Veteran's Day - This Little Pin

A very “Happy Veterans Day” to all who have served in the Armed Forces of the United States; whether in times of War, or in times of Peace. There are no "good" wars. But there are "just" wars, in which man is pitted against his fellows for a legitimate cause; although usually by others who seem to never have to serve.

This is my Discharge Pin. It represents not only the 4 years that it took me to earn, but all of the sacrifices made by the many; over the years; in defense of something greater than themselves. Today is their day and this is their pin. I am just privileged enough to be able to wear it.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Today would be my Mom’s 85^th birthday. She passed on fairly early; as a matter of fact I am now older than she was when she left us at the age of 55, just days after her birthday. She had been ill for so long it was almost a gift for her to finally be free from the pain which had become almost second nature. Her illness colors much of my childhood memories, but not my memories of who she was. If that doesn’t make sense I can’t explain it, so you’ll simply have to take me on faith.

You see, my Mom was sick; from the time I was 5 years old, until she died of the complications from pancreatic cancer 25 years later. I only knew her for about the first 5 years before she became ill. But I do have very warm recollections of those times; clouded in the haze of early childhood. 

I remember being young enough to have a "sink" bath; that is, being washed in the kitchen sink rather than the tub; so I must have been about 3 or 4 years old. I can remember her calling out to my brother and I from the 4th floor window of our apartment at 3619 Bedford Avenue at Kings Highway; even throwing down change wrapped in a paper towel for ice cream. I don't think anything can dislodge those memories from my mind.

I can also still recall her striped dress and her dresser drawer full of kerchiefs. I know that I have printed this here before, but indulge me as I remember her with these lyrics, written several years ago while thinking about her sitting at the piano; on the beach; or just sitting on the sofa reading a book. 

The photograph at the top was the inspiration for the lyrics and it is also the first family outing I remember, on Veteran’s Day, November 11, 1957. I had just turned 3 years old. In it I am discovering the mysteries associated with the clam shell.

I Can Never See You

I can still see you there,

standing by the door.

Wearing your red kechief and your coat.

And though I think I see your face

so clearly in my mind,

I know I'll never see you anymore.

I can still hear your voice

it's ringing in my head.

I can hear the words to every song.

And though I think I hear your voice,

So clearly in my mind,

I know I'll never hear it anymore.

Times a worthless master,

it will steal your heart away.

It robs you just a little at a time.

And suddenly you realize that

you've got nothing left,

she's taken all the things you once called "mine."

Old Slides #2 - Learning How to Fly (1957)

Most photos have a “back story” to them; where and when the photo was taken being the least important of the details. What happened just before the shutter clicked can be very revealing in some cases. And that’s what makes the photograph above, which is one of a series taken on Veteran’s day 1957, so unusual. There is none.

As I sift through the old family photos I can find very few where there is not something else that has just occurred which mars the memory a bit. Behind most of the smiling faces there was either a very recent scolding, argument or some other stupid and unnecessary problem. No one is really to blame for that; it’s just the dynamics of an ordinary family living and growing; together or apart.

But, let’s get back to this photograph which was taken over 57 years ago. This one is of me and my Dad. I’m the little guy holding the string. He’s the big guy showing me how to fly the kite. It was one of those big paper kites; bright red and with a tail made of rags. We were at Riis Park; for some reason we were always at Riis Park; winter or summer. I’m not complaining; I loved the place!

Riis Park was named after Jacob Riis, the famous campaigner for decent housing and social reform. His photographs of the Lower East Side at the turn of the 20^th Century are iconic. He championed airways in the tenements and windows in every room. It was only fitting that a bright, sunny, public beach be named for him.

Once again; back to this photograph. In the years after this was taken; remember I said that every picture has a “back story”? Well, this one really has more of a “front story”, as it was taken less than 2 years before my mother began a long illness, which permeated my entire childhood. I didn't really mind, I just always hoped that she would get better; but she never did.

So, this photo is one of the rare ones in which my Dad is smiling and really means it. Life was good. He had just been through the only job “layoff” he would ever know, and also had pneumonia, one of the only times I had ever seen him ill. The other time was when he gave up smoking in 1962 or ’63 after the Surgeon General’s first warning about cigarettes causing cancer. He didn't even wait until the warning was on the pack. He just stopped. And was very ill; throwing up and bedridden for several days. It was cold turkey, just like heroin withdrawal. He may have lapsed once or twice in the first few years after, but never went back to smoking full time again. Instead he discovered M&M’s.

We would go grocery shopping on Thursday nights when my mother wasn't in the hospital; and my Dad would buy a box of Peanut Chews, or a 1 pound bag of M&M's, which we would eat before getting home.When my Mom was in the hospital, either my brother or I would pick up what was necessary ourselves. We used a pull along type folding “shopping cart” to wheel the groceries home. My brother was not fond of this chore; I think he found it embarrassing for some reason; so I was usually the one “bringing home the bacon.”

