27 - 28 May 1956
Dear Folks
I probably won’t have time to finish this tonite, since it is already past nine, & couldn’t mail it if it were finished, as I have no envelopes. Let me tell you, or begin to, of yesterday’s excursion to Istanbul.
Andy Hansen, one of the mess cooks, had asked me to go ashore with him to buy some souvenirs for his mother & girlfriend, & I agreed. He had to work until liberty call at least, so Lloyd & I told him we would meet him & two other guys at 2:30 at the USO. We left the ship on the second liberty boat.
After leaving fleet landing & its flags, where I’d spent four delightful hours the day before, we passed the stadium where they are currently having the World Wrestling Tournament—which was also bedecked with flags. We followed a road which soon became mostly dust, around in almost a complete circle—except that now we were on top of a hill. And what to my wondering eyes should appear but…a wooden house! An honest-to-goodness building made of wood. Believe it or not, this was the first wooden building I’ve seen in Europe!
The business streets were lined with shops, & in front of every single one flew…that’s right; a Turkish flag. In one store, closely resembling a drugstore (the closest resemblance Europe has shown me yet) I bought Grandpa Margason a Meerschaum pipe, which proved to be my only purchase of the day.
By the time we finally reached the USO, it was 2:40, but there was no sign of the others. The place was called the "Summer USO," since it has one side open, with a terrace overlooking the Golden Horn, a river which flows into the Bosphorus. Located high on a hill, & facing away from the Bosphorus & the Sea of Marmara, the view showed the clustered, red-grey of the city on both .sides of the Golden Horn, & the light green of the hills, where the city ends casually. There are many trees in the city, which also makes it unique, but none on the hills.
Three of Lloyd’s buddies came in & joined us, while we ate luke-warm hot dogs on hard buns, & drank synthetic lemonade. At 3:30 we all decided to leave, there being six of us now; as we walked out the door, Andy & three others came in.
Where would be a good place to go? "The Grand Bazaar," I said, having read of it in the Bulletin. So into two taxies, & off to the Grand Bazaar. I am going to write the Cinerama people & tell them that if they want to film excitement, ride an Istanbul taxi to the Grand Bazaar. I wasn’t, unlike the other guys, the least bit terrified after I pretended I was watching Cinerama. I knew the people & busses would melt out of the way before we hit them, & they did.
We were let off by a gate, through which we could see green trees & the quiet, grey walls of a mosque. "This is the Grand Bazaar?" I thought.
A few small shops selling goatskin rugs, one having a design of some general or other, sit behind the mosque. Beneath the trees, vendors peddle hand-made slippers & wooden spoons. Another gate opens on a narrow street jammed with people & shops, the merchandise being piled outside & giving the effect of utter confusion.
Directly across from us was another gate, leading into the real Grand Bazaar. How large the building housing it is I can’t imagine. It’s like the inside of a subway—lined on both sides with shops, & the wide street or alley or passageway filled with people. From one of these mile-long corridors, others branch out at right angles—some of them are boarded off, & a chill wind blows through the dark, ruined parts seen beyond. All the shops are small—some only three feet by three feet; they go in sections, it seems. The first we came into were all silk shops selling beautiful quilts & bedspreads for around $15. I would have bought one without a minute’s hesitation, except that I’d read warnings in the Bulletin against the "high" prices—also, the other side of the matting was only rough muslin. But oh, how beautiful were the colors & patterns! Then came shoe stores, & off down one corridor it appeared to be furniture; next were the clothing shops, purses, ornaments, brass works—you could spend a day in the Grand Bazaar & not see it all.
We finally came out onto another street—to the right it wound around a corner in a jumble of shops & people, & to the left we could see the sky and some permanent-looking buildings. We decided to go right, which turned out to be the wrong way—Bader wanted to find the Ferris Wheel he had seen from the ship. We hadn’t the vaguest idea which way the ship might be, but we could see the sea. I suggested that, since you could see the Ferris Wheel from the ship, you should be able to see the ship from the Ferris Wheel & if, when we reached the bottom of the hill, we couldn’t see either, we should walk to the left until we did.
We covered more back-back streets than any other group of sailors in Istanbul—down dirt streets where little children in dirty smocks played tag, or ran to the shelter of the houses when they saw us coming. Old women & girls peeked out of windows at us, & we must have been an odd sight—ten of us tramping through nowhere.
At long last we climbed another hill by a huge mosque with five minarets & past two obelisks—one Egyptian & a gift to the Emperor Justinian, I believe. From a garden near the mosque we looked down on the city & the sea, & being unable yet to see the Ti, we gave up & took a taxi. We’d lost two of our group a few minutes before, who’d gotten disgusted with all that walking & taken a cab to the nearest bar.
We asked to be taken to Abdullah’s, a well-known restaurant, where the food is excellent & the prices inexpensive. It was, we found, closed, so we visited a few of the bars in the immediate vicinity, waiting for Abdullah’s to open, at seven.
One of these bars, the Rose Bud, employs girls who are no more than twelve yeas old, if that. They are dressed in almost nothing, & do belly dances when not "entertaining" the customers. That was too much for us, so we left, & left behind three more, among them Andy—he had bought one scarf in the Grand Bazaar.
Our numbers now reduced to five, we stopped in a restaurant that served only coffee & pastries, which were delicious. The lights went out just after we were seated, & we ate by candlelight provided by the management.
After, we made our way back to Abdullah’s & had supper. A very nice restaurant—one you should visit the next time you’re in Istanbul. When we’d finished eating, we hopped in a cab for the Istanbul Hilton.
They say Miami Beach has some sumptuous hotels, & they look it, from the outside—but the Istanbul Hilton can hold its own with the very best of them. All glass & carpeting—blue lights play on the large swimming pool overlooking the lights of Istanbul & the liquid dark of the Bosphorus. To one side of the pool, music flows from the glass restaurant with its flowing plastic roof. A wide staircase sweeps grandly down to a "basement" bar & restaurant. Men & women, all Americans, walk about—the women in magazine dresses (one in a gold lame dress). I was very proud of myself, acting (I hope) as nonchalant as possible, & as though it were an every day occurrence. I like to pretend.
We drank Tom Collins’, Screwdrivers, & Vermouth—all of which was astonishingly inexpensive, considering the surroundings. I plan to go back tomorrow. And so our evening ended.
I did a very backwoods-ish thing—I swiped a Vermouth glass with "IH" etched on it. But I’m glad I did.
Mail call tonite—three letters from you—thank you.
Now comes the "good" news—are you sitting down? I am. We had a little talk from the Captain. He told us when we are going home:
"The USS Ticonderoga will be relieved on or about 25 July 1956 by the USS Randolph. We will arrive in the States on either 3 or 4 August 1956."
And there it is. We will come limping home exactly nine months to the day since we left. I will have eight days to serve before my discharge.
There is a very strong possibility that I may leave the ship before she heads for home, but I don’t know.
Our next port will be Genoa, Italy—second time around. From there, during out ten day stay, I hope to go to Venice for three days. After Genoa, we might possibly go to Barcelona—from where I shall go to Madrid if at all feasible.
Please take as many snapshots as possible of everything & everyone & send them, so that I’ll be able to recognize you when & if I get home.
If I do get sent back ahead of the ship, I’ll have to send my stuff home. God, what a mess that will be. You’ve got to promise not to open any of it till I get there.
Well, I’ve said more than enough for tonite. Tomorrow we’re going on tour, so I probably won’t get a chance to write. Oh, well
Love
Roge
Friday, January 05, 2007
Thursday, January 04, 2007
25 May 1955
Dear Folks
Night before last I neglected letter writing in order to stand on the foc’sle & watch the Dardanelles slip by, made ghostly white by the moon, which skipped along the water beside the ship. The water was smooth & black, & the night so clear even the stars left spidery reflections.
The air smelled green & fresh, like pine needles & hay; like the America we’ve almost forgotten.
Yesterday morning we arrived in Istanbul, which some Irish poet describes as: "The view of Istanbul from the sea is the most splendid of all pageants presented to the eye by the metropolitan cities." Well, my first view of Istanbul was from our anchorage in the Bosphorus, where we are surrounded by the city. I must have missed something, because aside from the numerous needle-like minarets & humped domes of the mosques, it might as well have been San Remo, Italy, or a dozen other European cities.
The Bosphorus is nothing more than a wide river—the only link between the Black Sea & the Mediterranean (via the Sea of Marmara & the Dardanelles). We have been cautioned not to fall overboard in the Bosphorus, for the current is so strong we would be swept far out into the Sea of Marmara before a rescue boat could reach us. Of course, Leander used to swim it every night to see his beloved Hero (who stood on a hill with a torch to guide him), until one night a storm blew out Hero’s torch & Leander to sea, where he drowned. There is a tower—which looks like a cross between a church steeple & a windmill minus its arms—erected in memory of Leander behind & to the right of the ship.
We are anchored with our bow toward the Black Sea. To our left, a high hill solid with buildings hides Istanbul, or rather the major part of it. To our right, on the other side of the Bosphorus, is Uskadar, which is in Turkey & also in Asia. Ahead of us, the Bosphorus winds around a hill & disappears; behind & off to the right, the silver-mist of the Sear of Marmara. Almost directly behind, framed by two freighters & numerous of the small, half-moon shaped fishing vessels, rises the great mound of St. Sophia, flanked by four minarets—two tall & two short. As I’ve said, all the mosques are similarly shaped & all, from a distance at least, singularly ungraceful & unattractive.
This morning, I stood my first Shore Patrol, from 0800 to 1200. I was one of three Beach Guards—two of whom were entirely unnecessary. I amused myself for about an hour by throwing small pieces of cement & little chunks of rust from an iron barge at jellyfish. This sport soon lost its fascination, especially since I wasn’t hitting any—unless they happened to be particularly stupid jellyfish (which is quite an accomplishment, since almost anything is smarter than a jellyfish).
They’re completely transparent, & look like little circles of very thin smoke; something like a parachute. In their dead center, they have four round circles of slightly thicker smoke, & they range in size from two to twelve inches in diameter.
The Turks are the flag-flying-est people I’ve ever seen; their flag is red, with a white half moon & a five-pointed star on the inside curve. You see them everywhere—on the buildings, on flagpoles, on the streetcars & fishing craft.
When the Intrepid was here some weeks ago, two sailors climbed a flagpole & tore down the flag, ripping it & stomping. They were so completely stupid they couldn’t tell a half moon & star from a hammer & sickle. Needless to say, they were badly mauled by a mob—two Marines who tried to help the sailors were stabbed. Well, it serves them right—anyone who would tear down another country’s flag in the flag’s own country should be hung by the thumbs & left to rot!
Lloyd & I are going over tomorrow, so don’t be surprised if you don’t get a letter.
Oh, yes—guess what came in the mail today? (Yes, we actually had a mail call.) A box of brownies! I’m going to eat them , even if they are stale. Also got five letters from you—14th to 17th, which came as a very welcome relief. Glad you got the flowers, mom.
Money over here is very confusing. They positively forbid taking American money ashore, & back it up with a jail sentence if you try. The legal, stated exchange is 2.8 Turkish Lire to $1.00; the ship is giving 11.9 to $1.00! Inflation is tearing this place apart.
Well, I have a few more letters to write, so I’d best close. Oh, before I forget—got back four rolls of film from Athens--& almost every single shot of the Acropolis is overdeveloped! Oh, well—you can at least get the idea.
Write soon.
Love
Roge
P.S. Also, I guess I won’t be taking many more pictures—the ship is out of film.
79 days
Dear Folks
Night before last I neglected letter writing in order to stand on the foc’sle & watch the Dardanelles slip by, made ghostly white by the moon, which skipped along the water beside the ship. The water was smooth & black, & the night so clear even the stars left spidery reflections.
The air smelled green & fresh, like pine needles & hay; like the America we’ve almost forgotten.
Yesterday morning we arrived in Istanbul, which some Irish poet describes as: "The view of Istanbul from the sea is the most splendid of all pageants presented to the eye by the metropolitan cities." Well, my first view of Istanbul was from our anchorage in the Bosphorus, where we are surrounded by the city. I must have missed something, because aside from the numerous needle-like minarets & humped domes of the mosques, it might as well have been San Remo, Italy, or a dozen other European cities.
The Bosphorus is nothing more than a wide river—the only link between the Black Sea & the Mediterranean (via the Sea of Marmara & the Dardanelles). We have been cautioned not to fall overboard in the Bosphorus, for the current is so strong we would be swept far out into the Sea of Marmara before a rescue boat could reach us. Of course, Leander used to swim it every night to see his beloved Hero (who stood on a hill with a torch to guide him), until one night a storm blew out Hero’s torch & Leander to sea, where he drowned. There is a tower—which looks like a cross between a church steeple & a windmill minus its arms—erected in memory of Leander behind & to the right of the ship.
We are anchored with our bow toward the Black Sea. To our left, a high hill solid with buildings hides Istanbul, or rather the major part of it. To our right, on the other side of the Bosphorus, is Uskadar, which is in Turkey & also in Asia. Ahead of us, the Bosphorus winds around a hill & disappears; behind & off to the right, the silver-mist of the Sear of Marmara. Almost directly behind, framed by two freighters & numerous of the small, half-moon shaped fishing vessels, rises the great mound of St. Sophia, flanked by four minarets—two tall & two short. As I’ve said, all the mosques are similarly shaped & all, from a distance at least, singularly ungraceful & unattractive.
This morning, I stood my first Shore Patrol, from 0800 to 1200. I was one of three Beach Guards—two of whom were entirely unnecessary. I amused myself for about an hour by throwing small pieces of cement & little chunks of rust from an iron barge at jellyfish. This sport soon lost its fascination, especially since I wasn’t hitting any—unless they happened to be particularly stupid jellyfish (which is quite an accomplishment, since almost anything is smarter than a jellyfish).
They’re completely transparent, & look like little circles of very thin smoke; something like a parachute. In their dead center, they have four round circles of slightly thicker smoke, & they range in size from two to twelve inches in diameter.
The Turks are the flag-flying-est people I’ve ever seen; their flag is red, with a white half moon & a five-pointed star on the inside curve. You see them everywhere—on the buildings, on flagpoles, on the streetcars & fishing craft.
When the Intrepid was here some weeks ago, two sailors climbed a flagpole & tore down the flag, ripping it & stomping. They were so completely stupid they couldn’t tell a half moon & star from a hammer & sickle. Needless to say, they were badly mauled by a mob—two Marines who tried to help the sailors were stabbed. Well, it serves them right—anyone who would tear down another country’s flag in the flag’s own country should be hung by the thumbs & left to rot!
Lloyd & I are going over tomorrow, so don’t be surprised if you don’t get a letter.
Oh, yes—guess what came in the mail today? (Yes, we actually had a mail call.) A box of brownies! I’m going to eat them , even if they are stale. Also got five letters from you—14th to 17th, which came as a very welcome relief. Glad you got the flowers, mom.
