in a gale) I was really seasick and on the bridge. Captain Leary stuck his head out of the warm control room and said "Orderly." He saw my jaw as I hung over the rail aft on the port side and in a very disgusted voice said "Never mind."
Later we were in Gravesend Bay in New York Harbor loading ammunition when we were ordered out to sea to search for the rigid airship AKRON that had gone down. Captain Leary was head man of the search group - mostly Coast Guard. We located the wreck, brought up some of the inner structure and a few bodies. We were "on station" for 30 days and that eliminated our shakedown cruise that we were wondering about. Whatever it was, we ended up in Kingston, Jamaica, before heading for the Panama Canal and on to Bremerton, Washington.
Somewhere along the way we were in port and I had the 8 to midnight watch as the Captain's orderly. I was sure that Capt. Leary (who had a full rigged ship tattooed on his chest) had gone ashore and was not going to return until morning. I helped myself to a glass of lemon-ade from a silver pitcher on his side board. It was sweltering and I could see the beads of water running down the sides of the pitcher.
Unfortunately, just as I had filled the glass, I became aware of the Skipper watching me from the doorway. I offered him the full glass. He declined and walked across the office to his stateroom. I put the full glass on the sideboard and went outside to wait for the axe to fall. It never did. I assume that he believed the uncertainty was more punishment than a lecture (or more) from the detachment commander.
It's a wonderful thing that the memory holds on to the funny and human events and tends to hide the unpleasant things.
WEDDING BELLS
William White USMC Vol. I, p. 4
Plankowner
I met my wife of 54 years when she came aboard as a visitor in 1934 and married her two years later.
I remember when the Portland was in charge of the search for the Akron. The first that I was aware of something going on was when I woke up during the night and the ship was underway. When I had turned in that night, the ship was in Graves End, NY loading ammunition.
While we were at sea looking for the remains of the Akron, three fishermen came aboard ship and offered to tell where the Akron had gone down and for a reward would disclose the area. I know of this because I was the Captain's Orderly on duty at that time. You can be sure that Captain Leary had them all put over the side when he heard their offer.
We were also involved in the search for the Macon, sister ship of the Akron, when it went down on the West Coast.
William White USMC Vol. I, p. 4
Plankowner
I met my wife of 54 years when she came aboard as a visitor in 1934 and married her two years later.
I remember when the Portland was in charge of the search for the Akron. The first that I was aware of something going on was when I woke up during the night and the ship was underway. When I had turned in that night, the ship was in Graves End, NY loading ammunition.
While we were at sea looking for the remains of the Akron, three fishermen came aboard ship and offered to tell where the Akron had gone down and for a reward would disclose the area. I know of this because I was the Captain's Orderly on duty at that time. You can be sure that Captain Leary had them all put over the side when he heard their offer.
We were also involved in the search for the Macon, sister ship of the Akron, when it went down on the West Coast.
RANDOM SHOTS FROM A PLANKOWNER
Col. H. B. Benge, USMC (Ret) Vol. II, pp. 2-4
High school to Parris Island, Boot Camp to Sea School - Portsmouth, VA - coastal vessel to Boston and USS Portland. Entire Marine detachment, with few exceptions, made the trip together, February, 1933.
1. My tasks were assigned early. Battle station as trainer on portside forward 5" AA on the hangar deck. The watch bill had me as one of the captain’ orderlies. Detachment duty was in charge of the supply hold directly under the detachment berthing area. Got that in order to study. I had enlisted when an appointment to the Naval Academy fell through. I discovered many years later, at Headquarters, that any individual wanting to try for the Academy was assigned duties that met the entrance requirements i.e. two years enlisted, under 21 on April of year of entrance and 9 months of sea duty. The C. O., I realize now, had been informed.
2. My main recollections, after 60 years are few and jaded. The Skipper, Herbert Fairfax Leary was a large man with a large pipe and a fully rigged ship tattooed on his chest. Later, when he was an Admiral and I was a Captain in the USMC, I spent a few months with him in the South Pacific.
3. Standing gangway watches on the dock in about 3' of snow. Never been so cold before. Or since.
4. When we left Boston all was smooth. The skipper was on the bridge inside. I was outside. There was a tidy little gale that hit us as we rounded Cape Cod so I stayed outside. First I was afraid that I was going to die and then afraid that I wasn't. The Cpl. Of the Guard appeared and told me that there was no one to relieve me since the entire detachment was sick. The skipper stuck his head out of the bridge and said "Orderly?" After seeing my color he said in a very disgusted voice, "Never mind." I thought my career was down the tubes.
5. We anchored in Gravesend Bay and a lighter came alongside with ammo. For the Marines it was a 5" cartridge on a shoulder as it came through a port hole. Carry it to a hoist where it went below. After a couple of hours of this, I suddenly found myself on deck with my back against a bulkhead.
6. That night the ship was ordered underway for the Jersey coast to search for one of the Navy's rigid airships (ed. note - USS Akron) which had crashed about 30 miles off shore.
The Portland was the flag for the civilian, Coast Guard and Navy search vessels. A few bodies were recovered along with many pieces of aluminum beams. I salvaged one and kept it for many years and then lost track of it. The same thing happened to a 5" AA piece that missed my head by inches when I was trotting across the Marine Barracks parade ground in Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.
7. The stay off the Jersey coast did two things. Those 30 days in winter produced the just nickname, the "Rolling P." The other was the elimination of our shakedown cruise where ever it was supposed to be. There were many versions from "reliable sources" but what really happened was that we spent the night in the bay at Kingston, Jamaica.
8. Thru the Canal and finally to Bremerton where the ship was loaded with civilian and navy technicians. We put to sea heading for Japan. Full speed was ordered and the safety valves tied down. We went straight for 24 hours. The rooster tail must have been 20-25' tall and the white water behind us was visible to the horizon. If I remember correctly it was something over 34 knots. It was a bit different the second day. No change in speed but full right rudder, full left and back again. Many figure eights. The climax. Still going at full speed the order was given for full astern. Everything that could move did. All those items that had been tucked away came out of hiding. Then back to Bremerton.
9. While in Bremerton we received a message that cancelled all exams for the Naval Academy Prep school. Done on the grounds that no one on board young enough to take the exam had enough sea duty. I was able to get an emergency liberty from our Sgt. Major. This got me ashore to send a telegram to the officer who got me into the Marine Corps. Later that same day, OPNAV sent a message authorizing the exams with the order that anyone who passed should be sent to the East Coast by sea.
10. The marine detachment was moved to the Kitsap County Rifle and Revolver Club in the local mountains. We lived in tents and broke ice off" our water buckets when we got up in the mornings. We tried all of our weapons and enjoyed the crisp air but were glad to get back to the ship when it was over.
11. We got back on board just in time to take part in that all hands function - scraping the hull. We made a game out of it. I don't know how good a job we did but we sure ruined a lot of uniforms.
12. The marines organized a whaleboat crew. I was the bow oar - all 145 pounds of me. Had lots of fun.
13. Not long after our mountain outing it was my turn for the 8-12 in the morning. The night message board came in. I waited for the skipper to finish breakfast and took my usual look through the messages. In one of the messages I found my name saying that I had passed the exam for prep school and to be sent to the East coast. Later the skipper called "Orderly" and when I went into his cabin he handed me the message board and said "You have probably read this - but read it again."
14. The orders were written for me to rail to San Diego, report on board the Antares for transport to Hampton Roads. A physical was required before orders could be written. The dentist discovered a tooth erupting from the roof of my mouth. So - the morning of my departure he tried to remove it. It shattered (I was picking pieces for years) and the hole was so big that he had to put a stitch in it. He had problems pulling the thread tight and finally tied a knot that sat on my tongue. He said to chew through the thread in about two days and gently pull it out.
15. Years later I found the name of the other crew member who passed the exam and entered the Naval Academy, one that I can say is a long-time friend. Captain Frank Zimanski, USN, (Ret.)
16. The Antares voyage left me short by 6 or 7 days of the required 9 month sea duty but no one seemed to notice. 28 years Marine Corps for pay purposes - 4 years USNA - no credit for pay purposes, 32 years for retirement. Turned 80 years old in June, 1995
Col. H. B. Benge, USMC (Ret) Vol. II, pp. 2-4
High school to Parris Island, Boot Camp to Sea School - Portsmouth, VA - coastal vessel to Boston and USS Portland. Entire Marine detachment, with few exceptions, made the trip together, February, 1933.
1. My tasks were assigned early. Battle station as trainer on portside forward 5" AA on the hangar deck. The watch bill had me as one of the captain’ orderlies. Detachment duty was in charge of the supply hold directly under the detachment berthing area. Got that in order to study. I had enlisted when an appointment to the Naval Academy fell through. I discovered many years later, at Headquarters, that any individual wanting to try for the Academy was assigned duties that met the entrance requirements i.e. two years enlisted, under 21 on April of year of entrance and 9 months of sea duty. The C. O., I realize now, had been informed.
2. My main recollections, after 60 years are few and jaded. The Skipper, Herbert Fairfax Leary was a large man with a large pipe and a fully rigged ship tattooed on his chest. Later, when he was an Admiral and I was a Captain in the USMC, I spent a few months with him in the South Pacific.
3. Standing gangway watches on the dock in about 3' of snow. Never been so cold before. Or since.
4. When we left Boston all was smooth. The skipper was on the bridge inside. I was outside. There was a tidy little gale that hit us as we rounded Cape Cod so I stayed outside. First I was afraid that I was going to die and then afraid that I wasn't. The Cpl. Of the Guard appeared and told me that there was no one to relieve me since the entire detachment was sick. The skipper stuck his head out of the bridge and said "Orderly?" After seeing my color he said in a very disgusted voice, "Never mind." I thought my career was down the tubes.
5. We anchored in Gravesend Bay and a lighter came alongside with ammo. For the Marines it was a 5" cartridge on a shoulder as it came through a port hole. Carry it to a hoist where it went below. After a couple of hours of this, I suddenly found myself on deck with my back against a bulkhead.
6. That night the ship was ordered underway for the Jersey coast to search for one of the Navy's rigid airships (ed. note - USS Akron) which had crashed about 30 miles off shore.
The Portland was the flag for the civilian, Coast Guard and Navy search vessels. A few bodies were recovered along with many pieces of aluminum beams. I salvaged one and kept it for many years and then lost track of it. The same thing happened to a 5" AA piece that missed my head by inches when I was trotting across the Marine Barracks parade ground in Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.
7. The stay off the Jersey coast did two things. Those 30 days in winter produced the just nickname, the "Rolling P." The other was the elimination of our shakedown cruise where ever it was supposed to be. There were many versions from "reliable sources" but what really happened was that we spent the night in the bay at Kingston, Jamaica.
8. Thru the Canal and finally to Bremerton where the ship was loaded with civilian and navy technicians. We put to sea heading for Japan. Full speed was ordered and the safety valves tied down. We went straight for 24 hours. The rooster tail must have been 20-25' tall and the white water behind us was visible to the horizon. If I remember correctly it was something over 34 knots. It was a bit different the second day. No change in speed but full right rudder, full left and back again. Many figure eights. The climax. Still going at full speed the order was given for full astern. Everything that could move did. All those items that had been tucked away came out of hiding. Then back to Bremerton.
9. While in Bremerton we received a message that cancelled all exams for the Naval Academy Prep school. Done on the grounds that no one on board young enough to take the exam had enough sea duty. I was able to get an emergency liberty from our Sgt. Major. This got me ashore to send a telegram to the officer who got me into the Marine Corps. Later that same day, OPNAV sent a message authorizing the exams with the order that anyone who passed should be sent to the East Coast by sea.
10. The marine detachment was moved to the Kitsap County Rifle and Revolver Club in the local mountains. We lived in tents and broke ice off" our water buckets when we got up in the mornings. We tried all of our weapons and enjoyed the crisp air but were glad to get back to the ship when it was over.
11. We got back on board just in time to take part in that all hands function - scraping the hull. We made a game out of it. I don't know how good a job we did but we sure ruined a lot of uniforms.
12. The marines organized a whaleboat crew. I was the bow oar - all 145 pounds of me. Had lots of fun.
13. Not long after our mountain outing it was my turn for the 8-12 in the morning. The night message board came in. I waited for the skipper to finish breakfast and took my usual look through the messages. In one of the messages I found my name saying that I had passed the exam for prep school and to be sent to the East coast. Later the skipper called "Orderly" and when I went into his cabin he handed me the message board and said "You have probably read this - but read it again."
14. The orders were written for me to rail to San Diego, report on board the Antares for transport to Hampton Roads. A physical was required before orders could be written. The dentist discovered a tooth erupting from the roof of my mouth. So - the morning of my departure he tried to remove it. It shattered (I was picking pieces for years) and the hole was so big that he had to put a stitch in it. He had problems pulling the thread tight and finally tied a knot that sat on my tongue. He said to chew through the thread in about two days and gently pull it out.
15. Years later I found the name of the other crew member who passed the exam and entered the Naval Academy, one that I can say is a long-time friend. Captain Frank Zimanski, USN, (Ret.)
16. The Antares voyage left me short by 6 or 7 days of the required 9 month sea duty but no one seemed to notice. 28 years Marine Corps for pay purposes - 4 years USNA - no credit for pay purposes, 32 years for retirement. Turned 80 years old in June, 1995
Members of one of the Portland's athletic teams photographed on the ship's well deck in September, 1933. Click on the photo for a larger image.
AKRON SEARCH
Ezra Johnson, USMC Vol. II, p. 8 Plankowner
I was sent from the Portsmouth Navy Yard, via the steamship Allegheny, to the Boston Navy Yard and was aboard the "Sweet Pea" (as we called the Portland then) along with 40 other Marines when the Portland was commissioned. I have the original addresses of all the marines that served aboard from 2-1-33 through Nov. 1935. I was working in the laundry and was the last of the original Marine detachment to leave the Portland. I left her in January, 1938 for Hawthorne, Nevada, Naval Ammunition Depot.
I remember when we left Boston and all hands were looking forward with great anticipation to liberty in New York City. The Portland dropped the hook in Sheepshead Bay around 1900 hours, April 3, 1933. When I was awakened to go on watch at midnight, I was scared. The ship was shaking like I had never felt before.
I dressed and went up on the bridge to relieve the Marine who was there on duty. I found out that we were going full speed ahead to search for the dirigible Akron which had crashed somewhere in the vicinity of Barnegat Light. Capt. Herbert Fairfax Leary was the S. O. P., and directed the search for survivors. They survived by clasping hands with a third man (who was dead) over a floating tank in the icy waters. I believe that one's name was Rosenthal.
The things that stick in my mind the most were the high waves, cold weather and very, very dense fog. Several days what I think was a fishing boat would all at once appear out of the fog beside the Portland. Someone would holler up to Capt. Leary that they knew where the crash was and ask what reward was offered to take the Portland to the location. Capt. Leary would say "There is no reward, but it is your duty to give us the information." The boat captain would say "We will be back," and chug away into the fog with Leary shaking his head.
I think we were there for several weeks (I later learned it was 31 days) before the search was called off and we made port at Norfolk, VA. I didn't see any wreckage from the Akron. I saw a newspaper clipping months later showing the Portland with some wreckage, but I've never believed it.
Ezra Johnson, USMC Vol. II, p. 8 Plankowner
I was sent from the Portsmouth Navy Yard, via the steamship Allegheny, to the Boston Navy Yard and was aboard the "Sweet Pea" (as we called the Portland then) along with 40 other Marines when the Portland was commissioned. I have the original addresses of all the marines that served aboard from 2-1-33 through Nov. 1935. I was working in the laundry and was the last of the original Marine detachment to leave the Portland. I left her in January, 1938 for Hawthorne, Nevada, Naval Ammunition Depot.
I remember when we left Boston and all hands were looking forward with great anticipation to liberty in New York City. The Portland dropped the hook in Sheepshead Bay around 1900 hours, April 3, 1933. When I was awakened to go on watch at midnight, I was scared. The ship was shaking like I had never felt before.
I dressed and went up on the bridge to relieve the Marine who was there on duty. I found out that we were going full speed ahead to search for the dirigible Akron which had crashed somewhere in the vicinity of Barnegat Light. Capt. Herbert Fairfax Leary was the S. O. P., and directed the search for survivors. They survived by clasping hands with a third man (who was dead) over a floating tank in the icy waters. I believe that one's name was Rosenthal.
The things that stick in my mind the most were the high waves, cold weather and very, very dense fog. Several days what I think was a fishing boat would all at once appear out of the fog beside the Portland. Someone would holler up to Capt. Leary that they knew where the crash was and ask what reward was offered to take the Portland to the location. Capt. Leary would say "There is no reward, but it is your duty to give us the information." The boat captain would say "We will be back," and chug away into the fog with Leary shaking his head.
I think we were there for several weeks (I later learned it was 31 days) before the search was called off and we made port at Norfolk, VA. I didn't see any wreckage from the Akron. I saw a newspaper clipping months later showing the Portland with some wreckage, but I've never believed it.
In this contemporary newsreel, CDR Herbert V. Wiley, Executive Officer of the Akron, and one of three surviving crew members, describes the crash.
Postal cover commemorating the loss of the Akron. Posted aboard the Portland on Memorial Day, 1934. The envelope bears the signature of J. K. Delano, who served as naval mail clerk aboard ship for the first few years she was in commission. Click on the photo for a larger image.
SMALL WORLD DEPARTMENT
Al Stauffer Vol. I, pp. 4-5
This began in 1936 when the Portland, along with the great majority of our fleet, arrived in San Francisco to participate in the dedication of the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge. I happened to join another E Division sailor, Tom Marcum, going down the gangway on liberty. Tom was an EM2c (I was a mere 3rd class fireman) and one of our divers - one of 2 or 3 aboard at the time.
A short time later we were walking up town when out of nowhere some gent comes running out of a building (a huge skyscraper) stating that he'd like us to accompany him to join in a radio broadcast. It was overwhelming. Me, a real country boy, hometown population in the hundreds - 36 pupils in grades 1 through 8 in the school, being asked to give a radio broadcast. I was reluctant, remembering someone's warning for a sailor in the Big City "Don't trust anybody wanting to offer a sailor a great deal." Tom, though, agreed to give it a try.
We proceeded up ever so many floors in an elevator. In a little while the elevator stops and we find ourselves in a hallway with instructions to follow this gent. Up we go on a wooden ladder that didn't look too sturdy and crawl through a hole in the roof and we were on top of San Francisco, so help me. I hope you get the feeling I had. This little "hayseed" peering over the edge of a wall possibly 4' tall and viewing the most dramatic scene. (It would probably impress me even today.)
The man instructed Tom and me to get a clear picture, in particular of the "Sweet P." We would be on the air in about 5 minutes to talk about the view and the Navy in general. He had explained earlier that he was so pleased to get one older and one younger sailor, each with a different viewpoint and knowledge.
He explained that he would count down from 5 and that at "1" we would be on the air. Tom had always seemed so worldly and knowledgeable and I never anticipated what followed, when the gent reached 1 loud and clear. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're honored today to bring you two young navy men, one with many years of service and another just out of training. Well start with the older. What is your name?"
Silence. Not a word. Tom just stood there, frozen with stage fright, unable to utter a word.
"The gentleman isn't quite ready, let's talk to the young fellow. What's your name?"
With a 'mike' thrust to my mouth, I responded "Albert Stauffer" and proceeded to tell all about boot camp in Newport, R.I. and what it felt like to be a part of all this.
Finally the gent says "Let's get back to the other gentleman."
Tom was still frozen with stage fright and couldn't respond. End of episode. Once off the air, though, the gent finally got him to talking.
Tom left the ship, I believe in 1937, but that's not the end of the story.
Several years ago I saw a gent with a USS Pennsylvania cap and asked him if he had actually served aboard her. I explained that I was from the "old" navy, 1936-40 and was on the Portland. To my surprise he tells me that he had a brother on the Portland. I expected him to tell me his brother was in the 5th division or something, but no, he tells me his brother was in E division and his name was Tom Marcum. It's a small world.
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Comic unofficial diplomas issued to LT Harold Doe for completion of Heavy Cruiser Gunnery School. At the bottom right corner of the 1937 diploma is the raised seal of the USS Portland.
