Everette "Bert" Moore (1940 - 2023)

Uncle Bert was a true "Old Salt." He ended his career with more of those diagonal "Hash Marks" at the bottom of his sleeve than in this photo. Each one represents another 4 year "hitch". He had about 7 that I know of.

And the red, rather than gold color, means that he wasn't a "yes" man. He followed his own heart and mind, doing what he thought was right.

The rank insignia indicates a Hull Technician and Damage Control rating. The arch at the top indicates a full Chief Petty Officer.

I believe later photos showed a double arch at the top, which indicated  a Master Chief Petty Officer. If it could be kept afloat, he was the man who could do it.

His ribbons indicate his accomplishments as the veteran of Vietnam era service. And his eyes reflect all that he had seen up until that point in his career. They only got sharper and wiser in his later career in the reserves, as he saw, and learned, even more.

He was a quiet man, but one with deep thoughts and convictions. He kept his own council. And I don't think you can say more about most other men. May he rest well and sail on into his new voyage, with fair winds and a star to guide his way.

1940 - 2023
April 24th, 2023

The USS Mason - Fighting Jim Crow

Most of America fought two different enemies in World War Two. That was hard enough. But the men of the USS Mason- DE 529, a Destroyer Escort, had the added burden of fighting a third enemy, Jim Crow.

At the outbreak of World War Two the Armed Forces were segregated, just like half the country was. This would not change until after the war was won, but during the war there were some courageous efforts on the part of some, to integrate America's fighting force. The story of the USS Mason is the story of one of those efforts.

Built in the Boston Navy Yard and launched in 1943, she was commissioned in March of 1944 under the command of Lt. Commander William Blackford, a white officer. He would command the Mason with a handful of white officers and an all-black crew.

After a successful shakedown cruise off Bermuda in the spring of 1944 the Mason headed into action. They escorted a convoy from Charleston, SC to the Azores, arriving on July 6th. The ship then put into Belfast; Northern  Ireland, for Liberty ashore. The crew was astonished at how well they were received by the locals. Even in England they were denied access to many facilities, but the Irish, albeit neutral in the war, welcomed these men as "Yanks" rather than "Tan Yankees" as they were referred to by the British.

But her greatest story was yet to come. On September 19th, 1944 the USS Mason left New York City with Convoy NY 119. They were to protect her from the German U-boats which had been sinking ships as close as 10 miles off the coast of the United States.

This convoy was done during one of the worst months of severe weather that the North Atlantic would experience in the 2oth Century. In less than a month the weather had claimed 16 of the convoys vessels. The only way to prevent more loss was to send the smaller, faster ships ahead with an escort. The USS Mason was the ship chosen for this duty.

Attempting to lead the ships into Bishop Rock, England the ship was beaten by severe weather that actually split her deck and collapsed main beams. The Mason was a step away from sinking.

Calls for assistance were ignored and the crew of the Mason were left to their own devices to stay afloat. And stay afloat she did. Within 2 hours the ship was repaired and leading the convoy safely into port. She then turned around again and returned to the remaining ships. The two British ships assigned to help in this endeavor turned back, leaving the Mason to struggle alone to bring the convoy in. It would take three more days, and nights, in harrowing weather to accomplish this task.

The ship and its crew were recommended for Unit and Individual Commendations for these efforts by their Captain, Lt. Commander Blackford, as well as Convoy Commander Alfred Lind. The crew would not learn of these nominations for almost 50 years, during research for the book "Proudly We Served."

As a result of the book the crew was awarded the Citations in 2003. Former President Bill Clinton would present the awards on the deck of the latest USS Mason in New York City.

A movie was made of this story with Ossie Davis as Signalman First Class Lorenzo DuFau. The movie was riveting, especially the storm scenes. The story is told from Mr. DuFau's perspective when his grandkids wake him up late at night with some loud music. He tells them the story in a flashback that encompasses not only the story of the Mason, but of the segregated makeup of our nation, even as we were fighting to liberate the world at large.

The Mason story has been told in other books about the war, but never so vividly as in the book and movie. And for a real quick look at what these guys did you can drop in on them at their web site www.ussmason.org/

That this crew, made up of city kids and farm boys, some of whom had never seen an ocean, banded together in facing the Germans, as well as the forces of the sea, and won, make this one of the greater sea stories ever told. That they did it while under the thumb of Jim Crow is simply incredible.

