I Didn't Do It Alone

Prologue

My life may not be great to others, but to me it has been one of steady progression, never dull, often exciting, often tired, and lonely, but always learning. Somewhere back down the years I decided, or my nature decided for me, that I would be a teller of stories.

Carole is the worlds worst when it comes to throwing anything away. Albums and boxes full of photographs, drawers full of letters and other memorabilia, as well as souvenirs of all sorts are located though out the house. On occasion, we would go though this large stack of stuff and try to get it organized. I was always interested in doing new things, and let history be history so I gave little thought to the importance of the junk that kept accumulating.

Several friends, and the children would listen as I told stories about my time in the Navy. I showed photographs and other items from the disorganized stack. Mom enjoyed my stories and told me to write a book. So here's to you Mom.

I am in my twilight years. Carolyn and I celebrated our 50th anniversary in June 2001. It was then that I decided to write my life story, one that may sound like fiction, but is true to the best of my recollection. My life was blessed with many friends who helped me through life's journey, and my dear wife who stuck by me through many difficult times. My story will tell of these people. I certainly didn't do it alone.

"When you put down the good things you ought to have done, and leave out the bad things you did do--that's a memoir."
--Will Rogers


Memoir Part 1

I was born in the Charleroi-Monessen Hospital early in the morning on the 2nd of January 1932. A few hours earlier, and I would have been a New Years baby, and Mom would have gotten a bunch of freebies. When they smacked my butt, I was named William Keith Scott. Keith was in honor of Keith True, a wheelchair-bound friend of Mom and Dad.

Dad worked for the A&P Stores as district manager. We lived in Maple View a community just south of Charleroi, a town of seven thousand, thirty-five miles south of Pittsburgh. There were not many young boys my age to play with so my best buddies were the neighborhood dogs One day, I rounded up all the dogs in the neighborhood and put them in the cellar. It wasn't long till all the neighbors were calling Mom to see if she saw their dogs. Mom didn't know they were all in the basement until later that day, when she heard barking. She opened the cellar door, and eight or nine dogs came flying out. I'm sure the neighbors wondered where their dogs spent the day.

When I was about six, I looked at the Sears Roebuck catalog and it seemed the women underwear section was the most interesting. I was curious - what’s the difference between a boy and a girl? Brother Jack caught me looking, and gave me the devil saying I shouldn’t look at such things. Now my curiosity was really getting the best of me. When Jack wasn’t around, I would take another peek. So much for my sex education.

Mom and Dad made it through the depression OK, but shortly after, Dad slipped and fell in the store on a banana peel hurting his back. The store released him, and made no compensation. In those days that's the way you were treated, and companies got away with it. Things were tough after that. We moved to a small mill town about five miles up the Monongahela River where Dad got a job as a crane operator with the Pittsburgh Steel Company. I was six years old and going into the second grade. We lived in a rented house on Main street which was Highway 88 that ran through the middle of town. The House was a twin with a small fireplace in each room, no bathroom, just a commode in the basement, and no furnace to heat the house. The entire family had to take turns bathing in a wash tub. Dad eventually built a shower in the basement. I'll never forget how great it was to not have to get in the wash tub, again.

Mom had a Maytag washer with a swivel ringer. She would ring the clothes into a tub of clean water, then ring them out again before taking them outside to dry When a Pennsylvania Railroad steam engine puffed through town, it would turn Dad's shirts a bit gray. Sometimes Mom would have to hand wash the shirts again until she learned the train schedule and wash around it.

The school in Allenport was two stories with four large class rooms. It was just four blocks up the street. Grades one through eight were in this building while grades four through seven were in another building two miles away in Vesta. We went through the eighth grade then rode the
street car to Charleroi to attend high school. Pete Garnic was the eighth grade teacher as well as the principal.

When I was twelve, Dad bought a house in New Town, a nicer
section of the community next to the river. At night,
the river boats whistled as the passed one another, and if it was foggy, they would sound their horns as they slowly made their way.
The railroad was about two blocks away on the other side. Many times the trains would sound their bells and whistles as they came through town. I could feel the vibration in the house when a large steam engine rolled down the tracks. Oh how wonderful it was. I would dream of far off places as I fell asleep.

I enjoyed going to the garden with Dad. His little patch was on the hill side owned by the steel mill. A tall, thirty to forty foot, elm tree, was not far off at the edge of the woods. Elm trees were the best trees to climb. The limbs would bend, but never break. When I reached the top, I could see from one end of town to the other. I could see smoke pouring out of the stacks at the mill. The huge river willows on the river side of town were beginning to leaf. It was a sure sign of spring. The air was crisp. A trolley car was rolling through town on tracks in the middle of the street. Several paddlewheel boats were making their way down the river pushing barges of coal. The steel mills near Pittsburgh depended on these boats and their cargo. A ferry boat was on the other side of the river waiting for the paddle wheelers to pass. Men walked toward the mill with meal lunch boxes in hand. A few cars headed for the mill.

Dad liked pole beans, and would place a pole by each hill to form a pyramid. When the beans climbed the poles, it looked like a tee-pee. His favorite bean was the Kentucky Wonder, a long tender bean that had a sweet juicy taste when eaten raw. His favorite tomato was the Beef Steak. This large pink fruit was very tasty. I ate many right out of the garden, and Dad would laugh as the juice ran off my chin. During the time in the garden, Dad would answer my endless line of questions. The time spent in the garden with Dad was as near Heaven on earth as any other time of my life.

During the forties, most everyone had a garden. Mr. Rossi worked a big one just above Dad's, and Tucker's granddad, Mr. Celaski, had one just down the hill. He also had a grape arbor. When the grapes were just right, He would have us boys wash our feet, and step in a large wooden tub, and walk on the grapes. He made the resulting juice into wine. It took about a month to get the purple stains off my feet. One day, Tucker took me down to his cellar, and we drew off a small amount of Granddad's wine. It was strong and bitter. We never got into the wine barrel after that.

When it got cold enough, Dad and I would go after Maple sap. There had to be a freeze then a warming trend to get the sap moving. I remember many trips to the woods helping Dad collect the sap, usually in late February or early March. It was fun walking into the woods and through the snow. Dad drilled a small hole three inches into the tree using a brace and bit, and then pounded in a wooden pipe called a spile made of sumac. The sap ran into a bucket left under the spile. We checked it twice a week. The bucket usually had all kinds of bugs in it. Dad just scooped them off, and poured the sap into five gallon buckets. When we collected enough, he would pour it into a large kettle, and boil it till it thickened into maple syrup. Twenty gallons of sap didn't make much syrup. Now if you have never eaten fresh-made maple candy or put pure maple syrup on your pancakes, you have missed one of the finer things in life. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

In late June and early July, we went out to pick blackberries on the edge of the woods behind what was then called Niger Hill. The vines were about eight feet high, and usually full of berries as big as my thumb. The best always seemed to be at the top of the vines. Dad carried a stick to chase the copperhead snakes off the vines. They seemed to like blackberries as much as we did. Dad told me to be careful, and if I smelled cucumbers to be on the lookout for Mr. copperhead.

When I went into the vines to get the big berries, I usually got stuck on the arms and legs by big thorns. One for the bucket and one in the mouth was the picking procedure. When we arrived home with the berries, Mom would wash them, and prepare to make a cobbler. When she opened the oven door the sweetest aroma filled the kitchen. While the cobbler was still warm, I would pour a little cream over it and enjoy the heavenly taste. The next day, I was ready to go again, forgetting my scratched arms and legs.

The little town of Allenport was a great place to grow up in the forties. The Allenport gang was always close. Several of my buddies passed on. Contact with the few that remain is usually at our high school class reunion. There were Tom Meli, Bill Colditz, Tucker Celaschi, Joey Brown, Frank Chuccudi, and a few others who were older, Lefty Livingston, Paggetti Haywood, Ray Ermlich, and Monk Myrtle to name a few. The town was a melting Pot. The Lycos were Greek, the Meli and Celaschi families Italian, the Millers were Jews, and the Colditz were German. There was only one church in town, a small Methodist Church. We all met in the basement of the church to play ping pong. On Sunday most of the gang showed up even though many were not Methodist. Heck, many of them were not even Protestant. Everything good or bad, we learned from the older guys. For some reason, the girls paid little attention to us. They treated us more like brothers. We looked at the girls from another town as the girls did the boys.

My first job was at the Allenport Pontiac garage. The owner had me sand the paint off a big truck before it was painted. One day I went to the rest room. The owner came in and it was then that I found out he had an attraction for young boys. I walked out and quit. I don't believe he ever paid me.