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A WILD TIME IN THE NORTH PACIFIC
Eugene Bradley Vol. II, pp. 8-9
The USS Portland left Bremerton, Washington, on Friday afternoon 15 October, 1937 for Dutch Harbor, Alaska, bearing a cargo of supplies and 180 drums of oil and high octane gasoline which were secured on the fantail. All went well until 19 October when unfavorable weather conditions set in. The barometer began to fall steadily and erratically. A strong wind came in from SSE to SE and the sea became very heavy with white-capped waves.
Although the Portland received considerable damage, she weathered the storm in a sturdy and seaworthy manner. After three days and nights the storm subsided and the ship resumed her course and completed the expedition.
Robert Ripley, in his "Believe It or Not" series, wrote in reference to the USS Portland that (at that time) no other ship had ever rolled over as far as she had without completely capsizing.
When we anchored in Dutch Harbor, Alaska, cracks about six feet long were found near midship on both port and starboard sides of our ship.
A later cruise was much more pleasant and enjoyable. We left Long Beach, California, 4 January, 1939 for our cruise on the way to the New York World's Fair. Because our ship was such a beauty, it was often chosen to promote good public relations in many cities. We went first to the Panama Canal Zone; Guantanamo, Cuba; Gonaives, Haiti and on to fleet maneuvers. We continued to Culebra, Port of Spain, Trinidad and then back to Guantanamo and on to Mobile, Alabama.
After mooring to the dock in Mobile, a party was planned on the ship and many Mobile women were invited aboard. The Captain announced over the loudspeaker that we had been ordered back through the Canal and for everyone to have a good time. During my four years on the Portland, I had never seen an open party on the ship like this one. The sky was the limit. It seems that a German submarine had been seen near the Canal and there was some concern that they might try to close it.
MY FIRST DAY Vol. I, p. 5
Frank Stinson
How well I remember my first day aboard the Portland - June 25, 1938. At that time she was in for overhaul at the Mare Island Navy Yard and it was like nothing I had ever seen before. Lines, hoses, cables, tools and all sorts of material needed for repair work. That was not the kind of Navy life that I had expected to find but I was soon told what was being done and what to do when I was put on my first working party. I was a few days short of a full four years aboard the Portland and loved every minute of it.
Frank Stinson
How well I remember my first day aboard the Portland - June 25, 1938. At that time she was in for overhaul at the Mare Island Navy Yard and it was like nothing I had ever seen before. Lines, hoses, cables, tools and all sorts of material needed for repair work. That was not the kind of Navy life that I had expected to find but I was soon told what was being done and what to do when I was put on my first working party. I was a few days short of a full four years aboard the Portland and loved every minute of it.
CLOSE CALL
Norman Dunning Vol. II, 11-13
I have been reluctant to write this because I am unable to remember names, but just as well.
It was the fall of 1938. All of the Fleet had anchored in Long Beach Harbor in preparation for a fleet exercise. The carriers Saratoga and Lexington were anchored at the entrance to the harbor at the outer breakwater. The Indianapolis was anchored inside the inner breakwater as were the other cruisers and battleships in their designated positions. The destroyers, submarines and supply ships were in the San Pedro area.
Late in the afternoon and a Santa Ana (wind) started coming in and when liberty call was sounded nearly everyone who rated liberty was at the port gangway hoping to get ashore before liberty might be canceled. We had a very rough and wet ride to the beach. Liberty was up at 0600 but the water was so rough I decided to take a 25 cent water taxi back to the ship. By Sunday morning, all liberty had been canceled throughout the fleet, but for some reason the Portland decided to send a boat with a Catholic church party to the Indianapolis. The waves were 4 to 6 feet high and we were ordered by the coxswain to lie down in the boat.
On our return trip the storm had worsened and by the time we reached the Portland she was rolling at anchor so that two screws and the bilge keel were coming out of the water at each roll. It was impossible to lower a gangway so a cargo net was placed over the side. We had to jump and grab the net on each roll and climb to the deck.
A short time later a whaleboat from another cruiser, containing the coxswain, engineer and bow hook, came near the port side. A wave swamped the boat. Fortunately the whaleboats had built-in floatation compartments so the gunwales remained on the surface. The aviation crane was lowered and somehow they tied the bow to the crane hook and were hoisted aboard.
As I mentioned, names escape me after 57 years. The ships First Lieutenant, who was a Lt. Commander, was known for being a little eccentric. He tried to leave the ship in a water taxi after the Captain had previously given orders that no one was allowed to leave. As waves started breaking over the quarterdeck and going through the ventilators, all ships were given orders to weigh anchor and head for open seas.
At that time, I was a seaman in the 2nd division and my underway duty was helmsman. Helmsmen only stood two hour watches but due to the storm there were only two of us aboard. The others were stranded in Long Beach.
As it turned out, our eccentric First Lieutenant was the O.D. on the bridge during my watch as helmsman (which incidentally lasted for four hours and not two.) All of the ships were at sea and unable to form any kind of formation due to the storm. A sailboat, about 60 feet long, passed us on the starboard side. The mast was broken and a man had lashed himself to what remained to keep from being washed overboard. We were unable to help him but I heard later that the Coast Guard helped save him.
Later during my watch, I saw the Saratoga off our port bow and notified the O. D., our illustrious First Lt. He became excited and I, as helmsman, was given the command: "Miss it." I immediately turned the wheel to full left rudder and told the O. D. "Full left rudder. No response." I thought at that time the quartermaster would take the wheel but he made no move to do so. Finally the O. D. yelled at me "Do anything, but miss it." I could not believe what was happening.
I turned to the Fireman 2/c who was manning the engine control to the boiler room and said "Port engine full astern. Starboard engine full ahead." As we passed the Saratoga it seemed like we were going to scrape sides, but no contact was made. We passed starboard to starboard.
No word had been passed to stand by for a possible collision or warning horn sounded. I doubt if there was even an entry made in the ship's log. No one except those on the bridge ever realized how close we came to a collision.
If there is anyone who reads this story that was on the bridge that day, I would sure like to hear from them.
Norman Dunning Vol. II, 11-13
I have been reluctant to write this because I am unable to remember names, but just as well.
It was the fall of 1938. All of the Fleet had anchored in Long Beach Harbor in preparation for a fleet exercise. The carriers Saratoga and Lexington were anchored at the entrance to the harbor at the outer breakwater. The Indianapolis was anchored inside the inner breakwater as were the other cruisers and battleships in their designated positions. The destroyers, submarines and supply ships were in the San Pedro area.
Late in the afternoon and a Santa Ana (wind) started coming in and when liberty call was sounded nearly everyone who rated liberty was at the port gangway hoping to get ashore before liberty might be canceled. We had a very rough and wet ride to the beach. Liberty was up at 0600 but the water was so rough I decided to take a 25 cent water taxi back to the ship. By Sunday morning, all liberty had been canceled throughout the fleet, but for some reason the Portland decided to send a boat with a Catholic church party to the Indianapolis. The waves were 4 to 6 feet high and we were ordered by the coxswain to lie down in the boat.
On our return trip the storm had worsened and by the time we reached the Portland she was rolling at anchor so that two screws and the bilge keel were coming out of the water at each roll. It was impossible to lower a gangway so a cargo net was placed over the side. We had to jump and grab the net on each roll and climb to the deck.
A short time later a whaleboat from another cruiser, containing the coxswain, engineer and bow hook, came near the port side. A wave swamped the boat. Fortunately the whaleboats had built-in floatation compartments so the gunwales remained on the surface. The aviation crane was lowered and somehow they tied the bow to the crane hook and were hoisted aboard.
As I mentioned, names escape me after 57 years. The ships First Lieutenant, who was a Lt. Commander, was known for being a little eccentric. He tried to leave the ship in a water taxi after the Captain had previously given orders that no one was allowed to leave. As waves started breaking over the quarterdeck and going through the ventilators, all ships were given orders to weigh anchor and head for open seas.
At that time, I was a seaman in the 2nd division and my underway duty was helmsman. Helmsmen only stood two hour watches but due to the storm there were only two of us aboard. The others were stranded in Long Beach.
As it turned out, our eccentric First Lieutenant was the O.D. on the bridge during my watch as helmsman (which incidentally lasted for four hours and not two.) All of the ships were at sea and unable to form any kind of formation due to the storm. A sailboat, about 60 feet long, passed us on the starboard side. The mast was broken and a man had lashed himself to what remained to keep from being washed overboard. We were unable to help him but I heard later that the Coast Guard helped save him.
Later during my watch, I saw the Saratoga off our port bow and notified the O. D., our illustrious First Lt. He became excited and I, as helmsman, was given the command: "Miss it." I immediately turned the wheel to full left rudder and told the O. D. "Full left rudder. No response." I thought at that time the quartermaster would take the wheel but he made no move to do so. Finally the O. D. yelled at me "Do anything, but miss it." I could not believe what was happening.
I turned to the Fireman 2/c who was manning the engine control to the boiler room and said "Port engine full astern. Starboard engine full ahead." As we passed the Saratoga it seemed like we were going to scrape sides, but no contact was made. We passed starboard to starboard.
No word had been passed to stand by for a possible collision or warning horn sounded. I doubt if there was even an entry made in the ship's log. No one except those on the bridge ever realized how close we came to a collision.
If there is anyone who reads this story that was on the bridge that day, I would sure like to hear from them.
MUSINGS OF AN "F" DIVISIONS MESS COOK
Frank Haskell Vol. I, p. 6
The year was 1938, the month, November. That's when we have our "Santa Ana" winds in Southern California. We were swinging around the hook in Long Beach harbor during the morning watch. Four of us "mess cooks" were sitting around a "sea tub" of water peeling "spuds" for the evening meal. There were four sacks of spuds open and leaning against the tub. All of a sudden "Sweet Pea" made a violent roll to port, having been struck by the first "Santa Ana" of the season, full on the starboard beam. The "sea tub" stayed put, being half-full of water, but all of the "spuds" rolled over, spilling their contents on the deck and rolling into the waterway just aft of the slop-chute.
Just before the wind hit, No. 3 motor launch had been called away. The three crewmen were out on the port quarter boat boom getting ready to man their boat. The roll of the ship sent the boom halfway under the water, putting all three crewmen in the "drink." The four of us ran to the rail to make sure all were O.K. and to see if they needed any help.
Enter Pete Soulis, our illustrious Chief Commissary Steward, running directly toward us from up forward. He must have seen everything that had happened and sized up the situation, as he yelled in his Greek accented tongue, "Never mind the sailors, they can swim. Save the spuds."
Frank Haskell Vol. I, p. 6
The year was 1938, the month, November. That's when we have our "Santa Ana" winds in Southern California. We were swinging around the hook in Long Beach harbor during the morning watch. Four of us "mess cooks" were sitting around a "sea tub" of water peeling "spuds" for the evening meal. There were four sacks of spuds open and leaning against the tub. All of a sudden "Sweet Pea" made a violent roll to port, having been struck by the first "Santa Ana" of the season, full on the starboard beam. The "sea tub" stayed put, being half-full of water, but all of the "spuds" rolled over, spilling their contents on the deck and rolling into the waterway just aft of the slop-chute.
Just before the wind hit, No. 3 motor launch had been called away. The three crewmen were out on the port quarter boat boom getting ready to man their boat. The roll of the ship sent the boom halfway under the water, putting all three crewmen in the "drink." The four of us ran to the rail to make sure all were O.K. and to see if they needed any help.
Enter Pete Soulis, our illustrious Chief Commissary Steward, running directly toward us from up forward. He must have seen everything that had happened and sized up the situation, as he yelled in his Greek accented tongue, "Never mind the sailors, they can swim. Save the spuds."
"HOT" CIRCUIT Vol. I, pp. 6-7
Frank Haskell
It was summer, 1939. We were on our way from Long Beach through the Panama Canal for war games with the Atlantic Fleet. About a week out, the 'plan for the day' called for searchlight display practice, beginning at 20:00 hours. Being a dedicated fire control striker, and since one of my duties was the searchlight follow-up systems, I thought it would be a good idea to check them out. I got to the searchlight platform, called down to the main battery switchboard and was talking to the electrician on watch. I told him what I wanted to do and he agreed to send some signals so I could check the pointer and trainer dials.
Everything was fine. Then I asked him to kill the power to the lights so I could clean the slip rings. He told me he would and to let him know when I was finished. As I was cleaning the rings on the last light an electrician's mate appeared and asked what the hell I was doing. I said "It should be obvious that I am cleaning the slip rings for the big show tonight."
Electrician's Mate: "But that circuit is hot."
Me: "No it isn't, I called down to plotting and had it shut down. See?"
At that point I took my screw driver, laid it across two of the slip rings and watched it melt up to the handle.
It is probably a very good thing that I never found out who was on watch in the main battery switchboard that afternoon.
Frank Haskell
It was summer, 1939. We were on our way from Long Beach through the Panama Canal for war games with the Atlantic Fleet. About a week out, the 'plan for the day' called for searchlight display practice, beginning at 20:00 hours. Being a dedicated fire control striker, and since one of my duties was the searchlight follow-up systems, I thought it would be a good idea to check them out. I got to the searchlight platform, called down to the main battery switchboard and was talking to the electrician on watch. I told him what I wanted to do and he agreed to send some signals so I could check the pointer and trainer dials.
Everything was fine. Then I asked him to kill the power to the lights so I could clean the slip rings. He told me he would and to let him know when I was finished. As I was cleaning the rings on the last light an electrician's mate appeared and asked what the hell I was doing. I said "It should be obvious that I am cleaning the slip rings for the big show tonight."
Electrician's Mate: "But that circuit is hot."
Me: "No it isn't, I called down to plotting and had it shut down. See?"
At that point I took my screw driver, laid it across two of the slip rings and watched it melt up to the handle.
It is probably a very good thing that I never found out who was on watch in the main battery switchboard that afternoon.
FRESH WATER KING Vol. I, p. 7
Al Lucas
I came aboard the Portland in 1939 and went into the 3rd Div. under BMlc Stratton and BM2c Hennesey. The Division Officer was, as I remember, Lt(jg) Nibbs. I worked my way into the R Div. shipfitter shop with the help of A. C. Day, Jake and Bill Hoar. Stratton got so mad at my skirting his authority to transfer that he literally tossed my *artsack into the R Division berthing area. Years later I ran into Stratton when he was the skipper of an auxiliary ship and we laughed about it.
Since the R Division had the fresh water king assignment, the job of cleaning and painting the 4 fresh water tanks (total 40,000 gallons) with the help of 4 men from the deck division, fell on me. A messy job I will never forget -- chip, scrape and wire brush the many cavities in the bowels of the ship. The First Lieutenant, LCDR "Turk" Wirth, would make his daily check by climbing down into all areas of the tanks. The plating had to be a bright metal before he would give his OK to paint the two coats of metallic brown.
For several months I had the job of "Fresh Water King" and got to work with others like Larry Ladner, from the A Division, in the evaporators where both feed and potable fresh water was produced. The worst problem was getting someone to take over the job when I wanted to go ashore and the other problem was SFC "Barney" MacAllister always grabbing me for other shipfitting jobs. As you well know, it is hard to say "no" to a Chief.
Al Lucas
I came aboard the Portland in 1939 and went into the 3rd Div. under BMlc Stratton and BM2c Hennesey. The Division Officer was, as I remember, Lt(jg) Nibbs. I worked my way into the R Div. shipfitter shop with the help of A. C. Day, Jake and Bill Hoar. Stratton got so mad at my skirting his authority to transfer that he literally tossed my *artsack into the R Division berthing area. Years later I ran into Stratton when he was the skipper of an auxiliary ship and we laughed about it.
Since the R Division had the fresh water king assignment, the job of cleaning and painting the 4 fresh water tanks (total 40,000 gallons) with the help of 4 men from the deck division, fell on me. A messy job I will never forget -- chip, scrape and wire brush the many cavities in the bowels of the ship. The First Lieutenant, LCDR "Turk" Wirth, would make his daily check by climbing down into all areas of the tanks. The plating had to be a bright metal before he would give his OK to paint the two coats of metallic brown.
For several months I had the job of "Fresh Water King" and got to work with others like Larry Ladner, from the A Division, in the evaporators where both feed and potable fresh water was produced. The worst problem was getting someone to take over the job when I wanted to go ashore and the other problem was SFC "Barney" MacAllister always grabbing me for other shipfitting jobs. As you well know, it is hard to say "no" to a Chief.
MY MEMORIES - 1939-1944 Vol II., pp. 17-19
Harold "Gus" Petke
My first navy experience was 3 months of Boot Camp in 1938 at Newport, R.I. Next was 3 months of Machinist Mate school at N.O.B., Norfolk Va.
The first sea duty was ten days aboard the USS Chaumont, an Asiatic transport from Norfolk to Culbe, V. I. where I boarded the Portland on February 19, 1939. I was so sick on that Chaumont trip I swore if I got my feet on dry land I would never get on another ship.
Well, I never got on dry land and the Portland was totally different and I never got sick again.
There were softball games in "Gitmo," Cuba in the heat and sand and the losing division officer bought each of us two cans of beer. Then there was liberty in Port of Spain, Trinidad.
Mobile, Alabama, was a real good experience after Norfolk. The people were happy to see us and the war hadn't even started.
Our rush trip through the Panama Canal. Remember Culebra cut and Gatun Lake?
Long Beach, California, was home port for quite a while. Remember the breakwaters, the gambling ship at the three mile limit, the Santa Ana winds and swells that rolled the ship so much a person couldn't get ashore or back aboard?
There was the "Pike" with the locker club, nickel-a-dance halls, the Nut Shell Cafe. There were the P. & E. trains to Los Angeles and the ship's dance at the Hilton. Aboard ship was the making of life-long friendships.
In the #3 fire room with Al Springer, "Whizzer" White, Al Silva, Frank Sears, Mc Gonigal and many others.
I was rescued from the fire room by CMM Bishop and joined Benson, Dean Shattuck, "Buck" Tenant, "Punchy" Grimes, Knobly and others in the Repair gang standing smoke watches on deck instead of in front of a boiler.
There were Johnny Johnson, "Jigger" Jones, Rutland in the Oil gang, Halderson, Lindholm, "Pappy" Foss in the fire room and Pete Cole in the engine room.
Remember the landing parties on San Clemente Island where we lugged the cannon and heaven knows what else up the hillsides? The night gunnery exercises and shooting at thesleeves towed by a little plane?
The Home Port move to Pearl Harbor cancelled my 30 day leave and wedding plans. There was the "Tin Roof on the dock; soft ball at Aiea landing; Ford Island; Battleship Row and aircraft carriers. And don't forget the "Y" in Honolulu; Waikiki Beach; the Royal Hawaiian Hotel; surf boarding and sun tanning on the fantail.
Remember the 30 day trip to Manila with the transport at about 5 knots, taking on oil at Tarakan, Dutch Borneo; liberty in the boondocks of Manila; the Jai Alai Palace, etc. etc.?
The goodwill trip to Sydney, Australia; the Sydney bridge; Luna Park; the harbor boats and good will of the people?
How about the stop in Fiji and Samoa with the Hula dancers?
And let's don't forget our first time across the equator when the Pollywogs outnumbered the Shellbacks.
Our times in Mare Island should be remembered, with liberty in Vallejo and hitching rides to Oakland and 'Frisco. Market Street; Fisherman's Wharf; cable cars; Knob Hill; Alcatraz; Golden Gate bridge; Bay Bridge; the Chinese restaurants; Bear Grill; the Silver Rail; Wimpy's. The Cow Palace rodeos and the ferry ride to Sausalito past Alcatraz, which was operating in those days.
The storm out of 'Frisco with the Sea Bees aboard should be remembered as well as the bad weather in the Aleutian Islands.
Fueling at sea is another experience to remember with a tanker on one side and a destroyer on the other; launching planes for inner air patrol and then picking up the planes, expecting every one to crash, but they seldom did.