Money over here is very confusing. They positively forbid taking American money ashore, & back it up with a jail sentence if you try. The legal, stated exchange is 2.8 Turkish Lire to $1.00; the ship is giving 11.9 to $1.00! Inflation is tearing this place apart.
Well, I have a few more letters to write, so I’d best close. Oh, before I forget—got back four rolls of film from Athens--& almost every single shot of the Acropolis is overdeveloped! Oh, well—you can at least get the idea.
Write soon.
Love
Roge
P.S. Also, I guess I won’t be taking many more pictures—the ship is out of film.
79 days
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
22 May 1956
Dear Folks
I don’t know whether I will be able to mail this or not, since I am almost completely out of stamps, with the exception of some 9-centers & one 20-cent Special Delivery. We had hoped that while sitting here in Rhodes all day as we were, they might sneak us at least one mail call, but they didn’t. As a revision of a statement in last night’s letter, it has been well over a week since I’ve heard from you, It seems like a year.
Nothing much new—we’re riding off Rhodes like a great, squat grey swan, surrounded by ugly ducklings of various sizes & ancestries.
This is the second draft of this letter, as the first was so completely illegible even I couldn’t make it out. Today has been a weird day—everyone is in a protoplasmic mood—that is to say, ghostly; no one seemed quite themselves. Perhaps it is just me, & I’m very tired. This is a strange type of tired—not sleepy & not exhausted, just as though I were a million miles away. Not pleasant, & not unpleasant.
Enclosed find two "letters" I copied from something the Chief had. Oh, how true, how true.
Istanbul day after tomorrow.
Enough for tonite.
Love
Roge
P.S. KSFM
* * * *
Dear Comrade:
Enclosed is a form letter from your friendly moral officer. It is designed to aid you in keeping the people back home informed of the rather frequent schedule changes that we seem to be enjoying. We realize that it is difficult to write often enough to keep your family informed of our schedule so if you will fill in the blanks as the changes are promulgated, it will help cut down on Admiral Burke’s correspondence to your families.
I would like to take this opportunity to dispel some rumors that are currently rife aboard the ship. It is not true that we will be here indefinitely. This ship will definitely go into mothballs in the Continental United States. It is expected that what remains of the crew will be paid off at that time.
There is no truth in the idea that a man can enlist on board the ship, stay with it through this deployment, and then retire. The initial enlistment must be made within the continental limits of the United States.
There is some truth that, due to the extended nature of this deployment, those who were with the ship when it initially arrived in the area might lose their citizenship due to prolonged absence from the States. Congress recognizes the initial disadvantage of this situation and is attempting to do something about it.
As for rumors of our being shifted to the Western Med, this is not likely due to the fact that Ben Gurion’s grandson has just succeeded to the throne of Israel and since he has no heir, we must wait to make sure that whoever succeeds him will be able to maintain the status quo.
Now, men, I would like to see a bigger turnout at the shuffleboard games for all men under fifty. You youngsters just do not seem to care about keeping in shape.
And last, but not least, there is a good chance of our getting liberty again in Suda Bay, so save your money for the big city..
Literally yours
P.G. GRUBB
Your Friendly Morale Officer
****
_________ 19__
USS TICONDEROGA (CVA-14)
c/o Fleet Post Office
Suda Bay, Crete
My Dear(est) ____________
Well, since that last letter I wrote, we have received a little more information about our schedule. It seems that the date I gave you of ________, 19__ was wrong, and that we will not be able to start home until sometime in _________ of this/next year. Since it looks like we will be going to the U.S. by way of ____________, it will probably take us about ____ (days) (weeks) (months) (years) to get home. That means that after we get rid of our squadrons in _______________ we should be seeing each other about the _____ of _______, 19__. Of course, this is not definite but will give you something to think about.
It hardly seems that we have been gone only ______ (months) (years) and that you have already been able to pay off the car (house) and get _______ started in (school) (high school) (college). To think that he was only ___ (months) (years) old when we left. Sure was surprised to hear that your hair has turned grey. Of course I have lost most of my (hair) (teeth) (or both), so we will have a few changes to get used to when we do get together again.
We have been given another port to visit besides Suda Bay and Augusta Bay. It will nice to get to ____________; even if there isn’t a town there, it will be a change.
Well, it sure has been nice visiting with you in these letters, and I’ll be sure to write next week..
Sincerely, your devoted
(husband) (father) (grandfather) (sweetheart)
(brother) (son) (uncle) (cousin) (nephew),
Dear Folks
I don’t know whether I will be able to mail this or not, since I am almost completely out of stamps, with the exception of some 9-centers & one 20-cent Special Delivery. We had hoped that while sitting here in Rhodes all day as we were, they might sneak us at least one mail call, but they didn’t. As a revision of a statement in last night’s letter, it has been well over a week since I’ve heard from you, It seems like a year.
Nothing much new—we’re riding off Rhodes like a great, squat grey swan, surrounded by ugly ducklings of various sizes & ancestries.
This is the second draft of this letter, as the first was so completely illegible even I couldn’t make it out. Today has been a weird day—everyone is in a protoplasmic mood—that is to say, ghostly; no one seemed quite themselves. Perhaps it is just me, & I’m very tired. This is a strange type of tired—not sleepy & not exhausted, just as though I were a million miles away. Not pleasant, & not unpleasant.
Enclosed find two "letters" I copied from something the Chief had. Oh, how true, how true.
Istanbul day after tomorrow.
Enough for tonite.
Love
Roge
P.S. KSFM
* * * *
Dear Comrade:
Enclosed is a form letter from your friendly moral officer. It is designed to aid you in keeping the people back home informed of the rather frequent schedule changes that we seem to be enjoying. We realize that it is difficult to write often enough to keep your family informed of our schedule so if you will fill in the blanks as the changes are promulgated, it will help cut down on Admiral Burke’s correspondence to your families.
I would like to take this opportunity to dispel some rumors that are currently rife aboard the ship. It is not true that we will be here indefinitely. This ship will definitely go into mothballs in the Continental United States. It is expected that what remains of the crew will be paid off at that time.
There is no truth in the idea that a man can enlist on board the ship, stay with it through this deployment, and then retire. The initial enlistment must be made within the continental limits of the United States.
There is some truth that, due to the extended nature of this deployment, those who were with the ship when it initially arrived in the area might lose their citizenship due to prolonged absence from the States. Congress recognizes the initial disadvantage of this situation and is attempting to do something about it.
As for rumors of our being shifted to the Western Med, this is not likely due to the fact that Ben Gurion’s grandson has just succeeded to the throne of Israel and since he has no heir, we must wait to make sure that whoever succeeds him will be able to maintain the status quo.
Now, men, I would like to see a bigger turnout at the shuffleboard games for all men under fifty. You youngsters just do not seem to care about keeping in shape.
And last, but not least, there is a good chance of our getting liberty again in Suda Bay, so save your money for the big city..
Literally yours
P.G. GRUBB
Your Friendly Morale Officer
****
_________ 19__
USS TICONDEROGA (CVA-14)
c/o Fleet Post Office
Suda Bay, Crete
My Dear(est) ____________
Well, since that last letter I wrote, we have received a little more information about our schedule. It seems that the date I gave you of ________, 19__ was wrong, and that we will not be able to start home until sometime in _________ of this/next year. Since it looks like we will be going to the U.S. by way of ____________, it will probably take us about ____ (days) (weeks) (months) (years) to get home. That means that after we get rid of our squadrons in _______________ we should be seeing each other about the _____ of _______, 19__. Of course, this is not definite but will give you something to think about.
It hardly seems that we have been gone only ______ (months) (years) and that you have already been able to pay off the car (house) and get _______ started in (school) (high school) (college). To think that he was only ___ (months) (years) old when we left. Sure was surprised to hear that your hair has turned grey. Of course I have lost most of my (hair) (teeth) (or both), so we will have a few changes to get used to when we do get together again.
We have been given another port to visit besides Suda Bay and Augusta Bay. It will nice to get to ____________; even if there isn’t a town there, it will be a change.
Well, it sure has been nice visiting with you in these letters, and I’ll be sure to write next week..
Sincerely, your devoted
(husband) (father) (grandfather) (sweetheart)
(brother) (son) (uncle) (cousin) (nephew),
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
19 - 21 May 1956
Dear Folks
Yesterday I made the mistake of saying there was nothing new in the rumor field; actually, it was only a formative period while a new one built up. This one I rather like—it has style, color, imagination & a punch which leaves you sitting there with the look of someone standing before a firing squad.
We are supposed to be relieved by the USS Coral Sea on or about 18 June 1956. Something, it appears, has happened to the Coral Sea. This much we know pretty much for sure, several different persons claiming to have seen the dispatch. No doubt it is her steam catapults, without which she cannot launch planes & is therefore quite useless as an aircraft carrier.
I’ve given you the basic pattern—you work out the rumor from there. Here are some to get you started: 1) absolutely nothing will happen to our schedule, & they’ll send another ship to relieve us (probably the Randolph)---2) we’ll have a ten day extension after which time the Coral Sea will be here. But here is the real gem—the "coup de etat"—we have been extended until 14 August! That I like. That means they’d take me off & send me back before the ship.
Oh, well—I’ll believe it when I see it….
Meanwhile, the ship—or rather its occupants—are coming apart at the seams. Yesterday two guys strolled by my little window, singing at the tops of their lungs. A few days ago we had oyster stew for dinner. One of the cooks, Mike Santessie (who drinks the pure alcohol) stood by with his hands behind his back; whenever somebody would come by and say "Jeez, where’s the oysters?" Mike would take the little oyster he had tied on a string, plop it in the stew, pull it quickly back out, & hide it behind his back again.
And then we have Commissary Seaman Jack Eardley. Commissary Seaman is a non-existent rate, but he puts it on all his letters. He is, to put it kindly, a trifle dense. The other day the Post Office caught him putting used stamps on his letters. Not only did he put used stamps on, but he put them in the left hand corner of the envelope! God, how can anyone be so stupid & not be in an institution?
Ten o’clock Sunday night—sorry, but no mail went off today anyway. We shifted into whites this morning, which are more comfortable but get dirty too fast.
And here it is another night—I’m really sorry, but as long as the days pass so quickly I’m happy. As was said, the mail hasn’t gone off in days now & God knows when it will. We replenished today—250 tons; God, what a day.
Tomorrow we hit Rhodes again, & Thursday we’ll be in Istanbul—that is going to be a fast run. Traveling full speed, we can make about 810 miles in one day. Oh, well….
Captain spoke the other day—yes, something is wrong with the Coral Sea, & "it is possible we may be extended." Hmmmmm. Oh, well—the motto of the Ti is: "Norfolk in ’57." I wonder where they’ll be spending Christmas this year?
I get a big kick out of replenishments—long lines of men passing crates & boxes like an old fashioned bucket brigade; little yellow trucks & fork lifts dashing around the hangar deck; stacks & piles of everything from grated cheese to turkeys, from potatoes to tomato juice. And all the while the nets are swinging back & forth—to us full, back empty. Soon the deck is cluttered with splinters of wood from broken crates, here & there a little hill or puff of sugar or flour where a sack has broken open. Great walls rise, made of boxes of cereal or toilet paper. The tractors come & go, the drivers of the fork lifts driving slowly, half standing so they can see over the pile of boxes on the forks; little plane-pullers dragging sleds of wood loaded high. Chiefs trotting along beside the tractors, pleading with the drivers to come to their particular loading station (stuff comes aboard in four different places at the same time). Counters trying to keep track of everything as it comes aboard, making sure everything gets into the proper storeroom. A white trail of sugar runs from one end of the ship to the other, little piles of it here & there as the tractor or fork lift slowed down or stopped. And afterwards, when the other ship has broken away, the hangar deck looks like a deserted warehouse, smelling of onions & oranges.
Well, if I don’t get this mailed tonite, I never will. Once again, I’m sorry not to have written before. Please write soon—it’s been almost a week.
Love
Roge
Dear Folks
Yesterday I made the mistake of saying there was nothing new in the rumor field; actually, it was only a formative period while a new one built up. This one I rather like—it has style, color, imagination & a punch which leaves you sitting there with the look of someone standing before a firing squad.
We are supposed to be relieved by the USS Coral Sea on or about 18 June 1956. Something, it appears, has happened to the Coral Sea. This much we know pretty much for sure, several different persons claiming to have seen the dispatch. No doubt it is her steam catapults, without which she cannot launch planes & is therefore quite useless as an aircraft carrier.
I’ve given you the basic pattern—you work out the rumor from there. Here are some to get you started: 1) absolutely nothing will happen to our schedule, & they’ll send another ship to relieve us (probably the Randolph)---2) we’ll have a ten day extension after which time the Coral Sea will be here. But here is the real gem—the "coup de etat"—we have been extended until 14 August! That I like. That means they’d take me off & send me back before the ship.
Oh, well—I’ll believe it when I see it….
Meanwhile, the ship—or rather its occupants—are coming apart at the seams. Yesterday two guys strolled by my little window, singing at the tops of their lungs. A few days ago we had oyster stew for dinner. One of the cooks, Mike Santessie (who drinks the pure alcohol) stood by with his hands behind his back; whenever somebody would come by and say "Jeez, where’s the oysters?" Mike would take the little oyster he had tied on a string, plop it in the stew, pull it quickly back out, & hide it behind his back again.
And then we have Commissary Seaman Jack Eardley. Commissary Seaman is a non-existent rate, but he puts it on all his letters. He is, to put it kindly, a trifle dense. The other day the Post Office caught him putting used stamps on his letters. Not only did he put used stamps on, but he put them in the left hand corner of the envelope! God, how can anyone be so stupid & not be in an institution?
Ten o’clock Sunday night—sorry, but no mail went off today anyway. We shifted into whites this morning, which are more comfortable but get dirty too fast.
And here it is another night—I’m really sorry, but as long as the days pass so quickly I’m happy. As was said, the mail hasn’t gone off in days now & God knows when it will. We replenished today—250 tons; God, what a day.
Tomorrow we hit Rhodes again, & Thursday we’ll be in Istanbul—that is going to be a fast run. Traveling full speed, we can make about 810 miles in one day. Oh, well….
Captain spoke the other day—yes, something is wrong with the Coral Sea, & "it is possible we may be extended." Hmmmmm. Oh, well—the motto of the Ti is: "Norfolk in ’57." I wonder where they’ll be spending Christmas this year?