I Didn't do it Alone
Part 2

The Monongahela River was wide and deep. We would swim at the butts. We had a name for our swimming beach. We called it the A-B-A-B. (Allenport Bare Ass Beach) Mr. Downer was the captain of the Sailor, one of the largest boats on the river. He lived in Allenport, and a small boat would bring him ashore when he had time off. When the Sailor came up river, Captain Downer had the boat swing in to let us get in the waves made from the huge paddle wheel at the stern. The waves would get up to four or five feet high. The river was really contaminated from the Noel Chemical Plant up the river, and the waste water from the steel mills and coal mines. All the towns ran their raw sewage into the river. Many times we would see feces floating past us. The guys would holler, "Look out, turd ahead." Then we would slide our arms in front to make sure we didn't get slapped in the face with the poop. World War Two was in full swing. There was little or no thought about cleaning up the river. Polio was common in those days, but no one from Allenport contacted the disease. Our exposure in the river made us immune. Heck, this exposure was probably as good as the Salk vaccine that came out later.
I don't remember my grand parents. They all past away before or shortly after I was born. I had an old German uncle, John P. Spielman, who I thought of as my grandfather. I just called him Uncle, and his wife, Auntie. The other uncles and aunts, I used their first names as Uncle Bill or Aunt Alice. Uncle lived in Monessen about seven miles down river. His two twin sons, John and Nick, I called Uncle John and Uncle Nick. They were about the same age as Mom. Uncle lived above his soda pop factory, and had a gas station next door. When I visited, I would drink soda pop by the gallons, or at least that's what they said. There was no doubt that he thought a lot of me. Many times he would take me in his Model-T Ford when he took his pigeons off about 20 miles away to have them exercise and return home. His pigeons won many races. The club would have them transported by rail, and turned loose about 500 miles away. During the War, Uncle was watched by the FBI as the rumor had it that he was sympathetic to the German cause. Even so, his son John was an air raid warden in the area. I can still feel his warm hands cupping mine when I came in out of the cold. Mom said that I developed a lot of Uncle's traits. I loved the guy..
I was ten when World War Two started. Dad was listening to the old Emerson radio as President Roosevelt told of The Jap attack on Pearl Harbor. Mom started to cry. Dad lost a brother, Uncle Arthur, in World War One. Dad just stared at the radio. Brother Jack and sister Martha were going to California State Teachers Collage in California, a town about ten miles away. They both knew that Jack would be called into service. It wasn't long after the war started that there was a lot of activity. The mills worked overtime, the rail road had freight trains running on a continuous basis. I remember the famous 400 coming through town. The engine had 20 drive wheels that were about 8 foot high. Behind were about 200 coal cars loaded. Each town put up an honor roll with the names of all the people in the service. A gold star was placed next to one who was killed.
Our next door neighbor was the Reeds. Their son Tom was in the Army Air Corps. He was a navigator in a B-17 bomber and was killed. I will never forget when a gold star was placed on the honor roll and in the Reed's window. War didn't seem so exciting anymore.
Our gang collected milk weed for the government. It was used in life jackets to replace kapok that the Japs had control of. In school, we knitted socks and scarfs for the soldiers. There was a sea plane type of aircraft that would take people on a short flying trip for a couple of dollars. It wasn't long until they found him to be a spy taking pictures of the mills and other plants from Pittsburgh to Morgantown, West Virginia. He was executed. That's the way they did spies in those days.
Jack went in the Navy and was the Communications Officer on the cruiser USS Philadelphia. When he was in Post Graduate School at the Naval Academy, Mom and I traveled by train to see him. That's the last I saw him till he returned after the war.
I remember my first real job. I worked at a bowling alley in Charleroi. I set pins. There was no such thing as automatic pin setters in those days. I would sit behind the pit that the pins would fly into, take the dead wood off the alley, and reset the pins after the last ball came crashing down. If I did a good job, the bowlers would roll a quarter down the gutter for a tip. That was a good tip. Soda pop was five cents. I liked Pepsi. You got 12 ounces for that hard earned nickel. I would take about $4.50 to $5.00 home each night after working from four in the evening till midnight. I felt like I was somebody.
My first gun was an old wore out B-B gun. I was about nine or 10 at the time. The back alley was covered with slag from the mill. I put some of it in the barrel and shot it. One day I saw a sparrow sitting on a limb not far away. I shot and killed it. When I found the bird, I almost cried. I don't know what ever happened to the gun, but I never messed with it again. I found out early in life that guns kill.
Mrs. Beasel was my 7th Grade teacher. Of all my teachers, she was the one I thought the least of. She said I wouldn't amount to much, and she may have been right. I will never forget the time we were studying Stephen Foster. There was a recital, and all the parents were invited to hear their kids sing. She assigned me to sing, Old Dog Tray. I told her I wouldn't do it, but the old biddy forced me into it. When I got up to sing my part, I thought the end of the world had arrived. Damn, I was scared and Mr. Foster probably turned over in his grave as I sang, "Old dog tray ever faithful, grief cannot keep him away ------." I finally made it through the 7th grade by the skin of my teeth. It always helped to have your father on the school board. I had many trying times in my life, but another year with Mrs. Basel would have topped the list.
When I started high school, I met Buckey Henry. He was a boxer and invited me to work out with him. They met above a garage in Vesta - not to far from home. Swats Adamson was the trainer. Swats was in his 60s and had been a professional boxer. He was short in stature. His ears were completely closed off. You couldn't even put the head of a pin in them. His nose was flat to his face and his eyes were beady. His hands had a hard callous between his thumb and forefinger caused by breaking clinches. He boxed Harry Grebb, one of the top boxers in his day. Swats beat him. It was said that Swats killed another boxer in the ring, and never fought again. Even so, Swats was a really likeable man.
When I got in the ring with Buckey, I took after him like I was in a street fight. That was a mistake. Buckey jabbed me till my face was a bloody mess. It wasn't long till Swats had me ready for my first fight in the town of Fairhope. I don't know how much experience this guy had, but I worked him all over the ring. Swats finally told me to go easy on him. We had an exhibition in a bar in Monessen. Buckey and I were to put on a little show for the boozers in the bar. In the second round, I tagged Buckey with a solid left and he went down. Swats was upset as he was trying to expose Buckey to a few promoters. I had fun with this till I joined the Navy.
I took the collage curriculum course in high school. I picked Latin as a foreign language. Old Miss Bradley was the teacher. She would point her boney finger at me and start talking in Latin. I didn't learn much in her class, and I don't know nor do I give a hoot anything about Latin. Mr. Iams was the science teacher. When he was upset, he would say, "There's gonna be music but your not going to hear it." He lived on a farm, and most days his shoes were covered with mud. Now to take the cake, I had Buckey Snyder for history. He served in World War One and that's all he talked about. That was the only history he knew anything about. So you can see, I had a well rounded education in bull crap.
During this time I became interested in girls. My buddy Tom was dating Edna. One day I decided to give her a call and to my surprise, she invited me up to her house. I started dating her, and I dated her till I joined the Navy. Edna lived in Stockdale, a town about 4 miles up the river. I would catch the street car to visit her. I will never forget Halloween night in 1948. I went up to visit with her. About 9:30 in the evening, I started out of the house. It was so foggy that I couldn't see my shoes. It was almost like being blind. I was invited to spend the night, but decided to walk home. The street cars stopped running. I finally made it to the highway. It took me about four hours to get home. The next day word came that several people died in Donora from the smog. This was the first time that the term smog was used. Donora, a steel mill town, was located about seven miles down river.
The "Donora Death Fog"
Horror visited the US Steel company-town of Donora on Halloween night, 1948, when a temperature inversion descended on the town. Fumes from US Steel's smelting plants blanketed the town for four days, and crept murderously into the citizens' homes. If the smog had lasted another evening "the casualty list would have been 1,000 instead of 20," said local doctor William Rongaus at the time. Later investigations by Rongaus and others indicated that one-third of the town's 14,000 residents were affected by the smog. Hundreds of residents were evacuated or hospitalized. A decade later, Donora's mortality rate remained significantly higher than neighboring areas. Thank goodness, we didn't have the smog in Allenport. The fog was bad enough.

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
9 June 1949

A gruff shout from somewhere behind me stirred me to
action. "Okay, men, drop your skivvies,"
I couldn't see the guy who shouted but next to me was an older man who was going back in the Navy. Several tattoos decorated his arms and legs. He was called Boats. He dropped his shorts to his ankles. I followed suit. As my shorts fell, my color rose. I had never stripped naked in public before.
As he looked at me, Boats shook his head slowly. The expression on his face seemed to say, “What the hell is this man's Navy coming to?”
At age seventeen, I was thin, five feet ten and a half, and weighed a hundred and twenty-eight pounds. I imagined I was not quite the specimen Boats was used to serving with.
A doctor and a corpsman started down the line, poking at each man's groin, and telling him to cough.
“The next time I tell you to cough, turn your damn head. What do you think I am, a handkerchief?”
I was learning fast. This was my third trip to Pittsburgh since finishing high school a few weeks before. I had been turned down twice before for flat feet, but on this day, my feet seemed to develop a satisfactory arch. I squeezed my toes in, and it worked. I passed the physical, and was told to report to the third floor. It wasn't long before I raised my right hand and swore allegiance to the U.S. Constitution. I was in the Navy.
One of my best buddies, Tom Meli, had tried to enlist with me, but was turned down for hypertension. Tom was short and on the heavy side. I was sad indeed when I found out Tom would not be going with me to Boot Camp at the Great Lakes, Illinois.
The year before, Tom and I had taken a trip to New York to join the merchant marine. We were sixteen at the time. Tom's father was reluctant to let him go, but dad convinced him that we were only feeling our oats, and would return home after being rejected as underage.
We caught a bus to New York, and were met by my cousin, Tom Bivin. He was an attorney and vice president of the Great Atlantic Insurance company. He lived on Long Island's exclusive Gold Coast, in a small incorporated village called Planedome. When we got off the bus, he had no trouble finding us. We wore bell bottom dungarees and T-shirts, and smelled to high heaven from Mennon aftershave.
A couple of girls invited us to a large stone home with a circular drive a few doors down from the Bivin's. We were met at the door by a butler. I told the girls no one at the Pittsburgh Steel Company was over my dad
Dad was a crane operator, so I didn't lie. Nobody in the plant worked higher up than he did. The girls were not impressed.
After a short visit with the Bivins, Tom and I went to the Merchant Seamen Union Hall. There was a line of old seamen seeking work. It wasn't long until we were told to go home, and come back in a couple of years. Dad was right. We caught the next bus home. Adventure was in our blood. We decided to join the Navy after high school.