But I guess shipmates are the best remembrance. Harvey Brown; "Bull" Vinson, Joe Arnold in Boiler Repair. Slough, the tailor, "Bunky" Schneider in the P.X.; Suggs, B division officer; "Paddy" Mullins, Master-at-Arms; Sommes and Sutherland the wrestlers; "Bo" Nuneman; "Parky" Swars, "Ski" Jaworski; Maron and all those whose names are forgotten, like the Engineering Officer that told me the best place for a MM school graduate was in the bilge of a fire room. And the log room yeoman that handed me my Commission and transfer papers.
A very special Portland shipmate that some may remember as an Electrician's Mate was Delvan Gaylord who came aboard in 1940. Delvan and I grew up together in Hanover, MI. He requested duty aboard the Portland because of me. He was being transferred to San Diego for Aviation Electrician's school aboard the Neosho just before the Coral Sea battle. He did not survive. I never heard how he died.
Harold "Gus" Petke
My first navy experience was 3 months of Boot Camp in 1938 at Newport, R.I. Next was 3 months of Machinist Mate school at N.O.B., Norfolk Va.
The first sea duty was ten days aboard the USS Chaumont, an Asiatic transport from Norfolk to Culbe, V. I. where I boarded the Portland on February 19, 1939. I was so sick on that Chaumont trip I swore if I got my feet on dry land I would never get on another ship.
Well, I never got on dry land and the Portland was totally different and I never got sick again.
There were softball games in "Gitmo," Cuba in the heat and sand and the losing division officer bought each of us two cans of beer. Then there was liberty in Port of Spain, Trinidad.
Mobile, Alabama, was a real good experience after Norfolk. The people were happy to see us and the war hadn't even started.
Our rush trip through the Panama Canal. Remember Culebra cut and Gatun Lake?
Long Beach, California, was home port for quite a while. Remember the breakwaters, the gambling ship at the three mile limit, the Santa Ana winds and swells that rolled the ship so much a person couldn't get ashore or back aboard?
There was the "Pike" with the locker club, nickel-a-dance halls, the Nut Shell Cafe. There were the P. & E. trains to Los Angeles and the ship's dance at the Hilton. Aboard ship was the making of life-long friendships.
In the #3 fire room with Al Springer, "Whizzer" White, Al Silva, Frank Sears, Mc Gonigal and many others.
I was rescued from the fire room by CMM Bishop and joined Benson, Dean Shattuck, "Buck" Tenant, "Punchy" Grimes, Knobly and others in the Repair gang standing smoke watches on deck instead of in front of a boiler.
There were Johnny Johnson, "Jigger" Jones, Rutland in the Oil gang, Halderson, Lindholm, "Pappy" Foss in the fire room and Pete Cole in the engine room.
Remember the landing parties on San Clemente Island where we lugged the cannon and heaven knows what else up the hillsides? The night gunnery exercises and shooting at thesleeves towed by a little plane?
The Home Port move to Pearl Harbor cancelled my 30 day leave and wedding plans. There was the "Tin Roof on the dock; soft ball at Aiea landing; Ford Island; Battleship Row and aircraft carriers. And don't forget the "Y" in Honolulu; Waikiki Beach; the Royal Hawaiian Hotel; surf boarding and sun tanning on the fantail.
Remember the 30 day trip to Manila with the transport at about 5 knots, taking on oil at Tarakan, Dutch Borneo; liberty in the boondocks of Manila; the Jai Alai Palace, etc. etc.?
The goodwill trip to Sydney, Australia; the Sydney bridge; Luna Park; the harbor boats and good will of the people?
How about the stop in Fiji and Samoa with the Hula dancers?
And let's don't forget our first time across the equator when the Pollywogs outnumbered the Shellbacks.
Our times in Mare Island should be remembered, with liberty in Vallejo and hitching rides to Oakland and 'Frisco. Market Street; Fisherman's Wharf; cable cars; Knob Hill; Alcatraz; Golden Gate bridge; Bay Bridge; the Chinese restaurants; Bear Grill; the Silver Rail; Wimpy's. The Cow Palace rodeos and the ferry ride to Sausalito past Alcatraz, which was operating in those days.
The storm out of 'Frisco with the Sea Bees aboard should be remembered as well as the bad weather in the Aleutian Islands.
Fueling at sea is another experience to remember with a tanker on one side and a destroyer on the other; launching planes for inner air patrol and then picking up the planes, expecting every one to crash, but they seldom did.
But I guess shipmates are the best remembrance. Harvey Brown; "Bull" Vinson, Joe Arnold in Boiler Repair. Slough, the tailor, "Bunky" Schneider in the P.X.; Suggs, B division officer; "Paddy" Mullins, Master-at-Arms; Sommes and Sutherland the wrestlers; "Bo" Nuneman; "Parky" Swars, "Ski" Jaworski; Maron and all those whose names are forgotten, like the Engineering Officer that told me the best place for a MM school graduate was in the bilge of a fire room. And the log room yeoman that handed me my Commission and transfer papers.
A very special Portland shipmate that some may remember as an Electrician's Mate was Delvan Gaylord who came aboard in 1940. Delvan and I grew up together in Hanover, MI. He requested duty aboard the Portland because of me. He was being transferred to San Diego for Aviation Electrician's school aboard the Neosho just before the Coral Sea battle. He did not survive. I never heard how he died.
A "BOOT" REMEMBERS Vol II., pp. 15-16
Harold Mull
I reported aboard the Portland as an Apprentice Seaman out of boot camp at Great Lakes, Illinois, and was assigned to the First Division. The home port of the Portland at that time was San Pedro, California - by address that is. We anchored in Long Beach Harbor, just outside the breakwater.
In April, 1940, we participated in Fleet Problem 21, which put us in Pearl Harbor, supposedly for a six-week exercise. The first time we were permitted liberty was on a Saturday, after a personnel inspection in whites. (Note the emphasis on "whites") Previous to this time we had been wearing "blues" in California.
We lined up for the inspection party. Everything went O.K., except for two guys who were singled out because their "whites" were too yellow. They had to be punished. The punishment assigned consisted of not being allowed to go on liberty until the waterways on the "focsle" were given a paint job. You get the picture. Paint the waterways and then you can go.
They started painting the conventional way - dip brush in paint can, spread paint using strokes required - dip and paint. But that process was slow. Then one of them conceived a brilliant idea. "I will precede you by going down the waterway and pouring the paint in a small stream. You follow behind and spread the paint with your brush." It worked. They probably caught the second liberty boat. However, next morning when we "Hosed down" the deck, the paint went down the scuppers with the water.
I was not one of the two, but the next one is on me.
The guys kept talking about watches they were standing. I asked when I would be assigned a watch. They said "Don't worry, you will be informed." Some time after that I was awakened from my sleep and told "You have the anchor watch." I had no idea of where the "anchor watch" was, but assumed that, from it's title, it must be near the anchor. I hurriedly put on my clothes and headed for the bow of the ship. Sure enough, there was someone there. He told me that he was not the "anchor watch," and that the "anchor watch" assisted the Officer of the Deck on the Quarter Deck. I reported to him.
One of my duties was to turn on the lights illuminating the gangway for returning liberty parties. I was totally lost. I couldn't tell when it was one of our boats returning or another boat passing to another ship.
When the liberty party came up the gangway, they would individually salute the O.O.D. Since I was standing near him, I would return their salutes also. He told me that that was not necessary, but I couldn't stop it. After three months at Great Lakes, salutes are high on your priority list. Somehow I made it through.
I'll sure bet that that O.O.D. thought "I have seen some green kids, but this one has to be the greenest."
Harold Mull
I reported aboard the Portland as an Apprentice Seaman out of boot camp at Great Lakes, Illinois, and was assigned to the First Division. The home port of the Portland at that time was San Pedro, California - by address that is. We anchored in Long Beach Harbor, just outside the breakwater.
In April, 1940, we participated in Fleet Problem 21, which put us in Pearl Harbor, supposedly for a six-week exercise. The first time we were permitted liberty was on a Saturday, after a personnel inspection in whites. (Note the emphasis on "whites") Previous to this time we had been wearing "blues" in California.
We lined up for the inspection party. Everything went O.K., except for two guys who were singled out because their "whites" were too yellow. They had to be punished. The punishment assigned consisted of not being allowed to go on liberty until the waterways on the "focsle" were given a paint job. You get the picture. Paint the waterways and then you can go.
They started painting the conventional way - dip brush in paint can, spread paint using strokes required - dip and paint. But that process was slow. Then one of them conceived a brilliant idea. "I will precede you by going down the waterway and pouring the paint in a small stream. You follow behind and spread the paint with your brush." It worked. They probably caught the second liberty boat. However, next morning when we "Hosed down" the deck, the paint went down the scuppers with the water.
I was not one of the two, but the next one is on me.
The guys kept talking about watches they were standing. I asked when I would be assigned a watch. They said "Don't worry, you will be informed." Some time after that I was awakened from my sleep and told "You have the anchor watch." I had no idea of where the "anchor watch" was, but assumed that, from it's title, it must be near the anchor. I hurriedly put on my clothes and headed for the bow of the ship. Sure enough, there was someone there. He told me that he was not the "anchor watch," and that the "anchor watch" assisted the Officer of the Deck on the Quarter Deck. I reported to him.
One of my duties was to turn on the lights illuminating the gangway for returning liberty parties. I was totally lost. I couldn't tell when it was one of our boats returning or another boat passing to another ship.
When the liberty party came up the gangway, they would individually salute the O.O.D. Since I was standing near him, I would return their salutes also. He told me that that was not necessary, but I couldn't stop it. After three months at Great Lakes, salutes are high on your priority list. Somehow I made it through.
I'll sure bet that that O.O.D. thought "I have seen some green kids, but this one has to be the greenest."
A CAREER DECISION Vol II., pp. 16-17
Harold Mull
When I moved from the 1 st division to the V division, I was a S2c. I didn't know what rate to strike for, so an Aviation Metalsmith talked me into striking for that rate. He told me that he would soon be leaving the ship and that I should learn those skills. That would place me in an advantageous position for future advancement in rate. I accepted his advice and assisted him in his job assignments.
In May, 1940, we departed Long Beach (official address San Pedro) for Pearl Harbor, T.H. to participate in Fleet Problem XXI. One day, while operating in the area of French Frigate Shoals, we sent out an aircraft when the weather was very bad. It was very windy, the seas were high and frothy.
At that time we were part of Cruiser Division 5 and our aircraft numbers were 5CS9, 5CS10, 5CS11 and 5CS12. The aircraft launched was SCS11.
When the aircraft returned, we prepared for a port side recovery. The sled was streamed and the ship performed it's maneuvers for aircraft recovery. The plane landed on the slick provided and headed for the sea-sled. It never reached it because of the rough and rolling sea. When the plane reached the vicinity of the port screwguard, the wind dashed it against the ship, tearing loose the starboard wingtip float. The pilot cut his engine (which probably saved their lives.) the ship continued ahead, while the aircraft came to a halt. The wind caught the upturned left wing and the plane slowly rotated to an inverted position. The pilot and radio/gunner evacuated both cockpits and went around the fuselage as the aircraft rotated. They ended up resting on the main float, with the plane now submerged beneath them.
The ship dispatched a motor launch to rescue the crew and recover the aircraft. The motor launch towed the submerged plane alongside and it was hoisted on to the quarterdeck, still inverted. It pained me to see the aircraft fabric being torn and slashed to allow the water to escape. All metallic parts had to be preserved as soon as possible to save them from the salt water immersion.
This was the first time for me to see an aircraft disassembled, and I was fascinated. The propeller was removed, and then the engine. When they reached the instruments, they said that they needed alcohol to clean and preserve them. Now you know the rest of the story. It was said that it was safe to drink if you filtered it through bread, which was promptly obtained. Some became quite inebriated, even to the extent of urinating off the quarterdeck.
Back to me. I was fascinated by being able to see parts I had never seen before. I discovered that lines were color-coded to identify the liquids, air pressure/vacuum that they carried. I changed my mind about wanting to strike for aviation metalsmith. I now wanted to be an aircraft mechanic. In the spring of 1941,I departed the ship, never to see it again. I spent 30 years of my life as an aircraft mechanic and aircrewman, qualifying on single and multi-engined aircraft. I advanced through all the aviation maintenance ratings, including E-8 and E-9 when they became available, but the career was inspired by an episode on the Sweet Pea.
Harold Mull
When I moved from the 1 st division to the V division, I was a S2c. I didn't know what rate to strike for, so an Aviation Metalsmith talked me into striking for that rate. He told me that he would soon be leaving the ship and that I should learn those skills. That would place me in an advantageous position for future advancement in rate. I accepted his advice and assisted him in his job assignments.
In May, 1940, we departed Long Beach (official address San Pedro) for Pearl Harbor, T.H. to participate in Fleet Problem XXI. One day, while operating in the area of French Frigate Shoals, we sent out an aircraft when the weather was very bad. It was very windy, the seas were high and frothy.
At that time we were part of Cruiser Division 5 and our aircraft numbers were 5CS9, 5CS10, 5CS11 and 5CS12. The aircraft launched was SCS11.
When the aircraft returned, we prepared for a port side recovery. The sled was streamed and the ship performed it's maneuvers for aircraft recovery. The plane landed on the slick provided and headed for the sea-sled. It never reached it because of the rough and rolling sea. When the plane reached the vicinity of the port screwguard, the wind dashed it against the ship, tearing loose the starboard wingtip float. The pilot cut his engine (which probably saved their lives.) the ship continued ahead, while the aircraft came to a halt. The wind caught the upturned left wing and the plane slowly rotated to an inverted position. The pilot and radio/gunner evacuated both cockpits and went around the fuselage as the aircraft rotated. They ended up resting on the main float, with the plane now submerged beneath them.
The ship dispatched a motor launch to rescue the crew and recover the aircraft. The motor launch towed the submerged plane alongside and it was hoisted on to the quarterdeck, still inverted. It pained me to see the aircraft fabric being torn and slashed to allow the water to escape. All metallic parts had to be preserved as soon as possible to save them from the salt water immersion.
This was the first time for me to see an aircraft disassembled, and I was fascinated. The propeller was removed, and then the engine. When they reached the instruments, they said that they needed alcohol to clean and preserve them. Now you know the rest of the story. It was said that it was safe to drink if you filtered it through bread, which was promptly obtained. Some became quite inebriated, even to the extent of urinating off the quarterdeck.
Back to me. I was fascinated by being able to see parts I had never seen before. I discovered that lines were color-coded to identify the liquids, air pressure/vacuum that they carried. I changed my mind about wanting to strike for aviation metalsmith. I now wanted to be an aircraft mechanic. In the spring of 1941,I departed the ship, never to see it again. I spent 30 years of my life as an aircraft mechanic and aircrewman, qualifying on single and multi-engined aircraft. I advanced through all the aviation maintenance ratings, including E-8 and E-9 when they became available, but the career was inspired by an episode on the Sweet Pea.
MUSINGS OF AN "F" DIVISION WATCH-STANDER Vol II., pp. 14-15
Frank Haskell
How many of you, my shipmates, knew that "Dutch" Krixer could not pronounce "aluminum"? I didn't know this, and I doubt that any else on the crew in 1940 did either. Only one storekeeper, who was in charge of the paint locker at the time, was aware of it. Really, you could have caned "Dutch" to within an inch of his life and he could not have pronounced aluminum
This particular storekeeper I mentioned began planning his diabolical scheme to expose Dutch's handicap by patiently waiting for two things. Dutch had to have the boatswain's mate watch on the bridge (we were underway at the time) and it had to be the 1200 to 1600 watch.
The day finally arrived. It just so happened that I had the messenger watch on the same day at the same time. Dutch and I were out on the port side signal bridge engaged in idle conversation when, precisely at 1500 hours, the J.O.D. answered the phone in the pilot house. It must have been from this storekeeper requesting permission to have the word passed to "turn in all aluminum paint to the paint locker." The J.O.D. acknowledged his request, hung up the phone and called for the boatswains mate. Dutch answered his call and the J.O.D. told him to pass the word, etc. etc. etc. Dutch stood there a moment, replied "aye-aye, sir", then turned and looked at the speaker hanging there on the bulkhead.
It took him a full three minutes to cover the five paces between the pilot house door and the speaker box. I tried to figure out what he was thinking, and wondered what he would do. As he depressed the "talk" lever I then heard the longest call for "attention all hands" I had ever heard on a boatswain's pipe. As he finally brought his call to an end he announced "turn in all silver-colored paint to the paint locker."
Well, to hear the entire ship's company cracking up, as it were, was really something. It is amazing to me how one can get the feel of the emotions of the crew from the bridge.
Frank Haskell
How many of you, my shipmates, knew that "Dutch" Krixer could not pronounce "aluminum"? I didn't know this, and I doubt that any else on the crew in 1940 did either. Only one storekeeper, who was in charge of the paint locker at the time, was aware of it. Really, you could have caned "Dutch" to within an inch of his life and he could not have pronounced aluminum
This particular storekeeper I mentioned began planning his diabolical scheme to expose Dutch's handicap by patiently waiting for two things. Dutch had to have the boatswain's mate watch on the bridge (we were underway at the time) and it had to be the 1200 to 1600 watch.
The day finally arrived. It just so happened that I had the messenger watch on the same day at the same time. Dutch and I were out on the port side signal bridge engaged in idle conversation when, precisely at 1500 hours, the J.O.D. answered the phone in the pilot house. It must have been from this storekeeper requesting permission to have the word passed to "turn in all aluminum paint to the paint locker." The J.O.D. acknowledged his request, hung up the phone and called for the boatswains mate. Dutch answered his call and the J.O.D. told him to pass the word, etc. etc. etc. Dutch stood there a moment, replied "aye-aye, sir", then turned and looked at the speaker hanging there on the bulkhead.
It took him a full three minutes to cover the five paces between the pilot house door and the speaker box. I tried to figure out what he was thinking, and wondered what he would do. As he depressed the "talk" lever I then heard the longest call for "attention all hands" I had ever heard on a boatswain's pipe. As he finally brought his call to an end he announced "turn in all silver-colored paint to the paint locker."
Well, to hear the entire ship's company cracking up, as it were, was really something. It is amazing to me how one can get the feel of the emotions of the crew from the bridge.
THE POT AT THE END OF THE RAINBOW Vol I., pp. 7-9
(and other stories)
Bart Babcock
I reported aboard the Portland in the Navy Yard at Pearl Harbor on Sept. 26, 1940 as an Apprentice Seaman at $21.00 a month and worth every penny of it. I was assigned to the Fox division and along with the others who weren't "striking" for Gunners Mate or Fire controlman rates, was working for Woody, the division Cox'n in the endless cycle of washing, scraping and painting.
One day we were moored to a buoy in "Cruiser's Row" between Ford Island, the Sub base and the little town Of Aiea. Several of us were assigned to paint the foremast and yardarms. I got the mast above the yardarms. This was before we had any radar and the only thing at the top of the mast was the "pigstick," a metal pipe that was bolted to the mast and projected 6-8 feet above it. Our safety belts consisted of a 3-4 inch wide canvas belt around the waist, secured by pushing "clothes stops" (twine) through pairs of grommeted holes and tying a square knot in each. On each side of the belt were "D" rings. The left ring had a line secured to it with an eye splice. You passed the line around the mast or yard arm and tied it on itself with a "bowline-on-a-bight." The line would break before the knot would slip.
After I had shinnied up the pigstick and painted it as I slowly slid down (it took a couple of shinnies) it started to rain. I hollered down "It's raining, I'm coming down." Woody hollered back "You're staying up. It’ll quit in a minute, cover the paint." I did, and he was right.
We were alone at the buoy and after the rain I saw a rainbow that started at the port beam, went up over the water, over the cane and pineapple fields, into the clouds and sky and back down over those same things to the starboard beam. Considering the size of the rainbow and the fact that only the narrow width of the ship wasn't covered, I saw a rainbow that must have covered 359 degrees of a circle. I stood at the beginning and end of it. And there I found a pot - of gray paint. I still think of it when I hear of the "Rainbow State."
Another time Cliff Dunn and I, along with several others, were painting the "peak" tanks below F division quarters with a petroleum product, called "Biche (?) Mastic." We each had a little space between two "ribs" of the ship to paint. Soon work turned to play – we were feeling no pain - when the Bos'un came down and pulled some of us out and ordered the rest to follow. We were being overcome by fumes. After a trip to sick bay, we were released, but all food tasted like tar for a while.