I get a big kick out of replenishments—long lines of men passing crates & boxes like an old fashioned bucket brigade; little yellow trucks & fork lifts dashing around the hangar deck; stacks & piles of everything from grated cheese to turkeys, from potatoes to tomato juice. And all the while the nets are swinging back & forth—to us full, back empty. Soon the deck is cluttered with splinters of wood from broken crates, here & there a little hill or puff of sugar or flour where a sack has broken open. Great walls rise, made of boxes of cereal or toilet paper. The tractors come & go, the drivers of the fork lifts driving slowly, half standing so they can see over the pile of boxes on the forks; little plane-pullers dragging sleds of wood loaded high. Chiefs trotting along beside the tractors, pleading with the drivers to come to their particular loading station (stuff comes aboard in four different places at the same time). Counters trying to keep track of everything as it comes aboard, making sure everything gets into the proper storeroom. A white trail of sugar runs from one end of the ship to the other, little piles of it here & there as the tractor or fork lift slowed down or stopped. And afterwards, when the other ship has broken away, the hangar deck looks like a deserted warehouse, smelling of onions & oranges.
Well, if I don’t get this mailed tonite, I never will. Once again, I’m sorry not to have written before. Please write soon—it’s been almost a week.
Love
Roge
Monday, January 01, 2007
18 May 1956
Dear Folks
Last night’s movie offering was the 1932 classic "Rasputin & the Empress" starring Ethel & Lionel Barrymore. Despite the fact that you couldn’t see Lionel’s face for the beard, his voice was the same, & his hands foretold the arthritic he later became. Ethel was twenty-four years younger & very pretty, in a singular way.
The story of the movie was fascinating, & all the more so because it was true. It begins with "Father" Rasputin curing the hemophiliac young heir to the Russian throne, follows through his schemes & plots to become more powerful that the Czar, & ends in a cold damp basement in 1917, where the entire Russian royal family is mercilessly shot to death.
Perhaps it was through the Barrymores’ acting, but more than likely it was the story itself, but I sat through the whole picture in a sort of horrified sick helplessness; you know what’s going to happen, & yet you hope something will come along & save the day.
Mail call today, & the fact that it was a small one didn’t make me any less disturbed at not getting any. Accomplished absolutely nothing all day; GQ this afternoon gave me a chance to read.
Nothing at all new; even the rumors are weakly revised echoes of what we’ve heard before. We continue to bob around the sea like little boats in a gigantic bathtub, playing secret little games, with no one knowing the rules.
The trip to Istanbul ought to be very interesting—we must go through the Dardenelles—that long, river-like corridor which joins the Mediterranean with the Black Sea. You may recall reading about the Dardenelles during the last war—they’re a combination Suez & Panama Canal. Andy has been here before & says it’s fun, especially if your ship is the last one in the column, to watch the heavy grey snouts of the Turkish guns follow you as you pass. The width of the Dardenelles varies, from the large, semi sea of the Sea of Marmara, to a place where you can throw things at the shore on either side of the ship, & hit it. Istanbul lies at the end of the Sea of Marmara, at the bottom of a hump of land which creates a narrow almost-canal into the Black Sea. And almost every inch of the distance is covered by Turkish heavy artillery. Andy told me that on one occasion, his ship was forced to turn around & go back out four times after entering the Dardenelles for failure to give the right code.
Just returned from the head (bathroom), & noticed the guy beside me was reading a pocket novel called "Gunfighter’s Return." You would be amazed at how much of that trash there is on board. Millions & millions of words, & none of them saying a thing; but over half the crew gobble them up avidly, exchange them among themselves until they are ragged & fallen apart. We call all westerns "shit-kickers." It’s not profanity—it’s just a word we apply to practically every movie or novel with the location west of the Mississippi. Perhaps it was swearing at one time—I know I thought so at first—but it has become so common through usage that no one thinks anything about it.. The Navy has a language all its own—the ceiling is the "overhead," stairs are "ladders," going outside is going "topside," starboard is right & port is left—though I occasionally confuse these two.
As for profanity, it is conspicuous only in its absence. Personally, I feel that with 600,000 words in the English language to choose from, you could do without it. But that involves thinking of what you want to say. Sailors don’t think in words—they think in ideas, & fill in the vocal communication of these ideas with a vast store of profanity.
The Chief spent the morning singing Irish Ballads, of which he has an unlimited supply. He has an odd, not quite nasal tenor that is not unpleasant. He has inherited a lot more than ballads from the Irish members of his family.
I hope, when we get home, that I can remember all the customs of the country. It will seem odd to walk into a store & not be expected to haggle over the price, or to speak to an average girl.
One of those little trade magazines mom sent had a quotation on its back page—"Nothing is impossible to one who doesn’t have to do it himself." Our commander, Cdr. Custer, lives by this motto. He is tall, dark, & quite young for a Commander, & has a fascinating way of saying "pound." He is also a scribbler—to him, no job is done, no work complete, until he has made adjustments, even if it’s only the addition or deletion of an "a" or "an." Little does he care that you’ve spent three hours typing a letter—he has to add something, or switch a word around. This sort of thing loses its charm in an amazingly short time.
Latest scoop, hot off the press—we’ll be home the 22nd. HAH!
Love
Roge
Dear Folks
Last night’s movie offering was the 1932 classic "Rasputin & the Empress" starring Ethel & Lionel Barrymore. Despite the fact that you couldn’t see Lionel’s face for the beard, his voice was the same, & his hands foretold the arthritic he later became. Ethel was twenty-four years younger & very pretty, in a singular way.
The story of the movie was fascinating, & all the more so because it was true. It begins with "Father" Rasputin curing the hemophiliac young heir to the Russian throne, follows through his schemes & plots to become more powerful that the Czar, & ends in a cold damp basement in 1917, where the entire Russian royal family is mercilessly shot to death.
Perhaps it was through the Barrymores’ acting, but more than likely it was the story itself, but I sat through the whole picture in a sort of horrified sick helplessness; you know what’s going to happen, & yet you hope something will come along & save the day.
Mail call today, & the fact that it was a small one didn’t make me any less disturbed at not getting any. Accomplished absolutely nothing all day; GQ this afternoon gave me a chance to read.
Nothing at all new; even the rumors are weakly revised echoes of what we’ve heard before. We continue to bob around the sea like little boats in a gigantic bathtub, playing secret little games, with no one knowing the rules.
The trip to Istanbul ought to be very interesting—we must go through the Dardenelles—that long, river-like corridor which joins the Mediterranean with the Black Sea. You may recall reading about the Dardenelles during the last war—they’re a combination Suez & Panama Canal. Andy has been here before & says it’s fun, especially if your ship is the last one in the column, to watch the heavy grey snouts of the Turkish guns follow you as you pass. The width of the Dardenelles varies, from the large, semi sea of the Sea of Marmara, to a place where you can throw things at the shore on either side of the ship, & hit it. Istanbul lies at the end of the Sea of Marmara, at the bottom of a hump of land which creates a narrow almost-canal into the Black Sea. And almost every inch of the distance is covered by Turkish heavy artillery. Andy told me that on one occasion, his ship was forced to turn around & go back out four times after entering the Dardenelles for failure to give the right code.
Just returned from the head (bathroom), & noticed the guy beside me was reading a pocket novel called "Gunfighter’s Return." You would be amazed at how much of that trash there is on board. Millions & millions of words, & none of them saying a thing; but over half the crew gobble them up avidly, exchange them among themselves until they are ragged & fallen apart. We call all westerns "shit-kickers." It’s not profanity—it’s just a word we apply to practically every movie or novel with the location west of the Mississippi. Perhaps it was swearing at one time—I know I thought so at first—but it has become so common through usage that no one thinks anything about it.. The Navy has a language all its own—the ceiling is the "overhead," stairs are "ladders," going outside is going "topside," starboard is right & port is left—though I occasionally confuse these two.
As for profanity, it is conspicuous only in its absence. Personally, I feel that with 600,000 words in the English language to choose from, you could do without it. But that involves thinking of what you want to say. Sailors don’t think in words—they think in ideas, & fill in the vocal communication of these ideas with a vast store of profanity.
The Chief spent the morning singing Irish Ballads, of which he has an unlimited supply. He has an odd, not quite nasal tenor that is not unpleasant. He has inherited a lot more than ballads from the Irish members of his family.
I hope, when we get home, that I can remember all the customs of the country. It will seem odd to walk into a store & not be expected to haggle over the price, or to speak to an average girl.
One of those little trade magazines mom sent had a quotation on its back page—"Nothing is impossible to one who doesn’t have to do it himself." Our commander, Cdr. Custer, lives by this motto. He is tall, dark, & quite young for a Commander, & has a fascinating way of saying "pound." He is also a scribbler—to him, no job is done, no work complete, until he has made adjustments, even if it’s only the addition or deletion of an "a" or "an." Little does he care that you’ve spent three hours typing a letter—he has to add something, or switch a word around. This sort of thing loses its charm in an amazingly short time.
Latest scoop, hot off the press—we’ll be home the 22nd. HAH!
Love
Roge
Sunday, December 31, 2006
16 May 1956
Dear Folks;
Eight-ten—the office filled with odd, lobster-colored creatures with very bleary eyes (S-2 had a beach party complete with beer today). Luckily I was working, & therefore not one of those present.
For some reason, I don’t feel much like writing tonite—I’ve started a "light" book that shouldn’t take too long—but I have got to start practicing willpower sometime, & now is as good as ever..
The movie for tonite was "State Fair," made in Technicolor in 1942. It is now 1956 & it was in black & white (which might be called Technicolor of sorts, if you only happen to have a two-color spectrum). Oh, well, it was good anyway.
We leave Rhodes tomorrow morning—several ships have left today, including two of the cruisers, of which at least one is returning directly to the States. Still no "official" word on what comes next but everyone says Istanbul, which must make it so. One nice thing about being at sea—we’ll be able to wear dungarees instead of these hot blues.
Oh, yes—tonite while we were standing in the movie line, about fifty rosy cheeked Airmen Apprentices came on board, fresh from the States. They all had on nice starched whites with two bright green stripes on their arms, carrying their sea bags. You should have heard the wolf whistles. Four of them will be sacrificed tomorrow on the great Mess Cook altar, to replace four we lost when one of our squadrons left.
The rover boys have all gone someplace else to collapse. Nick came in completely saturated last night, so tonite Coutre had his turn. A good time was had by all apparently, including the one inevitable fight. Botz, a huge CPO cook who reminds me somewhat of a St. Bernard dog, took a swing at Steidinger, who’s about my size (his distinguishing features being his tattoos & his eyebrow—he only has one that runs clear across his face, only dipping slightly in reverence to the nose), "Stinky," as we call him, just laid there in the sand, while Botz tried to get him to get up & shake hands. "Oh, no you don’t, you S.O.B.—I’m not going to get up just so you can knock me on my ass again." Then he started crying. Coutre asked him what was wrong—"Oh, nothing—I always cry when I get drunk." As I said, everyone had an excellent time.
Botz has one of those "Ho-Ho-Ho" type laughs that sounds like a mad Santa Claus—he gets playful after a few drinks, & he plays rough.
A chief came over this morning from the Roxbury, a troop transport, to borrow 5,000 lbs of flour & 3,500 lbs of sugar. Naturally, the good old Ticonderoga, the cornucopia of the 6th Fleet, poured forth.
Aha!! The word is spelled Corniche—not Corneesh or Kornech or however I spelled it in describing the road along the sea at Beirut. My will power sagged a bit & I started reading my book—the trials & tribulations of a war correspondent in the Med.
Well, if you’ll excuse me, I will close now. Till tomorrow.
Love
Roge
Dear Folks;
Eight-ten—the office filled with odd, lobster-colored creatures with very bleary eyes (S-2 had a beach party complete with beer today). Luckily I was working, & therefore not one of those present.
For some reason, I don’t feel much like writing tonite—I’ve started a "light" book that shouldn’t take too long—but I have got to start practicing willpower sometime, & now is as good as ever..
The movie for tonite was "State Fair," made in Technicolor in 1942. It is now 1956 & it was in black & white (which might be called Technicolor of sorts, if you only happen to have a two-color spectrum). Oh, well, it was good anyway.
We leave Rhodes tomorrow morning—several ships have left today, including two of the cruisers, of which at least one is returning directly to the States. Still no "official" word on what comes next but everyone says Istanbul, which must make it so. One nice thing about being at sea—we’ll be able to wear dungarees instead of these hot blues.
Oh, yes—tonite while we were standing in the movie line, about fifty rosy cheeked Airmen Apprentices came on board, fresh from the States. They all had on nice starched whites with two bright green stripes on their arms, carrying their sea bags. You should have heard the wolf whistles. Four of them will be sacrificed tomorrow on the great Mess Cook altar, to replace four we lost when one of our squadrons left.
The rover boys have all gone someplace else to collapse. Nick came in completely saturated last night, so tonite Coutre had his turn. A good time was had by all apparently, including the one inevitable fight. Botz, a huge CPO cook who reminds me somewhat of a St. Bernard dog, took a swing at Steidinger, who’s about my size (his distinguishing features being his tattoos & his eyebrow—he only has one that runs clear across his face, only dipping slightly in reverence to the nose), "Stinky," as we call him, just laid there in the sand, while Botz tried to get him to get up & shake hands. "Oh, no you don’t, you S.O.B.—I’m not going to get up just so you can knock me on my ass again." Then he started crying. Coutre asked him what was wrong—"Oh, nothing—I always cry when I get drunk." As I said, everyone had an excellent time.
Botz has one of those "Ho-Ho-Ho" type laughs that sounds like a mad Santa Claus—he gets playful after a few drinks, & he plays rough.
A chief came over this morning from the Roxbury, a troop transport, to borrow 5,000 lbs of flour & 3,500 lbs of sugar. Naturally, the good old Ticonderoga, the cornucopia of the 6th Fleet, poured forth.
Aha!! The word is spelled Corniche—not Corneesh or Kornech or however I spelled it in describing the road along the sea at Beirut. My will power sagged a bit & I started reading my book—the trials & tribulations of a war correspondent in the Med.
Well, if you’ll excuse me, I will close now. Till tomorrow.
Love
Roge
Saturday, December 30, 2006
15 May 1956
Dear Folks
At payday this morning, I drew the grand sum of $19; shortly thereafter, I learned our schedule had been changed, substituting Istanbul, Turkey, for Salonika, Greece. I quickly mounted my horse & rode off in all directions. I’ve got to get some more money, somewhere….Then, to make the morning even more enjoyable, we had a mail call, at which I received my fifth consecutive nothing from you.
This afternoon, however, we had another mail call & got three, on your new stationery (which meets with my approval). You’d be surprised what mail (or lack of it) can do to a day.
Speaking of TV, did you happen to see "A Night to Remember" a few weeks ago? It was about the sinking of the Titanic & all the critics raved about it. Sure wish I could have seen it.
Towels—big ones cost 60 cents, medium 45 cents & little (wash rags) 30 cents; I can get tons of them, but compare prices first. As I said before, you can dye them any color you want.
My car insurance at Pensacola cost $126 for a year. Which. is just a little more than $72. The road maps came today & were greatly appreciated. I’ve got to write to that garage soon & tell them to fix it up for me (battery, hydraulic fluid, oil?, grease?, wash it up, & all that).