I Didn't Do It Alone
Part 3
Boot Camp
I was sworn into the Navy about 1:30 in the afternoon. The recruiting station was located on the 3rd floor of the Old Post Office Building in Pittsburgh. As soon as a group of us were sworn in, we were handed brooms and swabs. I happened to have a mop handed to me. Now if you ever saw a big swab, you should have seen this one. I bet the strings on the end weighed at least 40 pounds. When I dipped it in the bucket, it almost outweighed me. After our clean-up At about 3:30, we were told to take off and be back no later than 18 hundred hours. "That's six o'clock your time," the Chief hollered out. I met a guy who was going in the Marine Corps. We walked down the street and came to the City Morgue. It drew our curiosity so in we went. The room was tilled with several cubicles along the wall. The caretaker said they just received a new body and would we like to see him. He pulled the slab out, and on it was a big black man. He was riddled with gun shot wounds. His eyes were open with a shocked look on his face. Each body had a tag with a number attached to the toe. So much for my first Navy liberty.. About an hour later, I called home.. Mom answered. "Hi Mom, I'm in the Navy now."
"Are you coming home, Billy?'
"No Mom, they are sending me to the Great Lakes up near Chicago. I'm going by train and leaving about 7:30. They gave us a meal ticket, and I had a good lunch. I'll write you as soon as I can."
I could hear Mom crying over the phone. It was the second time I ever heard Mom cry. I felt bad for not spending more time with Mom and Dad before I left.
"Take care of yourself Sweetheart, and know that I love you", Mom said through her tears.
"I love you too, Mom. I should be home sometime in August." That evening, we were put on a bus and taken to the train station.
We boarded the train, and the porter escorted us to the sleeper car. I was in a room with a bed that was out of this world. I didn't know how comfortable a mattress could feel. I didn't sleep that night. I just laid on the bed and listened to the sounds of click-a-tee click as we headed for Chicago.

We boarded the train, and the porter escorted us to the sleeper car. I was in a room with a bed that was out of this world. I didn't know how comfortable a mattress could feel. I didn't sleep that night. I just laid on the bed and listened to the sounds of click-a-tee click as we headed for Chicago.
We arrived in Chicago early the next morning. As we stepped off the train, a sailor met us, and asked for our orders. We then got into a large van and were taken to the Great Lakes. At the gate, a sailor came over to the van and looked at our orders, and motioned the driver through the gate. We were taken to a large building where there were about 120 of us. We were told to shut our mouths, and listen up. A chief spoke up, "If your name is call out, step up front. You will be assigned to Company 162. The rest of you knuckle heads will be assigned to Company 163. It wasn't long till my name was called. I was assigned to Company 162. " My name is Chief Reinke. I will be your Company Commander. A word of advise: you will change yer skivvies evraa day. You will change yer socks evraa day. There wont be any scrounges in my company." We were then lined up and marched to clothing issue and given one set of dungarees, skivvies, and socks. Also, we were issued 2 blankets and a couple of mattress covers that they called fart sacks. We were told that we would get the rest of our clothing the next day. The clothes we had on was to either be sent back home, or given to the Salvation Army. My shoes had holes on the bottom. It seemed that leather shoes wore out fast on the bottom. My socks had holes. And the rest of my clothes were pretty rough. When I went to Pittsburgh, I didn't expect to be leaving that day. Is it any wonder why Mom cried when I called her? We were then marched, or should I say, herded up, and taken to ship stores for our toilet articles. We each received a ditty bag full of the necessary items. We were told that the cost of the gear would be taken out of our next payday. My pay started out $72.00 a month. The next day I was issued a complete sea bag. Most of the clothes were a bit large as they expected me to gain weight
Our Company was assigned to a barracks. We were topside. Another company was below. Bunks lined each side. There was a stanchion in the center that we tied our sea bags. Everything we owned was in the sea bag. It seems that my socks always made their way to the bottom. We were issued a bundle of strings to tie our clothes to the clothes line after we washed everything in a bucket. I understand that the new recruits have washers and driers, and have lockers to stow their gear. I wouldn't be surprised if they have white toilet seats to sit on.
During our breaks in the barracks, we all sat at a long table. The lids off the GI cans were placed upside down to put the cigarette buts and ashes in. Back in 49 a sailor who didn't smoke was considered a pansy. Several of the guys didn't smoke. The first break, Chief Reinke looked at the non smokers, and told us to take our break in the head. The next day, I saw the Chief coming in and bummed a cigarette. Then the next break, I didn't see him coming over to the table. "Scott, your not smoking?" I thought, Oh crap it's back to the head.
"Yes, I smoke Sir, but I ran out. Could I bum a cigarette from you?" To my surprise he gave me one, and from that time on, he never bothered me again.
It wasn't long until we were taught how to march. The Chief would say,"By the right flank, march.," and some would go left. Several times, we would run into each other.. It took us about a week to get our act together. We were issued a rifle - a Springfield that weighed 9 ½½ pounds. It was called a piece. We carried it everywhere. If we screwed up, we had to sleep with the damn thing. Everywhere we went, we marched.
We had quite a bit of swimming at a large pool. I was ahead of the game as I did much swimming at home in the river. We had two black guys in the Company - Johnson from the deep south, and William D. Scott from Baltimore. Johnson couldn't swim. They made him jump off the high platform, and when he hit the water, he would sink like a rock. The instructor had a long poll that he would send down, and Johnson would climb up like a monkey. We called it the Monkey Stick after our good friend, Johnson.
I enlisted in the Navy under the high school program. I went into Aviation. I was a High School Airman Recruit. I had two green stripes on my upper left arm. The ones going into the deck ratings had black stripes, and the engineering below deck group had red stripes. We were almost equally divided in each group. Chief Reinke was a Torpedomans Mate Chief so he seemed to favor the black stripes. He was a submariner during World War Two. There were times that he didn't get along with his wife, and would spend the night in the barracks with us. Many sea stories were told during his stay, and we came to love the man.
Graduation Day was getting closer. We looked sharp as we marched doing the 16 count manual with our rifles (pieces). As we went past another company, the Chief beamed with pleasure. We won several flags that flew in front as we marched by. On graduation day, I felt a sense of pride that remained with me throughout my career. I was now a sailor in the United States Navy. After graduation, I was ordered to the Naval Air Station, Memphis. Prior to reporting, I had a couple of weeks Boot leave to go home.
Boot Leave
After our Pass in Review, we all met at the end of the grinder. I shook hands with all the guys, and we went our separate ways. I never saw any of the guys again. I often wondered wether they stayed in the Navy, still living today, and would I recognize any of them after all these years. We became very close and then it ended.
I had a train ticket to Memphis by way of Pittsburgh. I made out. I had a free ride home. From Pittsburgh, I caught a street car to Allenport. When he traveled in those days, a sailor carried his sea bag, and wore dress blues regardless of the time of year. With no air conditioning, it was hot and the sea bag was heavy. I didn't mind. I was finally going home after the longest separation I ever had from the Folks. I walked about six blocks to the house. I set the bag down and just stared at the front door - home at last.
Mom, Dad and sister Martha's son, Scotty, were in the house to greet me. I hugged Mom then hugged Dad. Dad never wanted a handshake from family. I couldn't believe how much Scotty had grown. He was seven, and I didn't realize how much he idolized me at the time. I looked up several of the gang. One day was spent at the river. It felt good to be back in the murky Monongahela, again. A friend, Nick Poversentich, who I met when I was dating Edna, joined the Navy a few weeks ahead of me. He was still on boot leave. We spent one day in our dress blues and walked the streets of Charleroi showing off our pride. My dear friend, Tom Meli, got a job in the steel mill. He started dating Pat Lee, and it looked serious. I thought he would go back with Edna, but it didn't work out. The days flew by, and it was time to head for Memphis. Dad took me to the train station in Pittsburgh. We had a good chat for about two hours while waiting for the train.