When we went into dry dock, the crew scraped the barnacles from the sides and bottom. The deck gangs rigged two-man stages all along both sides of the ship, securing them to the lifeline stanchions. Each team of two men was responsible for lowering themselves down the side of the ship. We did this by "marrying" the lines - gripping the "up" line and the "down" in the same hand and squeezing tight. The friction would hold the stage (plank) while we untied the two half-hitches and payed out the line through the loop around the plank by letting loose of your grip until you were at the proper level, then re-tying the hitches. Each man was responsible for his own side of the stage, and if you weren't "in sync" the stage was slanted and words were exchanged.
When you reached the end of the vertical side, a line was tied to the middle of the stage and "hogged in" so you could get those little BBBarnacles on the bottom. Then you dropped off to the concrete bottom of the dry dock and walked up the steps and to the showers. (That is unless you worked really fast and went up and asked for another trip down on another stage, in which case they might have sent you to sick bay instead.)
The Fox division compartment was all the way aft and at the water line. We really got a ride in our bunks when we were underway in rough weather, especially if the ship was pitching. When the bow went down, the stem came up and the screws started vibrating, then the stem would drop with a bang and you'd bounce in your bunk.
We had portholes at that level then, which were closed and covered with a steel "battle port" when underway. Both were dogged down and watertight. When we in port and in calm water, we had to open the porthole and polish the brass, which had been busy turning green. I was doing that when we came into Fiji in '41 and as I looked out the porthole (about 6' above the waterline) the pilot boat passed, heading for the starboard gangway. I found myself face-to-face with one of those fierce looking Fiji Islanders, which shook me up.
Another thing about those ports (which were welded up when the war started) was that the one on the starboard side was close enough to the quarter-boom to save some steps for the bow hook of #1 motor whaleboat. When it was called away he could squeeze through the port, grab a rope ladder hanging from the boom, crawl up to the boom, walk farther out on it and down another ladder into the boat.
Fox division seamen were assigned to stand "messenger" watches for the Officer of the Deck. I was standing one of my first such watches on the bridge when we were at sea and launching aeroplanes via catapult. I had never seen this done and some of the older salts, who were always helpful with advice, told me that when the charge was fired it was so loud that it would break your ear drums if you were too close. As they revved up the plane on the port catapult, I stood on that side of the bridge and watched, with a finger plugged in each ear. I was standing like that for quite a while before they finally catapulted it off. I dropped my hands and turned forward to find the Captain. C. E. Van Hook grinning at me. "What are you going to do on the Fourth of July?" he asked. One of life's darkest moments.
(and other stories)
Bart Babcock
I reported aboard the Portland in the Navy Yard at Pearl Harbor on Sept. 26, 1940 as an Apprentice Seaman at $21.00 a month and worth every penny of it. I was assigned to the Fox division and along with the others who weren't "striking" for Gunners Mate or Fire controlman rates, was working for Woody, the division Cox'n in the endless cycle of washing, scraping and painting.
One day we were moored to a buoy in "Cruiser's Row" between Ford Island, the Sub base and the little town Of Aiea. Several of us were assigned to paint the foremast and yardarms. I got the mast above the yardarms. This was before we had any radar and the only thing at the top of the mast was the "pigstick," a metal pipe that was bolted to the mast and projected 6-8 feet above it. Our safety belts consisted of a 3-4 inch wide canvas belt around the waist, secured by pushing "clothes stops" (twine) through pairs of grommeted holes and tying a square knot in each. On each side of the belt were "D" rings. The left ring had a line secured to it with an eye splice. You passed the line around the mast or yard arm and tied it on itself with a "bowline-on-a-bight." The line would break before the knot would slip.
After I had shinnied up the pigstick and painted it as I slowly slid down (it took a couple of shinnies) it started to rain. I hollered down "It's raining, I'm coming down." Woody hollered back "You're staying up. It’ll quit in a minute, cover the paint." I did, and he was right.
We were alone at the buoy and after the rain I saw a rainbow that started at the port beam, went up over the water, over the cane and pineapple fields, into the clouds and sky and back down over those same things to the starboard beam. Considering the size of the rainbow and the fact that only the narrow width of the ship wasn't covered, I saw a rainbow that must have covered 359 degrees of a circle. I stood at the beginning and end of it. And there I found a pot - of gray paint. I still think of it when I hear of the "Rainbow State."
Another time Cliff Dunn and I, along with several others, were painting the "peak" tanks below F division quarters with a petroleum product, called "Biche (?) Mastic." We each had a little space between two "ribs" of the ship to paint. Soon work turned to play – we were feeling no pain - when the Bos'un came down and pulled some of us out and ordered the rest to follow. We were being overcome by fumes. After a trip to sick bay, we were released, but all food tasted like tar for a while.
When we went into dry dock, the crew scraped the barnacles from the sides and bottom. The deck gangs rigged two-man stages all along both sides of the ship, securing them to the lifeline stanchions. Each team of two men was responsible for lowering themselves down the side of the ship. We did this by "marrying" the lines - gripping the "up" line and the "down" in the same hand and squeezing tight. The friction would hold the stage (plank) while we untied the two half-hitches and payed out the line through the loop around the plank by letting loose of your grip until you were at the proper level, then re-tying the hitches. Each man was responsible for his own side of the stage, and if you weren't "in sync" the stage was slanted and words were exchanged.
When you reached the end of the vertical side, a line was tied to the middle of the stage and "hogged in" so you could get those little BBBarnacles on the bottom. Then you dropped off to the concrete bottom of the dry dock and walked up the steps and to the showers. (That is unless you worked really fast and went up and asked for another trip down on another stage, in which case they might have sent you to sick bay instead.)
The Fox division compartment was all the way aft and at the water line. We really got a ride in our bunks when we were underway in rough weather, especially if the ship was pitching. When the bow went down, the stem came up and the screws started vibrating, then the stem would drop with a bang and you'd bounce in your bunk.
We had portholes at that level then, which were closed and covered with a steel "battle port" when underway. Both were dogged down and watertight. When we in port and in calm water, we had to open the porthole and polish the brass, which had been busy turning green. I was doing that when we came into Fiji in '41 and as I looked out the porthole (about 6' above the waterline) the pilot boat passed, heading for the starboard gangway. I found myself face-to-face with one of those fierce looking Fiji Islanders, which shook me up.
Another thing about those ports (which were welded up when the war started) was that the one on the starboard side was close enough to the quarter-boom to save some steps for the bow hook of #1 motor whaleboat. When it was called away he could squeeze through the port, grab a rope ladder hanging from the boom, crawl up to the boom, walk farther out on it and down another ladder into the boat.
Fox division seamen were assigned to stand "messenger" watches for the Officer of the Deck. I was standing one of my first such watches on the bridge when we were at sea and launching aeroplanes via catapult. I had never seen this done and some of the older salts, who were always helpful with advice, told me that when the charge was fired it was so loud that it would break your ear drums if you were too close. As they revved up the plane on the port catapult, I stood on that side of the bridge and watched, with a finger plugged in each ear. I was standing like that for quite a while before they finally catapulted it off. I dropped my hands and turned forward to find the Captain. C. E. Van Hook grinning at me. "What are you going to do on the Fourth of July?" he asked. One of life's darkest moments.
STREAM PARAVANES Vol I., pp. 9-10
Berle "Doggie" Brents
On November 4, 1940, as we were departing Pearl Harbor via Westloch, it was decided that it might he good training to stream the paravanes, (ed. note - the paravanes used aboard Portland were designed to protect the ship from moored mines by cutting their cables.)
Some say the starboard paravane became entangled in a cable crossing and coral, while others say that it dove under the ship. At any rate, there was cable, tackle, etc. flying everywhere as the cables parted. The boom used to swing the paravane over the side (as I remember) was anchored to a bolt m the deck and an eye on the other end with a snatch block for the cable. When the pressure snapped the deck bolt, the boom fell on Walter ''Red" Hall crushing him beyond hope. This was beside No. 1 turret. I could have been killed too, when another cable parted and literally scalped me. I was aft by the Captain's cabin when hit. (I thought at the lime that Joe Sullivan had hit me with
a club.) It knocked me to my knees and as I glanced forward and saw the boom fall on Hall, thinking I could help, I started to crawl forward. At that time BM2e Hennesy, of the 2nd division, grabbed me and had two men carry me to sick bay.
Hall was brought down to sick bay and placed on a mattress on the deck where he was worked on by Jr. Medical Officer "Doc" Williams. I was on the operating table and the Sr, Medical officer. Dr. Smith, picked up a handful of cotton, poured pure 190 proof medical alcohol on it and slapped it on my open scalp. (It got my attention.) At this time .Tim Walker, HMlc took over and sewed my scalp back on. Others who were present and may remember more are Joe Sullivan; "Dutch" Krixer; Neidfelt; White; Brandenburg; Davis and Hicks.
This incident brought about my name "Doggie." I believe that it was Bunky Schneider who said that I looked like "Doggie" Lee with his cook cap on and the nickname stuck.
Berle "Doggie" Brents
On November 4, 1940, as we were departing Pearl Harbor via Westloch, it was decided that it might he good training to stream the paravanes, (ed. note - the paravanes used aboard Portland were designed to protect the ship from moored mines by cutting their cables.)
Some say the starboard paravane became entangled in a cable crossing and coral, while others say that it dove under the ship. At any rate, there was cable, tackle, etc. flying everywhere as the cables parted. The boom used to swing the paravane over the side (as I remember) was anchored to a bolt m the deck and an eye on the other end with a snatch block for the cable. When the pressure snapped the deck bolt, the boom fell on Walter ''Red" Hall crushing him beyond hope. This was beside No. 1 turret. I could have been killed too, when another cable parted and literally scalped me. I was aft by the Captain's cabin when hit. (I thought at the lime that Joe Sullivan had hit me with
a club.) It knocked me to my knees and as I glanced forward and saw the boom fall on Hall, thinking I could help, I started to crawl forward. At that time BM2e Hennesy, of the 2nd division, grabbed me and had two men carry me to sick bay.
Hall was brought down to sick bay and placed on a mattress on the deck where he was worked on by Jr. Medical Officer "Doc" Williams. I was on the operating table and the Sr, Medical officer. Dr. Smith, picked up a handful of cotton, poured pure 190 proof medical alcohol on it and slapped it on my open scalp. (It got my attention.) At this time .Tim Walker, HMlc took over and sewed my scalp back on. Others who were present and may remember more are Joe Sullivan; "Dutch" Krixer; Neidfelt; White; Brandenburg; Davis and Hicks.
This incident brought about my name "Doggie." I believe that it was Bunky Schneider who said that I looked like "Doggie" Lee with his cook cap on and the nickname stuck.
SOMEONE'S SLEEPING IN MY BUNK! Vol I., pp. 21-22
Peter Balog
It was late in 1940. We were tied up to a dock in Pearl Harbor. One of the men in our division (3rd) went on liberty. I do not remember his name but he was a slow-moving southern guy from the Alabama coal fields. When he was ashore, he liked to take a nip or two. Coming back to the ship in the early AM, about two sheets to the wind and all right with the world he reached the gangway, climbed aboard and down to the compartment.
Something was wrong. There was some guy sleeping in his bunk. This he did not like so he rousted him out, loudly, creating mass confusion and rousing everyone else in the compartment. When things got quieted, he learned, to his embarrassment, he was on
the Indianapolis (our sister ship) and they sent him home.
The story didn't end there, however. Next morning the Captain of the Indianapolis had a visual sent to Capt. Van Hook requesting that the Portland turn on her mast head lights whenever that man went on liberty again. Every ship and command in Pearl "got the message."
It may have been about the same time that another incident occurred. We were tied portside to the dock. Across the slip from us was a battleship (it may have been the New Mexico) and for some reason or another there was a lot of name calling and insults flying back and forth. When the altercation got to a fever pitch, two Portland sailors dove into the water and swam over to the battleship. (Stout fellows, to take on a battleship!) All they could do when they got there was stand on the ledge formed by the armor plating. That was as far as they could go. The swim probably cooled them off anyhow. What happened to our two heroes, or who they were, I don't recall.
Peter Balog
It was late in 1940. We were tied up to a dock in Pearl Harbor. One of the men in our division (3rd) went on liberty. I do not remember his name but he was a slow-moving southern guy from the Alabama coal fields. When he was ashore, he liked to take a nip or two. Coming back to the ship in the early AM, about two sheets to the wind and all right with the world he reached the gangway, climbed aboard and down to the compartment.
Something was wrong. There was some guy sleeping in his bunk. This he did not like so he rousted him out, loudly, creating mass confusion and rousing everyone else in the compartment. When things got quieted, he learned, to his embarrassment, he was on
the Indianapolis (our sister ship) and they sent him home.
The story didn't end there, however. Next morning the Captain of the Indianapolis had a visual sent to Capt. Van Hook requesting that the Portland turn on her mast head lights whenever that man went on liberty again. Every ship and command in Pearl "got the message."
It may have been about the same time that another incident occurred. We were tied portside to the dock. Across the slip from us was a battleship (it may have been the New Mexico) and for some reason or another there was a lot of name calling and insults flying back and forth. When the altercation got to a fever pitch, two Portland sailors dove into the water and swam over to the battleship. (Stout fellows, to take on a battleship!) All they could do when they got there was stand on the ledge formed by the armor plating. That was as far as they could go. The swim probably cooled them off anyhow. What happened to our two heroes, or who they were, I don't recall.
POLLIWOGS, SHELLBACKS AND SYDNEY Vol I., pp. 10-16
Willard "Bo" Losh
March 1, 1941. We left Pearl Harbor and proceeded to Samoa. We crossed the equator, of course, on the way and this being the domain of Neptunis Rex, all polliwogs, of which I was one, were summoned and required to appear before the Royal High Court of the Raging Main, to determine our fitness to be initiated, if accepted, into the Trusty Shellbacks. We were all found out for our misdeeds and then sentenced, depending on the severity' of the charges, to various punishments such as cutting hair even shorter than crew cut and a gummy, slimy solution applied; a nasty medicine squirted into the mouth; operations with an electric knife; being required to bow down and show allegiance to the Royal Court and finally to run, or rather crawl, a gauntlet of trusty shellbacks, some of whom had just acquired this status, at the head of the line.
Punishment was administered by being hit on the backside with paddles made of long, thin canvas bags stuffed with sawdust and soaked in water and swung with all the force of strong young men at close intervals. This would send us sliding several feet down a wet deck while being squirted with a fire hose. When your slide slowed, you were hit again and it became almost a continual slide through the whole line. But at the end of the initiation, oh, what prestige and stature we had acquired - we were now trusty shellbacks, accepted in the Realm of Neptune by none other than Davy Jones.
We continued about a thousand miles southward and came to anchor at Pago Pago, Tutuila, Samoan Islands. The island was beautiful at a distance, and this was as close as we came. However the water was clear as crystal and we had swim call while a marine with a rifle was posted in the superstructure to guard against shark attacks. We were on our own to avoid the giant jellyfish, which we were told had vicious
stinging cells.
A group of natives came aboard and put on a show on the quarterdeck. This was my first experience with topless performers. The main attraction, as can be imagined among several hundred sailors, was a princess of about 15 or 16, clad only in a grass skirt, who more than fulfilled a sailor’s image of a south sea island maiden. The men, who were very muscular and athletic, performed a dance with big wicked looking knives which were kept in constant whirling motion during the dance.
Several dances were performed by the group, then a dance by the princess and a handsome young man, apparently as a courtship ritual, and the finale with the entire group in a frenzy of coordinated dancing. All hands no doubt considered jumping ship and going native, to live on this beautiful, romantic island in peaceful self-indulgence.
After leaving the Samoan Islands, we proceeded to Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, arriving on March 20, 1941. We were part of a goodwill naval detachment including the USS Chicago, with Rear Admiral Newton aboard, in command, and the destroyers Clark, Cunningham, Cassin, Downs and Reid. As we entered the harbor we were met by hundreds of small craft, including ferries, sailboats, yachts and motor boats of all sizes, who escorted us to our berths at Wooloomooloo Pier, Sydney Harbor.
Thousands of people turned out and were at every vantage point on the shoreline. Undoubtedly the majority of the citizens of Sydney and the outlying districts came to welcome us and cheer our arrival.
Willard "Bo" Losh
March 1, 1941. We left Pearl Harbor and proceeded to Samoa. We crossed the equator, of course, on the way and this being the domain of Neptunis Rex, all polliwogs, of which I was one, were summoned and required to appear before the Royal High Court of the Raging Main, to determine our fitness to be initiated, if accepted, into the Trusty Shellbacks. We were all found out for our misdeeds and then sentenced, depending on the severity' of the charges, to various punishments such as cutting hair even shorter than crew cut and a gummy, slimy solution applied; a nasty medicine squirted into the mouth; operations with an electric knife; being required to bow down and show allegiance to the Royal Court and finally to run, or rather crawl, a gauntlet of trusty shellbacks, some of whom had just acquired this status, at the head of the line.
Punishment was administered by being hit on the backside with paddles made of long, thin canvas bags stuffed with sawdust and soaked in water and swung with all the force of strong young men at close intervals. This would send us sliding several feet down a wet deck while being squirted with a fire hose. When your slide slowed, you were hit again and it became almost a continual slide through the whole line. But at the end of the initiation, oh, what prestige and stature we had acquired - we were now trusty shellbacks, accepted in the Realm of Neptune by none other than Davy Jones.
We continued about a thousand miles southward and came to anchor at Pago Pago, Tutuila, Samoan Islands. The island was beautiful at a distance, and this was as close as we came. However the water was clear as crystal and we had swim call while a marine with a rifle was posted in the superstructure to guard against shark attacks. We were on our own to avoid the giant jellyfish, which we were told had vicious
stinging cells.
A group of natives came aboard and put on a show on the quarterdeck. This was my first experience with topless performers. The main attraction, as can be imagined among several hundred sailors, was a princess of about 15 or 16, clad only in a grass skirt, who more than fulfilled a sailor’s image of a south sea island maiden. The men, who were very muscular and athletic, performed a dance with big wicked looking knives which were kept in constant whirling motion during the dance.
Several dances were performed by the group, then a dance by the princess and a handsome young man, apparently as a courtship ritual, and the finale with the entire group in a frenzy of coordinated dancing. All hands no doubt considered jumping ship and going native, to live on this beautiful, romantic island in peaceful self-indulgence.
After leaving the Samoan Islands, we proceeded to Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, arriving on March 20, 1941. We were part of a goodwill naval detachment including the USS Chicago, with Rear Admiral Newton aboard, in command, and the destroyers Clark, Cunningham, Cassin, Downs and Reid. As we entered the harbor we were met by hundreds of small craft, including ferries, sailboats, yachts and motor boats of all sizes, who escorted us to our berths at Wooloomooloo Pier, Sydney Harbor.
Thousands of people turned out and were at every vantage point on the shoreline. Undoubtedly the majority of the citizens of Sydney and the outlying districts came to welcome us and cheer our arrival.
As soon as our ships were tied up and secure, all hands except those needed to stand anchor watches, went ashore, formed in ranks and marched through the streets of Sydney.
It was reported that a half-million people turned out to welcome us, that 6 tons of confetti, torn up newspapers, streamers and ticker tape were showered on us and that hundreds of women fainted and had to be helped into shops. After being treated to elegant luncheon at the town hall, we were free to do as we pleased. It was then that we were besieged by young ladies, asking for our autographs and giving us their names and addresses for prospective dates.
It was reported that a half-million people turned out to welcome us, that 6 tons of confetti, torn up newspapers, streamers and ticker tape were showered on us and that hundreds of women fainted and had to be helped into shops. After being treated to elegant luncheon at the town hall, we were free to do as we pleased. It was then that we were besieged by young ladies, asking for our autographs and giving us their names and addresses for prospective dates.
We mingled with the crowds and toured the pubs where we visited with the patrons. We had any and all the refreshment we wished at no cost, since people were lined up to buy us drinks. This reception and conduct surprised us as we had never experienced anything like this in the United States.