You liked that picture of me? Let’s put it this way—it wasn’t as bad as some of them, but it’s still horrible. Of course, I spend my life on the inside of my face, looking out, & I suppose I sort of imagine things that aren’t there, or rather change things that are there around.
We’re still wearing blues, although it’s warm enough to make anyone happy. The result is that we roast. Yet, when we switch to whites it will be even worse because they get so dirty so quickly. Oh, well….
No, I haven’t received any brownies or handkerchiefs for several months, but am looking forward to them.
As for your binoculars, dad—they’re all packed & ready to go, except for two things—one of them is the fact that I need some brown wrapping paper—which chose this time to make itself very scarce, & the second is money—I can’t afford to send it until next payday. See? That’s what you (I) get for trying to save money. Oh, well…..
Nick went ashore tonite; Coutre is around but I don’t know where, & Lloyd is studying for his Seaman test, which is to be given tomorrow morning. Tomorrow afternoon, both Cou & Nick are going over—I have so much work to do I’ll be working all day.
Coutre just came back in, with his "Lift-That-Barge-Tote-That-Bale" spiel, then he left, expecting upon his return to find 1) the trash cans emptied, 2) floors swept, 3) desks dusted & washed, & 4) chairs straightened. Boy, is he going to be surprised!
Upon re-reading the first paragraph, it sounds like a hint. It wasn’t. Besides, it couldn’t reach me in time to do any good; we’ll be long gone before your answer gets here.
Oh, yes—two visitors from the Intrepid (CVA-11), which pulled in this morning, have said we are not going to Istanbul at all, but right home, arriving June 15 as originally originally originally scheduled. You would think Christ had spoken to His disciples the way everyone takes it for gospel, All I have to say is---Hmmmm.
Well, I think I’ll close for now. Please send more stamps—lots more.
Till next time
Love
Roge
Dear Folks
At payday this morning, I drew the grand sum of $19; shortly thereafter, I learned our schedule had been changed, substituting Istanbul, Turkey, for Salonika, Greece. I quickly mounted my horse & rode off in all directions. I’ve got to get some more money, somewhere….Then, to make the morning even more enjoyable, we had a mail call, at which I received my fifth consecutive nothing from you.
This afternoon, however, we had another mail call & got three, on your new stationery (which meets with my approval). You’d be surprised what mail (or lack of it) can do to a day.
Speaking of TV, did you happen to see "A Night to Remember" a few weeks ago? It was about the sinking of the Titanic & all the critics raved about it. Sure wish I could have seen it.
Towels—big ones cost 60 cents, medium 45 cents & little (wash rags) 30 cents; I can get tons of them, but compare prices first. As I said before, you can dye them any color you want.
My car insurance at Pensacola cost $126 for a year. Which. is just a little more than $72. The road maps came today & were greatly appreciated. I’ve got to write to that garage soon & tell them to fix it up for me (battery, hydraulic fluid, oil?, grease?, wash it up, & all that).
You liked that picture of me? Let’s put it this way—it wasn’t as bad as some of them, but it’s still horrible. Of course, I spend my life on the inside of my face, looking out, & I suppose I sort of imagine things that aren’t there, or rather change things that are there around.
We’re still wearing blues, although it’s warm enough to make anyone happy. The result is that we roast. Yet, when we switch to whites it will be even worse because they get so dirty so quickly. Oh, well….
No, I haven’t received any brownies or handkerchiefs for several months, but am looking forward to them.
As for your binoculars, dad—they’re all packed & ready to go, except for two things—one of them is the fact that I need some brown wrapping paper—which chose this time to make itself very scarce, & the second is money—I can’t afford to send it until next payday. See? That’s what you (I) get for trying to save money. Oh, well…..
Nick went ashore tonite; Coutre is around but I don’t know where, & Lloyd is studying for his Seaman test, which is to be given tomorrow morning. Tomorrow afternoon, both Cou & Nick are going over—I have so much work to do I’ll be working all day.
Coutre just came back in, with his "Lift-That-Barge-Tote-That-Bale" spiel, then he left, expecting upon his return to find 1) the trash cans emptied, 2) floors swept, 3) desks dusted & washed, & 4) chairs straightened. Boy, is he going to be surprised!
Upon re-reading the first paragraph, it sounds like a hint. It wasn’t. Besides, it couldn’t reach me in time to do any good; we’ll be long gone before your answer gets here.
Oh, yes—two visitors from the Intrepid (CVA-11), which pulled in this morning, have said we are not going to Istanbul at all, but right home, arriving June 15 as originally originally originally scheduled. You would think Christ had spoken to His disciples the way everyone takes it for gospel, All I have to say is---Hmmmm.
Well, I think I’ll close for now. Please send more stamps—lots more.
Till next time
Love
Roge
Friday, December 29, 2006
14 May 1956
Dear Folks
I went to "quarters for entering port" as a participating member for the first time since we left the States. It was a nice day, the sky cluttered with nondescript clouds that never seemed to get in the way of the sunlight.
We entered Rhodes, Greece, close on the tail of the heavy cruiser Newport News, & were among the first ships in. All day long the other ships came—more heavy cruisers than I knew we had over here—four of them in all; cargo ships, supply ships, transports; in the late afternoon the destroyers came, precise as a drill team & graceful as a ballet; all looking like mirror images of one another. Landing craft & their mother ships, submarines, & odd little semi-destroyers. God knows how many are here; from a mountain we counted 22, & later saw more on the other side of the island.
Rhodes itself is shaped something like a ship, with the bow pointing toward the massive, shrouded hills of Turkey. Rhodes (the city of) is located at the end of the island, & at the very tip, which comes to a distinct point about twenty feet across, is an aquarium, standing all by itself since there is no room for much else.
At 1300 today, Lloyd & I decided to go over. It was almost 1420 (2:30) by the time we got there, & the first thing we did was hunt a bicycle shop. One of the mess cooks, a kid from the south—at the base of the hills if not in them—named Thompson came with us.
We rode. And we rode. And then we rode some more—most of it uphill. We must have been at least five miles from the town. From a flat mountain on which someone was growing wheat, we looked out & down at the ships & the town. It was very pretty, but I had chosen to run out of film a few moments before.
The road we had originally intended on taking ran along the sea; we obviously made a wrong turn somewhere, & ended up in the mountains. A little gravel road, like some country lanes back home, sprouted off the main road & meandered into the trees. We followed, hoping it might go down—it did, through pine trees, past small farms where the people stopped work in the fields to watch us go by—down & down; we had to keep constantly on the hand brakes or we would have gone splattering all over the countryside.
After four happy hours in the saddle, we got back to the ship. Oh, my poor legs!
Mail closed out ten minutes ago, but I’ll see if I can make it.
Love
Roge
Dear Folks
I went to "quarters for entering port" as a participating member for the first time since we left the States. It was a nice day, the sky cluttered with nondescript clouds that never seemed to get in the way of the sunlight.
We entered Rhodes, Greece, close on the tail of the heavy cruiser Newport News, & were among the first ships in. All day long the other ships came—more heavy cruisers than I knew we had over here—four of them in all; cargo ships, supply ships, transports; in the late afternoon the destroyers came, precise as a drill team & graceful as a ballet; all looking like mirror images of one another. Landing craft & their mother ships, submarines, & odd little semi-destroyers. God knows how many are here; from a mountain we counted 22, & later saw more on the other side of the island.
Rhodes itself is shaped something like a ship, with the bow pointing toward the massive, shrouded hills of Turkey. Rhodes (the city of) is located at the end of the island, & at the very tip, which comes to a distinct point about twenty feet across, is an aquarium, standing all by itself since there is no room for much else.
At 1300 today, Lloyd & I decided to go over. It was almost 1420 (2:30) by the time we got there, & the first thing we did was hunt a bicycle shop. One of the mess cooks, a kid from the south—at the base of the hills if not in them—named Thompson came with us.
We rode. And we rode. And then we rode some more—most of it uphill. We must have been at least five miles from the town. From a flat mountain on which someone was growing wheat, we looked out & down at the ships & the town. It was very pretty, but I had chosen to run out of film a few moments before.
The road we had originally intended on taking ran along the sea; we obviously made a wrong turn somewhere, & ended up in the mountains. A little gravel road, like some country lanes back home, sprouted off the main road & meandered into the trees. We followed, hoping it might go down—it did, through pine trees, past small farms where the people stopped work in the fields to watch us go by—down & down; we had to keep constantly on the hand brakes or we would have gone splattering all over the countryside.
After four happy hours in the saddle, we got back to the ship. Oh, my poor legs!
Mail closed out ten minutes ago, but I’ll see if I can make it.
Love
Roge
Thursday, December 28, 2006
12 - 13 May 1956
Dear Folks
I am deeply puzzled—our Captain spoke over the intercom a while ago & said he would give us the rest of our schedule. We’re returning to Rhodes, which I was glad to hear; we get there Monday. But that isn’t what bothers me. June 18 we arrive in Gibraltar for one day, to take on Attack Squadron 66; from there, on the 19th, we will proceed to the United States, to arrive there on 27 June.
"Where" I asked Coutre, "is the United States?"
"Far across the sea, my son" he said.
"Is it nice there?" I queried.
"They probably won’t give us any liberty," he answered.
"Why? Are we at war with them?"
"No, but they say human beings live there."
"Gee," I said, my voice in an awed hush: "I’ve never seen a human being before…."
Tonite, after the movie, I walked out to the foc’sle & watched the stars, as I did when I was little and allowed such things as dreams. And I thought again how little they were, & how very far away—so far that it takes millions of years for their light to reach us. I never fail to think: "Around some of those stars are planets, & on some of those it is night, and someone, somewhere is looking up at their stars & see our own sun as a dot of light."
And then I get…homesick?…for the stars, & feel cheated & hurt to think that I won’t be around when man steps out of his playpen & goes calling on his neighbors. Someone once said "Everyone has 20/20 hindsight." When someone has a dream, & it is fought for with minds & bodies, & generations have died—some of them violently—for their dreams; then, when it is finally accepted, those same people who laughed & threw stones say: "Why sure, I saw it all coming years ago…."
When we began this cruise, there seemed to be lots of time for writing letters (& there was—six months), but now with only 45 days until we get back, I have no time at all. Oh, well, the mail didn’t go off yesterday, so it doesn’t really matter—you’re getting two letters in one envelope, that’s all. As you may have gathered, it is now Sunday (or rather one day later than the previous paragraphs).
Tomorrow we pull into Rhodes, & I want to go over & rent a bicycle. We won’t have much time until it gets dark, but it should be fun.
Oh, yes---Oh, yes, what? Left the sentence there for three hours’ fruitless attempt at sunbathing. You should have seen that flight deck—all we needed were Confederate uniforms & Scarlett O’Hara & it would have been exactly like the railroad station scene from Gone with the Wind. I’ll bet there were more guys above decks than below.
Of course after three hours of sunlight reflecting off white pages (I was reading) & having no sunglasses, everything here below has a nice yellowish tint.
Took a shower this morning, & looks like I’ll have to take one again, since I smell of suntan lotion (57 % alcohol—some guys drink it). You think they don’t? I know for a fact that certain cooks have an arrangement with Sick Bay whereby they get & drink the alcohol used to clean surgical instruments!
Just came back from another shower & clothes-changing. I can still smell that lotion. Oh, well, maybe it’ll wear off in a few weeks.
I can see now I’m going to be a busy boy tomorrow—Mr. Clower has presented me with 12 letters to type, plus the next week’s menus, plus 135 Replenishment Orders (13 pages each) I’ve got to assemble.
Speaking of money—let’s.. By the time we get back, I should have almost $300 saved. For souvenirs & film, I’ve spent already about $300 or more. When I get out, I’ll get credit for 43 days leave—about $170, if they pay me full time for it. Plus my $100 getting out pay, plus travel pay. The way I figure it, it should be about $600. That’s the way I figure it—how the government figures it is something entirely different,.
Mail closes at 1000 tomorrow morning, so I’d best get this mailed. It’s Mother’s Day, I see—hope you got the flowers.
Well, enough for now. See you later.
Love,
Roge
Dear Folks
I am deeply puzzled—our Captain spoke over the intercom a while ago & said he would give us the rest of our schedule. We’re returning to Rhodes, which I was glad to hear; we get there Monday. But that isn’t what bothers me. June 18 we arrive in Gibraltar for one day, to take on Attack Squadron 66; from there, on the 19th, we will proceed to the United States, to arrive there on 27 June.
"Where" I asked Coutre, "is the United States?"
"Far across the sea, my son" he said.
"Is it nice there?" I queried.
"They probably won’t give us any liberty," he answered.
"Why? Are we at war with them?"
"No, but they say human beings live there."
"Gee," I said, my voice in an awed hush: "I’ve never seen a human being before…."
Tonite, after the movie, I walked out to the foc’sle & watched the stars, as I did when I was little and allowed such things as dreams. And I thought again how little they were, & how very far away—so far that it takes millions of years for their light to reach us. I never fail to think: "Around some of those stars are planets, & on some of those it is night, and someone, somewhere is looking up at their stars & see our own sun as a dot of light."
And then I get…homesick?…for the stars, & feel cheated & hurt to think that I won’t be around when man steps out of his playpen & goes calling on his neighbors. Someone once said "Everyone has 20/20 hindsight." When someone has a dream, & it is fought for with minds & bodies, & generations have died—some of them violently—for their dreams; then, when it is finally accepted, those same people who laughed & threw stones say: "Why sure, I saw it all coming years ago…."
When we began this cruise, there seemed to be lots of time for writing letters (& there was—six months), but now with only 45 days until we get back, I have no time at all. Oh, well, the mail didn’t go off yesterday, so it doesn’t really matter—you’re getting two letters in one envelope, that’s all. As you may have gathered, it is now Sunday (or rather one day later than the previous paragraphs).
Tomorrow we pull into Rhodes, & I want to go over & rent a bicycle. We won’t have much time until it gets dark, but it should be fun.
Oh, yes---Oh, yes, what? Left the sentence there for three hours’ fruitless attempt at sunbathing. You should have seen that flight deck—all we needed were Confederate uniforms & Scarlett O’Hara & it would have been exactly like the railroad station scene from Gone with the Wind. I’ll bet there were more guys above decks than below.
Of course after three hours of sunlight reflecting off white pages (I was reading) & having no sunglasses, everything here below has a nice yellowish tint.
Took a shower this morning, & looks like I’ll have to take one again, since I smell of suntan lotion (57 % alcohol—some guys drink it). You think they don’t? I know for a fact that certain cooks have an arrangement with Sick Bay whereby they get & drink the alcohol used to clean surgical instruments!
Just came back from another shower & clothes-changing. I can still smell that lotion. Oh, well, maybe it’ll wear off in a few weeks.
I can see now I’m going to be a busy boy tomorrow—Mr. Clower has presented me with 12 letters to type, plus the next week’s menus, plus 135 Replenishment Orders (13 pages each) I’ve got to assemble.
