Silverlining

By Robert Barry

Robert E. Barry born March 17, 1928 in Bellingham, WA, sailed through life with many adventures on calm and tranquil seas, a few swells, some choppy waters, tropical turbulent storms, and a few heaving tempestuous hurricanes with full sails he landed on the South shore of the Big Island of Hawaii. Living high above the sea, with a 180-degree vista of the great Pacific with his wife of 32 years, three dogs Caramel, Maile 2 and Duke and two cats Ginger and Cocoa, he pursued some land adventures. Enjoying the good life in paradise, he headed up and navigated the Neighborhood Watch for 15 years and the Ranchos Road Maintenance Corporation for 10 years in the town of Ocean View meeting many challenges with much enthusiasm, sharing knowledge, and attaining many goals for the community.

On July 15, 2013 Bob passed on peacefully in his sleep and is off on an adventure in another dimension! Fair sailing Bob!

I cant change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination Jimmy Dean

Until we meat again! A Hui Ho
Your ever-loving wife..Patti

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483694566

Robert Barry

Although raised a Catholic, the Author Robert Barry does not have any deeply held religious beliefs. He does not endorse any one religion above another and he is not an authority on the Holy Grail. What qualifies the author to write this book is that when he thought all was lost, he found and used the Holy Grail, the most sought-after artefact of the last two millennia and his book is based on the experience. Robert's work reveals the truth about the Grail and returns to us that which was taken from us - our free will!

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by Robert Barry.

Library of Congress Control Number:     2013915957

ISBN:                  Softcover                           978-1-4836-9455-9

                            eBook                                978-1-4836-9456-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 11/12/2013

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CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1   Declared Dead At Age 2

Chapter 2   Growing Up In Grants Pass

Chapter 3   Discovery Of The Oregon Caves

Chapter 4   Close Call In The Green Springs

Chapter 5   Drafted Into The Army

Chapter 6   Fun And Danger At The Sawmill

Chapter 7   Grants Pass High School

Chapter 8   Join The Navy And See The World

Chapter 9   Welcome To Nas Majuro

Chapter 10   Jap Junk Yard

Chapter 11   Medical Emergency No. 1

Chapter 12   Medical Emergency No. 2

Chapter 13   Jap Tractor With A Blade

Chapter 14   Barge Drydock

Chapter 15   Supply Ship Fiasco

Chapter 16   King Of The Marshall Islands Visit

Chapter 17   Tragedy In The North

Chapter 18   Our First Baseball Game

Chapter 19   Game Finally Under Way

Chapter 20   Trip To The K Thru 12 School

Chapter 21   Theft On The Base

Chapter 22   Us Army Air Corp. To The Rescue

Chapter 23   Our First Home Game Preparation

Chapter 24   Our First Home Game Played

Chapter 25   Dinner In The Vip Room

Chapter 26   Chief Peaches’ Sailboat

Chapter 27   Party At The Constable’s House

Chapter 28   A Weekend In Paradise

Chapter 29   A Weekend On The Hospital Island

Chapter 30   More Trouble In Paradise

Chapter 31   Battle Fatigue Hits The Co

Chapter 32   Last Dinner At Nas Majuro

Chapter 33   My Flight To Honolulu

Chapter 34   Stop Off In San Diego

Chapter 35   Stop Off In Sacramento

Chapter 36   Grants Pass

Chapter 37   Back To Sacramento

Chapter 38   Back To Orange County

Chapter 39   Highway 66 To St. Louis

Chapter 40   Nas Lambert Field

Chapter 41   A Civilian Once Again

Chapter 42   The WRO

I am dedicating this book

to my beautiful, blue eyed princess from Lanai,

and our wonderful children

who we hope find

the same love

that we have.

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My Princess from Lanai—My wife and love of my life Patti

INTRODUCTION

This book was written by Robert Elijah Barry about 40 years after he first thought about doing it. He is now an octogenarian and a retired engineer who used a slide rule in college because the electronic calculator had not been invented yet. This book is not an autobiography of his life, but instead it is made up of many events that he witnessed or experienced during his life, all of which could be designated as challenging, romantic, dangerous, interesting, humorous or just plain fun. Robert’s mother played a very important role in his life, even though at times he was thousands of miles away. There were also several women in his life that played important roles, three of whom he married as the years went by. But, before these ladies came on the scene, his first love was killed in an aircraft accident. His second love was the daughter of the King of the Marshall Island. The King refused to allow his daughter, Princess Teleon, to marry a non-Pacific islander and she would not defy his wishes. His heart was broken twice in less than 2 years. A tragedy occurred a few years later when four men from his office, all of whom were friends, perished when their aircraft crashed on takeoff, a flight that he had been scheduled to be on, but could not make because of unexpected commitments. These events made him stronger. He loved his work and led by example.

The title of the book, Silver Lining, comes from a Norwegian folk story that his mother told him about when he was very young. The story was about a young boy who was protected from harm by a little white cloud that had a silver lining and followed him around all his life. Robert had been hearing this from his mother as far back as he could remember, but starting at about age 40, he had accepted nothing from the world of the supernatural. But since his mother had bestowed the story upon him, he didn’t reject it to keep from hurting his mother’s feelings.