We stayed at Sydney until March 24 and I had one more liberty accompanied by Art Bently, Keith Hale and Charlie Kacinskas. As soon as
we stepped ashore we were met by an Australian named Mac (I believe his name was McPherson or similar name) who asked if he could drive us around to the interesting parts of the countryside. We readily agreed since we were eager to see as much as we could in the short time we had.
On the outskirts of town we encountered many more girls requesting autographs and we were pleased to accommodate them. The countryside was beautiful, timbered, hilly country overlooking numerous bays, rivers, little streams and waterfalls. We stopped at a ranch where we were provided with horses, and went for a horseback ride. Of course Art had to show off, as he had practically grown up on a horse. He was the only one of us to have a white horse.
As we continued our trip we were overtaken by a man and a woman in a convertible car, who held up two bottles and asked if we were interested. When we responded enthusiastically, the called for us to follow them and we all roared full-tilt down the road to their home on a hill overlooking a pretty bay. They introduced themselves as Lionel and Mrs. Dare and asked that we make ourselves at home in their luxurious two-storied house, with a veranda on the upper floor and a patio on the lower floor. There was a built-in, well stocked bar, from which we were invited to choose whatever we desired.
We had a wonderful visit and learned quite a bit of the history, customs and type of terrain of Australia. Some trees were identified and we
learned that a gum tree was quite abundant in this part of the country. All too soon our time in this friendly, hospitable port ended and we said good-bye to all our new friends and returned to our ship.
When we got underway March 24, 1941, we sailed north to Brisbane, went up the Brisbane river and moored to Hamilton Wharf March 25. The welcome here was almost a repeat of our experience at Sydney with about 100,000 people turning out. I was not in the parade this time as I had the duty watch. I got ashore once for a short time but it was not as memorable or exciting for me as at Sydney. This harbor being nearer the equator, white uniforms were worn instead of blues.
The evening of March 27 we presented a one hour searchlight display as a farewell gesture. As the searchlight platform was my battle station, I struck the arc, and, with the help of pointers, trainers and telephone talkers, operated the lights. There were tour 36 inch carbon-arc searchlights and the beams were seen as far away as 60 miles.
The enthusiasm and appreciation were as intense as at all other events during our visit, which I later realized was not wholly due to the charisma of my shipmates and myself, but rather from a sense of survival instinct of a people threatened with invasion by a formidable enemy, while being assured of support by a powerful ally. At least this was true of the officials and politicians, but we liked to think that perhaps some of the other people just liked American sailors. We certainly liked them for themselves, regardless of the circumstances.
We got underway the morning of March 28 and proceeded to Suva. Fiji Land of the Fuzzy-Wuzzies, arriving April 4, 1941. We were granted liberty and a group of my friends and I went ashore. The day was spent sightseeing which wasn't very exciting. Since we had no transportation we did not go far. I do remember some big, black policemen with enormous afro-style hairdos and barefoot who, I imagined at the time, could recently have been head-hunters.
We then left Fiji and returned to Pearl Harbor, arriving there April 10.
Souvenir of the fleet's visit to Brisbane. USS Portland is in the background, framed by the bow of another heavy cruiser. Photo courtesy of Bill Webb.
A LETTER HOME Vol I., pp. 17-19
Bart Babcock
Monday, March 10. 1941
Dear Mom,
If you don’t get this for a while, it's because of the distance, not because I failed to write. We (in formation with 13 other Navy ships) pulled out of Pearl Harbor Monday morning (3rd) for an unknown destination. We thought we were just going out on manouevers, but before we knew it we had crossed the equator (Friday) and were over a thousand miles from Honolulu. Sunday afternoon at 1:00 we pulled into Pago Pago harbor, Tutuila, Samoa.
We will stay here for probably a few days and then shove off for God knows where. The Captain doesn't as we are sailing under sealed orders. If ever I kick about the heat again, just remind me of this cruise. It was up to 116 in the shade for a day on each side of the equator and it hovered around 98 for the rest of the time. We had quite an initiation when we crossed the equator. (A shellback is a sailor who has crossed the equator, a pollywog has not.) I am now a shellback.
Saturday, March 16
Continued…
I forgot to mail this in Samoa (we only stayed there 3 days) and I had one liberty (4 hours) and the place is really beautiful. The whole island is a jungle except right in Pago Pago (pronounced Pango Pango). Nothing but natives living in grass huts, there are 1300 natives living on Tutuilla. All the men are superbly built and wear nothing but a waist high, knee length cloth, women wearing the same. Some natives from
the neighboring, uncivilized island of Manu'a came on the ship and gave some real native dances called Siva Siva.
We spilt up, and now there are only 5 ships with us. Our group is bound for Sydney, Australia on a good will tour - we don't know where next. I’ll mail this in Sydney. We have already crossed the 180th meridian, which qualifies us a Golden Dragonbacks, an honor far more rare than Shellback (When we crossed the international date line. We skipped Thursday, re-crossing it we had two Thursdays.) We expect to reach Sydney the 20th. and pull out the 23rd. Just one day of liberty for each half of the ship.
But they say that Sydney is the best liberty port on the whole world. I hope so. I doubt if I will get any mail for a month or more, but I’ll write you whenever I can. Don't worry about me, tho. I may add some more to this before I mail it.
Friday
We pulled into the most beautiful harbor in all the world yesterday, to be met by the most wonderful reception a man could hope for in his wildest dreams. You see, it was only 7 days after the signing of the Lend-Lease Bill, and we were only the 5th detachment of U.S. Navy ships to come to Sydney since 1838. (There were lots of ferries and cabin cruisers in Sydney Harbor, and a bridge about 7 times as long, high and wide as the Interstate.) This is a city of over 1 million and 1/2 people and they ALL turned out. It was declared a holiday and all schools,
stores and banks closed.
There are about 500 small motorboats in the harbor, and ALL were loaded to the gills, waving flags (American and British) and hollering themselves hoarse. When we tied up alongside the pier, the people almost crashed the gates down, trying to get in.
(I’ve signed so many autograph books and flags I’ve got writer’s cramp.) Everyone over here treats you as if you were a movie star. They won't let you spend any money. All movies, busses, trains, trams and beer are free to us, and we all have more invitations and dates than we can possibly fulfill! They open up their homes, cars and stores to us – open up their hearts even. For people suffering from war and taxation, they have responded marvelously They think of Roosevelt along with the Saints. The Episcopal Church is very strong over here, having 40% of the people for members.
They despise the Nazis and Fascists, and love the Americans and democracy, and look up to them as their saviors. I was talking to many people over here and I was surprised that this is NOT "a little bit of Britain." As a matter of fact, although they talk like the English, and use their money standards, they feel sort of a contempt for the "Limeys" as they call them.
We had a swell time, going to banquets and parties. I went out to Bobbin Head with a sight-seeing party and had a swell time. At night we took a coupla [sic] girls out to a show. I didn't get to march in the Sydney parade. We went out to the Taronga Park Zoo it is world famous, and lives up to its reputation. We saw the biggest ship in the world in Sydney harbor - Britain's new ocean liner, sister ship to the Queen Mary – the 800+ ft. long Queen Elizabeth. It is now painted a dull grey and used as a transport ship.
We did stay in Sydney three days and then, with a royal sendoff we hit the seas again - for Brisbane, 500 miles up the coast. (1 1/2 days) For three days we roamed the streets and parks in that town of 500,000 people. This time I got in the parade and was it fun. We (1000 sailors and marines) were escorted by some Australian soldiers and some Scotch Highlanders.
(Continued tomorrow)
We marched about 3 miles, pushing our way single file most of the time, holding on to our hats and neckerchiefs, for they were valuable souvenirs to the Australians, and 9/10ths of the men came back to the ship without them.
We had a swell banquet at the "Town Hall" (City Hall to you Yankees) with all the trimmings: 5 kinds of meat, 6 kinds of fruit, fruit cocktails,
salads, soft drinks, a quart of beer apiece (don't be sorry, it had only 2% alcoholic content), cigarettes, cigars and after dinner speeches and toasts to the King, to F.D.R., and to everyone else they could think of.
We only stayed in Brisbane 3 days and then headed for Fiji. We had a good time there, although there wasn't a reception except a few natives lined up along the dock. They were big and looked fierce, but they were friendly. We were in the town of Suva, quite quaint (to coin a phrase) although it has 15-20,000 inhabitants, and many modem stores, banks schools and churches. A shipmate and I rented bikes for sixpence (dime) an hour and rode all over town. These are shark-infested waters, and while at anchor there was always about 10 or 12 big sharks cruising within 20 feet of the ship, their black fins slicing through the water sending chills up and down your spine. You can rest assured no one fell over the side in Fiji. After 2 days in Fiji we re-crossed the equator and headed for P.H T. H. We stayed in P. H. three days and then nut to sea. Now we are going in for overhaul alongside a tender. It will seem good to get a few weeks of rest, after 31 days at sea out of a month and a halt. Bidding you a fond adieu, I remain your wayward sailor-boy - not sea-sick, just sick of the sea.
Love, Barton
P.S. I got a stack of mail upon reaching "home." In reply to yours of the 15th, I would appreciate a mixture of both kinds of cookies, thank you. Happy Mother's Day!
Bart Babcock
Monday, March 10. 1941
Dear Mom,
If you don’t get this for a while, it's because of the distance, not because I failed to write. We (in formation with 13 other Navy ships) pulled out of Pearl Harbor Monday morning (3rd) for an unknown destination. We thought we were just going out on manouevers, but before we knew it we had crossed the equator (Friday) and were over a thousand miles from Honolulu. Sunday afternoon at 1:00 we pulled into Pago Pago harbor, Tutuila, Samoa.
We will stay here for probably a few days and then shove off for God knows where. The Captain doesn't as we are sailing under sealed orders. If ever I kick about the heat again, just remind me of this cruise. It was up to 116 in the shade for a day on each side of the equator and it hovered around 98 for the rest of the time. We had quite an initiation when we crossed the equator. (A shellback is a sailor who has crossed the equator, a pollywog has not.) I am now a shellback.
Saturday, March 16
Continued…
I forgot to mail this in Samoa (we only stayed there 3 days) and I had one liberty (4 hours) and the place is really beautiful. The whole island is a jungle except right in Pago Pago (pronounced Pango Pango). Nothing but natives living in grass huts, there are 1300 natives living on Tutuilla. All the men are superbly built and wear nothing but a waist high, knee length cloth, women wearing the same. Some natives from
the neighboring, uncivilized island of Manu'a came on the ship and gave some real native dances called Siva Siva.
We spilt up, and now there are only 5 ships with us. Our group is bound for Sydney, Australia on a good will tour - we don't know where next. I’ll mail this in Sydney. We have already crossed the 180th meridian, which qualifies us a Golden Dragonbacks, an honor far more rare than Shellback (When we crossed the international date line. We skipped Thursday, re-crossing it we had two Thursdays.) We expect to reach Sydney the 20th. and pull out the 23rd. Just one day of liberty for each half of the ship.
But they say that Sydney is the best liberty port on the whole world. I hope so. I doubt if I will get any mail for a month or more, but I’ll write you whenever I can. Don't worry about me, tho. I may add some more to this before I mail it.
Friday
We pulled into the most beautiful harbor in all the world yesterday, to be met by the most wonderful reception a man could hope for in his wildest dreams. You see, it was only 7 days after the signing of the Lend-Lease Bill, and we were only the 5th detachment of U.S. Navy ships to come to Sydney since 1838. (There were lots of ferries and cabin cruisers in Sydney Harbor, and a bridge about 7 times as long, high and wide as the Interstate.) This is a city of over 1 million and 1/2 people and they ALL turned out. It was declared a holiday and all schools,
stores and banks closed.
There are about 500 small motorboats in the harbor, and ALL were loaded to the gills, waving flags (American and British) and hollering themselves hoarse. When we tied up alongside the pier, the people almost crashed the gates down, trying to get in.
(I’ve signed so many autograph books and flags I’ve got writer’s cramp.) Everyone over here treats you as if you were a movie star. They won't let you spend any money. All movies, busses, trains, trams and beer are free to us, and we all have more invitations and dates than we can possibly fulfill! They open up their homes, cars and stores to us – open up their hearts even. For people suffering from war and taxation, they have responded marvelously They think of Roosevelt along with the Saints. The Episcopal Church is very strong over here, having 40% of the people for members.
They despise the Nazis and Fascists, and love the Americans and democracy, and look up to them as their saviors. I was talking to many people over here and I was surprised that this is NOT "a little bit of Britain." As a matter of fact, although they talk like the English, and use their money standards, they feel sort of a contempt for the "Limeys" as they call them.
We had a swell time, going to banquets and parties. I went out to Bobbin Head with a sight-seeing party and had a swell time. At night we took a coupla [sic] girls out to a show. I didn't get to march in the Sydney parade. We went out to the Taronga Park Zoo it is world famous, and lives up to its reputation. We saw the biggest ship in the world in Sydney harbor - Britain's new ocean liner, sister ship to the Queen Mary – the 800+ ft. long Queen Elizabeth. It is now painted a dull grey and used as a transport ship.
We did stay in Sydney three days and then, with a royal sendoff we hit the seas again - for Brisbane, 500 miles up the coast. (1 1/2 days) For three days we roamed the streets and parks in that town of 500,000 people. This time I got in the parade and was it fun. We (1000 sailors and marines) were escorted by some Australian soldiers and some Scotch Highlanders.
(Continued tomorrow)
We marched about 3 miles, pushing our way single file most of the time, holding on to our hats and neckerchiefs, for they were valuable souvenirs to the Australians, and 9/10ths of the men came back to the ship without them.
We had a swell banquet at the "Town Hall" (City Hall to you Yankees) with all the trimmings: 5 kinds of meat, 6 kinds of fruit, fruit cocktails,
salads, soft drinks, a quart of beer apiece (don't be sorry, it had only 2% alcoholic content), cigarettes, cigars and after dinner speeches and toasts to the King, to F.D.R., and to everyone else they could think of.
We only stayed in Brisbane 3 days and then headed for Fiji. We had a good time there, although there wasn't a reception except a few natives lined up along the dock. They were big and looked fierce, but they were friendly. We were in the town of Suva, quite quaint (to coin a phrase) although it has 15-20,000 inhabitants, and many modem stores, banks schools and churches. A shipmate and I rented bikes for sixpence (dime) an hour and rode all over town. These are shark-infested waters, and while at anchor there was always about 10 or 12 big sharks cruising within 20 feet of the ship, their black fins slicing through the water sending chills up and down your spine. You can rest assured no one fell over the side in Fiji. After 2 days in Fiji we re-crossed the equator and headed for P.H T. H. We stayed in P. H. three days and then nut to sea. Now we are going in for overhaul alongside a tender. It will seem good to get a few weeks of rest, after 31 days at sea out of a month and a halt. Bidding you a fond adieu, I remain your wayward sailor-boy - not sea-sick, just sick of the sea.
Love, Barton
P.S. I got a stack of mail upon reaching "home." In reply to yours of the 15th, I would appreciate a mixture of both kinds of cookies, thank you. Happy Mother's Day!
MY CRUISE TO AUSTRALIA Vol. II, pp. 25-33
William "Bill" Speer
Here is the story of my Australia cruise. It is for anyone to read who wants all the "dope" from the time we left our base until we returned to Pearl Harbor. Due to censorship there are a few items that I must eliminate. The Navy motto is: "Don't write about ships.”
On March 1, 1941, we were cruising around near the islands (Hawaiian) doing a bit of firing with all the guns, which was just routine practice with us. Needless to say, we did some excellent firing that day. We always do. That evening the word was passed around that we would return to our base at Pearl Harbor. This was quite unexpected as we lacked four says of completing the expected time we were to be at sea.
The next morning, Sunday, we began the hard job of provisioning the ship. We took on a full capacity of oil, supplies and food. Our speculation was running riot as to where our destination would be. We all knew we were going to sea for a while, but how long? The crew did not think or cuss very much for having to work that Sunday because we all knew the ship would leave Pearl Harbor and as far as the crew was concerned, the sooner we got underway, the better.
On March 3, 1941, we left for sea at 7:00 a.m. Accompanying us were the following: one tanker, nine destroyers and two cruisers. It was a surprise to all of us to see several more cruisers in our squadron the next morning. They had slipped into formation during the night. The first day out the weather was rather rough with light rains falling all day. At 5:00 p.m. that evening we all turned our clocks back.
On March 4, 1941, it was evident that we were to cross the equator because the Shellbacks were called to "gather 'round" and decide the fate of all the Pollywogs aboard. The title "Shellback" is give all men who have crossed the equator and have been properly initiated into the folds of Neptunis Rex and the Raging Main, and pollywogs are those who have not crossed the equator. There were about 150 Shellbacks aboard and 700 pollywogs.
The pollywogs were to be subjugated and brought before Neptunis Rex and tried to see whether they were worthy of being a loyal subject. By this time the pollywogs were very active and raising merry hell with the shellbacks. It reminded me of college freshmen getting their good licks before being initiated by upperclassmen. The shellbacks were helpless until the equator was reached, as they were outnumbered, but those guys were not forgetting the leaders who talked their fellow pollywogs into soundly thrashing a shellback at any hour of the night. Some of the shellbacks were strapped, gagged and so securely bound in their bunks that they could not even yell for help or get any assistance until morning. Several fellows were found handcuffed to stanchions in different parts of the ship.
On March 5th we were told that our first stop was Samoa. By now it was getting warmer. Very hot below the first deck and at night it was almost impossible to sleep. We were having all kinds of drills, both day and night. There were also the blackouts from sunset to sunrise to contend with. This was about the most disagreeable thing we had to put up with. An alarm, or number of alarms were always sounding after sunset, and at each alarm everyone had to quickly get to his station no matter how much or how little light there might be in some parts of the ship.. One readily learns how to get to his station, simply by a sixth sense of touch. By now the guns were kept half-manned for twenty-four hours a day. We certainly were in no position to be caught sleeping if someone wished to question our authority as to why we were steaming around in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
There were hectic days. We were unable to rest at night for the heat and the next morning found one just as tired as when he went to bed. I slept on the main deck several nights and true to tropical climate it rained every night, but no one seemed to move from their sleeping place. Just one night from the equator there were so many men sleeping outside their compartments that it was almost impossible to walk on the main deck without stepping on someone.
On March 7th the entire crew was summoned to meet in one group on the main deck at 2.00 p.m. What greeted our eyes was a strange spectacle to be seen on a warship. There stood Davy Jones in his hip boots, cutlass and other paraphernalia befitting the keeper of the souls of dead men lost at sea. Our captain greeted Davy Jones, whereupon Davy Jones informed the captain that the ship and crew were worthy of crossing the "line." Then followed the King of the Raging Main, Neptunis Rex, and his queen. Both were dressed as a king and queen. Several black boys carrying large fans, kept fanning the king and queen, stopping occasionally to bow and give utterances that were praises attempting to please the king so that he would permit a safe journey for us while crossing the Main. When the ordeal was over we pollywogs were given a summons demanding that we appear before Court to be tried and sentenced to whatever our fate might be.
The pollywog ring-leaders who had caused so much trouble were given a first degree working over. The shellbacks cut off their hair with a pair of sharp tin cutting shears, then rubbed a combination of oil and graphite into what hair was left, and soundly beat them with wet ropes. During all this misery, the devil was sticking them with a fish spear. For the pollywogs whose case was just ordinary, they were made to crawl around on a wet deck that had sand thrown everywhere they crawled. It took all the skin off of our knees and while we were being tortured with salt-water from fire hoses, there were 75 shellbacks hot on our rear with anything they could beat us with. Several of the fellows got mashed fingers, skin removed in none too small quantities, and one fellow broke several toes. Not bad for the treatment we pollywogs took. We crossed the equator that night and all the men became shellbacks, subjects of Neptunis Rex, King of the Raging Main.
On the 8th of March there was nothing new except that the heat was almost now unbearable, daytime or night. The Hawaiian Islands are very cool compared to the temperature near the equator. The frequent rains helped to alleviate the heat at night.