Speaking of money—let’s.. By the time we get back, I should have almost $300 saved. For souvenirs & film, I’ve spent already about $300 or more. When I get out, I’ll get credit for 43 days leave—about $170, if they pay me full time for it. Plus my $100 getting out pay, plus travel pay. The way I figure it, it should be about $600. That’s the way I figure it—how the government figures it is something entirely different,.
Mail closes at 1000 tomorrow morning, so I’d best get this mailed. It’s Mother’s Day, I see—hope you got the flowers.
Well, enough for now. See you later.
Love,
Roge
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
11 May 1956
Dear Folks
Six thirty (p.m.) & a mail call with no mail—from you, that is; one from Effie saved the day. As I said, I know how you feel when you don’t get any. Of course you have the advantage of being at home & of not being in the Navy, a privilege I hope to share in the near future.
Sitting there at dinner today, it suddenly dawned on me where I am—this happens occasionally, & fills me with a rare childish awe. My mind works in many, if not wondrous, ways. I have yet to empty a trash can & not think (if something in there belonged to or was handled by me) of it lying on the bottom of the sea, all alone. Sometimes, when the wind is right, the papers whip into the air & fly along behind the ship, as if they didn’t want to fall & sink; for the sea is clear & blue on the surface, but cold & black on the bottom.
It never ceases to fascinate me how the blue water can be whipped into a white frothy foam, like the finest lace.
Latest "when-we’re-getting-back-home" scoop: it has been definitely (HAH) confirmed that we arrive home June 28—we will be relieved two hundred miles west of Gibraltar. Oh, well.
What gets me is that every single one of these rumors is Grade A-1 First Class Straight 100% Scoop. It is usually told in whispers, in huddled groups of two or more. Now, the guy who tells it is in R Division; he got it from a buddy in V-2 who heard a chief in X Division say he knew a yeoman in the Captain’s Office who had seen a dispatch on the Captain’s desk. The rumor?--We’re to be extended until Christmas because of possible Jewish-Arab riots. The dispatch?--"Vice Admiral Arleigh Strunk, Commander One Hundred Forty Fifth Naval District Wishes All Fleet Commanders a Belated Merry Christmas."
And so it goes….
Movie tonite was "The Stars are Singing"—an old one I’d seen before, but I enjoyed it as much if not more the second time. It had Rosemary Clooney, Lauretz Melchior, Anna Maria Albergehetti. Sitting beside me was James Bixby—don’t recall if I’ve ever mentioned him before. He’s an odd looking kid, thin red hair like dyed straw, millions of freckles & pale blue eyes (the girl he writes to signs her letters "Yours Truly" so he’s madly in love with her).
Anyway, the movie had quite a bit of opera, during which time I sat absorbed. Bixby, having nothing better to do, (opera being as far over his head as his feet are below) sat & stared at me, amid chuckles that anybody could be so stupid as to go for that opera junk.
Now about three minutes to ten & I have accomplished almost nothing constructive, except to tuck another day into my suitcase.
I find there is so much for me to enjoy in the world, I have time for little else.
Tomorrow begins another weekend, thank God.
Just went in the galley for a meat loaf sandwich. Mordeno was playing games this afternoon & brought me a sandwich—which I should have known was odd in itself—which he had covered with Cayenne pepper. He watched me expectantly as I ate it (I tasted the pepper but didn’t show any signs of it), & finally said "Doesn’t it taste a little hot?" I said "Not very." That took all the fun out of it, & he left. As soon as he was gone, I made a beeline for the nearest water fountain.
Well, it being after taps, & I still being hell on getting up in the morning, I’ll close now.
Write soon.
Love
Roge
Dear Folks
Six thirty (p.m.) & a mail call with no mail—from you, that is; one from Effie saved the day. As I said, I know how you feel when you don’t get any. Of course you have the advantage of being at home & of not being in the Navy, a privilege I hope to share in the near future.
Sitting there at dinner today, it suddenly dawned on me where I am—this happens occasionally, & fills me with a rare childish awe. My mind works in many, if not wondrous, ways. I have yet to empty a trash can & not think (if something in there belonged to or was handled by me) of it lying on the bottom of the sea, all alone. Sometimes, when the wind is right, the papers whip into the air & fly along behind the ship, as if they didn’t want to fall & sink; for the sea is clear & blue on the surface, but cold & black on the bottom.
It never ceases to fascinate me how the blue water can be whipped into a white frothy foam, like the finest lace.
Latest "when-we’re-getting-back-home" scoop: it has been definitely (HAH) confirmed that we arrive home June 28—we will be relieved two hundred miles west of Gibraltar. Oh, well.
What gets me is that every single one of these rumors is Grade A-1 First Class Straight 100% Scoop. It is usually told in whispers, in huddled groups of two or more. Now, the guy who tells it is in R Division; he got it from a buddy in V-2 who heard a chief in X Division say he knew a yeoman in the Captain’s Office who had seen a dispatch on the Captain’s desk. The rumor?--We’re to be extended until Christmas because of possible Jewish-Arab riots. The dispatch?--"Vice Admiral Arleigh Strunk, Commander One Hundred Forty Fifth Naval District Wishes All Fleet Commanders a Belated Merry Christmas."
And so it goes….
Movie tonite was "The Stars are Singing"—an old one I’d seen before, but I enjoyed it as much if not more the second time. It had Rosemary Clooney, Lauretz Melchior, Anna Maria Albergehetti. Sitting beside me was James Bixby—don’t recall if I’ve ever mentioned him before. He’s an odd looking kid, thin red hair like dyed straw, millions of freckles & pale blue eyes (the girl he writes to signs her letters "Yours Truly" so he’s madly in love with her).
Anyway, the movie had quite a bit of opera, during which time I sat absorbed. Bixby, having nothing better to do, (opera being as far over his head as his feet are below) sat & stared at me, amid chuckles that anybody could be so stupid as to go for that opera junk.
Now about three minutes to ten & I have accomplished almost nothing constructive, except to tuck another day into my suitcase.
I find there is so much for me to enjoy in the world, I have time for little else.
Tomorrow begins another weekend, thank God.
Just went in the galley for a meat loaf sandwich. Mordeno was playing games this afternoon & brought me a sandwich—which I should have known was odd in itself—which he had covered with Cayenne pepper. He watched me expectantly as I ate it (I tasted the pepper but didn’t show any signs of it), & finally said "Doesn’t it taste a little hot?" I said "Not very." That took all the fun out of it, & he left. As soon as he was gone, I made a beeline for the nearest water fountain.
Well, it being after taps, & I still being hell on getting up in the morning, I’ll close now.
Write soon.
Love
Roge
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
9 - 10 May 1956
Dear Folks—
Surprise! It’s me, your long-lost son.---Roger---remember?---you know, the skinny, stupid-looking one? --- Yeah, I thought you’d remember.
Wonder what ever happened to my journal? Today’s would probably begin with "One hundred eight-eight days out of Norfolk, & no land in sight…"; sort of Mutiny on the Bounty-ish. Actually, we did sight land yesterday—two islands looking very romantic & mysterious; also a turtle, but I don’t think we could include him. The water is as clear & smooth as a tray of ice, though I doubt it is as cold. It’s an unbelievably beautiful blue, & you wonder how it can be so blue & so clear at the same time.
Oh, yes—dad’s binoculars will be on the way in the next few days—I finally got the box packed with paper tablecloths swiped from a storeroom. Also in there you will find eight or ten rolls of film (I want to see if they can get home all right via parcel post). You can look at them once if you wish, but I’m warning you it will get boring—three minutes of film, five minutes of winding & rewinding. Figured out the other night that I’ve spent well over $100 in film alone on this cruise! Oh, well, it’s worth it; to me, anyway.
Had GQ today for the first time in days (never have it in port). Worked our little rear-ends off for a change, rigging emergency power lines. This ship—or rather its designers—thought of almost everything. At regular intervals, no more than fifty feet apart in any direction throughout the entire ship, are small, round boxes with a triangular spacing of holes approximately the size of a dime. The boxes are black & by each hole is a white A, B, or C. Above each letter is a raised dot—one for A, two for B, & 3 for C; these are tipped in white, & they & the letters are luminous, & can be seen in the dark. By each of these boxes is a coil of heavy, rubber insulated cable, in some cases several. These can be attached from box to box (three wires at each end of the cable—one with one raised circle—it’s yellow--, one with two circles—red—& one with three—black.) It sounds complex, but there’s a reason—you put the wrong wire in the wrong socket in the dark & you get electrocuted.
We did it in the maximum time allowed, only to find we were on the wrong side of the ship. If it were a real emergency, the flight deck would be about sixty feet under water by the time we got it rigged.
Now only 94 days left. As I said in my last letter (dated 4 May 1834), the way the time goes is wonderful for whittling away the days left, but it’s hell on letter writing.
Yesterday morning a batch of German Admirals arrived on board—there’s more brass around her today than on a ton of doorknobs. Germany may not have a Navy, but she’s sure got a lot of Admirals. They’ve been prowling around the ship all day.
This afternoon, while watching flight operations, a landing plane blew one of the German Captains’ hat over the side. And what did we do; let it go at that? What—& lose all that gold braid? Heavens to Betsy, no! We sent out our helicopter after it—one of the crew members was lowered down on a hoist while a destroyer raced to the scene. The helicopter won, & the Captain got back his hat, soggy but intact.
Replenishment again the 20th of this month; our biggest yet—280 tons of food. That’s 550,000 pounds. Burp.
Bought myself a pair of gloves from Ship’s Store tonite. Don’t know what material it is. (Chief thinks pigskin—I can’t tell, but it doesn’t look like a football.) They’re light tan & cost $3.50. I like them. Hmmm—there’s a goat’s picture on the cellophane bag they came in—maybe it’s goat skin. How much do they cost in the States?
I only made one purchase in Athens—incidentally, their cloth was very poor quality—it all looked like flour sacks.
Word has it that there are three plane-loads of mail on board. That probably means two postcards & a newspaper. If gossip & rumors could be packaged, they’d make the greatest fertilizer the world has ever known.
Just been thinking again what a rat I am for not having written—I know how I feel if one mail call goes by without my getting a letter, so I can imagine how you feel now that four days or more have gone by without a word.
Well, all apologies being made & forwarded, I’d best close now & write to Lirf—incidentally, I see where they’ve quarantined his entire ship (the cruiser Toledo) after the outbreak of a throat infection. Oh, well….
Love
Roge
Dear Folks—
Surprise! It’s me, your long-lost son.---Roger---remember?---you know, the skinny, stupid-looking one? --- Yeah, I thought you’d remember.
Wonder what ever happened to my journal? Today’s would probably begin with "One hundred eight-eight days out of Norfolk, & no land in sight…"; sort of Mutiny on the Bounty-ish. Actually, we did sight land yesterday—two islands looking very romantic & mysterious; also a turtle, but I don’t think we could include him. The water is as clear & smooth as a tray of ice, though I doubt it is as cold. It’s an unbelievably beautiful blue, & you wonder how it can be so blue & so clear at the same time.
Oh, yes—dad’s binoculars will be on the way in the next few days—I finally got the box packed with paper tablecloths swiped from a storeroom. Also in there you will find eight or ten rolls of film (I want to see if they can get home all right via parcel post). You can look at them once if you wish, but I’m warning you it will get boring—three minutes of film, five minutes of winding & rewinding. Figured out the other night that I’ve spent well over $100 in film alone on this cruise! Oh, well, it’s worth it; to me, anyway.
Had GQ today for the first time in days (never have it in port). Worked our little rear-ends off for a change, rigging emergency power lines. This ship—or rather its designers—thought of almost everything. At regular intervals, no more than fifty feet apart in any direction throughout the entire ship, are small, round boxes with a triangular spacing of holes approximately the size of a dime. The boxes are black & by each hole is a white A, B, or C. Above each letter is a raised dot—one for A, two for B, & 3 for C; these are tipped in white, & they & the letters are luminous, & can be seen in the dark. By each of these boxes is a coil of heavy, rubber insulated cable, in some cases several. These can be attached from box to box (three wires at each end of the cable—one with one raised circle—it’s yellow--, one with two circles—red—& one with three—black.) It sounds complex, but there’s a reason—you put the wrong wire in the wrong socket in the dark & you get electrocuted.
We did it in the maximum time allowed, only to find we were on the wrong side of the ship. If it were a real emergency, the flight deck would be about sixty feet under water by the time we got it rigged.
Now only 94 days left. As I said in my last letter (dated 4 May 1834), the way the time goes is wonderful for whittling away the days left, but it’s hell on letter writing.
Yesterday morning a batch of German Admirals arrived on board—there’s more brass around her today than on a ton of doorknobs. Germany may not have a Navy, but she’s sure got a lot of Admirals. They’ve been prowling around the ship all day.
This afternoon, while watching flight operations, a landing plane blew one of the German Captains’ hat over the side. And what did we do; let it go at that? What—& lose all that gold braid? Heavens to Betsy, no! We sent out our helicopter after it—one of the crew members was lowered down on a hoist while a destroyer raced to the scene. The helicopter won, & the Captain got back his hat, soggy but intact.
Replenishment again the 20th of this month; our biggest yet—280 tons of food. That’s 550,000 pounds. Burp.
Bought myself a pair of gloves from Ship’s Store tonite. Don’t know what material it is. (Chief thinks pigskin—I can’t tell, but it doesn’t look like a football.) They’re light tan & cost $3.50. I like them. Hmmm—there’s a goat’s picture on the cellophane bag they came in—maybe it’s goat skin. How much do they cost in the States?
I only made one purchase in Athens—incidentally, their cloth was very poor quality—it all looked like flour sacks.
Word has it that there are three plane-loads of mail on board. That probably means two postcards & a newspaper. If gossip & rumors could be packaged, they’d make the greatest fertilizer the world has ever known.
Just been thinking again what a rat I am for not having written—I know how I feel if one mail call goes by without my getting a letter, so I can imagine how you feel now that four days or more have gone by without a word.
Well, all apologies being made & forwarded, I’d best close now & write to Lirf—incidentally, I see where they’ve quarantined his entire ship (the cruiser Toledo) after the outbreak of a throat infection. Oh, well….
Love
Roge
Monday, December 25, 2006
6 - 7 May, 1956
Dear Folks
After several days’ silence, I rise from the dead & take pen in hand once more. Today is the Greek Easter—the Orthodox religion differs from Catholicism in this & many other ways. Today is also the morning after the night before, though I am quite proud of myself, having come through the entire ordeal with what I consider "flying colors."
Lloyd & I went on tour yesterday. The tour got over about three thirty—we got back to the ship at five minutes to twelve. Between the hours mentioned came God only knows how many bottles of wine. If it hadn’t been for the goodness of three Greek sailors, we probably never would have gotten back. We met them in the subway, & stayed with them a couple hours. A grand time was had by all.