Robert found great pleasure in writing this book and believes that 90% of it is factual. Possibly 10% was changed to make it a little more interesting and fun to read. Had all of the details been included in some areas, the book would probably have had an R rating, which Robert did not want. After all, he has 7 children, 15 grand-children, and 4 great-grand-children that he hopes will someday read it and see that their Tutu Kane (Grand Father) had a very interesting life.

CHAPTER 1

DECLARED DEAD AT AGE 2

My story begins in the Pacific Northwestern part of the United States, primarily in the states of Washington and Oregon. These areas, plus parts of Northern California, are pretty much covered with beautiful evergreen forests, with numerous clear water lakes and rivers. In the late 1920’s, long before mankind had been able to do much damage or pollution to this pristine area and near the north end of Puget Sound about 90 miles south of the Canadian border, there is a beautiful city named Bellingham. In 1928, this city and its harbor were an important center for the entire Northwest, especially for lumber shipping. This year also marks the birth place and date, March 17, for Robert Elijah Barry.

Robert, or Bobby as my mother called me, is the reason for this book. Its title, Silver Lining, was actually coined to me by my mother when I was only 2 years old. The phrase comes from an Old Norwegian Folk Story about a child who was protected from harm by a little cloud with a silver lining that followed the child everywhere throughout his life.

My father, Donald, and mother, Ella, were high school sweethearts and got married as soon as they graduated. My father became an electrician, and my mother was a house wife. According to my mother, my father could fix anything in the house, or his car, or would at least try. The year was 1930, and I was only 2 years old. I remember my mother telling me about this near-fatal accident, and naturally I heard it a few times in later years.

The garage for my father’s car was located behind the house and also served as a barn to store hay, farming tools, and equipment. On this particular day my father was working with a gasoline blow torch in the garage and for some reason the torch was knocked over and caused some hay on the floor to catch fire. According to my mother, I was always into things that I should not be. I was standing pretty close to the blow torch when it was knocked over and I was immediately engulfed in flames. Today, with children of my own, I can imagine what must have gone through my father’s mind, seeing me standing there, entirely engulfed in flames and screaming to high heaven. My father was able to put the flames out quickly and then rush me off to the hospital where I was kept for several weeks.

My mother visited me daily while I was being treated for my 1st, 2nd, and 3rd degree burns over a large part of my body, during which time I managed to come down with double pneumonia. During one of my mother’s visits a doctor was examining me while she was present in the room. After a few minutes he declared me dead, pulled the sheet up over my head and walked out of the room in silence. Shortly after the doctor left the room, a nurse walked in, and saw that my mother was in distress. Finding out what the doctor had told her, the nurse immediately pulled the sheet off my head and began to work on me. My mother says that very shortly I began to cry and declared that it was the sweetest noise that she had ever heard.

CHAPTER 2

GROWING UP IN GRANTS PASS

My parents moved to California in 1932. Then in 1934, my Dad was killed, so we moved back to Oregon. My mother wanted to be closer to family, which was primarily in and around Grants Pass. This is where I grew up and went through High School. My memories of the area are great. The Rogue River flows right through the south end of town and the fishing was very good all along the river, especially in several tributaries in the area. There was an old railroad bridge that crossed the river near a beautiful City Park and someone had attached a steel cable with a cross bar at the end of it to the bottom side of the bridge. We had a great time swinging out over the river and dropping off from about 30 feet in the air into the water, showing-off for all the pretty girls. This town and the people in it, at this time, would have been perfect for a Norman Rockwell painting.

I remember in my second year of high school we had moved into town only a few blocks from the school, and about 8 blocks from the hospital. On one particular early morning my mother was very sick with pneumonia. I called her doctor because in those days doctors made house calls. I told him that my mother was sick and she couldn’t breathe very well. He said, Well Robert, I have a patient that I can’t leave right now, but if you can ride your bike to the hospital I’ll arrange for them to have some medicine ready for you when you get there. I put on my heavy jacket, jumped on my bike, and headed for the hospital. Sure enough the medicine was ready for me when I got there. I jumped on my bike again and headed back for home. It was a rainy and cold ride back. When I arrived I was sweating and my head was swimming with worry. I ran upstairs and gave the medicine to my mother, along with a glass of water. After she took the medicine I sat down and watched her.

My mother had been so strong all those years, single handedly raising my brother and I, was so frail looking with her illness. My brother had gotten up while I was gone to the hospital. I told him that I wanted him to stay home from school today to help take care of Mom. He said Okay, I don’t feel so good myself. That makes three of us I replied.

The doctor stopped by the house around 10 a.m. to check on my mom. He found my mother in bad shape, me in almost the same shape, and my brother not feeling well. He called an ambulance for both myself and my mother, and gave my brother some medicine suggesting he stay in bed all day. The doctor called my mother’s sister and asked her to check on my younger brother, Raymond. My aunt said that she would be over there as soon as she could get her kids off to school. I was released from the hospital around noon that day, after being diagnosed with walking pneumonia, but they kept my mother for three days. My aunt had my brother pack clothes for the two of us, and then took us to her house until mom was ready to return home.

My grandfather, Barty Davidson, lived in the small town of Williams Creek, which is about 20 miles south of Grants Pass. He lived in the same log cabin that his dad, Elijah, had built many years before. Barty had added another room, running water, and an indoor toilet to the house. He had no electricity, but he did have an old crank type telephone that worked through a switchboard and an operator. Williams Creek ran by his house and he had run a pipe from about 200 yards upstream to bring the water into his house by gravity flow. Due to the higher elevation of the water at the pick-up point in the creek above the house, he was able to maintain a good head pressure for his kitchen and bathroom. By running a coil of tubing into his kitchen wood burning stove, he had hot water for bathing.