The morning of March 9th, we sighted land. It was one of the many small islands of the Samoan group. These islands were by far the most beautiful most of us had seen. They reminded one of the romantic, palm-swaying scenes that are found only in movies, not Hawaii. Here was nature's real beauty, undisturbed and uncivilized in most respects. We entered the harbor and anchored. This harbor was once the center of an old volcano that was several hundred feet deep except for the small, shallow entrance. The island is a mountain rising out of the Pacific to a height of several thousand feet. It is very steep and covered with coconut palms. The top of the mountain is oddly shaped and at sunset appears to be the form of a sleeping man. The island is a perfect place of peace and quiet.
The next day, March 10th, we went swimming over the ship's side and the water was just fine. Clear, salty and deep.
That night a tribe of Samoans came aboard and furnished us with their type of entertainment. They danced and sang. An American jitterbug would have had a hard time jitterbugging to their music. Theirs was a two piece orchestra. One man beating two pieces of wood together. From this noise they sang and did some dancing that put jitterbugs to shame. All the young men are athletes and any amount of their savage dancing did not seem to tire them in the least.
They are great wild game hunters and rely on wild hogs for meat. The whole island is their vegetable garden and all their vegetable grow wild. There are numerous tribes and each tribe keeps to their property or island, unless they want to visit. When they visit it usually lasts for several weeks. Their clothing is inexpensive as clothing consists of either a grass skirt or a piece of bright colored gingham that extends from the waist to the knees. The women are no exception when it comes to keeping clothed, so they wear just as much as the men. They use the outrigger to get about on the water and needless to say, some natives can really "go to town" in a hurry when they lay on the oars.
March 11: The water was very clear so the crew was allowed to go over the side for a swim in the afternoon. The water was cold, although one would imagine it to be warm so near the equator. Late in the evening we received word to be prepared to get underway at 6:00 a.m. the next morning.
March 12: Once more on the move and no idea of where we would anchor next. By 7:00 a.m. we were headed into a rough sea, but not in a homeward direction. Once more the crew began to wonder where we were going and their questions were soon answered. It was officially announced at 10:00 a.m. that our next port would be Sydney, Australia. The news made everyone wild with joy. There were men among us that had visited Australia before and they gave all the new hands the "dope" on that wonderful port. We were to discover later that Australia was, in a sailor's word, "heaven." That afternoon we crossed the International Date Line and all clocks were turned back one hour, but we gained a day. Brought pay day that much closer, but there was to be a day of reckoning when we returned, as we lost a day. It was about this time that half of our squadron cut off and headed for New Zealand.
March 13: Today we had cooler weather and the sea was calm. Everything was in our favor. The radios began to bring in Australian radio stations. It was a relief to listen to your radio without the continuous disturbance of Hawaiian, Chinese and Japanese music we were so accustomed to, yet despised.
The following day a storm closed in on us. It was very rough. This storm lasted until we entered the port of Sydney. Those waters are always stormy and rough with plenty of rain at any time. The rains helped to cool the air at night and that now made possible our sleeping below decks at night. A Sydney radio broadcast that night told of our expected entrance into Sydney harbor on March 19th.
The next morning, March 18, put us just twenty-four hours from Australia. It was rather cold now and the crew changed into blue clothes. The navy cold-weather uniform is blue. The crew was jubilant at just the thought of some much needed liberty. We had been fifteen days at sea - with the exception of anchoring for three days at Samoa – without setting foot on land.
On March 19, 1941, at 10:52 a.m., we docked in Sydney, Australia. Earlier that morning we were met at a good distance from the harbor by a small vessel that was to escort us into Sydney. The harbor entrance was undoubtedly mined for our squadron followed the escort ship very closely, veering neither left nor right. As we neared the main channel of that beautiful harbor, we were greeted by all types of boats that were filled with cheering people. Every vantage point on shore was crowded with onlookers. Planes were flying overhead taking pictures of the ships, while a broadcast from one of the planes was telling of our entering the harbor, the types of ships and the officers in command. The cheering was so loud that the noise was easily heard at 3/4 of a mile distance. People were everywhere. Every window in every house was crowded with faces. Even late in the afternoon a large portion of that immense crowd was still lingering and looking in spite of the rain that frequently fell. Many Aussies apologized for the damp weather saying that it was unusual to rain so much at that time of year. Rain was the least of our worries. We had seen plenty of moisture since leaving Hawaii and we were used to it.
All men that rated liberty were not long in leaving the ship, intent on exploring this new port that looked so promising. True to the American way of doing things, the navy soon had things under control, but only to a small extent. The city was so large and the people so happy to see us that the sailors were quickly absorbed into their metropolis.
Our distant cousins had not forgotten a thing. There were parties, dances and other entertainment provided for us and these we gladly accepted. But a sailor must explore for himself It was a difficult problem to evade an ever present group of autograph seekers and also females. I don't believe any other place in the world has so many beautiful girls and they all wanted to be seen with American naval men. The women all adore Americans and their greatest desire was to come to America. The men look to us as only a good business asset with plenty of cash and reserve energy to build up their unexploited continent. The British are too slow and old-fashioned to modernize and develop this one great colonial possession. Never call an Australian an Englishman or Briton. If you do you are merely buying a quick ticket to your funeral. In the states the same reaction can be had by calling a dyed-in-the-wool Southerner a "Yankee." It just isn't safe for one's health. One must learn quickly in a foreign port and country to get along with the people.
The hospitality of the Aussies can hardly be described in words. Their best was none too good for the "bloody" Americans. They gave us their bars - they call them "pubs" - and all that flowed over the bar was free. It was a realized Utopia. We rode free of charge on their trams (street cars) and busses. Their taxis are very reasonable as compared to our taxis, especially when their petrol is 40 cents a gallon and rationed and also when you consider a taxi will cost them $1,400.00 in our money.
We were invited into their homes and enjoyed the best they had in Australia or that could be bought anywhere. The only shortage of stuff the war has caused is petrol, canned fish, olive oil and good Scotch whiskey. All Aussies are great beer drinkers and indulge in that beverage to a large extent, however a drunk is seldom seen. A drunk is regarded as a fellow having a "bloody" good time. He is not looked down on, but is laughed at by rich and poor - not branded a disgrace to society as one is in the States. One does not see skyscrapers and glass houses, but there is no great contrast in living conditions as compared with the conditions in America. The poor are in one place and the wealthy live on the other side of town. Not slums to suburbs as we have, but slums - they aren't as bad as slum conditions in the United States - then business establishments that run into the better part of town. I speak as one who knows for I saw it from end to end, by day and by night, from automobile and airplane, dives to penthouses, from the homes of waterfront people to the beautiful home of the president of the Bank of South Wales.
On the second day my buddy and I took an airplane ride over the city of Sydney. It was truly a beautiful sight. All of the housetops are a dull red and the countryside was green. Sydney boasts a temperate climate and it never snows there. Our plane dived down close over the ships at dock and a destroyer looked like an egg in a frying pan as compared to our cruisers. But the cruisers appeared very small in size compared to the Queen Elizabeth that was anchored nearby The Queen Elizabeth is too large for words to describe and she is painted black which gives her a very grim appearance in that black cloak. She has sixteen decks below water. The Dutch ship Amsterdam was in the harbor also, but it was not as large as the Queen Elizabeth. She was painted yellow. She left Sydney before we did and the next time we saw the Amsterdam she was in Suva, Fiji Islands. She left Fiji as we entered and soon faded into the heavy sea of fog.
There are no bathing beaches that can compare with those of Australia. The famous two bathing spots of Sydney are Manly and Bondi Beach. Nearly all Aussies that live near water are water lovers and good swimmers. We had the pleasure of witnessing their yearly life saving contest. This contest takes place at Bondi where huge crowds gather on that beach to get an eyeful of mechanized life saving that rates A-1 in synchronization of all movements. Each state (you know how Australia is divided into states) sends a team of life-savers to Bondi to compete against each other. The winning team is given a large gold cup, a life-saving boat and a flag that symbolizes all that life-saving stands for. The men are young, being between 19 and 26. They must be young to stand the strain that is connected with that particular work. Each man is solid muscle and military trained. There are about 30 men to a team and the parade the teams put on before starting the life-saving contests is as military in form as a group of West Pointers on parade. Several teams from different states were not present as the Australian Air Force had taken these men from their team so fast that replacements were impossible. There is much to tell about this event, but it would take too much time and space.
The United States could learn plenty from Australia on how to entertain soldiers that need more fun and recreation. The Australian girls, in fact all women, are organized into detachments to entertain soldiers and sailors. The women are all uniformed with the letters of the detachment on their uniforms. The V. A, D.'s are Volunteer Auxiliary Detachment consisting mostly of women between the ages of 20 and 50. The W. R. E. N . S. (Women's Reserve Emergency Naval Service) are younger, between 15 and 25, and are of course more popular among service men. The Aussies say that uniformed women are better for the morale of men in training.
An interesting incident occurred in Sydney the second day we were there. An Australian sailor decided that his girl would not be seen with one of our gobs. The Aussie quickly dug his own grave. The gob said he would fight the Aussie for her hand. A crowd gathered while the fight was in progress, including two policemen. The fighters, on seeing the police, quickly stopped fighting, but the police threatened to take both into custody unless one of the fighters agreed the problem had been settled. The gob said "No" and the Aussie said "No." A larger ring was formed and the real fight began with both policemen as referees. The gob won with the Aussie going down fighting. The gob got the girl and plenty of publicity. The next day the story of that fight was all over Sydney with the Aussies thinking more of us that ever before Remember this. The Aussie prides himself on one thing and that is he believes himself the world's best fighter. Every Aussie, young and old alike, knows countless tales of bravery performed in World War I by his countrymen while fighting with those "bloody" Americans in France. On the lips of every Australian, not Englishmen, is the ever present sentence, "We hope we will be an American possession after this World War II."
On March 22 at 3:00 p. m., we pulled out of Woolloomoolloo Harbor, Sydney, Australia for another Australian port. The crowds gathered in the morning and by 3:00 p.m. we viewed as large a mass of people as ever congregated in any place to see it's heroes. The harbor waters were filled with every type of craft available, making our exit very difficult and dangerous. We had our life boats with plenty of life jackets ready for lowering in case of an accident. Several times there were breath taking scenes when some unlucky boat was crowded close to our ship to avoid being smashed by another craft. The people in the boats wanted our hats and by the time we had cleared the harbor there wasn't a man at quarters with his hat on. About 500 or 700 hats were thrown overboard to those souvenir hunters at a cost of 50 cents per hat. With Sydney fading from sight and the sun about to set, we inwardly waved farewell to those beloved, hospitable people and began to wonder what the next port held in store for us.
When we were well out to sea, word was passed that we were proceeding to Brisbane. All ships followed the coast line and often at night the shore lights were visible. The weather was excellent and the crew changed into white clothes as it was getting warmer. On March 24 the ships started up the river to Brisbane at 2:00 a.m. At 8:00 a.m. we had docked. The people had formed straggly lines and groups along the river many miles out of Brisbane just so they could say they were the first to see the jolly Yankees. Due to lack of population, there were not as many people to cheer us as were in Sydney. But the people of Brisbane showed the same enthusiasm as the people of Sydney. The parade began at 10:00 a.m. with a complement of 200 men. When the parade was finished these men went on regular liberty, as the parade consisted of men from the liberty section. The parade ended at City Hall where a brief welcome and ceremony took place. This ended, the men took off to places of their own desire. The best night spot in Brisbane was the Trocadero where there were four girls to every man. It was not air-conditioned, but then Australia is about ten years behind the United States in most respects. The Trocadero was overrun with sailors. Its music was a little slow and the place closed at 11:30 p.m. however it stayed open until midnight just for the American sailors.
Many sailors went sightseeing and many, for the first time, saw a kangaroo. The mild climate there presented no problem for zoo's. On the last day 150 men went back into the interior - away from the coast - on a sightseeing trip into Toowoomba. They reported Toowoomba a tropical paradise. The most congenial people and the best flavored beer in the whole world. It was one more memory for the sailors, which made them more than ever hate to leave there.
On March 27, 1941, we left Brisbane, it's good people, beautiful scenery that is hard to match in Hawaii, good climate and above all else, good liberty. Good liberty is something that is vital to uphold the morale of fighting men and something the navy fails to realize, or, if it realizes it, does nothing about the situation.
At sea once more and headed for the British Fiji Islands. The first day we changed into the navy's tropical weather clothes, skivvy shirt and shorts. The weather was fine, but the sea rough which caused the ship to roll a great deal. The 29th and 30th of March were very rough days. No hands were permitted on the forward decks. Too much danger of being swept off. Some hatches were closed to prevent water from coming into the next lower compartments. On March 31st we lost an entire day.
It was very warm now at night and exceedingly hot in the daytime when the sun shone. It rained often and was overcast a good deal of the time.
On April 1st we sighted the Fiji Islands at 10;00 a.m. The islands are beautiful from a distance. Just like Samoa for beauty. Several hours later we docked and were given liberty from 1:00 p.m. until 5:00 p.m. Of all the stink holes in this world I believe that Suva, Fiji Islands, heads the list. The port reeked of filth, decaying trash and everything else that could rot. It is always raining and that accounts for a good amount of the peculiar odor that surrounds the village of Suva, The natives really look like real savages. Their hair stands up straight and they are as black as the ace of spades and have feet of unusually large proportion. A black native with shoes is as rare as a snowball in Hades. The British have tried to shoe a few native soldiers but in the end they have always had to discard the shoes. The native simply cannot navigate in anything that covers his enormous hoof.
Most all the shops sell handmade articles and there is little evidence of modernity about the islands. One more example of English progress - slow and lazy. If England's territorial possessions are as slow in advancing as those places I have seen, then it is no wonder that her possessions desire their independence and are also reluctant about giving their full aid to Britain in this war.
The harbor waters are shark-infested. We counted six sharks at one time. They ranged from ten to fourteen feet in length.
While roaming around, I met an Englishman and asked him about a particular tree we were about to pass. He looked at the tree, then at me and said "Blast if I know, Yank. It's not an evergreen, a pineapple tree or a palm tree. I guess it's just a plain tree." He laughed uproariously, slapped me on the back and almost drew a crowd with his laughing. (I still don't get the joke, but I laughed right with him.) By now I was getting used to the British sense of humor. They have none.
Several tin cans (destroyers) refueled from the cruisers. It was our main reason for stopping at Fiji. We refueled and also re-stocked the tin can's chow larder.
On April 3rd we got underway for Pearl Harbor. All day we passed small barren islands which were part of the outlying islands of the Fiji group. It was hot and seemed to get hotter with each passing hour. The heat was due to the calm before the storm, even though it was continually raining. With drills, blackouts and no sleep because of the heat, everyone was about "fed up" with the whole deal. On April 6, Sunday, we kept on working. It was just another day of hard work.
Late that evening a squall hit and it really rained in torrents while the Pacific got rougher and was very rough by the time we got within sight of Pearl Harbor.
On Monday, April 7, the two cruisers had offset target practice with their eight inch guns. By offset gunnery I mean that we fired forward of their bow and they fired in our wake. The shells that count are those that are either dead ahead or those that fell in the wake of our stern. Due to the bad weather it was unfavorable for firing, but some good shots were seen to fall from 15,000 yards.
It began to get rather cool now but there were some seasick sailors aboard. The water was breaking over the bow and occasionally washing off the windows of the bridge
On April 10, 1941, at 3:00 o'clock a.m. the land lights of Pearl Harbor were sighted. The sight of land did not cause much excitement because it was nothing but the sinkhole of the Pacific that we were about to drop anchor in. Just in case you don't remember, that was the day the German Army marched into Budapest.
Thus the cruise ended and with it my story. I hope you have enjoyed it.
William "Bill" Speer
Here is the story of my Australia cruise. It is for anyone to read who wants all the "dope" from the time we left our base until we returned to Pearl Harbor. Due to censorship there are a few items that I must eliminate. The Navy motto is: "Don't write about ships.”
On March 1, 1941, we were cruising around near the islands (Hawaiian) doing a bit of firing with all the guns, which was just routine practice with us. Needless to say, we did some excellent firing that day. We always do. That evening the word was passed around that we would return to our base at Pearl Harbor. This was quite unexpected as we lacked four says of completing the expected time we were to be at sea.
The next morning, Sunday, we began the hard job of provisioning the ship. We took on a full capacity of oil, supplies and food. Our speculation was running riot as to where our destination would be. We all knew we were going to sea for a while, but how long? The crew did not think or cuss very much for having to work that Sunday because we all knew the ship would leave Pearl Harbor and as far as the crew was concerned, the sooner we got underway, the better.
On March 3, 1941, we left for sea at 7:00 a.m. Accompanying us were the following: one tanker, nine destroyers and two cruisers. It was a surprise to all of us to see several more cruisers in our squadron the next morning. They had slipped into formation during the night. The first day out the weather was rather rough with light rains falling all day. At 5:00 p.m. that evening we all turned our clocks back.
On March 4, 1941, it was evident that we were to cross the equator because the Shellbacks were called to "gather 'round" and decide the fate of all the Pollywogs aboard. The title "Shellback" is give all men who have crossed the equator and have been properly initiated into the folds of Neptunis Rex and the Raging Main, and pollywogs are those who have not crossed the equator. There were about 150 Shellbacks aboard and 700 pollywogs.
The pollywogs were to be subjugated and brought before Neptunis Rex and tried to see whether they were worthy of being a loyal subject. By this time the pollywogs were very active and raising merry hell with the shellbacks. It reminded me of college freshmen getting their good licks before being initiated by upperclassmen. The shellbacks were helpless until the equator was reached, as they were outnumbered, but those guys were not forgetting the leaders who talked their fellow pollywogs into soundly thrashing a shellback at any hour of the night. Some of the shellbacks were strapped, gagged and so securely bound in their bunks that they could not even yell for help or get any assistance until morning. Several fellows were found handcuffed to stanchions in different parts of the ship.
On March 5th we were told that our first stop was Samoa. By now it was getting warmer. Very hot below the first deck and at night it was almost impossible to sleep. We were having all kinds of drills, both day and night. There were also the blackouts from sunset to sunrise to contend with. This was about the most disagreeable thing we had to put up with. An alarm, or number of alarms were always sounding after sunset, and at each alarm everyone had to quickly get to his station no matter how much or how little light there might be in some parts of the ship.. One readily learns how to get to his station, simply by a sixth sense of touch. By now the guns were kept half-manned for twenty-four hours a day. We certainly were in no position to be caught sleeping if someone wished to question our authority as to why we were steaming around in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
There were hectic days. We were unable to rest at night for the heat and the next morning found one just as tired as when he went to bed. I slept on the main deck several nights and true to tropical climate it rained every night, but no one seemed to move from their sleeping place. Just one night from the equator there were so many men sleeping outside their compartments that it was almost impossible to walk on the main deck without stepping on someone.
On March 7th the entire crew was summoned to meet in one group on the main deck at 2.00 p.m. What greeted our eyes was a strange spectacle to be seen on a warship. There stood Davy Jones in his hip boots, cutlass and other paraphernalia befitting the keeper of the souls of dead men lost at sea. Our captain greeted Davy Jones, whereupon Davy Jones informed the captain that the ship and crew were worthy of crossing the "line." Then followed the King of the Raging Main, Neptunis Rex, and his queen. Both were dressed as a king and queen. Several black boys carrying large fans, kept fanning the king and queen, stopping occasionally to bow and give utterances that were praises attempting to please the king so that he would permit a safe journey for us while crossing the Main. When the ordeal was over we pollywogs were given a summons demanding that we appear before Court to be tried and sentenced to whatever our fate might be.
The pollywog ring-leaders who had caused so much trouble were given a first degree working over. The shellbacks cut off their hair with a pair of sharp tin cutting shears, then rubbed a combination of oil and graphite into what hair was left, and soundly beat them with wet ropes. During all this misery, the devil was sticking them with a fish spear. For the pollywogs whose case was just ordinary, they were made to crawl around on a wet deck that had sand thrown everywhere they crawled. It took all the skin off of our knees and while we were being tortured with salt-water from fire hoses, there were 75 shellbacks hot on our rear with anything they could beat us with. Several of the fellows got mashed fingers, skin removed in none too small quantities, and one fellow broke several toes. Not bad for the treatment we pollywogs took. We crossed the equator that night and all the men became shellbacks, subjects of Neptunis Rex, King of the Raging Main.