I Didn't Do It Alone
Part 4
Naval Air Station Memphis
Airman Fundamentals School
For the life of me, I'm not sure how I got to the base. The base is located in the town of Millington not far from Memphis. I believe I caught a bus for the short ride to the base. I went to the barracks where the students were assigned, stowed my gear, and was immediately exposed to the barracks Master- at-Arms. He was a heavy set, I should say fat, Boatswain mate 2nd Class by the name of Willie with four hash marks on his arm. Each hash mark represents four years service so he had over 12 years in the Navy. He thought he owned the barracks.
"Sailor let me tell you somethin, This is my barracks and you better keep the damn place clean. Don't mess up or you'll belong to me."
Just being out of Boot Camp, I said "Yes sir." If I was ever to see this guy again, I would have told old fatso to stick his barracks where it hurts the most. Later, I found out from some of the other students that Willie had a pile of rocks outside the barracks, and made the student who displeased him throw the rocks under the barracks, and then throw them back to the pile. Harassment was quite common in the Navy at this time, and was tolerated. I did my best to keep Willie happy.
I spent eight weeks in this school learning about Naval Aviation. We spent many hours in the class room, and then one week was spent going to all the shops to get exposed to the different rating fields. When we went to the Parachute Loft, I knew I found the field I wanted to get in. All the riggers were neat and clean. The rigger who gave the class a briefing told us that the school was in Lakehurst, New Jersey, and to graduate from PR School, you had to make a parachute jump. Wow, I never was in a plane before, and to make a parachute jump really excited me.
After we finished the week of visiting all the rates (fields), we had three interviews with a classifier. This man was a civilian who placed each student in the field that best suited the needs of the Navy. My first visit was a bummer. He told me that I was best suited for electronics. All I knew about electronics was turning a radio on and off. I filled out the form, and put Parachute Rigger on all three choices. After spending about a half hour with me, he said that I could only put one choice down two times, and then pick a second choice. We were not getting anywhere. So then I picked PR twice, and my last choice was: "Send me to sea." The next two interviews were much the same except more pressure was applied for me to change my mind and apply for electronics. I didn't give in.
Graduation day finally arrived. The class met in a large room, and in came the interviewer. He call each student and told what rate he was assigned, and where it was located. As he called the names and assignments a cheer went out. It seemed most of the guys got their first or second choice. No one got PR. Finally he called my name. "Scott, you are going to Lakehurst to the Parachute Rigger School." Most of the guys knew how much I wanted PR School. Everybody let out a yell. I was the only one to get it. Two days later, I was on a train heading for Philadelphia.
Naval Air Station Lakehurst, New Jersey
Parachute Rigger-A School
I caught a bus from Philly to Lakehurst, and checked in at the Administration Building. I was told to go to Barracks-B. Barracks-A was on one side that housed the Aerographer Mate (weather guesser) students, and Parachute Rigger students in B on the other with a paved yard in between. The barracks was old with rooms that accommodated four with bunks on each side and a desk in the middle. The duty Master at Arms took me to a room that already had three in it so I was on the top bunk. I found out later that the barracks was full of bed bugs. When I woke up in the morning, I found a few sleeping with me. They sprayed the barracks, but never seemed to get rid of them. I checked in to the School on a Friday. This was early November 1949 - still the tender age of 17.
Our class went to indoctrination. Lieutenant Ritter the officer in charge, Chief Lefty LeFever the leading chief, and a few instructors gave the new class a few words of advise. The Navy wanted mature, fleet sailors sent to PR School. I got the once over. They probably wondered how I ever got assigned to the school. A 17 year old sailor fresh out of boot camp was not desired in the school. At the time, I didn't realize that I was not wanted. The next morning we started class.
Our first phase was sewing machines. They were all Singer machines from the small 31-15 to the large harness machine the 47-10. We had to take the darn things apart, reassemble, and sew perfect stitches. They were very critical when we patched a parachute canopy. Becoming a seamstress was not my favorite class.
Our weekends were free if we didn't have the duty. Our duty consisted of barracks fire watch or fire watch at night in the school buildings. The first time I stood watch at the school, several instructors came in and left with parachutes, and made parachute jumps somewhere in Pennsylvania. I don't know how the command found out about it, but I was placed on report for not stopping the instructors from taking the chutes out of the building. Now since these guys were my instructors, I wasn't about to stop them. I told the Executive Officer that these guys run the show as far as I was concerned, and they owned the building. I got out of it, and the instructors got a slap on the wrist. In the Navy, you can get into a situation -- Damn if you do and Damn if don't. There will be several such times in my career as you will see later.
When we didn't have the duty on the weekends, we were free to go on liberty. New York was 72 miles to the north, and Philadelphia was 48 miles south. With a five dollar bill, I could catch a bus to NY, have a great time and still have pocket change when I returned. A big mug of draft beer cost fifteen cents. A classmate, Morrow, made money when he went to NY. If a homosexual approached him, he would beat the devil out of the queer (as they were called in those days), take his money, and have a free liberty.
I almost lost my wallet in NY. Our pants didn't have pockets. The front had a flap with 13 buttons. I was sure glad that there wasn't 20 original Colonies as that's what the 13 buttons stood for. On liberty, I would just button the top 3 or 4. As the sailors used to say, that gave a girl 13 chances to say no. The sailors kept their bill folds stuck under their jumper in the front. A couple of girls came up to us and started to talk. As we walked down the street, I noticed my bill fold missing. I got excited and started to go back to look for it. As we were walking back, one of the girls picked up a wallet off the sidewalk and asked if that was my bill fold. It was. Now to this day, I can't figure how she got to my wallet without me knowing it. On one liberty, a group of the guys went to a tattoo parlor. We all got the same tattoo - a sailor boy with boxing gloves on. I get reminded of that liberty every time I look at my upper left arm.
I enjoyed spending liberty in Philadelphia a bit more than NY. Philly seemed to have more culture- museums, the Liberty Bell and such. The bus left me out at the city square. The Salvation Army was in a small building next to the walk. They had magazines to read, hot coffee, fresh donuts and good sandwiches at no cost. It sure felt good to get in out of the cold while waiting for the bus. A class mate, Spencer, and I went to Philly for the weekend. As we were walking down Broad Street, a couple of girls were walking ahead of us. One dropped her handkerchief. That was a signal that they wanted to meet us. Girls did that in those days. They were more suttle than the women of today. They showed us around the city - to the museum and other historical sites. Afterward, they took us to a good restaurant. We met them again on Sunday and walked in the park. They lived in Germantown, the north side of Philly. Several times they came to Lakehurst with baskets of goodies. It seemed my friend was getting serious so I quit seeing her. It was fun while it lasted.
I feel a little embarrassed about this episode after all these years, but will tell it for what it's worth. Edna, the girl I dated back home, sent a package with boxer style underwear. She painted butterflies all over them. The skivvies were about three sizes too large. One night, I put on a pair and about midnight, I went to the rec room for a soda. I had to pass the Master at Arms shack. Two instructors were there checking the barracks. It was dark so I didn't see them, but they saw me drifting by.
"Sailor or what ever the hell you are - get over here."
My skivvies were hanging down to my knees.
"Where in creation did you get those rags?"
I told him that my girl friend sent them to me. He just stared at me.
"How many did your sweetie pie send you?
I told him I had two pair.
"Take those damn things off and bring both pair out here."
I gave him both pair. As I understand, they hung them in Lieutenant Ritter's office as a joke. I always wore Navy issue skivvies from that time forward.
At the end of sewing phase, I was set back. I passed my final test, but the phase supervisor thought I needed a bit more experience sewing patches on the parachutes. It wasn't long till I could sew the perfect stitch. As I progressed though the different phases, I finally reached the parachute phase. Chief Betty Parsons was phase supervisor. She acted like a mother hen, and we all thought the world of her. (A few years later, she died of breast cancer.) At this time, a parachute had to be hung in the dry locker and packed ever 30 days. I don't think they use dry lockers anymore. In fact today, they don't open and look at a chute for over a year or more. Back then the chutes were primitive compared to the modern chutes now in use. High performance aircraft with the advent of the ejection seat caused safety equipment to evolve into a state of the art that we didn't know possible at the time. I finally finished my practical work, and now came the final exam. This was April 1950.
There were 16 of us in the class. We were given a final test of 150 questions. Many were multiple choice, but others had to be answered from memory. We broke for lunch, and the results were posted for us to see when we returned. A 68 was passing. I looked down the list - at the bottom was Airman Scott - 65. I felt like my world had come to the end. My good classmate friends came over and tried to cheer me up. I was told that they were going to have a board on me within the hour. It looked like Chief LeFever and the other instructors finally succeeded in getting rid of a problem -- me.
I walked into the room. Sitting behind the table was Chief LeFever and four other chiefs. Chief LeFever spoke up: "Scott, the board has decided to expel you from the school. We think you ought to spend some time in the fleet, and after a year you can reapply for the school. We will have Administration go out for a set of orders, and you should have them by the middle of next week." I asked to see my test papers but that request was denied. I often wondered whether they dropped my score to get rid of me. The test didn't seem that difficult. I left the room and went to the barracks to see my classmates for the last time. I felt so bad that I shed a few tears. I was defeated.
A classmate, Boatswain's Mate Third Class Chamberlain, was changing over to Parachute Rigger and to do so, he had to go through the school, and make a parachute jump. He had a couple of years experience in the Navy, and knew different procedures that a green sailor like me was unaware of. He came over to me, and put his arm around my shoulder. "Scott, let me give you some advise. Mary Redfern failed her test, and they passed her." (Redfern was the first Wave to go through the school and the first Wave to make a parachute jump. The news media out of New York were already scheduled to come down and film the event so they had no choice but to pass her.) "Here's what you should do - Put in a request to see the Captain, and use personal reasons. They can't turn you down, and mention to the Captain what they did for Redfern."
I hightailed it back to the school to put in my request. Chief LeFever asked me why I wanted to see the Captain. He looked concerned. I told him it was personal, and he approved the request. He had no other choice as he threw the request at me. I felt good as I walked out of his office.
I was scheduled to see the Captain the next morning. This was on a Thursday, and the class was going to make their parachute jump the next day. I went to the Captain's office and lightly tapped on the door. My legs were shaking. I never met nor did I desire to come face to face with a Commanding Officer. Let's face it, I was scared.
"COME IN", came a loud, rough voice from within. Now my throat went dry, and everything seemed to be twitching. I went in, and from the sight of me, I'm sure the CO thought I was about ready to crap my pants. He had a ruddy, mean looking face. On his desk was a flask of whiskey.
"Sit down sailor, and tell me your problem."
For some reason, I spoke from my heart telling him why I wanted to be a Parachute Rigger. As Chamberlain told me, I mentioned Mary Redfern. I let it all out. The Captain placed his hand under his chin and didn't say anything for what seemed like eternity.
"Sailor go back to the school. Someone will be looking for you. You are excused."
I ran back to the school, and sure enough two instructors led me to a room, and gave me a retest. I couldn't fail this test as there was one instructor on each side of me. If I put down a wrong answer, they would bump me on the shoulder. I must admit - they didn't bump me very much - just enough to make sure I didn't fail. I was told to come back in an hour to see if I was going to graduate. I went back to the barracks and after giving Chamberlain a big hug, I told him the story. All the guys shook my hand and cheered me out the door as I headed back to the school. I passed. I was told to go back to the barrack and get some rest. The class will be jumping in the morning.
My First Parachute Jump
I went to the barracks walking on cloud nine. Everyone was excited, and resting for the jump was out of the question. It was nearly two in the morning before I hit the sack. I finally went to sleep. I was in the top bunk. I remember dreaming that I was falling toward the ground. When I woke up, I was laying face down on the floor. I never fell out of a top bunk before nor did I anytime after. I couldn't get back to sleep so I talked with several other guys who were too excited to sleep. Morning came early.
Most of the guys were so excited that we missed breakfast. We met at the school about seven thirty. We loaded into a bus at eight and was taken to the tarmac. Another bus had our parachutes with each one tagged with our name. We each had a main chute and a reserve that attached to the harness on the front. The airplane was a twin engine R4D. It was beginning to turn up. This was as close to an aircraft as I ever got. I never flew in a plane, and now I just realized that I wasn't going to land with it. All the guys were quiet as we put our rigs on. The instructors came by to see if we had our harness drawn tight. One yelled out: "Make sure your harness is tight at the crotch or you will be singing soprano before you hit the ground." They had us bend over as we tightened the straps. The main chute was 28 foot and the reserve 24 foot. I gained about 75 pounds. We lined up with an instructor first, then a student, then an instructor. The first man to go out was an instructor as was the last one out. Each student had an instructor in front and behind. I was beginning to feel weak in the knees. I felt like I was about to throw up. It was a good thing I missed breakfast. We boarded the aircraft. I was near the middle of the line up.
The aircraft vibrated as the pilot revved up the engines. The next thing I knew, we were airborne. I realized that this was it. The buildings below kept getting smaller and smaller as the plane started to make a circle. The jump master had his head out the door giving the pilot a directional fix. He then threw out a weight with a long piece of webbing attached. This give him some idea as to wind drift. If it landed near the center of the jump circle, he knew where to drop us out. If it didn't, then he had to make an adjustment to get the jumpers in the circle. He smiled and gave a thumbs up. The next thing I heard was: "COMING ON THE RANGE." If I was Catholic, I would have been saying 10 Hail Marys. I thought I was dreaming. This can't be for real.
Everyone stood up. We gripped the D-ring to the rip cord. The school didn't use static lines. We were told to wait a few seconds then pull the rip cord. The last man in the stick wanted out of the aircraft as soon as possible as the plane was moving and he didn't want to land in the trees. The instructor on the end was a big guy who wouldn't let anyone stand in his way. The jump master smacked the first instructor on the rump and yelled, "GO-GO- GO-GO". A student ahead popped his chute. The instructor behind grabbed his silk and followed him out the door. This was no time to hold up the jumpers. I started to run toward the door but it seemed like I was running in place. I could feel a hand on the seat of my pants as I flew out the door with my eyes closed. I don't remember the prop blast nor do I remember pulling the rip cord. I do remember the opening shock. It seemed like every bone in my body was realigned. It woke me up to say the least. I thought, Hey, it worked like they said it would.
The ride down was most enjoyable. I felt like I was suspended in mid air. I looked and saw some of the other jumpers. We waved and yelled at each other. As I approached the ground, I bent my legs to help cushion the landing. It was about the same as jumping out of a two story window. I hit the ground with my feet then my rear end. It hurt a bit, but I felt so elated that I forgot about it as soon as I stood up. If anyone lost their rip cord, they were to buy a round of beer at the graduation party. I didn't loose mine. In fact, it is hanging in my room, and I'm looking at it as I write this.
We folded our chutes and a bus took us back to the school. As we were going back, we all said we were ready to try it again. This brought a smile on the instructors face. I was ready to go again, but it would be some time in the future before I was given another opportunity to do it. As we arrived at the school, we were told to have a great party and enjoy the weekend. We would get our orders to our next duty station on Monday. I was now a Parachute Rigger Airman. I could sew the PR emblem above my three green stripes.
Our class party was at the Enlisted Men's Club on base. Five of the guys had to buy a round of beer for losing their ripcord. After five beers - it was Ballantine Ale 15 % alcohol, I was feeling little or no pain. The party lasted till the club closed around midnight. We went back to the barracks to recuperate. The weekend was uneventful. Everyone washed clothes, packed their sea bags, and just kibitzed about what orders they may get on Monday.
On Monday, we were sent to a room topside to get or orders. When I entered the room, I saw a list of billets on the black board. Some were for fighter squadrons, two aircraft carriers, a couple of Naval stations over seas, and a blimp- lighter than air squadron in Weeksville, North Carolina. The first man in the class got to pick first. The instructor would then write his name after the billet. The second man in the class got the next pick and so on. I was last man in the class, so I just watched as the choice billets were being picked. At the end, the instructor said, "Scott it looks like you are heading to North Carolina." My billet read - Airship Squadron One ZP-1. Some of the guys teased me and said that blimp sailors were lighter than air and thicker than crap. That didn't bother me. I finished the school, and I was excited to get to the fleet and see what the Navy was all about. Chief Burns came up to me and said, "Scott you're a lucky sailor. You got the best assignment of the bunch. There is great fishing and Elizabeth City is a good liberty town. You will spend three years there, and it counts as sea duty." I thought: Wow, I'll never get to see a ship. What kind of deal is that?