I suppose I should be ashamed of myself—I’ve been spending far too much money, but who cares? This will be the last good liberty port we will hit until we return home. Which reminds me—did I mention our month’s extension? Now we’re not supposed to get back to the States until July sometime. (And then again, I heard today that we’d received another dispatch canceling the extension.) Oh, well, think what you will.
The guide we had on the tour did not have the gift of narration that would have been so helpful—I knew more of the legends & mythology than he, & carried on a sort of secondary running commentary on whatever he said for those who didn’t understand what he was getting at. Still, it was interesting to see what I’ve been reading about.
And here it is still another day—I have developed a muscular tic in my left arm, which is going to town at this minute. It only goes away when I concentrate on it. There—it’s gone. It will be back.
The weather here has been from warm to mild, with occasional showers & cold winds in the hills & mountains. Other than that, it’s been excellent. I shot another two rolls of film on the tour Saturday, & so when I get home we’ll have to spread them out over several evenings. Doesn’t Jack have the kind of projector you can stop on one frame to look at it like a slide or still picture? If so, we must borrow it. Maybe we can rent a hall for the showing.
I got a kick out of mom’s saying that the sea air might harm the film—they are inside a steel box in a metal locker three decks down in a steel ship. They never even see daylight, let alone salt spray.
Tomorrow we leave Athens—it doesn’t seem possible that we’ve been here a week.
Rumors still going around concerning our extension. It is almost a dead certainty now that we won’t be home until July. Just so long as we’re there by August 12, I’ll be happy. Which reminds me—I have only 97 days left! Let there be singing & dancing in the streets!
One of the movies yesterday was a new one called "Ransom." I had seen it as a television play when I was home for Xmas leave. It was almost exactly the same. Pretty good, though.
Someone has donated a tape recorder, to which we are now listening—the current selection is a classical gem called "Who Put the Devil in Evelyn’s Eyes?"—a question which remains unanswered through the entire three minutes it takes the vocal group to ask the same question one hundred thirty-four times.
Later this evening Lloyd & I are going to play canasta—for which we bought two decks of cards.
You know, Saturday night we tried to figure out just why it is we should be such good buddies—I’m not the kind to have tons of friends—in the Navy, anyway. I came to the conclusion it is because he is everything I am not, or would like to be, rather; & he looks up to me for some reason; I’m a combination of big brother & conscience. At any rate, we get along. Besides, I always wanted a brother.
Ah—tempus fudgits so fast—which is good for getting out of the Navy but bad on letter writing.
Oh—now they’ve got a real tear-jerker—a "mountain-William" with the heartrending repetition of the phrase "Dawn’t let me hang around if yew dawn’t care." (Excerpt from a conversation—highly intellectual—about the new records of a friend—"Man, they got some terrific stuff—Hank Williams, Ernest Tubb—man, that’s fine music." The horrible thing was that he meant it!)
I’m getting several members of our little group highly irritated. Now, I fully believe that "to each his own"—but why THAT? Only five thirty—which only makes me four days late.
Love
Roge
Dear Folks
After several days’ silence, I rise from the dead & take pen in hand once more. Today is the Greek Easter—the Orthodox religion differs from Catholicism in this & many other ways. Today is also the morning after the night before, though I am quite proud of myself, having come through the entire ordeal with what I consider "flying colors."
Lloyd & I went on tour yesterday. The tour got over about three thirty—we got back to the ship at five minutes to twelve. Between the hours mentioned came God only knows how many bottles of wine. If it hadn’t been for the goodness of three Greek sailors, we probably never would have gotten back. We met them in the subway, & stayed with them a couple hours. A grand time was had by all.
I suppose I should be ashamed of myself—I’ve been spending far too much money, but who cares? This will be the last good liberty port we will hit until we return home. Which reminds me—did I mention our month’s extension? Now we’re not supposed to get back to the States until July sometime. (And then again, I heard today that we’d received another dispatch canceling the extension.) Oh, well, think what you will.
The guide we had on the tour did not have the gift of narration that would have been so helpful—I knew more of the legends & mythology than he, & carried on a sort of secondary running commentary on whatever he said for those who didn’t understand what he was getting at. Still, it was interesting to see what I’ve been reading about.
And here it is still another day—I have developed a muscular tic in my left arm, which is going to town at this minute. It only goes away when I concentrate on it. There—it’s gone. It will be back.
The weather here has been from warm to mild, with occasional showers & cold winds in the hills & mountains. Other than that, it’s been excellent. I shot another two rolls of film on the tour Saturday, & so when I get home we’ll have to spread them out over several evenings. Doesn’t Jack have the kind of projector you can stop on one frame to look at it like a slide or still picture? If so, we must borrow it. Maybe we can rent a hall for the showing.
I got a kick out of mom’s saying that the sea air might harm the film—they are inside a steel box in a metal locker three decks down in a steel ship. They never even see daylight, let alone salt spray.
Tomorrow we leave Athens—it doesn’t seem possible that we’ve been here a week.
Rumors still going around concerning our extension. It is almost a dead certainty now that we won’t be home until July. Just so long as we’re there by August 12, I’ll be happy. Which reminds me—I have only 97 days left! Let there be singing & dancing in the streets!
One of the movies yesterday was a new one called "Ransom." I had seen it as a television play when I was home for Xmas leave. It was almost exactly the same. Pretty good, though.
Someone has donated a tape recorder, to which we are now listening—the current selection is a classical gem called "Who Put the Devil in Evelyn’s Eyes?"—a question which remains unanswered through the entire three minutes it takes the vocal group to ask the same question one hundred thirty-four times.
Later this evening Lloyd & I are going to play canasta—for which we bought two decks of cards.
You know, Saturday night we tried to figure out just why it is we should be such good buddies—I’m not the kind to have tons of friends—in the Navy, anyway. I came to the conclusion it is because he is everything I am not, or would like to be, rather; & he looks up to me for some reason; I’m a combination of big brother & conscience. At any rate, we get along. Besides, I always wanted a brother.
Ah—tempus fudgits so fast—which is good for getting out of the Navy but bad on letter writing.
Oh—now they’ve got a real tear-jerker—a "mountain-William" with the heartrending repetition of the phrase "Dawn’t let me hang around if yew dawn’t care." (Excerpt from a conversation—highly intellectual—about the new records of a friend—"Man, they got some terrific stuff—Hank Williams, Ernest Tubb—man, that’s fine music." The horrible thing was that he meant it!)
I’m getting several members of our little group highly irritated. Now, I fully believe that "to each his own"—but why THAT? Only five thirty—which only makes me four days late.
Love
Roge
Sunday, December 24, 2006
3 May 56
Dear Folks
Yesterday I made my pilgrimage to Athens. Aside from being deceptively expensive, it was also very enjoyable. Went through 300 drachmas faster than Grant went through Richmond.
The Acropolis lived up to all my expectations—I was awed by the Parthenon. Now follows a short history of the Acropolis:
The earliest town was built on top of the Acropolis—an excellent location; a sheer drop of about two hundred feet on three sides, & an almost uninterrupted view of the entire countryside.
Soon, Nature being what it is, the population grew & spilled out onto the plains around the Acropolis. When the city beneath the Acropolis became larger than the one on top, the people decided to dedicate the city to one of the gods. Athena & Poseidon both wanted it, & it was decided to give the city to whichever god presented the greater gift to the people. Poseidon, god of the sea, struck a rock with his trident & brought forth either a spring of salt water, or the horse (accounts vary—the latter is more accepted. Besides, I can’t see what earthly good a spring of salt water could do anyone). Athena then produced the olive tree. The people chose the olive tree as the better gift, & the city was named Athens.
Atop the Acropolis was then constructed the magnificent Parthenon, in honor of Athena.
Parthenon means "Temple of the Virgin," which Athena supposedly was. It is one of the seven wonders of the world, & the most perfect building in the world. The name of the architect escapes me, unfortunately—Epidus or Epirus or something like that. For one thing, there is not a straight line on the building—the base of the temple is 20" higher in the center than at either end—this is not noticeable, but only adds to the light, graceful look of the building. He also set the style for all temples constructed thereafter; if a temple has six columns on either end, it must have twice that number plus one on either side—the Parthenon has eight on each facet & therefore 17 on each side. The temple faces the east (actually, since it is exactly the same on both ends, it faces east & west). On the west facet, the frieze—that part of the temple between the tops of the columns & the roof—depicted in bas-relief the contest between Athena & Poseidon. Thanks to an English gentleman named Lord Elgin, there is almost none of the original frieze left—he had it all removed & carted back to Britain, where it was placed in the British Museum & called "The Elgin Marbles."
Opening into the inner temple from the west facet was a huge stone door, which could be swung closed in emergencies. There are still deep ruts in the floor from the swinging of the door. Inside the temple, which is the size of a football field—no, about half that—the stones remaining are beautifully smooth. To the right, just after entering through the west door, was a small room wherein were kept all the treasures of the city.
The most remarkable thing about the entire structure is that it did not decay with the passage of time. With the coming of Christianity, the Parthenon became the Church of St. Sophia—some of the murals can still be made out on the walls. Greece, & Athens, fell into Turkish hands sometime around the 10th or 12th century, & was used by them as a mosque. They whitewashed the walls & tried to destroy all vestiges of the Christian works. Through all this the Parthenon stood, unchanged.
And then came the Greek war of Independence, in 1646. The Turks used the Acropolis as a fortress, & the Parthenon as an ammunition dump. A stray cannonball entered the temple through the columns of the north side & set the munitions afire. The Parthenon, which had stood for 2,000 years, was almost completely destroyed.
If only you could see the magnificence of it, even in ruins, & imagine it to be whole & complete….
Inside the temple, facing to the east & the main entrance, stood the fabulous statute of Athena.
The statue, who was seated, was 40 feet high; its dress of solid gold, & its arms & face of ivory!
Being so huge, it was hollow, & a sort of ramrod ran through the center as a support—it is the only spot in the building floor which is not of marble—the hole for the support is still there. The goddess remained, facing the east, until the Romans came along.
Rome & Romans had a terrific case of kleptomania—they never borrowed, they took. Athena, being one of the many gods the Romans took as their own, became Minerva, & her statue in the Parthenon, being gold & ivory, was removed (for sentimental purposes, of course). The ship carrying the statue to Rome was sunk in a storm, & no one has ever found any trace of it.
The frieze of the east facet, under the triangle of the roof showed Athena’s birth. One day Zeus had a splitting headache & asked Hephaestus (Vulcan) to hit him in the head with a thunderbolt. This the obliging Hephaestus did, & from Zeus’ head, fully grown & clad in battle dress, came Athena.
Alexander the Great, conqueror of Asia Minor, gave to the Parthenon large shells of solid gold—these were placed in the frieze (must have been very large, for they had to make holes to support them, which are still visible). Everything went along fine until our friends the Romans stormed into the picture. At the time, they had an emperor who fancied himself a poet of great talent. He had Alexander’s shells removed & covered the frieze with his own poems, in huge gold letters.
When Christianity came into its own & the Parthenon became a church, the poems were hastily removed; Nero had not been ardently admired by the Christians.
People today wonder why the steps surrounding the Parthenon are so high off the ground. The answer is very simple—nobody ever used them—all the festivals & great pilgrimages to the Parthenon took place on the outside; nobody went in.
The picture enclosed of Lloyd & I will give you some idea of what I’ve been talking about. This is the west facet.
Oh, yes—one more thing—the roof was of transparent marble, to allow light to enter! And it was built 2,500 years ago..
And so we have had out guided tour of the Acropolis for today. More (with revisions & corrections) Saturday, when I get back from the tour.
Well, mail closes out at 0500, so I’d best close.
Love
Roge
Dear Folks
Yesterday I made my pilgrimage to Athens. Aside from being deceptively expensive, it was also very enjoyable. Went through 300 drachmas faster than Grant went through Richmond.
The Acropolis lived up to all my expectations—I was awed by the Parthenon. Now follows a short history of the Acropolis:
The earliest town was built on top of the Acropolis—an excellent location; a sheer drop of about two hundred feet on three sides, & an almost uninterrupted view of the entire countryside.
Soon, Nature being what it is, the population grew & spilled out onto the plains around the Acropolis. When the city beneath the Acropolis became larger than the one on top, the people decided to dedicate the city to one of the gods. Athena & Poseidon both wanted it, & it was decided to give the city to whichever god presented the greater gift to the people. Poseidon, god of the sea, struck a rock with his trident & brought forth either a spring of salt water, or the horse (accounts vary—the latter is more accepted. Besides, I can’t see what earthly good a spring of salt water could do anyone). Athena then produced the olive tree. The people chose the olive tree as the better gift, & the city was named Athens.
Atop the Acropolis was then constructed the magnificent Parthenon, in honor of Athena.
Parthenon means "Temple of the Virgin," which Athena supposedly was. It is one of the seven wonders of the world, & the most perfect building in the world. The name of the architect escapes me, unfortunately—Epidus or Epirus or something like that. For one thing, there is not a straight line on the building—the base of the temple is 20" higher in the center than at either end—this is not noticeable, but only adds to the light, graceful look of the building. He also set the style for all temples constructed thereafter; if a temple has six columns on either end, it must have twice that number plus one on either side—the Parthenon has eight on each facet & therefore 17 on each side. The temple faces the east (actually, since it is exactly the same on both ends, it faces east & west). On the west facet, the frieze—that part of the temple between the tops of the columns & the roof—depicted in bas-relief the contest between Athena & Poseidon. Thanks to an English gentleman named Lord Elgin, there is almost none of the original frieze left—he had it all removed & carted back to Britain, where it was placed in the British Museum & called "The Elgin Marbles."
Opening into the inner temple from the west facet was a huge stone door, which could be swung closed in emergencies. There are still deep ruts in the floor from the swinging of the door. Inside the temple, which is the size of a football field—no, about half that—the stones remaining are beautifully smooth. To the right, just after entering through the west door, was a small room wherein were kept all the treasures of the city.
The most remarkable thing about the entire structure is that it did not decay with the passage of time. With the coming of Christianity, the Parthenon became the Church of St. Sophia—some of the murals can still be made out on the walls. Greece, & Athens, fell into Turkish hands sometime around the 10th or 12th century, & was used by them as a mosque. They whitewashed the walls & tried to destroy all vestiges of the Christian works. Through all this the Parthenon stood, unchanged.
And then came the Greek war of Independence, in 1646. The Turks used the Acropolis as a fortress, & the Parthenon as an ammunition dump. A stray cannonball entered the temple through the columns of the north side & set the munitions afire. The Parthenon, which had stood for 2,000 years, was almost completely destroyed.
If only you could see the magnificence of it, even in ruins, & imagine it to be whole & complete….
Inside the temple, facing to the east & the main entrance, stood the fabulous statute of Athena.