On the 8th of March there was nothing new except that the heat was almost now unbearable, daytime or night. The Hawaiian Islands are very cool compared to the temperature near the equator. The frequent rains helped to alleviate the heat at night.
The morning of March 9th, we sighted land. It was one of the many small islands of the Samoan group. These islands were by far the most beautiful most of us had seen. They reminded one of the romantic, palm-swaying scenes that are found only in movies, not Hawaii. Here was nature's real beauty, undisturbed and uncivilized in most respects. We entered the harbor and anchored. This harbor was once the center of an old volcano that was several hundred feet deep except for the small, shallow entrance. The island is a mountain rising out of the Pacific to a height of several thousand feet. It is very steep and covered with coconut palms. The top of the mountain is oddly shaped and at sunset appears to be the form of a sleeping man. The island is a perfect place of peace and quiet.
The next day, March 10th, we went swimming over the ship's side and the water was just fine. Clear, salty and deep.
That night a tribe of Samoans came aboard and furnished us with their type of entertainment. They danced and sang. An American jitterbug would have had a hard time jitterbugging to their music. Theirs was a two piece orchestra. One man beating two pieces of wood together. From this noise they sang and did some dancing that put jitterbugs to shame. All the young men are athletes and any amount of their savage dancing did not seem to tire them in the least.
They are great wild game hunters and rely on wild hogs for meat. The whole island is their vegetable garden and all their vegetable grow wild. There are numerous tribes and each tribe keeps to their property or island, unless they want to visit. When they visit it usually lasts for several weeks. Their clothing is inexpensive as clothing consists of either a grass skirt or a piece of bright colored gingham that extends from the waist to the knees. The women are no exception when it comes to keeping clothed, so they wear just as much as the men. They use the outrigger to get about on the water and needless to say, some natives can really "go to town" in a hurry when they lay on the oars.
March 11: The water was very clear so the crew was allowed to go over the side for a swim in the afternoon. The water was cold, although one would imagine it to be warm so near the equator. Late in the evening we received word to be prepared to get underway at 6:00 a.m. the next morning.
March 12: Once more on the move and no idea of where we would anchor next. By 7:00 a.m. we were headed into a rough sea, but not in a homeward direction. Once more the crew began to wonder where we were going and their questions were soon answered. It was officially announced at 10:00 a.m. that our next port would be Sydney, Australia. The news made everyone wild with joy. There were men among us that had visited Australia before and they gave all the new hands the "dope" on that wonderful port. We were to discover later that Australia was, in a sailor's word, "heaven." That afternoon we crossed the International Date Line and all clocks were turned back one hour, but we gained a day. Brought pay day that much closer, but there was to be a day of reckoning when we returned, as we lost a day. It was about this time that half of our squadron cut off and headed for New Zealand.
March 13: Today we had cooler weather and the sea was calm. Everything was in our favor. The radios began to bring in Australian radio stations. It was a relief to listen to your radio without the continuous disturbance of Hawaiian, Chinese and Japanese music we were so accustomed to, yet despised.
The following day a storm closed in on us. It was very rough. This storm lasted until we entered the port of Sydney. Those waters are always stormy and rough with plenty of rain at any time. The rains helped to cool the air at night and that now made possible our sleeping below decks at night. A Sydney radio broadcast that night told of our expected entrance into Sydney harbor on March 19th.
The next morning, March 18, put us just twenty-four hours from Australia. It was rather cold now and the crew changed into blue clothes. The navy cold-weather uniform is blue. The crew was jubilant at just the thought of some much needed liberty. We had been fifteen days at sea - with the exception of anchoring for three days at Samoa – without setting foot on land.
On March 19, 1941, at 10:52 a.m., we docked in Sydney, Australia. Earlier that morning we were met at a good distance from the harbor by a small vessel that was to escort us into Sydney. The harbor entrance was undoubtedly mined for our squadron followed the escort ship very closely, veering neither left nor right. As we neared the main channel of that beautiful harbor, we were greeted by all types of boats that were filled with cheering people. Every vantage point on shore was crowded with onlookers. Planes were flying overhead taking pictures of the ships, while a broadcast from one of the planes was telling of our entering the harbor, the types of ships and the officers in command. The cheering was so loud that the noise was easily heard at 3/4 of a mile distance. People were everywhere. Every window in every house was crowded with faces. Even late in the afternoon a large portion of that immense crowd was still lingering and looking in spite of the rain that frequently fell. Many Aussies apologized for the damp weather saying that it was unusual to rain so much at that time of year. Rain was the least of our worries. We had seen plenty of moisture since leaving Hawaii and we were used to it.
All men that rated liberty were not long in leaving the ship, intent on exploring this new port that looked so promising. True to the American way of doing things, the navy soon had things under control, but only to a small extent. The city was so large and the people so happy to see us that the sailors were quickly absorbed into their metropolis.
Our distant cousins had not forgotten a thing. There were parties, dances and other entertainment provided for us and these we gladly accepted. But a sailor must explore for himself It was a difficult problem to evade an ever present group of autograph seekers and also females. I don't believe any other place in the world has so many beautiful girls and they all wanted to be seen with American naval men. The women all adore Americans and their greatest desire was to come to America. The men look to us as only a good business asset with plenty of cash and reserve energy to build up their unexploited continent. The British are too slow and old-fashioned to modernize and develop this one great colonial possession. Never call an Australian an Englishman or Briton. If you do you are merely buying a quick ticket to your funeral. In the states the same reaction can be had by calling a dyed-in-the-wool Southerner a "Yankee." It just isn't safe for one's health. One must learn quickly in a foreign port and country to get along with the people.
The hospitality of the Aussies can hardly be described in words. Their best was none too good for the "bloody" Americans. They gave us their bars - they call them "pubs" - and all that flowed over the bar was free. It was a realized Utopia. We rode free of charge on their trams (street cars) and busses. Their taxis are very reasonable as compared to our taxis, especially when their petrol is 40 cents a gallon and rationed and also when you consider a taxi will cost them $1,400.00 in our money.
We were invited into their homes and enjoyed the best they had in Australia or that could be bought anywhere. The only shortage of stuff the war has caused is petrol, canned fish, olive oil and good Scotch whiskey. All Aussies are great beer drinkers and indulge in that beverage to a large extent, however a drunk is seldom seen. A drunk is regarded as a fellow having a "bloody" good time. He is not looked down on, but is laughed at by rich and poor - not branded a disgrace to society as one is in the States. One does not see skyscrapers and glass houses, but there is no great contrast in living conditions as compared with the conditions in America. The poor are in one place and the wealthy live on the other side of town. Not slums to suburbs as we have, but slums - they aren't as bad as slum conditions in the United States - then business establishments that run into the better part of town. I speak as one who knows for I saw it from end to end, by day and by night, from automobile and airplane, dives to penthouses, from the homes of waterfront people to the beautiful home of the president of the Bank of South Wales.
On the second day my buddy and I took an airplane ride over the city of Sydney. It was truly a beautiful sight. All of the housetops are a dull red and the countryside was green. Sydney boasts a temperate climate and it never snows there. Our plane dived down close over the ships at dock and a destroyer looked like an egg in a frying pan as compared to our cruisers. But the cruisers appeared very small in size compared to the Queen Elizabeth that was anchored nearby The Queen Elizabeth is too large for words to describe and she is painted black which gives her a very grim appearance in that black cloak. She has sixteen decks below water. The Dutch ship Amsterdam was in the harbor also, but it was not as large as the Queen Elizabeth. She was painted yellow. She left Sydney before we did and the next time we saw the Amsterdam she was in Suva, Fiji Islands. She left Fiji as we entered and soon faded into the heavy sea of fog.
There are no bathing beaches that can compare with those of Australia. The famous two bathing spots of Sydney are Manly and Bondi Beach. Nearly all Aussies that live near water are water lovers and good swimmers. We had the pleasure of witnessing their yearly life saving contest. This contest takes place at Bondi where huge crowds gather on that beach to get an eyeful of mechanized life saving that rates A-1 in synchronization of all movements. Each state (you know how Australia is divided into states) sends a team of life-savers to Bondi to compete against each other. The winning team is given a large gold cup, a life-saving boat and a flag that symbolizes all that life-saving stands for. The men are young, being between 19 and 26. They must be young to stand the strain that is connected with that particular work. Each man is solid muscle and military trained. There are about 30 men to a team and the parade the teams put on before starting the life-saving contests is as military in form as a group of West Pointers on parade. Several teams from different states were not present as the Australian Air Force had taken these men from their team so fast that replacements were impossible. There is much to tell about this event, but it would take too much time and space.
The United States could learn plenty from Australia on how to entertain soldiers that need more fun and recreation. The Australian girls, in fact all women, are organized into detachments to entertain soldiers and sailors. The women are all uniformed with the letters of the detachment on their uniforms. The V. A, D.'s are Volunteer Auxiliary Detachment consisting mostly of women between the ages of 20 and 50. The W. R. E. N . S. (Women's Reserve Emergency Naval Service) are younger, between 15 and 25, and are of course more popular among service men. The Aussies say that uniformed women are better for the morale of men in training.
An interesting incident occurred in Sydney the second day we were there. An Australian sailor decided that his girl would not be seen with one of our gobs. The Aussie quickly dug his own grave. The gob said he would fight the Aussie for her hand. A crowd gathered while the fight was in progress, including two policemen. The fighters, on seeing the police, quickly stopped fighting, but the police threatened to take both into custody unless one of the fighters agreed the problem had been settled. The gob said "No" and the Aussie said "No." A larger ring was formed and the real fight began with both policemen as referees. The gob won with the Aussie going down fighting. The gob got the girl and plenty of publicity. The next day the story of that fight was all over Sydney with the Aussies thinking more of us that ever before Remember this. The Aussie prides himself on one thing and that is he believes himself the world's best fighter. Every Aussie, young and old alike, knows countless tales of bravery performed in World War I by his countrymen while fighting with those "bloody" Americans in France. On the lips of every Australian, not Englishmen, is the ever present sentence, "We hope we will be an American possession after this World War II."
On March 22 at 3:00 p. m., we pulled out of Woolloomoolloo Harbor, Sydney, Australia for another Australian port. The crowds gathered in the morning and by 3:00 p.m. we viewed as large a mass of people as ever congregated in any place to see it's heroes. The harbor waters were filled with every type of craft available, making our exit very difficult and dangerous. We had our life boats with plenty of life jackets ready for lowering in case of an accident. Several times there were breath taking scenes when some unlucky boat was crowded close to our ship to avoid being smashed by another craft. The people in the boats wanted our hats and by the time we had cleared the harbor there wasn't a man at quarters with his hat on. About 500 or 700 hats were thrown overboard to those souvenir hunters at a cost of 50 cents per hat. With Sydney fading from sight and the sun about to set, we inwardly waved farewell to those beloved, hospitable people and began to wonder what the next port held in store for us.
When we were well out to sea, word was passed that we were proceeding to Brisbane. All ships followed the coast line and often at night the shore lights were visible. The weather was excellent and the crew changed into white clothes as it was getting warmer. On March 24 the ships started up the river to Brisbane at 2:00 a.m. At 8:00 a.m. we had docked. The people had formed straggly lines and groups along the river many miles out of Brisbane just so they could say they were the first to see the jolly Yankees. Due to lack of population, there were not as many people to cheer us as were in Sydney. But the people of Brisbane showed the same enthusiasm as the people of Sydney. The parade began at 10:00 a.m. with a complement of 200 men. When the parade was finished these men went on regular liberty, as the parade consisted of men from the liberty section. The parade ended at City Hall where a brief welcome and ceremony took place. This ended, the men took off to places of their own desire. The best night spot in Brisbane was the Trocadero where there were four girls to every man. It was not air-conditioned, but then Australia is about ten years behind the United States in most respects. The Trocadero was overrun with sailors. Its music was a little slow and the place closed at 11:30 p.m. however it stayed open until midnight just for the American sailors.
Many sailors went sightseeing and many, for the first time, saw a kangaroo. The mild climate there presented no problem for zoo's. On the last day 150 men went back into the interior - away from the coast - on a sightseeing trip into Toowoomba. They reported Toowoomba a tropical paradise. The most congenial people and the best flavored beer in the whole world. It was one more memory for the sailors, which made them more than ever hate to leave there.
On March 27, 1941, we left Brisbane, it's good people, beautiful scenery that is hard to match in Hawaii, good climate and above all else, good liberty. Good liberty is something that is vital to uphold the morale of fighting men and something the navy fails to realize, or, if it realizes it, does nothing about the situation.
At sea once more and headed for the British Fiji Islands. The first day we changed into the navy's tropical weather clothes, skivvy shirt and shorts. The weather was fine, but the sea rough which caused the ship to roll a great deal. The 29th and 30th of March were very rough days. No hands were permitted on the forward decks. Too much danger of being swept off. Some hatches were closed to prevent water from coming into the next lower compartments. On March 31st we lost an entire day.
It was very warm now at night and exceedingly hot in the daytime when the sun shone. It rained often and was overcast a good deal of the time.
On April 1st we sighted the Fiji Islands at 10;00 a.m. The islands are beautiful from a distance. Just like Samoa for beauty. Several hours later we docked and were given liberty from 1:00 p.m. until 5:00 p.m. Of all the stink holes in this world I believe that Suva, Fiji Islands, heads the list. The port reeked of filth, decaying trash and everything else that could rot. It is always raining and that accounts for a good amount of the peculiar odor that surrounds the village of Suva, The natives really look like real savages. Their hair stands up straight and they are as black as the ace of spades and have feet of unusually large proportion. A black native with shoes is as rare as a snowball in Hades. The British have tried to shoe a few native soldiers but in the end they have always had to discard the shoes. The native simply cannot navigate in anything that covers his enormous hoof.
Most all the shops sell handmade articles and there is little evidence of modernity about the islands. One more example of English progress - slow and lazy. If England's territorial possessions are as slow in advancing as those places I have seen, then it is no wonder that her possessions desire their independence and are also reluctant about giving their full aid to Britain in this war.
The harbor waters are shark-infested. We counted six sharks at one time. They ranged from ten to fourteen feet in length.
While roaming around, I met an Englishman and asked him about a particular tree we were about to pass. He looked at the tree, then at me and said "Blast if I know, Yank. It's not an evergreen, a pineapple tree or a palm tree. I guess it's just a plain tree." He laughed uproariously, slapped me on the back and almost drew a crowd with his laughing. (I still don't get the joke, but I laughed right with him.) By now I was getting used to the British sense of humor. They have none.
Several tin cans (destroyers) refueled from the cruisers. It was our main reason for stopping at Fiji. We refueled and also re-stocked the tin can's chow larder.
On April 3rd we got underway for Pearl Harbor. All day we passed small barren islands which were part of the outlying islands of the Fiji group. It was hot and seemed to get hotter with each passing hour. The heat was due to the calm before the storm, even though it was continually raining. With drills, blackouts and no sleep because of the heat, everyone was about "fed up" with the whole deal. On April 6, Sunday, we kept on working. It was just another day of hard work.
Late that evening a squall hit and it really rained in torrents while the Pacific got rougher and was very rough by the time we got within sight of Pearl Harbor.
On Monday, April 7, the two cruisers had offset target practice with their eight inch guns. By offset gunnery I mean that we fired forward of their bow and they fired in our wake. The shells that count are those that are either dead ahead or those that fell in the wake of our stern. Due to the bad weather it was unfavorable for firing, but some good shots were seen to fall from 15,000 yards.
It began to get rather cool now but there were some seasick sailors aboard. The water was breaking over the bow and occasionally washing off the windows of the bridge
On April 10, 1941, at 3:00 o'clock a.m. the land lights of Pearl Harbor were sighted. The sight of land did not cause much excitement because it was nothing but the sinkhole of the Pacific that we were about to drop anchor in. Just in case you don't remember, that was the day the German Army marched into Budapest.
Thus the cruise ended and with it my story. I hope you have enjoyed it.
VISIT TO A GREAT COUNTRY Vol II., pp. 33-34
Charles Tennant
According to the published plan of the day in March, 1941, we were to arrive in Sydney, Australia, about 10:00 to 11:00 a.m. We all knew that the Aussies would have a great welcoming show for us, so I planned my day to observe this event. I told my Chief, Gabby Bishop, CMM, that I wanted to accompany the Smoke Watch on duty for the 8:00 a.m. till noon watch. Knowing what was to happen, the chief approved because he knew that my work would be unproductive during this period of time.
The Smoke Watch and I were at the highest point above the bridge. This was a great view of everything. As the squadron stood into the harbor, we saw the welcoming fleet of small craft, the many people on the beaches and other places that wanted to see the American navy arrive.
The cruiser Chicago, being the flagship, led the line of ships. Portland was second, then the other cruiser and destroyers followed. The people in the small craft were waving, yelling and holding many "Welcome" signs, blowing horns, whistles, sirens and anything to say "You are welcome!" Due to all of this the American ships had to be extra careful not to hit or cause capsizing of the small craft.
From my vantage point I could see the signal flags as they were hoisted on the Chicago, then the other ships responding. Some were indicating a change in speed caused by congestion of the welcoming fleet. The change in speed is when I observed the smoke stacks very closely. It caused a change in boiler operation. Every ship in the squadron except Portland gave a big puff of black smoke at each change.
From my location I could observe deck divisions, gun crews and other top-side personnel as they carried out their duties in preparing to dock the Portland. Everyone performed in a most professional manner.
What I saw that day made me realize the effort that went into bringing a ship into port - and more particular this port and the condition that was generated. It was a proud day for me, and it reflected the training, attention to duty, plus the dedication that was displayed to a friendly nation we had come to visit.
The smoke from other ships reminded me that Admiral Dewey would not have been so successful in Manila Bay if those Spaniards had acted as responsibly as the crew of the Portland. The Spanish were located by Admiral Dewey when they stoked the fires in the boiler room. This gave Dewey their location and adequate edge to win the battle.
Charles Tennant
According to the published plan of the day in March, 1941, we were to arrive in Sydney, Australia, about 10:00 to 11:00 a.m. We all knew that the Aussies would have a great welcoming show for us, so I planned my day to observe this event. I told my Chief, Gabby Bishop, CMM, that I wanted to accompany the Smoke Watch on duty for the 8:00 a.m. till noon watch. Knowing what was to happen, the chief approved because he knew that my work would be unproductive during this period of time.
The Smoke Watch and I were at the highest point above the bridge. This was a great view of everything. As the squadron stood into the harbor, we saw the welcoming fleet of small craft, the many people on the beaches and other places that wanted to see the American navy arrive.
The cruiser Chicago, being the flagship, led the line of ships. Portland was second, then the other cruiser and destroyers followed. The people in the small craft were waving, yelling and holding many "Welcome" signs, blowing horns, whistles, sirens and anything to say "You are welcome!" Due to all of this the American ships had to be extra careful not to hit or cause capsizing of the small craft.
From my vantage point I could see the signal flags as they were hoisted on the Chicago, then the other ships responding. Some were indicating a change in speed caused by congestion of the welcoming fleet. The change in speed is when I observed the smoke stacks very closely. It caused a change in boiler operation. Every ship in the squadron except Portland gave a big puff of black smoke at each change.
From my location I could observe deck divisions, gun crews and other top-side personnel as they carried out their duties in preparing to dock the Portland. Everyone performed in a most professional manner.
What I saw that day made me realize the effort that went into bringing a ship into port - and more particular this port and the condition that was generated. It was a proud day for me, and it reflected the training, attention to duty, plus the dedication that was displayed to a friendly nation we had come to visit.
The smoke from other ships reminded me that Admiral Dewey would not have been so successful in Manila Bay if those Spaniards had acted as responsibly as the crew of the Portland. The Spanish were located by Admiral Dewey when they stoked the fires in the boiler room. This gave Dewey their location and adequate edge to win the battle.