Richard's Coffee Shop - Mooresville

When I first came to live in North Carolina, about 13 years ago, I got a job working in the town of Mooresville as an Estimator for a local construction company, which was my stock in trade at the time. The office in which I worked was located around the corner from Pat's Gourmet Coffee Shop, where I would sometimes stop in and get something to drink. I noticed that there were always groups of Veterans hanging around the place. Kind of like the malt shop in "Happy Days", only with an older crowd. There was a guest book to sign identifying all of the Veterans in the area who had passed through the shop. I gladly added my name to the list. The place was a mixture between a coffee house and a museum. The history of Pat's Coffee Shop is all on this card to the left. When Richard passed away a few years ago, I naturally thought that this was the end of a very unique place. Quietly, I mourned its passing.

But that was before this year’s 67th Annual Town of Mooresville Thanksgiving Day Parade. I was perambulating down Main Street, kind of walking the parade route, when I spotted a shop I had not seen before. It was like a cross between an antique store and a coffee shop. I was intrigued enough to walk in, and very pleased at what I saw. The whole place is filled to bursting with old uniforms, medals, and the walls are covered with photographs from every conflict since World War One through the current conflicts in the Middle East. All age groups are represented here, and there is a sense of brotherhood in the air as you walk about. It's like coming home.

Apparently, after Richard moved on to his next assignment, his friends and acquaintances from the coffee shop, decided to do what most Veterans do best; carry on. So, they opened a new place, across the street, about 1 block down, naming it "Welcome Home Veterans". It's not a coffee shop anymore, but instead it has been lovingly transformed into a place for the area's Veterans to come and talk, read, and drink coffee. There is always a fresh pot on. Mornings are the busiest, it seems that most of the guys still hear Reveille and respond accordingly. And, as stated on the hand out, the shop also serves as a place for local music on Saturdays, featuring Veterans, and non- Veterans alike, picking and grinnin'. It didn't take too much courage on my part to join the Navy so many years ago. I wasn't doing much else worthwhile. And joining the service opened up the entire world to me. I spent the better part of 10 years roaming around, seeing all the things I had only read of previously. As far as I'm concerned, they did me a favor letting me in. Now, if I can just muster up the courage to haul one of my guitars down there next Saturday.....

It's Only Me- Joining The Navy

(The following was first printed here on September 9th, 2009 as part of a 30 chapter autobiography. Today is the anniversary of my enlistment in the U.S.Navy and I thought I would celebrate by reprinting it here.)

1976 was the 200th Anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. The country had begun preparing for it in 1975 with special offers and special packaging of products. You couldn’t escape it. I have often been asked if that is what lead to my joining the Navy in September of 1976. The answer is no.

My motivation for joining the service was simple. I wanted to get out of Brooklyn for good. I wanted to be away from all the drugs and also my parents. Although I had not seen them often during the last 4 years I felt as if they were a threatening presence, always lurking in the background, waiting for me to “see the light.”

In August of 1976 I went to the Recruiting Office, located on Flatbush Avenue at the junction of Nostrand Avenue. I took some aptitude tests and then had to sit for an interview. The man interviewing me was black and I think was a Chief Petty Officer.

We started with some routine questions- “Do you do drugs?” was one of the first ones-I thought he was being sociable and so pulled out a baggie of weed and said, “Yeah, wanna smoke?” I thought he was going to pass out! He asked again and I countered with, “What drugs?” I was hustled outside and he explained that I had to answer “No” to the drug question. I said that I was not interested in lying to him. He produced a Drug Waiver which read “ I have experimented with marijuana about 3 or 4 times and found it not to my liking. I have no interest in taking drugs.” I signed it and then got my contract for 4 years Active Duty. At the completion of Boot Camp in Great Lakes, Illinois I would be allowed to choose from 70 different schools. I chose “OJT” which is short for "On The Job Training" in the fleet. So I chose no school, electing to go straight to the fleet and have a look about me before choosing anything. I have never regretted that choice.

Around this time my friend Iona came by H and A Foods, where I worked, to say goodbye. She had graduated 6 months early from Madison in 1972 and I believe started Brooklyn College. She was now transferring to another school somewhere. She came by in a little green Datsun B-210 and I felt that I was seeing a good friend for the last time. It would be another 31 years until we would be in contact again.

I informed Harry and Al of my decision, which they tried in earnest to talk me out of. But when a person decides to join the service there is virtually no chance of talking them out of it. Usually it is a move made of long planning or else in desperation. Mine was a bit of both.