The statue, who was seated, was 40 feet high; its dress of solid gold, & its arms & face of ivory!
Being so huge, it was hollow, & a sort of ramrod ran through the center as a support—it is the only spot in the building floor which is not of marble—the hole for the support is still there. The goddess remained, facing the east, until the Romans came along.
Rome & Romans had a terrific case of kleptomania—they never borrowed, they took. Athena, being one of the many gods the Romans took as their own, became Minerva, & her statue in the Parthenon, being gold & ivory, was removed (for sentimental purposes, of course). The ship carrying the statue to Rome was sunk in a storm, & no one has ever found any trace of it.
The frieze of the east facet, under the triangle of the roof showed Athena’s birth. One day Zeus had a splitting headache & asked Hephaestus (Vulcan) to hit him in the head with a thunderbolt. This the obliging Hephaestus did, & from Zeus’ head, fully grown & clad in battle dress, came Athena.
Alexander the Great, conqueror of Asia Minor, gave to the Parthenon large shells of solid gold—these were placed in the frieze (must have been very large, for they had to make holes to support them, which are still visible). Everything went along fine until our friends the Romans stormed into the picture. At the time, they had an emperor who fancied himself a poet of great talent. He had Alexander’s shells removed & covered the frieze with his own poems, in huge gold letters.
When Christianity came into its own & the Parthenon became a church, the poems were hastily removed; Nero had not been ardently admired by the Christians.
People today wonder why the steps surrounding the Parthenon are so high off the ground. The answer is very simple—nobody ever used them—all the festivals & great pilgrimages to the Parthenon took place on the outside; nobody went in.
The picture enclosed of Lloyd & I will give you some idea of what I’ve been talking about. This is the west facet.
Oh, yes—one more thing—the roof was of transparent marble, to allow light to enter! And it was built 2,500 years ago..
And so we have had out guided tour of the Acropolis for today. More (with revisions & corrections) Saturday, when I get back from the tour.
Well, mail closes out at 0500, so I’d best close.
Love
Roge
Saturday, December 23, 2006
May 1, 1956
Dear Folks
And a happy, happy May Day to you! Arrived head-on at Athens this morning, amid the sleepy sunlight & playful forty mile an hour gales that blew an uncounted number of white hats over the side, while their owners stood in more-or-less formation for Quarters. Two salutes were fired as we entered the harbor—a 21 gunner for the King & Queen, & later a 12 gun for obscure reasons. Let’s hope our coming had been previously announced in the Greek papers, or the Athenians might have gotten a rather unpleasant surprise to be jarred out of bed by the heavy "pom-pom"ing of cannon, & rushing to their windows to see the formidable American Sixth Fleet sweeping in on them.
Athens is more or less surrounded by mountains, large & small. The largest part of the city lies in a hollow behind a tall but rolling mountain. In the center (or what appears to be the center) of town is a high hill, shaped roughly like a volcano. On the very top of it perches a white building—I don’t know what it is. In front (toward the sea) is another hill—it is broader & about half as high. It looks as though it were a long ramp leading to a table; in fact it looks as though it were man made. And on top of this hill—better known as the Acropolis, stand the ruins of the world’s first great civilization. The Parthenon, huge & broken, crowns the Acropolis, To the right & rear stands a large mass which may have been a gigantic statue; to the left & almost on the down-ramp, are lesser ruins; small, toppled temples.
The total impression of Athens & its surrounding mountains is one of brown. The city itself is sprinkled with white, & green fields lap at the base of the mountains. But there are almost no trees. On top of the round mountain behind which Athens rests are three trees, looking very, very small. Along the shore can be seen a few more; but aside from them, the land is naked.
Tomorrow I’m going ashore at 1300, armed to the teeth with camera & film. And guess where I’ll be going first thing?
Mail call & I received two letters from you & one from Harry Harrison (NavCad made good). First, to answer your questions—yes, I got the pictures of the cottage, as you know by now—& no, I did not go to the bullfights, which brought no tears to my eyes.
Once again, I didn’t fill in the "home town paper forms" because I do not find it at all a great distinction to have made 3rd class. That’s like Einstein passing a third grade math test.
The chief has appointed me a "supernumerary Master At Arms," which can mean almost anything, good or bad.
I am now down to two pair of skivvies, & don’t know what I’ll do after they’re gone. And with no more of my size on board ship, I am in a slight predicament.
Nick has come out of his shell at last, & today was driving his car (the imaginary one) complete with sound effects, which means he’s fully back among the living. Let us hope he doesn’t try his Garbo again—not until August at least, when I won’t have to worry about it.
Haven’t had time to read all day—trying to type the menu, run errands for various people, etc. It being the first day in port, the office was crowded with assorted Greek civilians, trying to sell produce & fresh foods to the ship.
From the back of one of those clippings you sent, I see Little Annie Rooney is still at it, blabbering happily away about her coming adoption (if I had a nickel for every time she’s been going to be adopted, I could retire), while Zero, her trusty 27 year old dog, is still stuck with the same old line: "WUFF." One of these days someone is going to get wise.
Well, tonight being Shower Night, I’ve got to knock off early. I was up till midnight last night, talking with Jim Bassette about our Paris adventures. Ah, well….
Till tomorrow (or maybe Thurs., since I’m going ashore tomorrow)
Love
Roge
P.S. Oh, yes—we’ve been extended—get home around 22 June.
Dear Folks
And a happy, happy May Day to you! Arrived head-on at Athens this morning, amid the sleepy sunlight & playful forty mile an hour gales that blew an uncounted number of white hats over the side, while their owners stood in more-or-less formation for Quarters. Two salutes were fired as we entered the harbor—a 21 gunner for the King & Queen, & later a 12 gun for obscure reasons. Let’s hope our coming had been previously announced in the Greek papers, or the Athenians might have gotten a rather unpleasant surprise to be jarred out of bed by the heavy "pom-pom"ing of cannon, & rushing to their windows to see the formidable American Sixth Fleet sweeping in on them.
Athens is more or less surrounded by mountains, large & small. The largest part of the city lies in a hollow behind a tall but rolling mountain. In the center (or what appears to be the center) of town is a high hill, shaped roughly like a volcano. On the very top of it perches a white building—I don’t know what it is. In front (toward the sea) is another hill—it is broader & about half as high. It looks as though it were a long ramp leading to a table; in fact it looks as though it were man made. And on top of this hill—better known as the Acropolis, stand the ruins of the world’s first great civilization. The Parthenon, huge & broken, crowns the Acropolis, To the right & rear stands a large mass which may have been a gigantic statue; to the left & almost on the down-ramp, are lesser ruins; small, toppled temples.
The total impression of Athens & its surrounding mountains is one of brown. The city itself is sprinkled with white, & green fields lap at the base of the mountains. But there are almost no trees. On top of the round mountain behind which Athens rests are three trees, looking very, very small. Along the shore can be seen a few more; but aside from them, the land is naked.
Tomorrow I’m going ashore at 1300, armed to the teeth with camera & film. And guess where I’ll be going first thing?
Mail call & I received two letters from you & one from Harry Harrison (NavCad made good). First, to answer your questions—yes, I got the pictures of the cottage, as you know by now—& no, I did not go to the bullfights, which brought no tears to my eyes.
Once again, I didn’t fill in the "home town paper forms" because I do not find it at all a great distinction to have made 3rd class. That’s like Einstein passing a third grade math test.
The chief has appointed me a "supernumerary Master At Arms," which can mean almost anything, good or bad.
I am now down to two pair of skivvies, & don’t know what I’ll do after they’re gone. And with no more of my size on board ship, I am in a slight predicament.
Nick has come out of his shell at last, & today was driving his car (the imaginary one) complete with sound effects, which means he’s fully back among the living. Let us hope he doesn’t try his Garbo again—not until August at least, when I won’t have to worry about it.
Haven’t had time to read all day—trying to type the menu, run errands for various people, etc. It being the first day in port, the office was crowded with assorted Greek civilians, trying to sell produce & fresh foods to the ship.
From the back of one of those clippings you sent, I see Little Annie Rooney is still at it, blabbering happily away about her coming adoption (if I had a nickel for every time she’s been going to be adopted, I could retire), while Zero, her trusty 27 year old dog, is still stuck with the same old line: "WUFF." One of these days someone is going to get wise.
Well, tonight being Shower Night, I’ve got to knock off early. I was up till midnight last night, talking with Jim Bassette about our Paris adventures. Ah, well….
Till tomorrow (or maybe Thurs., since I’m going ashore tomorrow)
Love
Roge
P.S. Oh, yes—we’ve been extended—get home around 22 June.
Friday, December 22, 2006
27-28 April 1956
Dear Folks
Nine thirty & time for a quick if not too inspired letter. Spent most of the evening trying to polish my shoes.
As usually happens, it is now Saturday morning & the announcement has just come that mail closes out today at 1200 noon. It is now a race to see if I’ll make it or not.
The first two lines were all the further I got. Lloyd had been in, studying for his seaman test, & left to sweep his compartment. Coutre had stepped out for a cup of coffee, & all was still….For a moment, that is—then both Coutre & Lloyd came back, & we sat up till eleven; Cou working & me asking Lloyd questions from his seaman book.
Nick has been playing the role of St. Joan at the Stake & has succeeded in getting on everyone’s nerves, including mine. He has that "Oh, life is just too, too…" attitude. It is now about nine thirty, & he hasn’t said one single word since he came in at eight.. A day or two I can see—but this has been going on now long enough to get any psychiatrist interested. If he doesn’t snap out of it, he’ll crack up before the cruise is over.
Speaking of the cruise being over—let’s. Only forty more days & we’ll be heading for home--& only 106 before I get out. Oh, what a wondrous day that will be.
This is a lost cause, I can see—guess I’d just better give up & finish it tonite, even though it won’t go off today.
Just had a mail call—got three letters from you (20-23rd) & two rolls of film, which look like they should be excellent. It’s always so nice to get mail, especially since the office atmosphere resembles the least attractive aspects of the Okeefenokee swamp I am ashamed of myself for not having written sooner or more often, but the lethargy I’ve mentioned previously really gets at a person.
Tomorrow, praises be to Allah, is Sunday, which means I can sleep to my little heart’s content. This means one of two things—either I will wake up of my own accord about seven o’clock, or someone will do it for me by having a shouting contest. Oh, well, we shall see.
It was a nice day today—the sea a beautiful blue & the wind just a bit cold. The sun was a nice warm yellow & displayed an attractive sunset, the sleepy reddish-yellows reflecting from the surrounding ships & skimming the tops of the waves.
There are quite a few civilians aboard, with pot bellies & blueprints; trying to get some things straightened out before we come into the yards.
Many times I have bemoaned the neutral-grey if not the dullness of life at sea. True, there isn’t much to write about—the physical day doesn’t alter much, but there are variations, all of them mental, which make it not uninteresting. I read, & think (occasionally), & watch & listen. But at times I think of myself as a sort of blotter—I absorb, but it doesn’t do much good. Oh, well….
I am anxious to get back to college, because there I’ll be forced to work. I have, at times, all the will power & forcefulness of a three-toed sloth.
Nick has deigned to give us the honor of his exalted presence. Andy & I are the only mortals in the office. To Andy he speaks—I am only a part of the furnishings & not worthy of his notice. I’m not saying anything—two can play at his asinine little game; & I can play it longer. If he ever decides to come back to Earth, he will find that Roger doesn’t live here anymore. Coutre still tries cajoling him out of it—I’ve washed my hands. He’s named the tune—let him dance to it!
The book on mythology is long overdue at the library—until I hear from them, it will stay overdue. Conscience to the contrary, the vow I made when I left Pensacola still goes—anything that the Navy hasn’t got nailed down, I’ll take.
Subject—film, mailing of. It has been decided not to mail certain films home. There now being approximately twenty rolls, it would be impractical to mail them air-mail (not to mention expensive). And to place them in a box to lie in the bottom of some hot, stuffy hold on a ship would be unwise, as it would most likely end up as a wad of fused plastic & melted film.
For padding for dad’s binoculars, I have an ingenious idea. Coutre suggested last night that prior to discharge I stock up on a few items from Small Stores—namely, towels & pillowcases. The latter are a little small for civilian-type pillows, but the towels are excellent. They are Canon towels, & come in wash-cloth, regular, & bath sizes. They range in cost from 45 cents for the regular to 60 cents for the bath size (22x44"). I understand they are quite expensive on the "outside". How about it, mother? If you want, I can get tons of them—they can be dyed any color you wish.
Well, my dear parents, I shall try very hard not to be so negligent in the future. And with your kind permission, I will close
Your Obedient Son
Roger
Dear Folks
Nine thirty & time for a quick if not too inspired letter. Spent most of the evening trying to polish my shoes.
As usually happens, it is now Saturday morning & the announcement has just come that mail closes out today at 1200 noon. It is now a race to see if I’ll make it or not.
The first two lines were all the further I got. Lloyd had been in, studying for his seaman test, & left to sweep his compartment. Coutre had stepped out for a cup of coffee, & all was still….For a moment, that is—then both Coutre & Lloyd came back, & we sat up till eleven; Cou working & me asking Lloyd questions from his seaman book.
Nick has been playing the role of St. Joan at the Stake & has succeeded in getting on everyone’s nerves, including mine. He has that "Oh, life is just too, too…" attitude. It is now about nine thirty, & he hasn’t said one single word since he came in at eight.. A day or two I can see—but this has been going on now long enough to get any psychiatrist interested. If he doesn’t snap out of it, he’ll crack up before the cruise is over.
Speaking of the cruise being over—let’s. Only forty more days & we’ll be heading for home--& only 106 before I get out. Oh, what a wondrous day that will be.
This is a lost cause, I can see—guess I’d just better give up & finish it tonite, even though it won’t go off today.
Just had a mail call—got three letters from you (20-23rd) & two rolls of film, which look like they should be excellent. It’s always so nice to get mail, especially since the office atmosphere resembles the least attractive aspects of the Okeefenokee swamp I am ashamed of myself for not having written sooner or more often, but the lethargy I’ve mentioned previously really gets at a person.
Tomorrow, praises be to Allah, is Sunday, which means I can sleep to my little heart’s content. This means one of two things—either I will wake up of my own accord about seven o’clock, or someone will do it for me by having a shouting contest. Oh, well, we shall see.
It was a nice day today—the sea a beautiful blue & the wind just a bit cold. The sun was a nice warm yellow & displayed an attractive sunset, the sleepy reddish-yellows reflecting from the surrounding ships & skimming the tops of the waves.
There are quite a few civilians aboard, with pot bellies & blueprints; trying to get some things straightened out before we come into the yards.
Many times I have bemoaned the neutral-grey if not the dullness of life at sea. True, there isn’t much to write about—the physical day doesn’t alter much, but there are variations, all of them mental, which make it not uninteresting. I read, & think (occasionally), & watch & listen. But at times I think of myself as a sort of blotter—I absorb, but it doesn’t do much good. Oh, well….