I Didn't Do It Alone
Part 5

.Naval Air Facility, Weeksville, North Carolina
Airship Squadron One ZP-1
With my orders in one hand and my sea bag over my shoulder, I was on my way to Weeksville. When under orders a sailor had to travel in dress blues. It wasn't very hot in Lakehurst so the blues didn't feel so bad. I caught a bus to Philadelphia, and on to Baltimore. From Baltimore, I traveled to Norfolk on the Chesapeake Ferry. I had a nice room with soft chair and bed. The Navy gave me tickets, and let me travel in style. It took the ferry most of the night to get to Norfolk. At the bus station in Norfolk, I noticed the water fountains. One read "Whites Only" and the other read "Colored Only". This was something new to me. It was about 90 degrees in Norfolk. I was thirsty so I took a drink at the White Only fountain. I got on the bus to Elizabeth City carrying my sea bag to the back to get it out of the way. I then sat down. The bus driver came back and said, "Sailor move to the front of the bus. Only blacks sit in the back. Leave your sea bag there." A couple of blacks were in the back. I was embarrassed. The driver was a big man so I didn't say anything. One black man smiled as I went forward. In Elizabeth City, I caught a bus to Weeksville about 6 miles away. The driver left me out next to the highway leading straight to the base about 3 miles down the road. I got out and started walking. I could see the big hangers ahead. It was so hot that there was an illusion of water on the road. I finally stopped for a rest when a Navy pickup stopped and asked if I wanted a ride. I threw my bag in the back, and the driver left me out at the barracks. My blues were soaking wet from sweat. I didn't remember of ever being in this kind of heat. The barracks weren't air conditioned in those days, but it was cooler than out in the sun. I thought, What am I in for. The next morning, I checked in to my duty squadron -
The barracks was eight blocks from the hangar. I started toward this huge building known as Hangar One. Several good archers with 90 pound bows tried to shoot an arrow over the hangar. No one succeeded, but they kept trying. A Photographer's Mate, Bob Kensler, took a picture early in the morning when it was raining inside, and the sun was shining through the side windows. This picture was published in the Navy Times. I walked in the hangar and saw four airships. These huge blimps were tied to the deck with two lines fore, and two aft. I checked into personnel.
I met the leading chief, Buddy Beyer, then went to the Parachute Loft. I was met by the petty officer in charge, third class rigger, Junie Hines. He showed me around the small shop with one packing table, a dry locker, and three sewing machines. He explained that each blimp carried one chest chute. In case a blimp had to go down over land, one man would bail out and form a landing party with volunteers, usually farmers. Each parachute had to be repacked every 30 days. Junie then explained that most of the shop work was involved with life rafts, and sewing patches and covers for the officers. No doubt, their wives couldn't sew. I thought,wow, this is going to be a piece of cake. I was wrong, wrong, wrong as I found out later.
The men were divided into four duty sections. I stood duty every fourth day and every fourth weekend. When the Korean war started we went into port and starboard duty. Now I stood duty all day, all night, all day, and got that evening off. Then it started all over again. Our duty consisted of sentry watch at the two entrances to the hanger. We were armed with a 45 pistol. Then there was the pressure watch. The blimps tied in the hangar would start wrinkling when it cooled off, and the bag would get extremely tight when it warmed up in the morning. Air blowers pumped air into the bag, and if they were getting tight, the watch released pressure with valves located in the cockpit. One had to be careful to keep the blimp balanced. Releasing too much air in the front made the blimp tail heavy as releasing too much air in the back made it heavy in the front. This would put excessive strain on the holding lines. So for four hours, I would run my butt off going from one blimp to the next to keep them in trim. When a blimp landed at night, the duty section had to go out on the mat and catch and hang on till it came to a stop. We would form up in a V of about 60 men with an advance party of four men in front, and a chief behind them. When the blimp came in, two of the men would run out and grab the short lines. The short lines couldn't reach the propellers. The other two men would go after the long lines. These lines were coiled inside a compartment requiring the men to trip the door, grab the lines, and run like the devil as they uncoiled the line. The props were not far off the ground, and would make hamburger out of you if you didn't run. If you ever made the chief angry, you were certain to get the long lines. It took me awhile to figure that out. Now when the lines were out, the men in the V would come in and grab the lines. During the day, all hands had to assist in launching and retrieving these huge monsters. When I had the duty, I was required to spend the night in the hangar. If I had a chance, I would cat nap on the packing table. Our shop work was in addition to all this mess.
It wasn't long till the Korean War started. New riggers came into the shop. A new squadron was formed - ZP-4. PR3 Pitman, a short thin guy with glasses who had over eight years service; PR2 Jack Trenary who served in WW II and was called back from the reserves, PR Airman Bob Krawzyk a big guy who looked comical behind a sewing machine, and Airman Lou Marshal who also served in the Army during WW II. It seemed like we had more talent than needed, but Bob, Lou, and I were the three airman so we did most of the work. When the work was caught up and it was slow, we played jokes. During the summer months the windows always had a bunch of horse flies on them. We would get a thin broom straw and bend it in a zigzag fashion then stick it in the fly's tail end. When we turned the fly loose, it would fly to the top of the hangar then drop down almost to the deck and back up it would go. One day, Jack wrote "Poopy Bags Forever" on a piece of thin paper and tied it around a fly's neck. We had quarters that morning. The fly was turned loose. It went up and come down spinning in front of Charlie Nye the petty officer in charge. Everyone started to laugh. He didn't think it so funny.
Our Division Officer was a young Lieutenant JG by the name of Carter. Several times I went with him on the Pasquotank River fishing for Striped Bass. We would troll with close-pin lores. When they were running, we could catch some big ones weighing 4 to 5 pounds. I hadn't been fishing, and the bass weren't running, but as I was walking toward the Hangar, Mr. Carter drove by and yelled out, "I got one and she weighed 8 ½ pounds." I thought he was talking about a fish so I yelled back, "Bull crap Mr. Carter." I found out later that day that his wife delivered a baby girl weighing 8 ½ pounds. He brought a dozen doughnuts in the shop and said that cigars were for boys and doughnuts for girls. We teased him about being a cheap skate. The next day we all had a cigar.
Jack and I were single so we pulled liberty in Elizabeth City on many of our off days. An Ordnance man, Gene Watz, had a car that we rode around in. After a heavy drinking party, Gene pulled up to a traffic light in the center of town and fell asleep. His car was towed away and when Gene woke up, he found himself in a junk (salvage) yard. Evidently the police couldn't wake him up, and figured they would teach him a lesson. There was a bottle club called Mom's Lounge. One of us would take a bottle of cheap whiskey and the Lounge furnished setups. Bob Kensler, the Photographer, had a tender looking face that was deceiving. A bunch of us were enjoying ourselves over a few drinks. Bob was with his girl friend, Fankie. A Coast Guard sailor came over to the table and started to harass her. Bob asked him to leave but the Coasty gave Bob a wise remark and started to hug Frankie. Bob got up and with one punch to the side of the head, the Coasty went down - cold as a cucumber. We all sat down and finished our drinks. It was just another evening at Mom's Lounge.
Radioman Second Class Chuck Campbell had a new Buick. Several times Chuck run me home to Pennsylvania on the weekend. Bob went with us. They both liked to pull liberty at home. Once during the winter, we were on the Pennsylvania Turnpike traveling about 80 miles per hour. The next thing I knew, the car started to spin. When it came to a stop, we were on the other side of the road. How the car ever missed the reflector poles, I'll never know. Chuck got back over in the East bound lane, and it wasn't long till he was doing 80 again. Chuck could sleep with his eyes open. When he was on watch, the watch officer couldn't tell he was sleeping. If code or voice came over the radio, Chuck would wake up and receive the message. At home, Mom came running down stairs, and said she thinks something is wrong with Chuck. Actually, I think she thought Chuck was dead. "Chuckie is not moving, his eyes are open and he's staring at the ceiling." I had to laugh, but Mom was still worried till Chuck woke up.
Elizabeth City was a small town of 12,000 where the Pasquotank River runs into the Albemarle Sound. There were a few restaurants, but most of us hung out at Barney's. It was a good place to get a hamburger. Once in awhile we would go to the movies. There were two in town. If we wanted a drink of white lightning, we would go to a trailer house about 4 miles outside of town. Home made brew was powerful stuff. Most of all, we flirted with the girls as they passed by. At times, Jack would clown around. On one occasion as we passed a Jewish clothing store, Jack pretended to stumble over the curb and fell down in front of the store. The owner was looking out the window and when he ran out, it looked like he was going to have a heart attack. Then Jack stood up and we walked our merry way. Elizabeth City was a laid back sort of town, but we had fun.