So, this is a picture of my father before all the bad times began. It’s also part of a set of 14 photographs taken that day. My Dad’s teaching me how to fly a kite, a skill which I have passed on to my daughter and 2 of my granddaughters. And whenever I look at this photo I remember what it was like to have my parents and my brother, before all the bad times began.

"Why We Fight" - Frank Capra (1942)

During the first months of the Second World War Hollywood Director Frank Capra; who had just released the film "It's a Wonderful Life" starring Jimmy Stewart: was serving in the Armed Forces when he received an unusual order. He was to be tasked with making films, which would explain to the American Public, just why we were at war and how we got there.

These were propaganda films, plain and simple. But the one difference between our films and those of our enemies was this; our films were made in reaction to the atrocities being committed in Europe and the Pacific. They were, in that respect, educational films. The Nazi's had been using film to vilify specific ethnic groups such as the Gypsies and the Jews, in order to facilitate political policies engineered for the destruction of those groups.

Some of our films, particularly the cartoons of the era, did depict the Japanese as savages. Although this was "painting with a broad brush", so to speak, again it was in response to an action undertaken by that group to begin with, and not a vilification for political or territorial gain, other than to redress the wrongful action of that group. The proof of this is in the treatment of our enemies after the war had ended.

While the other group was using propaganda in order to subjugate the entire world, we were using it as a motivation to stop that effort. Some may not see a big difference, but I do.

Today is Veteran's Day, a holiday which was originally called "Armistice Day" and created to honor those who fell in the First World War, which was billed as the "war to end all wars." All it really accomplished was to set the stage for the Second World War, which set the stage for Korea, Vietnam and the list goes on and on.

Take a little time today to talk with a Veteran about their service. Most are only too happy to share their experiences. Even if you; or even they; have not always been in agreement with what we have fought for, the men and women who have served, have all served with the best of intentions on your behalf. And, that may be the most noble service of all.

For the story of my Grandfather William Shone Williams and his time in the trenches during World War One, use this link;

http://robertwilliamsofbrooklyn.blogspot.com/2012/05/memorial-day-william-shone-williams.html 

Veteran's Day with the Andrew's Sisters

 

Happy veteran’s Day to all of my fellow alumni who have served in the Armed Forces. Whether it was peacetime service; as mine was; or you saw combat makes no difference. You are unique among your fellow Americans in that you have given something of your selves and helped to move the “machine” forward. It doesn’t mean that we liked the direction of the foreign policies we were/are asked to support; that is for the elected branch of the government to decide. Those who serve do so at their direction; and that direction comes ultimately from all of us, collectively, as citizens.

We have just had an election, and a lot of people may be grumbling. But, put it behind you; just as you once did in the service; in order to help move the “machine forward”. Let’s all play on the same team for the next four years and see what we can do, just as we did as ship’s crews, infantry units or air wing members. Without one another, then, as now, we are no-one.

Veteran's Day - Storm Off Cape Hatteras

I have posted this story here before. I'm posting it again today for Veteran's Day in order to illustrate just how precarious a "normal" peacetime day can be. Now, think about that when you watch the news, and see our troops, in actual combat, around the world today. Although the issues are complex, and some may not agree with the current policies for which we fight, these men, and women, are serving in a way I never had to. All I had was this storm, but it's my storm. I just want to share it as a way of honoring all my fellow Veterans. Each and every one of you has a story to tell. Whether or not you fought in a war, or just fought a storm at sea, your service made a difference. Thanks, and Happy Veterans Day!

We were steaming off the coast of the US heading back from operations in the Caribbean on the USS Milwaukee at the time the following occurred in February 1980. It was a Wednesday and I believe it was the 6th. I had the Dog watch that afternoon, which is the watch that runs through evening chow, so that you get relieved for about 30 minutes or so by the oncoming 8-12 watch in order to eat.

Upon returning from chow I noticed that the barometer had dropped another .02 of an inch for the second hour in a row. Something was brewing along the lines of a low pressure system that would bear watching in the coming hours. I informed the officer of the deck; I believe it was Ensign Tyler that evening; that heavy weather was approaching and a life line on deck would be a good idea. A 500 foot mooring line was secured to the after and forward bulkheads by means of shackles affixed to pad eyes which were welded to the respective bulkheads. For some reason no precautions were taken to secure the ship's cargo and equipment for heavy seas.

I was relieved by QM3 Baker at 1945 for the 20-2400 watch. "Star" time was not an issue that evening due to the weather. We were running on Omega and Loran with a dead reckoning tracer as a back up. I entered into the Pass Down the Line log that the barometer had fallen for 2 hours in a row and to be aware of any changes in the sea etc. I then left the bridge.

By the time I got back to the after house, and the Navigation Division berthing space, the ship was being tossed and buffeted by huge swells and violent gusts of wind. The helmsman was a deckhand and the ship was not being handled properly. We were taking a lot of punishment that could have been avoided by having a more experienced man on the helm.