PEACETIME RAMBLINGS Vol I., p. 19
John J. Fynan
I came aboard fresh out of boot camp; Company 13, Newport RI. As I recall, it was about the 3rd quarter of 1940. Apparently they were not expecting the group of us, so we had to stash our gear in the mess hall and for about the first week we slept in hammocks in the mess hall.
I was assigned to a deck division (1 can't remember which one) and was detailed to wash off the shields surrounding the 5 inch gun battery on the port side overlooking the quarterdeck.
One of my fonder memories is of being in a group that "holy stoned" the quarterdeck, bare-footed, with pants rolled up, and with the bosuns mate counting the number of strokes per plank. From those days I also remember that "you worm and parcel with the lay, then turn and serve the other way" and that "you chip it, then scrape it wire brush it, red lead it, then you paint it."
John J. Fynan
I came aboard fresh out of boot camp; Company 13, Newport RI. As I recall, it was about the 3rd quarter of 1940. Apparently they were not expecting the group of us, so we had to stash our gear in the mess hall and for about the first week we slept in hammocks in the mess hall.
I was assigned to a deck division (1 can't remember which one) and was detailed to wash off the shields surrounding the 5 inch gun battery on the port side overlooking the quarterdeck.
One of my fonder memories is of being in a group that "holy stoned" the quarterdeck, bare-footed, with pants rolled up, and with the bosuns mate counting the number of strokes per plank. From those days I also remember that "you worm and parcel with the lay, then turn and serve the other way" and that "you chip it, then scrape it wire brush it, red lead it, then you paint it."
My assigned battle station at that time was the big carbon arc searchlights on the stack. That eventually lead to my becoming an electrician's mate.
The trip to Australia was a highlight. It was the only time in my six year career that I was "detailed" to go ashore after my watch and with the admonition to be back for my next watch. I was told that I had to make myself available to one of the many families that were waiting at the end of the dock. I did, and was taken on a picnic by a family named King. As it turned out, Mr. King owned the radio station in Sydney and on my next liberty I toured the place with him.
To me, the parades and the hospitality we enjoyed there will never be forgotten.
The trip to Manila escorting troop ships in November. 1941 is another that will always be remembered. I still have a Jai-Alai program dated Saturday Nov. 15, 1941 (and some no winner betting slips) in my album. If I recall correctly it was on the way back from there that we got the word about the attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7th.
Note: Portland had returned to Pearl Harbor before the Japanese attack. She resupplied and departed PH on Friday 5 December as part of the task force escorting the USS Lexington CV-2 to Midway. Announcement of the attack was made while at sea.
SCRATCH ONE STATION WAGON Vol I., p. 20
Paul Fanes
We arrived in Long Beach on Jan. 1, 1941 and stayed for 5 days. The ship bought a new station wagon for its use. On the way back to Pearl Harbor, we were in one bad storm. The station wagon got loose in one of the hangars and was a total loss.
On March 5, 1941, on the way to Samoa, we crossed the Equator and stopped at sea to let King Neptune and Davy Jones come aboard and take care of all pollywogs, then on to Sydney and Brisbane for a good will visit. Everyone turned out to welcome us. We had a ticker-tape parade and several sailors never made it as the girls were pulling us out of the parade.
Underway 28 March for Suva, Fiji and got there April 1, 1941. That night natives came out in their outriggers and came aboard to entertain us with dancing and singing. Then it was back to Pearl for a brief stay, then sailed for the Tonga Islands, Borneo and Manila.
This trip we uncovered what AA guns we had and kept the crews on them. Everyone knew that war was close. From Manila we returned to Pearl, until Dec. 5th when we got underway and the rest is history.
Paul Fanes
We arrived in Long Beach on Jan. 1, 1941 and stayed for 5 days. The ship bought a new station wagon for its use. On the way back to Pearl Harbor, we were in one bad storm. The station wagon got loose in one of the hangars and was a total loss.
On March 5, 1941, on the way to Samoa, we crossed the Equator and stopped at sea to let King Neptune and Davy Jones come aboard and take care of all pollywogs, then on to Sydney and Brisbane for a good will visit. Everyone turned out to welcome us. We had a ticker-tape parade and several sailors never made it as the girls were pulling us out of the parade.
Underway 28 March for Suva, Fiji and got there April 1, 1941. That night natives came out in their outriggers and came aboard to entertain us with dancing and singing. Then it was back to Pearl for a brief stay, then sailed for the Tonga Islands, Borneo and Manila.
This trip we uncovered what AA guns we had and kept the crews on them. Everyone knew that war was close. From Manila we returned to Pearl, until Dec. 5th when we got underway and the rest is history.
THE FIRST "ZIG-ZAG " PLAN Vol II., p. 34
Bart Babcock
For a few months in 1941, I was standing helmsman watches in steering aft on regular sea detail. I had been instructed in the procedures but had no practice.
One day the order I had been dreading came over the head-phones "Shift control to steering aft." I grabbed the wheel, which was about as big as a truck steering wheel and tried to hold it on the course I had been given. The compass repeater was about 10 feet away and had only degrees, not minutes.
In the 10 or 15 minutes I had the helm I invented the zig-zag course which was later adopted for wartime cruising. When they shifted back to the bridge I was ordered to report to the OOD after the watch.
After several hours of dreading this "trip to the dentist" I reported to the OOD on the bridge. Luckily it was Lt. Johnson who was the turret officer in #1 8 inch turret, where I stood condition I, II and III watches. He let me down firmly but gently, with a little Novocain.
For some reason, they never shifted to steering aft again. (At least not while I was on watch.)
Bart Babcock
For a few months in 1941, I was standing helmsman watches in steering aft on regular sea detail. I had been instructed in the procedures but had no practice.
One day the order I had been dreading came over the head-phones "Shift control to steering aft." I grabbed the wheel, which was about as big as a truck steering wheel and tried to hold it on the course I had been given. The compass repeater was about 10 feet away and had only degrees, not minutes.
In the 10 or 15 minutes I had the helm I invented the zig-zag course which was later adopted for wartime cruising. When they shifted back to the bridge I was ordered to report to the OOD after the watch.
After several hours of dreading this "trip to the dentist" I reported to the OOD on the bridge. Luckily it was Lt. Johnson who was the turret officer in #1 8 inch turret, where I stood condition I, II and III watches. He let me down firmly but gently, with a little Novocain.
For some reason, they never shifted to steering aft again. (At least not while I was on watch.)
"DOC " WILLIAMS AND HIS "VITALITY Y PILLS "
(A Polliwog's Revenge)
Ralph (Kaiser) Wilhelm
Doctor Robert H. Williams, the well-liked junior medical officer reported aboard Portland during the summer of 1941.
On Monday, 13 October, 1941, Portland departed Pearl Harbor with orders to escort the U.S.A.T. Liberty to Manila, Philippine Islands. We took a southwestward course heading for Port Moresby, New Guinea and the Torres Strait. The purpose of this circuitous route was to avoid the Marshalls and the Caroline Islands, groups which were "Japanese Mandated" territories. This track would, of course, cause us to cross the equator.
Most of us on board at that time were "shellbacks." Doc Williams, however, was a lowly
"polliwog." Several of us shellbacks described to Doc Williams the terrible initiation he would experience in a few days when we crossed the equator Doc decided he would pull a joke on several of the most deserving shellbacks.
At lunch in the wardroom on 20 October, the day before the equator crossing, he passed out some pills, which he said were "vitality" pills, to 15 of us. We were all in white uniforms and his "vitality" pills very effectively turned our urine a bright blue. Well, everyone knows, after using the urinal in the "head," where the last few drops end up.
About two hours after digesting his pills, our white trousers had blue spots all over the front of them.
Doc Williams, besides being a very talented medical doctor, also had a great sense of humor. This was his way of "getting even" with several of his tormentors the day before the initiation he knew he would receive the following day.
(Note. As many of us know, Doc Williams, the well-liked junior medical officer, along with many of our shipmates, was killed during the night battle of 13 November, 1942 when the ship was hit with a torpedo during the 3rd Savo Island battle.)
Note: U.S.A.T Liberty: http://www.navsource.org/archives/12/173461.htm
(A Polliwog's Revenge)
Ralph (Kaiser) Wilhelm
Doctor Robert H. Williams, the well-liked junior medical officer reported aboard Portland during the summer of 1941.
On Monday, 13 October, 1941, Portland departed Pearl Harbor with orders to escort the U.S.A.T. Liberty to Manila, Philippine Islands. We took a southwestward course heading for Port Moresby, New Guinea and the Torres Strait. The purpose of this circuitous route was to avoid the Marshalls and the Caroline Islands, groups which were "Japanese Mandated" territories. This track would, of course, cause us to cross the equator.
Most of us on board at that time were "shellbacks." Doc Williams, however, was a lowly
"polliwog." Several of us shellbacks described to Doc Williams the terrible initiation he would experience in a few days when we crossed the equator Doc decided he would pull a joke on several of the most deserving shellbacks.
At lunch in the wardroom on 20 October, the day before the equator crossing, he passed out some pills, which he said were "vitality" pills, to 15 of us. We were all in white uniforms and his "vitality" pills very effectively turned our urine a bright blue. Well, everyone knows, after using the urinal in the "head," where the last few drops end up.
About two hours after digesting his pills, our white trousers had blue spots all over the front of them.
Doc Williams, besides being a very talented medical doctor, also had a great sense of humor. This was his way of "getting even" with several of his tormentors the day before the initiation he knew he would receive the following day.
(Note. As many of us know, Doc Williams, the well-liked junior medical officer, along with many of our shipmates, was killed during the night battle of 13 November, 1942 when the ship was hit with a torpedo during the 3rd Savo Island battle.)
Note: U.S.A.T Liberty: http://www.navsource.org/archives/12/173461.htm
TO MANILA - THE LONG WAY Vol I., pp. 20-21
Bart Babcock
In Oct.-Nov., 1941, we escorted a Liberty Ship (just the two of us) to Manila in the Philippine Islands. Many of us were oblivious to the potential danger, although we should have been suspicious of the route we took on the way out. We crossed the equator at the intersection of the 180th meridian, and went through the straits between northern Australia and the southern tip of New Guinea. Our speed was limited to that of the Liberty Ship, and, when going through the straits, by the many reefs. As I remember, we took on a pilot in that stretch.
We saw quite a few snakes swimming in that water, with their heads stretched high above the water. Also, there were many strips of sand floating on the water. The water was calm, and even though we were without wartime experience as yet, I can remember discussing with others, what sitting ducks we would be for airplanes.
We proceeded north to Tarakan, Dutch Borneo, where we fuelled ship. I remember being told that the oil was taken directly from the oil well, without refining. Of course, I was told a lot of things. (I wouldn't bet on this, but I think that in a very few months, in waters very close to Borneo, the Asiatic Fleet, under a Dutch admiral, engaged the Japs and the USS Houston was sunk.)
We proceeded northward to the Philippines and to Manila Bay. My memory tells me we passed through seven seas on the trip but I can remember only the Arafura. The bay is about 30 miles across and you are out of sight of land in the middle.
Hob Caldwell and I made a couple of liberties, on one of which we met our former shipmate, "Frenchy" Andrews. He had transferred to the Asiatic Fleet and was on the old four-stack light cruiser Marblehead. (I think that the Marblehead and the old carrier Langley made it safely out of there after the war started, going south around the tip of Africa.) (ed. note: the Langley was lost.)
I remember a hair-raising ride in a taxi, out to a bar in a rural area. We came around a comer and a large carabao (water buffalo) was in the road. The driver just swung up across a yard without slowing down. We waited in the bar until dark for the Santa Ana dance hall to open, where we would meet Frenchy. We started across a two-plank bridge across a swamp, in the dark. Halfway across I hit an area of strong "gravitational pull" and fell into the swamp.
I was wearing whites when I fell in, and when we got to the front of the dance hall, the shore patrol "suggested" that I might like to go back to the ship and change. You will have to ask Caldwell how Manila was for liberty.
I don't know what happened to the Liberty Ship, but we came back to Pearl Harbor alone at faster than normal cruising speed. (Cruising speed was 15 knots and we were at 18, at least.) There was a rumor that torpedo tracks were spotted across our stem on the way back. We were within a few short weeks of Dec. 7, 1941.
Bart Babcock
In Oct.-Nov., 1941, we escorted a Liberty Ship (just the two of us) to Manila in the Philippine Islands. Many of us were oblivious to the potential danger, although we should have been suspicious of the route we took on the way out. We crossed the equator at the intersection of the 180th meridian, and went through the straits between northern Australia and the southern tip of New Guinea. Our speed was limited to that of the Liberty Ship, and, when going through the straits, by the many reefs. As I remember, we took on a pilot in that stretch.
We saw quite a few snakes swimming in that water, with their heads stretched high above the water. Also, there were many strips of sand floating on the water. The water was calm, and even though we were without wartime experience as yet, I can remember discussing with others, what sitting ducks we would be for airplanes.
We proceeded north to Tarakan, Dutch Borneo, where we fuelled ship. I remember being told that the oil was taken directly from the oil well, without refining. Of course, I was told a lot of things. (I wouldn't bet on this, but I think that in a very few months, in waters very close to Borneo, the Asiatic Fleet, under a Dutch admiral, engaged the Japs and the USS Houston was sunk.)
We proceeded northward to the Philippines and to Manila Bay. My memory tells me we passed through seven seas on the trip but I can remember only the Arafura. The bay is about 30 miles across and you are out of sight of land in the middle.
Hob Caldwell and I made a couple of liberties, on one of which we met our former shipmate, "Frenchy" Andrews. He had transferred to the Asiatic Fleet and was on the old four-stack light cruiser Marblehead. (I think that the Marblehead and the old carrier Langley made it safely out of there after the war started, going south around the tip of Africa.) (ed. note: the Langley was lost.)
I remember a hair-raising ride in a taxi, out to a bar in a rural area. We came around a comer and a large carabao (water buffalo) was in the road. The driver just swung up across a yard without slowing down. We waited in the bar until dark for the Santa Ana dance hall to open, where we would meet Frenchy. We started across a two-plank bridge across a swamp, in the dark. Halfway across I hit an area of strong "gravitational pull" and fell into the swamp.
I was wearing whites when I fell in, and when we got to the front of the dance hall, the shore patrol "suggested" that I might like to go back to the ship and change. You will have to ask Caldwell how Manila was for liberty.
I don't know what happened to the Liberty Ship, but we came back to Pearl Harbor alone at faster than normal cruising speed. (Cruising speed was 15 knots and we were at 18, at least.) There was a rumor that torpedo tracks were spotted across our stem on the way back. We were within a few short weeks of Dec. 7, 1941.
HUNGRY SAILORS Vol I, p. 22
Sam Perdue
In early days aboard the Portland, the crew was much smaller and all of the sailors ate "family style." One mess cook served 2 tables with each table seating ten people and the senior petty officer acting as mess captain. The mess cook responsible would set up his tables, ration the items such as apples, oranges, etc. He then took tureens, platters, bread basket, etc. and lined up at the galley for his allotment of rations (pretty tight) and once receiving the food, back to the tables and, starting with the most senior person, do the serving. The sailor on the end got what was left. (Reason enough to try and move up in rank.)
On Sundays and holidays many of us hungry sailors would get up to eat breakfast, while observing who might not show up, in hopes of getting unclaimed pieces of fruit. On one particular Sunday a half cantaloupe was served to each. There were only four of us at the table and we eagerly eyeballed the other six pieces. I had my eye on 2 halves when this long, lanky guy reached ahead and got both. This started a fight until we were both exhausted and no winner. Later we continued the fight on the fantail, in the berthing compartments and more. We finally realized that neither would win so we quit with no apology. We never knew what happened to the cantaloupe.
After a time - as always seems to happen - we became civil to each other. He eventually left the Portland, along with Tom Ryan, to go to diesel school. I really wanted to shake his hand and tell him what a good man he was, but did not. This has always bothered me.
We in the A division would hear of him and others from time to time and eventually knew he was on PT-boats around Tulagi and Guadalcanal (especially when we were there getting banged up.) We learned that he was badly wounded and was the sole survivor of PT-37.
I must say that I never got to see this brave man and shipmate again. I will always regret that I could not tell shipmate Eldon Curtis Jenter this while he was still alive. God Bless him and may he rest in peace.
Notes:
PT 37 was destroyed by Japanese destroyer Kawakaze, off Guadalcanal, Solomons, 1 Feb. 1943. Source: http://www.navsource.org/archives/12/05037.htm
The increase in Portland's crew size was the result of taking on more personnel, particularly gun crews, after the attack on Pearl Harbor. See Ted Waller's story 'First Liberty' in We Remember, 1941-1945, to get a sense of how this affected accommodation aboard ship.
Sam Perdue
In early days aboard the Portland, the crew was much smaller and all of the sailors ate "family style." One mess cook served 2 tables with each table seating ten people and the senior petty officer acting as mess captain. The mess cook responsible would set up his tables, ration the items such as apples, oranges, etc. He then took tureens, platters, bread basket, etc. and lined up at the galley for his allotment of rations (pretty tight) and once receiving the food, back to the tables and, starting with the most senior person, do the serving. The sailor on the end got what was left. (Reason enough to try and move up in rank.)
On Sundays and holidays many of us hungry sailors would get up to eat breakfast, while observing who might not show up, in hopes of getting unclaimed pieces of fruit. On one particular Sunday a half cantaloupe was served to each. There were only four of us at the table and we eagerly eyeballed the other six pieces. I had my eye on 2 halves when this long, lanky guy reached ahead and got both. This started a fight until we were both exhausted and no winner. Later we continued the fight on the fantail, in the berthing compartments and more. We finally realized that neither would win so we quit with no apology. We never knew what happened to the cantaloupe.
After a time - as always seems to happen - we became civil to each other. He eventually left the Portland, along with Tom Ryan, to go to diesel school. I really wanted to shake his hand and tell him what a good man he was, but did not. This has always bothered me.
We in the A division would hear of him and others from time to time and eventually knew he was on PT-boats around Tulagi and Guadalcanal (especially when we were there getting banged up.) We learned that he was badly wounded and was the sole survivor of PT-37.
I must say that I never got to see this brave man and shipmate again. I will always regret that I could not tell shipmate Eldon Curtis Jenter this while he was still alive. God Bless him and may he rest in peace.
Notes:
PT 37 was destroyed by Japanese destroyer Kawakaze, off Guadalcanal, Solomons, 1 Feb. 1943. Source: http://www.navsource.org/archives/12/05037.htm
The increase in Portland's crew size was the result of taking on more personnel, particularly gun crews, after the attack on Pearl Harbor. See Ted Waller's story 'First Liberty' in We Remember, 1941-1945, to get a sense of how this affected accommodation aboard ship.
TALENT "NO" SHOW Vol. I, p. 23
Al Lucas
On the afternoon of December 7, 1941 the ship's company was scheduled to put on one of these variety "Talent (??)" shows that usually found "Barney" MacAllister, Chief Shipfitter, at the microphone. I remember being involved in weight lifting and hand balancing at the time. A fellow named Lusk, RM3c, and myself decided to put on a short hand-balancing act which we had put together. The war put that on the back burner, to say the least but I do sometimes wonder if anyone else remembers the "show that never happened." Some names I recall are Oberstar; Glatzel; Murphy; Sutherman; Nix; Nixon; and Camito. I remember one crew member named Flanagan who was always there to sing us a good Irish tune.
Later in the war, I became a docking officer on a floating drydock and one day a new "skipper" reported aboard. It was Lt. Barney MacAllister.
Al Lucas
On the afternoon of December 7, 1941 the ship's company was scheduled to put on one of these variety "Talent (??)" shows that usually found "Barney" MacAllister, Chief Shipfitter, at the microphone. I remember being involved in weight lifting and hand balancing at the time. A fellow named Lusk, RM3c, and myself decided to put on a short hand-balancing act which we had put together. The war put that on the back burner, to say the least but I do sometimes wonder if anyone else remembers the "show that never happened." Some names I recall are Oberstar; Glatzel; Murphy; Sutherman; Nix; Nixon; and Camito. I remember one crew member named Flanagan who was always there to sing us a good Irish tune.
Later in the war, I became a docking officer on a floating drydock and one day a new "skipper" reported aboard. It was Lt. Barney MacAllister.