In October 1950, I went to the local airport to take a civilian parachute rigger test. This test was required to pack parachutes for civilian aircraft. After the test, I went back into town, and stopped at Barney's for lunch. I sat down at the counter next to a sailor I knew. It was then that I noticed this girl with long black hair sitting in a booth drinking a soda. My friend bumped me and said, "Let's go over and sit with that pretty girl." I got up and followed him over to the booth. He started to hold a conversation with her.
"What's your name?"
"Carolyn Ives."
He kept on talking till he saw a friend walk past the front window. I believe he was about ready to ask for a date but left to talk with his friend outside. I felt awkward with not much to say. There was a paper on the table so I started to look at it. After a few minutes, I worked up a bit of courage and put the paper down.
"How about a date tonight, Chick?'
"I have a date tonight."
"How about a date tomorrow night, Chick?"
"I have a date tomorrow night."
This went on and each night she claimed to have a date. I kept going through the days of the week until she gave in and said Sunday afternoon would be OK. That was a Sunday almost two weeks away. She gave me her address on Westover Boulevard, and I left for the base. I'm sure she thought she would never see me again, and probably was glad of it.
About a week later my photographer friend, Bob Kensler, came over to my bunk and asked if I had a date with Carolyn Ives. I asked him how he knew. It so happened that Bob and a friend double dated. Carolyn dated his friend.
Bob asked, "Are you going to date her?"
"I'm not sure, Bob. I'll have to think about it."
"Think about it Scott. I'm going on leave, and if you don't date her, I'll date her when I get back."
Wow, my interest in this girl went up 150 percent. I wasn't about to let Bob beat my time.
Sunday - a week later - finally came. I caught a taxi to her house. I went to the front door and knocked. A nice looking girl came to the door and I said, "Where do you want to go tonight, Chick?"
"I believe you have the wrong Chick."
I didn't know that Carolyn had a sister. I was embarrassed and felt like I stepped in it.
"Just a minute and I'll go get my sister. She might be your Chick."
CAROLYN
I wasn't sure who was at the door. I was surprised to see Bill, and a little embarrassed since he didn't know me from my sister. I introduced him to Mama and Annie as Bill. Mama offered him a soda. He looked nervous. Bill said he was going to go up town to see a baseball game and wanted me to go with him. He called a cab. When we returned, Mom took us to church. That evening we went to a movie. Bill always called a cab. I thought I had a real sucker for a date.
I was born on a small truck farm just outside Elizabeth City on 20 April 1933. I was given the name, Carolyn Morgan Ives. My mother, Effie Lee Morgan, was born on 28 February 1902, and died on 17 May 1986. Father, Paul Decomis Ives, was born on 24 June 1897, and died on 13 September 1963. Daddy grew okra, corn, and other vegetables that he sold at the Farmer's Market in Norfolk. Mama started the lunch cafeteria in the Central School, and worked at a clothing factory and cannery during World War II.
Times were hard during late 1930 and early 1940. We didn't have an inside bathroom, and had to use an outside toilet. When I was around four years old, Mama got me a snow suit and hat. I went to the outhouse, and my hat fell into the hole. I went back to the house crying. Daddy got a long handle hoe. I stood on the end while he lowered me down. I was scared to death, and it's still scares me to think about it. I grabbed my hat and he pulled me up. Mama washed it and it was like new again. I can remember a couple of spankings I got from Daddy. I had a doll baby that wet it's diaper. There was a kerosene lamp on the porch, and I took the wet diaper next to the lamp to dry it out. Daddy warned me to be careful and not upset the lamp. Over went the lamp, and after the fire was put out, Daddy gave me a hard spanking - one that I vividly remember. Another time, Annie and I were out in the field with Daddy. He sent us back to the house to get the bridle for the mule. We put the bridle on each other, one being the mule and the other the driver. Evidently we took longer than Daddy expected so both of us received a good whipping.
We always had plenty to eat. We had chickens. Mama was a good cook and she cooked on a wood stove. She made the best chicken and dumplings. The dumplings were flat, and really developed a delicious flavor after they cooked in the thick chicken broth. Daddy hunted squirrel, rabbits and frogs. We always had plenty of meat. When Daddy got a bunch of frogs, Mama would skin and salt the legs down. Then she would place them on a board. The legs would jump for a long time. Annie and I had fun watching the legs jump around. Brother Carlton loved to eat frog legs. When he came home from college, he and Daddy went were going to have for supper that night.
Daddy sold the farm to the water company with the agreement that we could live there for ten years rent free, Daddy could continue to farm, and they paid off the mortgage. They built a large reservoir, and a cabin near it. Joe, the caretaker, came out quite often. I thought he was rich because he had a red convertible car. One night, I heard a big commotion, and sister Martie wouldn't let me go down stairs. The next morning, I saw Mama washing blood off the front porch. There was a rumor that Joe was with another man's wife in the cabin. The husband caught them, and stabbed Joe several times. Joe made it to our house, and Daddy took him to the hospital.
Martie's fiancee, Henry, came for a visit unexpected. Henry was in the Coast Guard stationed in Miami. We didn't have many groceries in the house so she sent Daddy to get something good for dinner -- chicken, roast beef, or pork chops. Daddy came home with baloney. He thought this would be a great treat. Martie was embarrasses.
Brother Carlton left college and entered the Army Air Corps in 1942. He finished flight training, and in June 1943, he was flying a P-40 fighter aircraft from Westover Field, Massachusetts. His plane collided with another aircraft. Carlton didn't make it out, and was killed. A telegram was sent to Aunt Louise since we lived out in the country. Martie and Aunt Doris were in Miami to visit Henry. Aunt Louise took the telegram to Daddy, and they went to the cannery to tell Mama. They were devastated. Martie was contacted and told there was an accident and to come home.
Brother's casket was brought back with a young soldier escort. The funeral was in our house. Daddy insisted that he was going to open the casket to see Carlton for the last time. The young soldier said, "Mr. Ives I have orders that the casket cannot be opened. If you do, I'll have to shoot you." Daddy left the room.
I was ten at the time. I couldn't believe that I wouldn't see my brother, again. I loved him dearly. He always treated me extra special. When he was going back to college, I told him I wanted to go back with him. He told me to get in the trunk, and he would take me back. When they got to the bus station, they let me out. I was really disappointed that I couldn't go with him.
Not long after brother's death, Martie and Henry got married. Henry was a chief petty officer. He completed flight training and was an enlisted pilot. Two years later, they went to where brother was killed and put flowers at the site.
When I was twelve, we moved to the house on Westover Boulevard, the same house that Bill came to see me for our first date. I went to Central High School. It seemed that I couldn't get away with anything because my younger sister, Annie, was in a grade behind me. I was editor of the school paper. They were constructing an addition to the school so I decided to climb the water tower to take a good picture of it. I got caught and was expelled for three days. There was no way I could hide from it. I enjoyed school and had fun with several of my girl friends. I dated a few boys until Bill showed up.

I met Carole in October, and became her steady boy friend. We went to ball games, movies, and to church. I caught a bus at the base, and was let out in the middle of town. It was about a mile and a half to her house on Westover. I would usually walk up Church Street. The street was lined with older well kept homes. Along the way, a German Shepherd dog would come out and chase me for a block. He seemed to wait for me each evening. When I had a little money, I would catch a cab with Johnny. Many times he would give me a break on the cab fare.
I started to fall in love with Carole. In December, I gave her an engagement ring. I was still an airman, and told her when I made 3rd class petty officer we would think about getting married after she finished high school. Most of the petty officers had several years service. Third Class Petty Officer Junie Hines was the shop PO in Charge with over 10 years service. I thought it would be a long time before I had to keep my promise. Lo and behold, I made petty officer third class on my first go around. I would pick it up in January. My pay would increase to $145 a month.
I was worried about taking on the responsibilities of married life - especially with my low income. Somehow we forgot that, and planned to get married sometime during the summer. Mom Ives wanted us to get married in the church. Carole's sister, Annie, got married in March to Jack Horton. Jack was drafted in the Army and scheduled to go to Korea. They decided to get married before he left. They had a church wedding.