CHAPTER 3

DISCOVERY OF THE OREGON CAVES

Like most of the boys of the time, I was busy with High School sports and various other activities. In my senior year I was elected president of my class. I took a public speaking class and developed a project to make a 30 minute program for the local radio station, KUIN, my subject being The Discovery of The Oregon Caves. The project consisted of interviewing my grandfather, Barty, and his brother, Winter Davidson, who happened to be visiting at the time. It was really special to be talking my great grandfather’s two sons. Winter and Barty described to me exactly what it was like when Elijah went out hunting with his dog Bruno for meat to survive the winters. All four sons, Barty, Winter, Summer and August had accompanied Elijah on hunting trips as soon as they learned how to shoot a rifle, which was probably by the time that they reached 12 years of age.

Hunting parties were organized every year in the late fall by the families who lived in the Williams Creek area, and undoubtedly in other remote communities all over the Northwest. Their plan was very simple and consisted of pack mules or horses, tents, food, coffee, and camping equipment. Each hunter was responsible for his own rifle, ammunition and tobacco. They had several camping areas, but this particular year they had decided to use an area called Pepper Camp. The camp was an area large enough for several tents, with grazing land for the horses and a stream flowing by, located about 20 miles from Williams Creek. They took most of the first day just getting to Pepper Camp and setting up. Their plan called for trading off most of the hunting and camp work. Two or three men would stay in the camp to cook for everyone, as well as butcher and package the meat brought in. The hunters usually went out in pairs, but early the first morning, Elijah and his dog Bruno, headed out and they hadn’t gone far in the dense forest before Bruno had picked up a scent of something.

When a hunting dog picks up a scent, the hunter never knows what the scent is for until the dog tells him. Bruno soon started barking like he always did, when he was on the trail of a bear, which was different than when he was trailing a deer or elk or a cat. The dog was able to maintain a more rapid pace than could Elijah because of the dense forest and steep terrain, however since the trail seemed to be following a small creek, he could follow his dogs barking and tracks easily. In less than an hour he came to a small clearing near the entrance to a cave where the tracks of a bear and his dog could be seen entering the cave. Also, the creek that they had been following could be seen coming out of the cave. He could still hear Bruno barking pretty far back inside the cave.

Elijah decided to try to go into the cave after Bruno because he was afraid that the bear might injure, or even kill his dog. He made pitch torches to light his way and found that he could stand up in the cave once he got past the small entrance. Elijah didn’t relish the thought of meeting a bear head on if he had to be on his hands and knees. He marked the walls and/or the floor of the cave as he proceeded so that he could find his way out. There were a number of side passages that joined the passage that he was on, so marking the path seemed to be the smart thing to do. He walked for possibly a half mile before he decided to turn around and get out before his last torch burned out. Bruno did not follow him out, even though Elijah called him several times. He decided to place food that bears eat, which was mostly berries, at the entrance to the cave and head back to Pepper Camp. Sometime during the night, Bruno made it back to camp and Elijah could see that he was uninjured, so he knew that his faithful dog and the bear had not tangled.

At daylight the next morning, after he had gotten a bite to eat and a cup of coffee, he headed out for the cave with Bruno leading the way. By the time they got there, Elijah could see that the bear had come out of the cave and had eaten some of the food he had left for him and was asleep in the warm sunshine in front of the cave. To give you an idea of what kind of a hunter Elijah was, he gave a yell to wake the bear up to give it a fair chance to get away. Moments after the bear stood up, he fired one shot and the bear fell dead. Now the real work began. Elijah estimated that the bear must weigh at least 300 lbs. and he had to get it back to Pepper Camp by himself. He could reduce the weight considerably by removing the head and the feet, plus the intestines, except for the heart and some other innards that were eatable. After this was done, Elijah then cut about a 10 ft. long pole to tie what was left of the bear to, then with one end of the pole over his shoulder and the other end dragging in the ground behind him, he headed back to Pepper Camp where the butchers would cut up the bear and package it. The group stayed for about three weeks of hunting around Pepper Camp before heading back to Williams Creek. With their camping gear, plus the weight of all the packaged bear and deer meat on the pack animals, the trip back home would take at least two days.

The cave is now known as the Oregon Caves National Monument, discovered by Elijah J. Davidson, on November 23, 1875 and located near the small town of Cave Junction on Highway 110 in Southern Oregon. It now has a well paved road leading to it, with a small rustic styled hotel made of logs that blends in well with the beautiful green forest surrounding it, plus a small gift shop near the entrance to the cave. My mother tells me that the Davidson family tried to talk Elijah into filing a claim on the caves, and in those days, that would not have been a difficult thing to do. My mother told me that he started to survey it once but never completed it. I guess everybody is lucky that the US National Park System took it over and has been able to develop it into a beautiful, safe cave, several miles long for everyone to see and enjoy. My mother, brother, I and usually a few cousins would visit the caves several times over the years, and I for one usually enjoyed it more each time. Now it is electrically lighted, and has railings in places that could be dangerous otherwise. There are also numerous stalagmites, building from the floor up, and stalactites, building from the ceiling down. Many of these have grown long enough to be connected to both the floor and the ceiling, but usually the larger diameter end will identify whether it started out as a stalagmite or a stalactite.