I had been fascinated by my Dads time in the Navy and had also long dreamt of joining the Merchant Marine- civilians who transport goods by ship. I needed to be in a Union to work as a Merchant and to be in the Union you had to work on the ships you couldn’t work on unless you were in the Union. So you see it was a conundrum. Realizing that my best shot at getting in the Union would be as a Veteran, with sea time under my belt, I elected to join the Navy. Also, I really needed to break the cycle in which I was living.

So, on a balmy September morning, after a raucous night of debauchery, I set off to Fort Hamilton and the Armed Forces Induction Station. I was several hours late and my Recruiter was actually riding through the streets of my neighborhood looking for me. He drove me to Ft. Hamilton where I went to sleep on the long bench waiting to be processed.

I was awoken with a kick from an Air Force Sergeant bellowing, “Get up slimeball- your sleeping days are done!” I rose slowly, looked at his uniform and said, “Fuck you- I’m Navy.” And then went back to sleep. A few minutes passed and I was again awoken in the same barbaric manner- this time by a Navy Chief Petty Officer. “Get up fuckhead! You’re in the Navy now! And your ass is mine!” Standing up, and looking him right in the eye, I said- “This is still Brooklyn, and I ain’t took the oath yet, so my ass is my own!” He was pissed, but walked away, and I went back to sleep for another hour.

When I awoke I began to survey my surroundings and think about what I was actually doing. Before I could think too much I was sworn in with about 50 people and divided into groups. One group was going to Great Lakes and the other to Florida where a new boot camp had just opened. That one had women as well as men. But I was slated for Great Lakes along with a Puerto Rican guy named Orlando Cruz. So I kind of kept an eye on him figuring that if I stayed close to him I wouldn’t have to listen much and still get where I was going.

A little while later we were at JFK and I was wondering what had happened to change our travel from rail to air. I had been looking forward to the 24 hour train ride to Chicago and having one of those sleeper rooms on the train. That’s when I realized that Orlando was where the other boot camp was. When they said, “If you are going to Orlando then line up here”, he had only heard his name, “Orlando", with the word "here”, and lined up accordingly. I had followed him.

What happened next was the fastest car ride I have ever had- from JFK to Grand Central in like 20 minutes in the middle of a weekday. I am sure it was a record.

Boarding the train is still a bit fuzzy but once we were on the way everything is crystal clear. They should never put recruits on a train with decent people. It sullies the image of the Armed Forces. We spent the next 24 hours headed to Chicago from New York by way of Connecticut, picking up more recruits in every town. In between stops we made unwanted advances to every woman on board, smoked pot, drank to excess and had food fights. Going through the late summer/early fall cornfields of Indiana we tossed flaming stacks of the New York Times into the fields. We were uncontrollable and crazed.

We arrived in Chicago the next afternoon about 4 PM. From there we had to catch a commuter train to Great Lakes- about 30 miles or so. Again, we should not have been allowed to mix with normal people.

Arriving at the gates to Great Lakes was everything you have seen in the movies. People scream at you, call you foul names right in your face, spit flying in your eyes.

And this was just the beginning.....

My Private War- Liberated Body, Captive Mind by Norman Bussel

This is a combat veteran’s account of his experiences as a gunner flying B-17’s over Europe in WWII. The fact that he is Jewish only adds to it’s allure. Quite simply put, this is one of the most engaging and personable war related memoirs I have ever read.

It is 2 stories- the first being the typical account of a 17 year old from Memphis going off to war and his experiences in bootcamp and flight training and then into the European Theater, flying B-17's out of England.

Short on braggadocio and long on personality, this book hooks you with stories of his friends and wartime buddies. You'll meet "Red" a guy who could find anything, anywhere. And "Old Joe" the German guard who time and again befreinds Mr. Bussel and his fellow captives. From his shootdown over Berlin in 1944 and beyond into captivity you will laugh with mirth and winch in pain as the story unfolds.

Almost lynched by farmers, saved by his enemies, tormented by his captors and liberated by his comrades, this book is fast paced and alive with an energy all it's own. No subject is off limits in this witty memoir of a life turned upside down by the ravages of war and imprisonment beyond the gates of the prison itself.

The second story is one of repressed memories and a struggle against anti-semitism, alcoholism, and Post Traumatic Stress before the phrase was coined.

Stunningly honest in his assessment of his own lifes problems and drawing parallels with the Post Traumatic Stress Disorders of the present day, this book is more than a mere memoir. It is a valuable insight and learning tool into a subject that is still much misunderstood.