By now, objects all over the ship were being loosed by the storm and there was no way to stop the seeming avalanche of food supplies, crates, forklifts etc that had not been tied down. The 7 million gallons of fuel that we carried started to have its own inertial effect upon the handling of the vessel, making it even more unstable. The “Mighty Milwaukee” was taking rolls in excess of her design and the ship would shudder as she laboriously struggled to right herself after each successive roll. Standing was now impossible and most of the men were braced in their “racks”, with hands held tightly against the nearest stanchion or bulkhead, and feet dug into the rims of the thin sleeping surfaces that served also as covers to the coffin like clothes compartment that lay beneath each. The coffin like similarities of these "lockers" were not lost on the men at a time like this.

Lockers were toppling and tables and chairs were being literally pitched as the violence of the storm increased. Most of the crew was now motion sick, and those that weren’t were unable to do anything but hang on for the wildest ride any of us had ever been on.

Shortly after 2300 (11 PM) the phone rang and someone told me that the bridge was on the phone. I was told that the Captain was ordering me to the bridge. I went, on the double, expecting that I was about to be chewed out for the storm having taken us by surprise. I started across the deck and made it about 50 feet before turning back and using the cargo deck; which although it had the advantage of being enclosed; had the hazard of forklifts, tools and cargo being tossed and thrown about with considerable violence. Added to this was the possibility of falling into one of the open elevator pits. These were large, seven story deep shafts, which were sometimes left open. Tonight, unfortunately, was one of those times. The effect of the ship moving about under me not only prevented me from walking in a straight line at this point, but it was now carrying me close to these pits and several times I came near to falling in one, or another. They were located on both the port and starboard sides, increasing this likelihood as I struggled forward.

At the end of this journey on the cargo deck I was faced with 4 interior ladders, steeply angled as compared with a normal stairway, but still an improvement over the exterior ladders, which were precisely that, ladders welded to the bulkheads. Unknown to me at this time, was that many of these ladders had been torn away by the tons of water crashing against the superstructure.

The bridge was a scene of disaster. There were 22 people in there- way too many. Captain Page was braced in a corner, legs apart and arms against the forward portholes, concerned, but very much in command. “Well Willie, what do you think we should do?”, or something to that effect. Captain Page had been a Pilot, he flew A-6’s and was also a flight instructor. With a good sense of humor and a relaxed demeanor among the men, he was a well liked Captain and a good leader. He had a hard act to follow, coming on the heels of our former skipper, Captain Hawkins, who had come up from the enlisted ranks via the NESEP program, which although not that rare, was quite an accomplishment, and the men had idolized him as “one of us.” But Captain Page had more than filled his shoes, and it was a ”tight” crew.

My first suggestion was to rid the bridge of as many of the puking, moaning men as possible, placing them in the passageways leading to the bridge itself. Everyone had plastic trash bags to puke in and the stench was beginning to become overpowering.

Standing was impossible at this level. We were hanging on to the overhead and the wire banks and piping that line it. Captain Page ordered me to take the helm.

The compass card was swinging wildly, port to starboard and back again over a field of approximately 180 degrees. We were at the mercy of the sea unless we could stabilize ourselves and begin to make some sort of headway. The Captain then ordered me to steer as necessary and hold course. I was hanging onto the overhead and steering with my feet- literally counteracting the swells by kicking the helm hard left and hard right.

I then received, via the Captain, several course changes prompted by the other officers present on the bridge looking for the course that would give us the “best ride”. Captain Page asked my recommendation and I chose West as that would bring us toward our destination of Norfolk but not put us in shallow waters that could hazard the vessel. I was of the opinion that with 65 foot swells breaking over the bridge, and winds of 98 knots, with gusts greater than that, there was no course which was going to give us a "good" ride. Remaining upright was the chief concern of all. The Captain ordered me to make it so, which I immediately did.

We spent the next 9 hours or so riding through this maelstrom and upon breaking out of it in the morning and later approaching Virginia Beach, we were greeted by the most dazzling sight; over 12” of snow blanketing the Beach and everything beyond! After the violence of the past 10 hours the contrast was extraordinary and we began to open hatchways and portholes to air the ship out. The crew began to come back to life, re-stowing all the gear that had been thrown about but not washed overboard. The Officers took toll of the structural damage to the ship; the ladders gone, boats torn loose, and rigging fouled and ruined.

We moored at the "D and S" Piers on the James River, in the Naval Station at Norfolk, and there my memory fades a bit. We were all very tired and I imagine that we cleaned ship and had an early knock off that day.

A week later on the 12th of February we were back out at sea, headed to the Azores to bring a load of fuel to the Task Group operating there. We were doing an underway replenishment when Captain Page approached me at the helm with an envelope saying “It’s a little bit late, read it later.”

It burned a hole in my pocket for several hours until I was able to leave the wheel and read it; you have to remember that Captains do not often slip notes to their crewmembers; The note, which I still have; it hangs on the wall of my TV room; says the following;


It was,and remains, I think, one of the proudest moments of my life.