About a third of the distance through the caves you will find a man-made exit tunnel if you are too tired to continue. This tunnel leads out to a trail that takes you back to the cave entrance area. A little further on, you come to a large, well-lighted room with a railing along one side of the path that you are on. On the other side of the railing you are able to see a very large hole about 50 feet in diameter, but you can’t see the bottom of it. For a bit of theatrics, a guide will drop a rock into the hole, and it will take quite a few seconds before you hear it hit the bottom. While the guide is telling you about the bottomless hole, suddenly all of the lights go out, and if you have never experienced total darkness, this is it. After a moment or two, the Head guide hollers out to one of the other guides, Hey George, do you have any matches? And, of course, he says, No I don’t. In about 2 seconds about a dozen cigarette lighters are flipped on by some very helpful hikers. About this time, all of the lights miraculously come back on.

CHAPTER 4

CLOSE CALL IN THE GREEN SPRINGS

In 1944, during my junior year in Grants Pass High School, five of my classmates and I planned a trip over to Klamath Falls, OR to attend a basketball game between GPHS and KFHS. It is close to 150 miles round trip from Grants Pass, east through Medford, to Ashland, and then north on a very crooked and steep road over the Green Spring Mountains to Klamath Falls. During WWII we had gasoline rationing. So it was decided that we should all contribute whatever we could, so by borrowing whatever we could from our parents cars gas tanks, we were able to fill the tank of the drivers car. One of my uncle’s lumber trucks also contributed. There were three Bobs, one Homer, one Rusty, and one Herb that made up the names of the passengers in the car. The driver was one of the Bobs.

The game with Klamath Falls was very good, especially since we won. The weather had been beautiful on the way over, but it had begun to snow a little in the Green Springs on our way home. We had been on this road many times and knew that we should not speed. As we came up over a rise in the road we came onto a stretch of black ice, which is a very thin amount of ice on the road surface that occurs just as the road surface temperature drops to freezing. The road surface looks like a dry road surface because you are looking through clear ice, and this occurred just where the road made a turn to the right. Needless to say, our car slid sideways across the road, onto the shoulder on the other side and rolled over in the snow. Homer, who was sitting in the front seat, next to the right front door, called out are you hurt Bob, and all three of us named Bob answered NO at the same time.

For some reason we found this to be rather humorous and we all started laughing at the same time, which was apparently catching for the other three boys in the car. When we finally stopped laughing, we decided that we better get out, but that was a heck of a lot easier to say than to do. The two guys next to the right side doors were now stacked, by gravity against the two guys that had been sitting in the middle, and the two guys sitting on the left, were now feeling the forces of gravity pushing on the two guys on top of them. The first job was to get the doors open, which was no easy task either. The doors were heavy, since our dear friend gravity, was constantly trying to push the door closed, and in trying to get footing to get out, the guy on top was also trying unsuccessfully, not to step on anybody’s face. It must have taken 10 minutes to get us all out of the car. I’m sure glad that the car wasn’t on fire.

The first thing that we did was check out the car and then roll it back onto its wheels. With six of us, that was pretty easy. Since the car had rolled over on pretty soft snow, there was practically no damage. It had happened as if in slow motion. The car had been sliding sideways at perhaps 20 mph, very smoothly, and then it gently went off the road and started to roll over. The car had rolled onto its left side and started to go over onto the roof, but stopped and settled back onto the left side. During our inspection after we got out of the car, it was very obvious had we rolled or slid for another 10 ft. we would have gone over a cliff—an endless drop off. I said, in a whisper to myself, My silver lining is still with me. Homer was standing next to me and asked, What did you say? I just said, Nothing. The six of us made a pact, right there and then, not to tell our parents anything about it—ever.

Some years later, Bob, the driver and owner of the car, was visiting me and somehow we got into a discussion with my mother about the trip over the Green Springs to attend a basketball game in Klamath Falls and that we had turned the car over on our way home. By then we were adults, but that didn’t seem to make any difference to my mother. She wanted to know how come I had not told her about the accident when it happened? The only thing that I could think of to say was Golly, Mom, I guess I just forgot. I don’t think that she bought my story, but she didn’t say anything more about it.

When I was five and my brother was four, our father was killed. Mother raised us by herself. I was twelve before I could run faster or throw a baseball farther than my mother. She had a strange way of dispensing punishment when we no doubt needed it. We had a willow tree in our back yard and she would tell us to go cut her a switch. We knew what she wanted it for, and it was in our best interest, of course, to get as small a switch as possible, but if it was too small, she would break it in two and throw it in the wood box next to the stove and then go out and get one herself, which was sure to be much larger than any that we might get. When she was finished giving us our punishment, she would always hug us, and there would usually be tears in her eyes. Quite a mother.