I Didn't Do It Alone
Part 6

In January 1951, I took Carole to Pennsylvania to introduce her to Mom and Dad. We rode up with Chuck Campbell. Chuck was a pipe smoker and he picked up a special blend of pipe tobacco that he couldn't find anywhere else. Mom treated Carole kind of cold until one night, she went up to the bedroom and found Carole with her hair rolled up in pin curls. Mom thought she looked cute. Then Carole told her not to let me see her with her hair all rolled up. Mom came out laughing. From hat time on, Carole and Mom hit it off just fine.
Carole and I were both young. She was 17 and still in high school. I was 18 but soon to be 19 in January. In those days, it was not uncommon for couples marrying at a young age. After Carole graduated from high school, we decided to tie the knot. I told Mom Ives that we wanted to get married in a couple of days. She asked if we could wait at least 2 weeks. We had several things to do in those 2 weeks. I rented a small place in Enfield Apartments. They were constructed out of cement blocks with two apartments to a unit. It was low income housing, and I believe the rent was $42.00 per month. Carole seemed to be happy with her future home. I brought blue bunting and Navy gray enamel from the base. Carole made curtains, and the floor shined gray like the deck of a ship. The next thing we had to do was get a blood test. Before getting the test, I told Carole not to worry, it would be a piece of cake. I got mine first, and darn near passed out. It didn't bother Carole in the least. We went out side and set on a bench. Carole was worried about me and called her Mom to come and get us. I was embarrassed.
While we were dating, Carole and I spent several mornings at Junie and Pansy's. They were from Georgia, and Pansy was a good cook. She would fix fried bacon and eggs with a large serving of grits. I never ate grits till that time, and I have enjoyed them ever since. I guess I'm a rebel at heart.
The wedding was set for the 16th of June. Mom Ives didn't have time to prepare for a church wedding and decided to have the wedding in the home. This didn't allow enough time for Mom and Dad to come down. The days were closing in on the 16th, and I was getting apprehensive. I went to see Carole about every evening as we continued to work on our apartment. Friday, we spent time at Junie and Pansy's. Several of the guys showed up, and gave Carole and I a good ribbing. Saturday the 16th arrived. I didn't sleep well that night and was up early. My buddies wanted to take me to Elizabeth City and celebrate my last few hours of single living. My last fling didn't amount to much. They bought me a good meal and a few drinks.

The wedding was scheduled for six. Gene Watz and six others including me rode to Mom Ives house. Jack Trenary was there. I had about 15 minutes to go iside and get ready for the wedding ou look kind of pale. Are you ready for this? “Wow Jack, I feel a little weak in the knees, but I’m ready to get this over with.” Jack was our best man, and I believe he was as excited as I was. I could hear wedding music coming out of the living room. Mom Ives looked in the door. “We are ready.” Jack and I headed out to the living room. I went over in front of the preacher. The next thing, I hear the Bridal March, and Carole came out from the other bedroom escorted by her father. (When I was writing this, I asked Carole what song was played as she came out? She said, “ The Bridal March, silly. What did you think it was called - A Sucker is Born Every Minute?” ) Carole looked beautiful in her linen dress, and broad brimmed hat covering her long black hair. She came over beside me as we knelt down in front of the preacher. In what seemed like eternity, I was asked to kiss the bride. It was over. After a few pictures, Uncle Victor took us for a ride to possum corners, and then to Uncle Junior’s and Aunt Doris’ for the reception. All my friends, and all of Carole’s relatives were there. I never saw so many people crowded in one house before. I felt like I was being looked over by all the strange faces, and I guess I was. After all I was a new They say, it aint over till the fat lady sings, and I was wishing the fat lady would start. I didn’t have a car to take Carole off on a honeymoon nor did I have the money to go on a trip. Mom Ives drove us over to our apartment. We just looked at each other in amazement. We are married now, and can be together in the same house. It wasn’t long until we had our first fuss. I got out of bed to get dressed, and go a close-by restaurant for some snacks. I looked for my socks, and couldn’t find them anywhere. The more I looked the angrier I got. I never had this problem in the barracks. After a few choice words, Carole found them.
Many of my friends from the base came by. It gave them a chance to get off the base, relax and enjoy a good home cooked meal. We met our neighbors, and played cards and different games. We were all in the same boat living from pay day to pay day with little money to go out on the town. We had fun and didn’t know we were poor Many times we went to Junie and Pansy’s. Pansy would fix bacon, eggs, and grits. They were from Georgia, and Pansy knew how to fix a good meal Southern style.

Lou Marshal, a Parachute Rigger in the shop, said his wife was coming, and he didn’t have a place to stay. I told him she could stay with us till he found a place. I didn’t tell Carole. I had the duty on the weekend when Rene arrived. Lou took her to the apartment and came out to the base the next morning. Carole spent the night with her mother and that morning she came back to the apartment with her aunt. When they walked in, Carole was met by a cute blonde. Rene could tell that Carole had a shocked look on her face and said, “Didn’t Bill tell you?” My name was mud until we got it straightened out. A couple of days later, Carole and I went up town. Lou and Rene stayed in bed. Pop Ives usually brought us vegetables from his farm a couple times a week. He came in and went to the bed room. He pulled on Rene’s toe and said, “It’s time to get up Piggy.” Lou sat up wondering who this man was. Pop thought he was in the wrong apartment and ran out as fast as he could. When we got home, Lou said there was a strange man who came in the bed room and called his wife Piggy. Carole and I had a good laugh. I enjoyed being around Carole’s father.

I asked my good Navy friend, Lou Marshal who I served with in the Blimp Squadron, to send me any of his memories of our time in Elizabeth City. I didn’t see Lou until 21 years later while I was Superintendent of the Aircrew Survival Equipment School at Lakehurst, NJ. Lou was a Parachute Rigger Chief coming back for advanced training. Then we were together at the Parachute Rigger Reunion held in Pensacola, FL in 2001. This is a copy his e-mail:

"Good evening Bill!! I have read some of your memoirs and they are very interesting indeed! In my opinion you have come a long ways, and being a part on the navy you did very well, and this is great! You were very successful and you went along way in the navy. I remember you very well when I first met you, as at that time you were a PR3 in ZP1. I was in ZP4 as a QMSN, there I met Jack Trenary who introduced me to you, this happened as I was trying to strike for PR beings I was a former Army rigger of the 82nd Airborne Div. Later on Jack Trenary got me transferred to the Parachute Loft. There I met Ralph Coughlin, Wilson, Pittman, Krawcyzak, Slingluff, etc. I remember at secure times we walked to the gate and got into your hot car, and you said,"Good God I reckon" as the heat intensified the car like an oven, and you use to drive me home on Rivershore Road in Elizabeth City. Remember? We use to go fishing together on the Pasquotank River, sometimes with cane poles or with spinning rods. I remember the time when Carole, Rene, you and I went fishing from our place there on the river and we went out in the boat, and on return in docking Carole went into the river trying to dock the boat. She was very furious that day, and I never seen her so mad in all my life. Remember?? I also remember where we use to drink some beers in the Gold Ore Tavern there in Elizabeth City. I also remember on New Years Eve you came to our place and got us out of bed and you were making loud whistles, and all of us went out to paint the town red. I also remember when we use to go out across the sound with Jack & Hazel and he use to love to do the Jitterbug with Hazel to the tune of "In the Mood".I remember at time you use to sleep or snooze under the packing table or in the dry locker, and so did Jack Trenary. We use to stand long duty weekends, and when we did we made "cumshaw"items. Lot of times Carole, Rene you and I did things together. Do you remember when we went swimming at Nags Head, N.C.?? I remember on duty nights you use to sing "Shit bags are comin', no sleep tonight". I remember you very well, Bill Scott! We use to call you "Scotty" then. I do remember when you use to take us out for rides in your 41 Black Buick. I remember your dog "Cinders"too! Personnel getting orders and PCS and we lost you in time, until the day I found you in San Diego in the Quonset Housing, you were a PR1 then, and I was a PR2 and you were smoking cigars then also, and that’s the last I have seen you until I came to Lakehurst and you were a LCDR and I a Chief. My times with Carole & you were great times in our lives, and I treasure that! I thank you for the good times, and I treasure your friendship as well. God Bless Carole & you. Anytime if I can help you on this matter, just let me know. Your good navy friend and buddy, Lou Marshall."

It was a long walk to catch the bus to the base. I was in need of a car, and talked it over with Carole. I didn’t have a driver’s licence, and very little money to buy one. When you are young and dumb, all things are possible. We went to the Chevy car lot and looked at the used cars. There was two car dealerships in town, and very few cars to look at. Sailors could not buy anything on credit because of the Soldier and Sailor relief act. This meant that Sailors were not responsible for their bills. Off in the corner of the lot was this shinny black 1941 Buick. It had a straight eight engine with good upholstery inside. I’m not sure what they wanted for it, but I told the man that I would like to buy the car. I think the sell price was less than $400. I was told if I had a co-signer, he would consider selling the car. We went home and talked about the black beauty. Carole had her driver’s licence and said if we could only get the car, she would teach me how to drive. The next day, Carole talked with her father. When I came home from the base, Carole told me that her Dad would co-sign. We met her father at the car lot. Carole’s father was well known in Elizabeth City and everyone called him PD. He said, “This is my daughter, and this is her husband, Smitty.” (Pop always called me Smitty until the day he died. I never corrected him.) Whatever PD said was OK with the salesman, and Carole drove me back to the apartment. I think the payments were $25 with no interest. We had our car. The next day, I was practicing on the street in front of the house. I backed into a fire hydrant causing a big leak. I parked the car up the street till the city repaired the hydrant. I pulled all kind of stunts with the car. I run out of gas in front of the police station in a no parking zone. I told them that Carole was driving. The cop said, “Just like a woman.” I didn’t get a ticket. I finally got my driver’s licence and base sticker.