CHAPTER 5

DRAFTED INTO THE ARMY

When I turned 17 in 1945, WWII was still going on and in those days they were drafting boys at 17 years of age. You were given a physical examination to see if you were fit for military service. If you passed the examination, you would be given a deferment until you graduated high school. All the boys in my class, who had turned 17, received the same notice that I did, which included a roundtrip train ticket to Portland. About a week later we all got on the train that passed through Grants Pass every afternoon and had a fun ride north to Portland. We arrived the next morning and were herded onto Army buses that took us to the hospital where we were to receive our physicals. Here we were herded into a cafeteria, given some breakfast, then on to what looked like a large sports locker room where we were handed bags and told to remove all of our clothing and shoes and put them in the bags, then go stand in line. I think that the place may have been a meat storage facility at one time because it was bloody cold. I could hear guys asking if the refrigeration system could be turned off, or at least turned down, but the room never got any warmer. We spent most of the day in this place, and besides the cold, the other thing that bothered some of us guys was seeing female nurses, in uniform walking around helping the medics do their thing. When they finally announced that we should put our cloths on, there was a cheer from everybody. Again we were herded into a dining room where we received a late lunch, then got back on the buses and headed for the train station.

The ride home to Grants Pass was somewhat livelier than our trip to Portland. No matter whom we asked while we were taking our physicals, nobody would tell us if we had passed. Of course, none of us would even suggest that he had failed. And probably they had not. About three weeks after I returned home, I received a letter from my Draft Board telling me that I had passed my physical and I would be hearing from them after I graduated. As far as I know, only one of my class mates had failed the physical, which was due to a heart condition he didn’t even know about. He was not the real athletic type, even though he did play pretty good tennis, and was a very nice guy that everyone liked. I knew now that I would be drafted after graduation.

In those days patriotism was much greater, especially with young people than it is today. We all wanted to fight the Japs and the Nazis. These are not politically correct terms today, but it is how we felt and spoke at the time. I had already made up my mind that I was going to go into the Navy. I figured that I would rather swim than march, so as soon as I graduated, I joined. I received a letter from my draft board after I had been in the Navy for more than a year. The letter said that if I didn’t report to my draft board by a certain date, a warrant for my arrest would be issued. Actually, I received the letter after the report date. I gave the letter to my CO who said, Don’t worry about it; we get these all the time.

CHAPTER 6

FUN AND DANGER AT THE SAWMILL

My brother, cousins and I all worked every summer in my Uncle Don’s sawmill from the time we were 14 years old. Because of the war, it was hard to get good help to work in the mills, so high school boys made up a big part of the manpower necessary to operate. A few old timers, plus some 4F men made up the difference. I started out working on the pond, which was immediately next to the mill and was fed by Jump Off Joe Creek that flows by the mill. Logs for the mill were hauled from forests in the mountains by trucks that dumped them into the pond. When they hit the water they produced some good sized waves. Working on the pond involved riding the logs and cleaning the mud and rocks out of the bark before they got to the saw to be cut into lumber. I moved the logs over to the log raft on the far side of the pond where I sawed them to the required lengths for the mill with a powered cross cut saw. A lot of the work the pond man had to do was fun. He usually became very proficient at riding and rolling logs. During lunch time he could often be seen rolling a log with someone from the mill who had challenged him. I got pretty good at this and didn’t lose very often. No matter how good the pond man got, he got off the pond when a truck was dumping logs into the pond. Falling between the bouncing logs could ruin a man’s whole day. My silver lining was with me on several occasions on the pond. Every job in the mill could be dangerous if you were not always paying attention to what you were doing.

One morning when the mill had just started running, the Forestry Fire Department arrived to say that they needed the entire crew to fight fire in the area. My uncle immediately ordered the mill shut down and we all went with the firemen. This was my first experience with fighting fire and I hope it is my last. I was put in an area where there was a lot of smoke. I had been provided with a breathing device for smoke but apparently I had not put it on soon enough. That afternoon I started having trouble breathing and medics found out that the smoke was from burning poison oak which had gotten into my throat and lungs and they were starting to close up. This put me in the hospital for a couple days.

My uncle’s saw mill was located about 20 miles north of Grants Pass, 10 miles on old US Highway 99 to Jump Off Joe Creek, then about 10 miles up in the mountains following the creek, on a very crooked, bumpy and steep road to the mill. It is positively amazing that any of my uncles 1936-37 vintage trucks hauled a total 20,000 to 22,000 board feet of lumber that the mill produced every day down this road to town. Brakes, I would expect, were replaced frequently. Stopping one of these trucks traveling downhill had to be avoided. The road had numerous spots that were made wide enough for two vehicles to pass, but only by inches and because of the numerous turns in the road, drivers could not see very far ahead. The trucks headed down hill had an air horn that was used frequently to let people know he was coming and to get the hell out of the way.

CHAPTER 7

GRANTS PASS HIGH SCHOOL

The Grants Pass City Park, south of town on the Rogue River, was a great place to have picnics, especially during the summer time. Many young people and families could be found here in the warmer months. Up river and down river from the park, along the banks were lots of wild black berry bushes. My uncle had a really good ice cream maker that was hand cranked. We boys made a rule that if we picked the berries for the ice cream, we didn’t have to crank the ice cream maker. My uncle completely ignored our rule, and since he was 6 ft. 3 in., and weighed about 260 lbs. and could move pretty fast, we usually over looked our rule. We knew how strong and how quick he was, and if we didn’t have our bathing suits on, we knew that he would throw us in the river, clothes and all. Uncle Don was really a great guy. He had his left arm cut off years ago, about four inches below the elbow in a saw mill accident, but he had as much strength in his right arm as most men have in both. His wife was my mother’s sister and our families had a lot of good times together.

Before I started high school, I guess I was like a lot of boys, and didn’t think too much about girls, except maybe to put a frog or a harmless little garter snake in their lunch box. A frog produced the best affect because it usually jumped out when the box was opened and really startled the victim. The snake usually just sits there, or slowly tries to get away. You had to be careful where these stunts were pulled. It had to be done outside when there are no teachers around. They seem to take a dim view of frogs or snakes running loose in a classroom.

There was an area on the school grounds, between two buildings, that was called the Students Square. It had benches to sit on and flowering bushes around it. It also had a second floor balcony on one of the buildings, with entry doors below it to the first floor of that building, with about 10 steps leading up to the doors. During WWII, silk stockings for girls were very expensive and frequently not available. Girls who could not get them would usually paint their legs with a make-up color of their preference, and they looked like silk stockings, which was fine as long as they didn’t get their legs wet, which would cause the paint to run. Boys would sometimes drop small paper bags full of water onto the steps below the balcony, and when the bags hit the steps, water would splash about knee high and make a real mess of the leg paint. I quit playing pranks on girls sometime during my freshman year in high school. There were lots of pretty girls in my high school, but I never got serious until my senior year. By getting serious, I mean going steady, which means no dating other girls, and this didn’t really appeal to me. I enjoyed dating at least a couple different girls every month.

About the middle of my senior year at GPHS, for the first time, I started going steady with a very pretty and smart classmate, Molly, and we had a great deal in common. But I was so dumb, and lacking in the ability to communicate with a girl. After graduation, I joined the Navy and didn’t even bother talking to her about waiting for me, or anything. I guess I assumed that she could read my mind. And of course she didn’t.

It did teach me a lesson, however, and it never happened again. In spite of this, I know that my senior year was my favorite for high school. I finally got smart and spent much more time with Molly and realized how much I had missed. I also made my 3rd Varsity G for track and football, and she and I were voted Best Dancers in the senior class, plus I had been elected Class President at the beginning of the year.

Every year the senior class put on a play for the entire school. In 1945 our play was a comedy about a court trial and I was selected to be the judge in the play. The play started with the selection of the jury from the audience, and we had two different endings to the play, depending on whether the jury found the defendant guilty or not guilty. We played it two different nights and the jury came up with a guilty verdict the first night, and a not guilty verdict the second night.

CHAPTER 8

JOIN THE NAVY and SEE THE WORLD

As far back as I can remember I always wanted to be a sailor. So when the time came for me to go into the Navy it seemed like a perfectly natural thing to do. When I graduated in Grants Pass, OR, in 1945, I went to the Navy Recruiting Office in the US Post Office building in town and enlisted. This was after attending several graduation parties and saying goodbye to a lot of my friends. I was given a plane ticket to fly from Medford, OR to San Diego, CA, plus instructions on how to get to the US Navy Training Base, more commonly called the Navy Boot Camp.

It was close to the end of WWII, the base was being run by men who knew they were close to getting out of the Navy. Most Drill Instructors had lost most of their enthusiasm to do an outstanding job. The men I was training with were about my age, right out of high school, and most of them had been into sports and were in pretty good physical condition, which meant the DI’s could not run us into the ground like they usually did when they were in good condition themselves. Some of these men had been around through all or most of the war, and with the action really winding down now, they were ready to go home, and most of them soon did. The training that we received in boot camp was not much more strenuous than what I received during football season in high school. Our coach had been a coach with the Army’s West Point Athletic Dept. and he really believed in physical conditioning and discipline, which I believe helped me a lot in the military. Men in boot camp, who were not familiar with the word discipline, soon learned it.

On our first Pass, called a twenty-four hour liberty away from the base, three of us new to San Diego, decided to go into town and get a tattoo. Every good sailor has a tattoo, and it didn’t take us long to find a Tattoo Parlor, and lucky us, there was a bar just down the street a short distance. To see who would go first, we flipped coins for odd man out, and one of my buddies won. My other buddy and I went down the street to the bar to have a beer. We were told this was one of several bars in town where you were never checked for age. About an hour later, the first guy came into the bar and showed us his tattoo, which was pretty nice. Again, we flipped coins and I lost again, so my buddy took off for the tattoo shop and I had another beer. By the time my second buddy came back with his tattoo, I was on my fourth beer. I was not much of a drinker, and could hardly stand up. My buddies took a good look at me and said, Back to the base with you. They escorted (carried) me back to the base and just left me at the gate. I managed, somehow, to walk (stagger) to my barracks and find my bunk.

After I finished my Boot Camp training I was sent to Connecticut, near New London, where I spent four months learning how to be a Motor Machinist. I was there most of the winter and enjoyed the classroom work, but not the cold drills that took place outside, three times a week. New London is a very pretty city, with quiet Colonial roots and the people that I met were very friendly. I had been told that people from New England states were pretty stuffy and not very friendly. I found them to be exactly the opposite. New London also had a really good USO Club for the military personnel, mostly Navy, and it was really jumping on weekends with an orchestra and lots of girls. I had learned to dance in high school and really enjoyed it, which made it a natural attraction for me. Two or three of my buddies and I usually went on liberty together on weekends and had good times at the USO. I met a girl soon after I started going there and asked her to dance when I saw how good she was at the jitterbug. She also turned out to be very good at just about any way you wanted to dance. Her name was Phyllis and her mother was a volunteer hostess for the USO. Since Phyllis was such a good dancer, I had to work at keeping her as a dance partner because she was very popular with the other sailors there. I figured that I might have an inside track when she asked me to come over and meet her mother. I noticed that she had not done this with any of the other sailors with whom she danced.