I always liked dogs and finally convinced Carole that we should get one. On a Sunday, we went to the dog pound. Next to the fence was a young Wire Hair Terrier. I bent the fence back, and off we go with our dog. We named him Klinker. After all, we did get him out of the Klink. A short time later, Klinker broke his back leg. The vet put a metal framed cast on it, and when Klinker run down the sidewalk the sparks would fly. All the dogs in the neighborhood were afraid of him. One day we couldn’t find Klinker. We looked everywhere for my good friend. We found out that a man living not far from our apartment put his dog in the pound while he was on vacation. It was Klinker. The owner stole him back.

We moved from Enfield to an upstairs apartment on the River Side of town. This was a nice furnished apartment, so we sold all of our furnishings that we had in Enfield. I don’t know what we received, but we paid $15.00 for our house full of furniture. We added a few items so we may have gotten $20 or $25 for everything. We shared the upstairs bath room with the owners. When the man of the house came up to use the bath room, he would usually yell, “EUNICE” especially right after I used it. Eunice would come up and take care of his needs, toilet paper or foo-foo to kill the odors. To this day Eunice is symbolic with the bath room. Many times in a restaurant, I would tell Carole, “I’m going to go see Eunice”. .
The apartment was a couple of blocks from a boat dock. Each morning I would pass over a small bridge and look at the boats. I saw one slip unused. I told Carole that I would like to get a boat and motor. She reminded me of our finances. We had little money, and I had big ideas. Not long after, I received my income tax refund. I found a large wooden boat for sale located across the sound. It was a solid boat and the price was $35.00. Now all I needed was an outboard motor. I found one at Western Auto. It was a 6½ horsepower Wizard Motor. Today, a motor that small would be used for trolling, certainly not to push a heavy wooden 16 foot boat around. The cost was around $65.00.
Soon after, Carole took me and Bob Kensler to get the boat. Carole let us out and she headed back to the other side of the sound. I wasn’t concerned, but if we had problems it would have been a long time before Carole realized that we weren’t heading back. It started to get dark as we pulled away from the shore. The wind picked up, and two foot swells were rolling toward us. We were both holding on for dear life as the prop would come out of the water and scream at us. During the next hour, we inched our way to the other side. As we came near the cove, I could see Carole waving a flashlight. When Bob got out, I noticed a large wet spot on the seat of his pants. I’m not sure if the seat was wet or Bob wet his pants. We tied the boat, and went home to a good warm meal.

I enjoyed the boat. Carole and I went fishing every chance we had. Carole didn’t know how to swim so I got her a life jacket from the base. There was one spot that we usually fished. It was fun to watch the bobber go under. Most of the fish were small pan fish, but we brought them home for a fish fry. On one occasion, I asked Carole to go and bring back a few sandwiches. She never drove the boat but never complained. I got the motor started, and off she went. She was always a great sport and looking back, I certainly took advantage of her good nature. I invited several of the Guys at the base to go fishing. Many times something exciting would happen. Pitman was with me. We pulled next to the bank and started to fish. For some reason, the fish didn’t bite. I asked Pitman to get the oar off the bank and push the boat out. Pitman grabbed the oar, but it started to move. It was a large water moccasin. Pitman froze. The snake worked it’s way loose, and Pitman said, “You get the damn oar.”

The river was full of Cotton Mouth snakes. They intertwined into a big ball during breeding season. Bob Krawzyack was with me as we made our way up the river. I saw a big ball of snakes about ten yards away. My curiosity got the best of me so we went toward the snakes at a slow pace. About five yards away, the motor died, and the snakes started toward us. Bob tried to start the motor. One pull after another, and the motor didn’t even cough. The snakes were getting closer. I told Bob to get an oar and keep the snakes out of the boat. Bob was a big guy weighing around 240. As he went toward the front, the boat started to rock. I thought we were going to upset. If we did, you wouldn’t be reading this. With one last pull on the cord. the motor started.

We made several trips to my home in Pennsylvania. There were no interstates. Our trip took us up through down town Richmond, Virginia, then to Fredericksburg, and off cross country through West Virginia. When we got to Cumberland, Maryland, we traveled over the mountains to Uniontown and on home to Allenport. The Buick did a great job except for a hill in Brownsville. There was a stop sign at the Railroad tracks with a steep hill on the other side. Every time I came to this hill, I swore I would make it to the top going head on. The best I did was making it about 3/4 of the way. Then it was back down, turn around, and back up the hill. People on the side of the road laughed and waved me on. On a trip back to Elizabeth City, I came to a gas station with high price 28 cent a gallon gas. I told Carole that we can make it to the next town for cheaper fuel. It was getting late, and the gas station was closed. I turned around and headed back. About 5 miles from town, the car ran out of gas. Here we were in the mountains of West Virginia late at night, and pitch black out. I told Carole to lock the doors and I would return as soon as possible. I hitch hiked into town with my small gas can. The car was on a hill. There wasn’t enough gas to get it started. I went back to town, borrowed a large can, and finally made it back to the service station. I tried to save maybe 75 cents and it cost me a couple of bucks extra. I learned my lesson. Today, when my gas gauge gets down to a quarter, I get the shakes till I see a gas station.

I Didn't Do It Alone
Part 7

In June 1952, I received a call from my dear friend, Tom Meli, in Pennsylvania. Tom was the one who tried to enlist in the Navy with me. Tom and Pat Lee were going to get married in a couple of weeks. He invited us to the wedding. Carole and I were excited to go to the wedding, and to visit with Mom and Dad. Tom said they planned to spend their honeymoon at our place. We went to the wedding. After the wedding, Tom and Pat left for our home stopping in Frostburg, Maryland to catch a motel. We left two days later. They had Mom Ives address in case they arrived earlier. They arrived in one of the hottest summers I can remember. It was over 110 degrees, and remained that way for over two weeks. The first night, we went to the Coast Guard Beach to cool off. The beach was loaded with people laying all over the beach. Tom looked like he was going to die with sweat running down his face. The next day, we went out in the boat. Tom and Pat had shorts on. That was a mistake. In fact that was the end of their honey moon. Their arms and legs got so blistered they couldn’t hardly go near one another. Other than the burns, they had a good time in Elizabeth City. They returned home to set up house keeping in Allenport.

We moved from the riverside apartment to Cousin Minnie’s upstairs apartment in town. There was little to be desired with this place, but we paid less rent. The linoleum was well worn, the walls were dirty and in need of painting. Carole did the best she could to clean the place. With the help of Big John, I painted. Big John was a 6 foot 3 inches tall black man , a worker on Dad Ives farm.

Two thoughts come to mind in this apartment. Dad Ives brought a live rooster for us to eat. He was a handsome fellow with blue and green tail feathers. I named the rooster Charlie, and didn’t want to kill him. He was with us about a week when Carole decided to prepare Charlie for supper. When I came home, I could smell the aroma of fried chicken. I sat down to eat and asked Carole, “Were’s Charlie?” She looked at me with a sheepish grin and said, “Your looking at him.” The chicken dinner looked great, but I lost my appetite. On another occasion we got a surprise visit. Carole’s sister Marty was married to Henry Cassel, a Coast Guard pilot. They were stationed in Alaska and had orders back to Corpus Christi, Texas. We didn’t know they were coming for a visit. One evening, we planned to go out, and I bought a fifth of Costairs whiskey. This was rot gut whiskey, but all I could afford. I sat the bottle on the table before Carole and I went up town. When we returned, a little whiskey was gone and a note “The whiskey was good, Henry.” Mom Ives was against drinking so Henry saved the day by taking a drink.

My tour with Blimps was coming to a close. Lieutenant Gardner had orders to Washington, DC. I made him a boat cover, and when he offered to pay me, I asked him to see if he could get me orders to shore duty. A month later, I received orders to the Naval Air Station, Kingsville, Texas. Carole didn’t seem very happy about going to Texas leaving her family behind. Lieutenant Garner didn’t do me any favors. Orders to the Norfolk area would have been much better. Norfolk was about 50 miles from Elizabeth City. Kingsville, located in southern Texas, was over 800 miles away.

Before going to Texas, we went to Pennsylvania to visit with Mom and Dad. While there, I traded the 41 Buick for a 46 Pontiac. On return to Elizabeth City, we loaded the car with everything we could carry. I was a 3rd Class Petty Officer. According to the Navy a sailor should be a 2nd Class Petty Officer or higher before getting married. The Navy did not ship anything for us. We didn’t own much, so it wasn’t a hardship. In January 1953, we arrived in Kingsville. We stayed in a motel outside of town till we found an apartment.

I was assigned to Class C Maintenance refurbishing World War Two aircraft, F6F fighters and TBM torpedo bombers, to be flown to the Dothan scrap yard. I checked into the shop and met my supervisor, First Class Petty Officer, Leon Crosbey Crothers Jr. He was a short man with graying hair. He looked much older than his 25 years. He claimed a shark came near him causing his hair to turn gray. That was his story but few believed it. Everyone called him Cuz. He was a heavy smoker who liked coke. Coke came in small six once bottles with a name of a city on the bottom. The one who had the city closest to Kingsville had to pay. Our shop was up stairs above the head. I found a large plastic spider, tied a thin black thread to it, and when a sailor started in, I would drop it in front of his face. It was a shock to see this big black spider drop. One sailor was so frightened that I thought he was going to have a heart attack. That was the end of our spider episode. My work consisted of making engine covers, repairing flight suits, and other sewing jobs. Also we worked on the pilot’s breathing oxygen systems. While changing an oxygen cylinder in a TBM, a green flame shot out from the connection. I tightened the connection and stopped the flame. It was a close call. Oxygen and oil don’t mix, and could cause an explosion. The worst part, the aircraft was in the hangar.

With two of us in the shop, we were kept busy. It wasn’t long until a new man was assigned. He was a welcomed sight. Parachute Rigger Third Class Jim Hamel was a mature likeable guy. I could sense that Cuz didn’t care for him, and I think the feeling was mutual. Jim got most of the hard work, but he took it in stride knowing he was the new kid on the block.

More to be added soon