Her mother was a very nice lady and spoke with a definite New England accent. When she invited me to sit with them at their table, I was very, very pleased. No other sailors had been invited to sit with them. Just about every Saturday night the USO had dance contests going on for the different types of music, such as rumba, cha-cha, waltz, and of course, jitterbug. One night they even had tap dancing, and I was amazed at how many sailors could do it. Some were pretty darn good at it too. Phyllis and I had entered a jitterbug contest one Saturday night and I slipped and fell flat on my back. Phyllis whispered to me to get up and do it again and make it part of the dance. I didn’t do it, but after I got over her strange sense of humor, I realized that just maybe I should have. We might have won.

Phyllis’ mother was a great cook and on Sundays, after church, there were often two or three sailors over for dinner. Her husband was a naval officer on a submarine that was stationed out of Groton, CT, just across the river from New London. I never did meet him because his boat was out on patrol, neither Phyllis nor her mother would talk about where he might be. During WWII all military personnel and their families were instructed never to talk about where their family members of the military were located. The slogan during the war was—A loose tongue might sink a ship. Phyllis’ mother, besides being an outstanding cook, also made some pretty fine Diego-Red wine in her basement. I was never much of a wine drinker, but this was gooood stuff. Phyllis became a good friend of mine and even though I never saw her again after I was transferred back to the West Coast, we kept in touch by phone or mail for some time.

I found the Motor Machinist class I was taking at the Navy Base to be very interesting, in fact, some of the subjects where totally new to me. Besides studying about diesel, gasoline and steam engines, we also studied about electricity, generators, starters, electric motors, ignition systems, instruments, pumps, refrigeration, and welding. A classmate was running very close in competing with me for the top grade point average for our class. Near the end of WWII there were a lot of personnel being discharged from the service, which opened up a lot of Petty Officer Positions in some of the ratings, and Motor Machinist was one of them. Out of every class in the school, the man who received the highest grade point average received a Petty Officers 3rd class rating, and I ended up only a couple of points ahead of my class, winning it. The MM 3rd patch is worn on the left arm for this rating. The patch consists of a silver eagle above a seven cog gear with one red chevron below. It is worn about half way between the shoulder and the elbow.

When I graduated high school I really didn’t have any idea what I wanted to do with my life. After finishing the Motor Machinist class I knew that I wanted to be an engineer. I thoroughly enjoyed everything that I was exposed to and I figured that this was only the tip of the iceberg.

My travel orders when I left the Navy Training School in Connecticut, directed me to go by train to Los Angeles, and then proceed to San Pedro, CA where I would travel by ship to Honolulu. In Honolulu I would be assigned wherever needed, which turned out to be NAS Majuro in the Marshall Islands. My orders gave me thirty days max to get to Honolulu, including some leave that I had coming. I arrived on the train in Chicago on a Friday night with several sailors also traveling on orders. We all decided to get off and spend the weekend in Chicago. When I traveled east going to Connecticut, the train had stopped in Chicago around 0200 and I preferred to sleep. This time it was only about 2000, so the night was young. There were four of us and we decided to find a hotel first since we didn’t know what we might be doing later. A cab driver, named Joe, said he could take us to a hotel that would give us probably the best deal on a room for the military and the owner was a war veteran who had earned a Congressional Medal of Honor for something he did in Europe. Joe turned out to be a pretty nice guy and charged us about half of what was on the meter. He also told us that he would like to give us a tour of the City the next day for free. After he got us to the hotel, which turned out to be pretty nice, he wished us a good night and told us that he would see us the next day around noon.

We went into the hotel to get a room and were told that they didn’t have any rooms, they were sold out. But the Grand Suite on the top floor was available, which had three bedrooms with two beds in each room, plus private baths for each room, a large sitting room, plus a balcony that overlooks the city. A gentleman about forty-five years old came through a door behind the reception desk and greeted the clerk waiting on us and casually asked him how things were going. The desk clerk proceeded to tell him about us, and when he finished, the gentleman told him to give us the Suite for the weekend at no charge and walked off. We asked, Who was that guy? and the clerk said, That was the owner of the hotel and one hell of a nice guy to work for.

In spite of being tired after riding on a train all day we bar hopped for a couple hours before returning to the hotel to get some sleep. We decided that Chicago was a pretty nice town. Every place that we went, we were not permitted to pay for anything. Now that’s what I call a friendly town. The next morning when we went down to the dining room for breakfast the hotel owner had just arrived, and when he saw us he motioned for us to come over. He rose from his chair and introduced himself to each of us, and asked if our accommodations were Okay. We fell all over ourselves trying to tell him how great they were and thanked him profusely. He asked us to sit down and join him for breakfast. I was having a little trouble with everybody being so damn nice, and I think maybe the other guys were too. But if that’s the way it was why fight it? We found out that our host had been wounded and discharged from the Army, and no matter how much we wanted to, we didn’t ask about his CMH.

About noon, Joe the taxi driver came by and picked us up. He was a man about sixty years old and was about the age of most of our grandfathers. It turned out he had a son in the military attending the Navy Academy, and wanted to be a pilot. Joe was born and raised in Chicago and owned his own taxi, and had been driving them for almost forty years. I thought to myself, gad, that’s a long time to drive cars, but he had made enough income to put his son through college, own his own house and live comfortably. As much as I like to drive, I don’t think I could be happy doing that. Joe did make a good point, saying that he met a lot of very interesting people just about every day.

Chicago has a very large football stadium that happened to have midget car races going on in it, football season being over. Around the football field they had brought in a lot of dirt for the cars to race on. I had never seen this kind of car racing and the cars seemed so small that I couldn’t see how a grown driver could get into one. Most of the engines in the cars were small; L head V8’s that were pretty highly modified and could really go. And as I suspected, most of the men driving them sat so high that the wind shields were useless. Joe asked us if we would like to go watch the cars race and we said, Why not. No matter how much we protested, Joe would not let us pay. The races were over by 1600 and we asked Joe to have dinner with us. He said, Thanks, but no thanks. He had a date with his wife to attend a program at his church that night. He dropped us off downtown, but before he left he asked what time we had to be at the train station the next day. He wanted to give us a ride and say goodbye. We told him that it came in at 2000 hours and that we would appreciate being picked up. We went to dinner at a nice restaurant that looked like it wouldn’t be too expensive and it wasn’t. They would not let us pay. We decided that Chicago wasn’t just a nice town; it was a fantastic town, at least for sailors.

Our trip to Los Angeles was very nice with lots of beautiful scenery, but it was quite uneventful. I went aboard a Navy transport ship in San Pedro that took me to Honolulu, then I flew west by Navy air transport to Kwajalein, and then by a Navy supply ship, south to Majuro. This Pacific Ocean is sure one mighty big pond.

CHAPTER 9

WELCOME TO NAS MAJURO

The only thing I knew about Naval Air Station Majuro was that it was on an atoll, which is a string of islands usually with shallow waterways between them, and usually in a circle. Majuro had one pair of islands where the waterway between them was about 35 ft. deep, which would allow small draft supply ships to pass through. The atoll was about 20 miles from one end to the other, and about 12 to 18 miles from one side to the other. All of the islands were low with maximum elevations of 6 to 9 ft. and were covered with tropical jungles that included many tall coconut trees. The locals harvested the coconuts and broke them open to remove the meat from them. It was then laid out in the sun to dry and produce copra. Small ships would come by periodically and buy it from the locals. The jungles also produced pandanas and breadfruit, which were very good eating when prepared properly. Jugaroo, a local alcoholic drink, was produced from the sap taken from young coconut tree sprouts, and if allowed to ferment long enough would provide a pretty good cocktail, especially when mixed with Coca-Cola.

I don’t know when the Japs were kicked out of this atoll, but I don’t think it was more than a few months before I arrived. Some of the buildings had been left over from the Japs, but most were built by the Navy, which were primarily Quonset huts that the Navy used just about everywhere in the Pacific. The lagoon inside the atoll was not very deep in many places due to coral heads and rocks. For transportation around the atoll, LCM’s and LCVP’s were used because of their very shallow draft. (This information about Majuro I received from a sailor who was stationed on Kwajalein.)

When I stepped ashore at the base in Majuro, I’ll never forget the very strange feeling that came over me, and made me stop and look around. It was like I was being welcomed home, but there was nobody around that I knew, except a few men from the ship and several men from the base. This feeling lasted for maybe 15 minutes, and then just went away. A Boatswains Mate arrived to escort me to the CO’s Office, so I picked up my sea bag and followed him to his Jeep. The CO, a full Commander, and the Ex O, a Lt. Commander, were apparently waiting for me when I walked in. They seemed friendly enough, but it was obvious they were expecting someone a little older than me to fill the shoes of the Chief Petty Officer they were losing. I received an informal orientation about the base, what it had to offer, and what was expected of me. The man that I was replacing was leaving in two days, so I had to get busy immediately to learn my job. This presented somewhat of a problem for me because the man I was relieving was an alcoholic, and the CO was sending him to Honolulu to a hospital to be treated. My next problem was that I was a Petty Officer 3rd class with next to no experience, replacing a Chief Petty Officer with years of experience, and the men who would be reporting to me all knew it too.

I decided that I’d better meet my crew and go from there. But first, I called on the Chief Cook and introduced myself. I told him that I needed 2 gallons of coffee with 30 cups, spoons, cream and sugar on a tray in the main machine shop at 1600 hours today. He looked at me for a minute, and then said What’s in it for me? I said, I’ll take care of you later, just have it there, please. He confirmed, and that ended our first conversation. I went to my office and saw that there was a Navy cot, a telephone on top of a desk, and a shower just outside the back door. I figured I would be given quarters in the NCO barracks, but this would be fine for now. There was a black case with a handle on one side on the floor next to the desk that sure looked like a typewriter case. I opened it, and sure enough, inside I found what looked like a brand new typewriter that had never been used. I took it out and immediately started typing a questionnaire that I would need for the meeting with my crew.

I had to have copies made and I remembered seeing a couple of yeomen in the office next to the Ex O’s office, so I found someone there to make copies for me and returned to my quarters. Next to the head of my cot was a lamp on a low table with two drawers. I put my shoes in the bottom drawer and my personal address book, writing tablet, and pen in the top drawer along with a few personal things. Standing in the corner, on the other side of the room, was a tall metal locker that I used to hang my clothes in. It had a padlock with a key in it, hanging loose, which I thought was very thoughtful of someone. By the time that I got all of my gear stowed, I heard the Boatswain’s Jeep pull