I am anxious to get back to college, because there I’ll be forced to work. I have, at times, all the will power & forcefulness of a three-toed sloth.
Nick has deigned to give us the honor of his exalted presence. Andy & I are the only mortals in the office. To Andy he speaks—I am only a part of the furnishings & not worthy of his notice. I’m not saying anything—two can play at his asinine little game; & I can play it longer. If he ever decides to come back to Earth, he will find that Roger doesn’t live here anymore. Coutre still tries cajoling him out of it—I’ve washed my hands. He’s named the tune—let him dance to it!
The book on mythology is long overdue at the library—until I hear from them, it will stay overdue. Conscience to the contrary, the vow I made when I left Pensacola still goes—anything that the Navy hasn’t got nailed down, I’ll take.
Subject—film, mailing of. It has been decided not to mail certain films home. There now being approximately twenty rolls, it would be impractical to mail them air-mail (not to mention expensive). And to place them in a box to lie in the bottom of some hot, stuffy hold on a ship would be unwise, as it would most likely end up as a wad of fused plastic & melted film.
For padding for dad’s binoculars, I have an ingenious idea. Coutre suggested last night that prior to discharge I stock up on a few items from Small Stores—namely, towels & pillowcases. The latter are a little small for civilian-type pillows, but the towels are excellent. They are Canon towels, & come in wash-cloth, regular, & bath sizes. They range in cost from 45 cents for the regular to 60 cents for the bath size (22x44"). I understand they are quite expensive on the "outside". How about it, mother? If you want, I can get tons of them—they can be dyed any color you wish.
Well, my dear parents, I shall try very hard not to be so negligent in the future. And with your kind permission, I will close
Your Obedient Son
Roger
Thursday, December 21, 2006
26 April 1956
Dear Folks
Last night I got all of two lines of a letter written, & then gave it up—there just wasn’t anything to write about. This is the second draft of this letter. The handwriting in the first was so atrocious even I couldn’t read it. I can see this is not going to be too much of an improvement. My handwriting is definitely going down hill.
Been munching cookies, of which I took a handful from the galley to stave off my hunger. Besides, we had liver for supper, & you know how I love liver!
You’d be amazed how clear the water is around here. Lloyd & I were up on the foc’sle after dinner today, & we could see the entire bow of the ship (which goes down quite a way). It was so clear we could see streaks of rust on the hull.
The sun came out for awhile today, but it wasn’t very strong—sort of diluted. The Intrepid is still with us, about two miles ahead & two miles off to port, with a little destroyer toddling along after her like a puppy. Two prop planes were doing acrobatics & made me wish I were up there with them.
This is only our fourth day at sea, but it’s the tenth—no, the 12th, since I’ve been ashore; the longest single stretch I’ve ever done on this thing. We pull into Athens on Monday, which is also May Day. In America, we used to make May baskets & fill them with candy—in Europe, May Day is the day when all the Communists come out in full force, spreading their own special brand of pleasantries in the form of riots, stonings, & burnings. We’ll probably have to stay on board until everything cools down.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch…Nick has been sulking around for three days now, saying next to nothing, & on the rare occasions he does speak, it’s an unintelligible mumble. Can’t figure out what’s wrong with him, but he’s certainly doing his best to make everyone miserable.
Just finished reading some more out of the mythology book I got two weeks ago from the library—this time it was the Trojan War. This particular legend never ceases to fascinate me, though I’ve read it a dozen different times in different books, from "The Iliad" on down. I’ve found that the characters in mythology are all inter-related & linked, even though they do tend to blend & fade together at times. Mythology is far more enjoyable, & at times more believable, than history. And now why do I say that? Mythology is a history—a sort of "pre-history" that lived more by word of mouth than by printed page.
Well, now, I’ve got to go take a shower. I see my handwriting has degenerated into illegibility.
More tomorrow.
Love
Roge
Dear Folks
Last night I got all of two lines of a letter written, & then gave it up—there just wasn’t anything to write about. This is the second draft of this letter. The handwriting in the first was so atrocious even I couldn’t read it. I can see this is not going to be too much of an improvement. My handwriting is definitely going down hill.
Been munching cookies, of which I took a handful from the galley to stave off my hunger. Besides, we had liver for supper, & you know how I love liver!
You’d be amazed how clear the water is around here. Lloyd & I were up on the foc’sle after dinner today, & we could see the entire bow of the ship (which goes down quite a way). It was so clear we could see streaks of rust on the hull.
The sun came out for awhile today, but it wasn’t very strong—sort of diluted. The Intrepid is still with us, about two miles ahead & two miles off to port, with a little destroyer toddling along after her like a puppy. Two prop planes were doing acrobatics & made me wish I were up there with them.
This is only our fourth day at sea, but it’s the tenth—no, the 12th, since I’ve been ashore; the longest single stretch I’ve ever done on this thing. We pull into Athens on Monday, which is also May Day. In America, we used to make May baskets & fill them with candy—in Europe, May Day is the day when all the Communists come out in full force, spreading their own special brand of pleasantries in the form of riots, stonings, & burnings. We’ll probably have to stay on board until everything cools down.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch…Nick has been sulking around for three days now, saying next to nothing, & on the rare occasions he does speak, it’s an unintelligible mumble. Can’t figure out what’s wrong with him, but he’s certainly doing his best to make everyone miserable.
Just finished reading some more out of the mythology book I got two weeks ago from the library—this time it was the Trojan War. This particular legend never ceases to fascinate me, though I’ve read it a dozen different times in different books, from "The Iliad" on down. I’ve found that the characters in mythology are all inter-related & linked, even though they do tend to blend & fade together at times. Mythology is far more enjoyable, & at times more believable, than history. And now why do I say that? Mythology is a history—a sort of "pre-history" that lived more by word of mouth than by printed page.
Well, now, I’ve got to go take a shower. I see my handwriting has degenerated into illegibility.
More tomorrow.
Love
Roge
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
24 April 1956
Dear Folks
I’m starting tonite’s letter early, so that what it may lack in quality it may partially atone for in quantity. Of course, like I said last night, if I insist on writing so small, no matter how much I write it won’t look like much.
Slept like a log last night, & hated to get up, as usual. Today was a second-class day—cloudy but not really too bad. Oh, I forgot to mention in passing the last few days—Saturday while we were out strolling along the flight deck, we sat down on the edge where the catwalk had been torn away by the storm. When we looked down at the water, I couldn’t believe it at first—there were literally thousands of jellyfish—so light & transparent they could hardly be seen, floating just below the surface. They were completely surrounding the ship; whether we attracted them or they’re like that all over, I don’t know. They were almost a solid mass, just lying there, wafting slowly back & forth with the motion of the waves.
We’ve had more mail calls in the past week than in the preceding two weeks. Got a letter from you today, mailed on the 19th, which isn’t bad, all things considered.
Oh, about that Fantasia record again, mother—I know it has Swan Lake on it—it has all his great works, & I think it is beautiful. Please get it & I’ll pay you for it.
I have a box for your binoculars, dad, & will send them on in a few days. I think I’ll also put in several rolls of film with it; you may look at it once, if you like.
Tell me, mother—do you want me to pick up any silks or brocades if I get a chance in Istanbul/Ismir (whichever one)? I can get just plain cloth—roll or bale or whatever you call it—by the yard. I still kick myself for not having gotten any in Beirut. It was $9 a meter (39"), but would be about $15 or $20 in the States. I won’t pass up a chance like that again, if you’d like some. Oh, well….
Athens is supposed to have some good buys, too. If there is anything you want in the way of practically anything, let me know & I’ll try to pick it up. After all, my Mediterranean Cruise is just about over.
Here are some "advised buys" in Athens: "dolls in regional costumes, ceramics, ash trays, vases, plates, etc.; hand made silver & silver plated jewelry, mirrors, desk sets, etc.’ hand embroidery & hand woven covers for tables & luncheon sets, bags, blouses, & children’s clothes; hand woven silk & cotton by the yard; hand woven mufflers & scarves, men’s ties,….." The underlinings are mine. If you want me to pick up any of this stuff, either for you or for Xmas presents for the relatives, let me know. I have, or will have next payday, about $200 on the books, so you needn’t worry about my having enough money.
Don’t count too heavily on my getting out early—the other day I did what I should have done the first time I heard those rumors—called a buddy in Personnel & asked him. Personnel Office handles all transfers & discharges, & said they hadn’t heard a word about anyone getting out early. It’s possible, of course, but then almost anything is possible in the Navy.
Oh, yes—it’s official now about being 3rd Class ("glorified seaman") so you can address my letters AK3 instead of AN.
It’s been awfully warm down here (below decks) lately. Guess Spring is here.
Any further ideas or thoughts on coming out to meet me? You can no doubt get last-minute plane reservations at almost any time. I was just thinking how long it’s been since I’ve seen you. I remember mother standing before the Cathedral in New Orleans, & eating toasted cheese sandwiches by the swimming pool at the motel. That was a very nice place—too bad we didn’t get any pictures of it. And I remember both of you when you got off the planes—mom in a brown suit or dress—I can see it, but don’t recall which it was) & dad looking out that weird egg-shaped window.
Well, I think I’ll start cutting that box down to mail the binoculars. More tomorrow.
Love
Roge
Dear Folks
I’m starting tonite’s letter early, so that what it may lack in quality it may partially atone for in quantity. Of course, like I said last night, if I insist on writing so small, no matter how much I write it won’t look like much.
Slept like a log last night, & hated to get up, as usual. Today was a second-class day—cloudy but not really too bad. Oh, I forgot to mention in passing the last few days—Saturday while we were out strolling along the flight deck, we sat down on the edge where the catwalk had been torn away by the storm. When we looked down at the water, I couldn’t believe it at first—there were literally thousands of jellyfish—so light & transparent they could hardly be seen, floating just below the surface. They were completely surrounding the ship; whether we attracted them or they’re like that all over, I don’t know. They were almost a solid mass, just lying there, wafting slowly back & forth with the motion of the waves.
We’ve had more mail calls in the past week than in the preceding two weeks. Got a letter from you today, mailed on the 19th, which isn’t bad, all things considered.
Oh, about that Fantasia record again, mother—I know it has Swan Lake on it—it has all his great works, & I think it is beautiful. Please get it & I’ll pay you for it.
I have a box for your binoculars, dad, & will send them on in a few days. I think I’ll also put in several rolls of film with it; you may look at it once, if you like.
Tell me, mother—do you want me to pick up any silks or brocades if I get a chance in Istanbul/Ismir (whichever one)? I can get just plain cloth—roll or bale or whatever you call it—by the yard. I still kick myself for not having gotten any in Beirut. It was $9 a meter (39"), but would be about $15 or $20 in the States. I won’t pass up a chance like that again, if you’d like some. Oh, well….
Athens is supposed to have some good buys, too. If there is anything you want in the way of practically anything, let me know & I’ll try to pick it up. After all, my Mediterranean Cruise is just about over.
Here are some "advised buys" in Athens: "dolls in regional costumes, ceramics, ash trays, vases, plates, etc.; hand made silver & silver plated jewelry, mirrors, desk sets, etc.’ hand embroidery & hand woven covers for tables & luncheon sets, bags, blouses, & children’s clothes; hand woven silk & cotton by the yard; hand woven mufflers & scarves, men’s ties,….." The underlinings are mine. If you want me to pick up any of this stuff, either for you or for Xmas presents for the relatives, let me know. I have, or will have next payday, about $200 on the books, so you needn’t worry about my having enough money.
Don’t count too heavily on my getting out early—the other day I did what I should have done the first time I heard those rumors—called a buddy in Personnel & asked him. Personnel Office handles all transfers & discharges, & said they hadn’t heard a word about anyone getting out early. It’s possible, of course, but then almost anything is possible in the Navy.
Oh, yes—it’s official now about being 3rd Class ("glorified seaman") so you can address my letters AK3 instead of AN.
It’s been awfully warm down here (below decks) lately. Guess Spring is here.
Any further ideas or thoughts on coming out to meet me? You can no doubt get last-minute plane reservations at almost any time. I was just thinking how long it’s been since I’ve seen you. I remember mother standing before the Cathedral in New Orleans, & eating toasted cheese sandwiches by the swimming pool at the motel. That was a very nice place—too bad we didn’t get any pictures of it. And I remember both of you when you got off the planes—mom in a brown suit or dress—I can see it, but don’t recall which it was) & dad looking out that weird egg-shaped window.
Well, I think I’ll start cutting that box down to mail the binoculars. More tomorrow.
Love
Roge
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
23 April 1956
Dear Folks
This will have to be short, since it’s quarter after nine & I’ve got to take a shower yet. They’ve announced that mail will close out at 0600 tomorrow morning. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going anywhere—just that it might. Again today we had another surprise mail call, & I got a letter from you. (As Chip Muchler, one of my NavCad classmates used to say, "Good-O.")
For some reason, I’m very tired—well, not very, but quite. I’d love to sleep for days. This afternoon I went to Clothing & Small Stores to buy some more skivvies—mine have a habit of disappearing at the rate of three pair returned for every four sent. The smallest size they had were 34’s, which I’m sure I’ll fit into very nicely, if only I can find someone to share them with me (I got one pair). Also bought another white hat (incidentally, in the navy, we say it whitehat, not white hat.)
It’s so quiet in here tonite—sounds from the movie on the after mess decks drift in occasionally, & there is a fan going, but it is comparatively silent. Don’t recall if it was mentioned, but last night I saw "The Jazz Singer," a remake of the Jolson classic, & the woman who played the mother reminded me an awful lot of you, mom—she even looked vaguely like you.
I wish I didn’t write so small; here it is 9:25 & it looks as though I’ve scarcely begun.
Finished reading Polly Adler’s "A House is Not a Home;" enjoyed it a lot. We arrive in Athens on payday, as I probably said yesterday, & I plan to spend every spare second ashore.
Getting so I can’t even think straight. Please excuse me for cutting it off here, but I need my beauty sleep. God knows I need something.
Love
Roge
Dear Folks
This will have to be short, since it’s quarter after nine & I’ve got to take a shower yet. They’ve announced that mail will close out at 0600 tomorrow morning. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going anywhere—just that it might. Again today we had another surprise mail call, & I got a letter from you. (As Chip Muchler, one of my NavCad classmates used to say, "Good-O.")
For some reason, I’m very tired—well, not very, but quite. I’d love to sleep for days. This afternoon I went to Clothing & Small Stores to buy some more skivvies—mine have a habit of disappearing at the rate of three pair returned for every four sent. The smallest size they had were 34’s, which I’m sure I’ll fit into very nicely, if only I can find someone to share them with me (I got one pair). Also bought another white hat (incidentally, in the navy, we say it whitehat, not white hat.)
It’s so quiet in here tonite—sounds from the movie on the after mess decks drift in occasionally, & there is a fan going, but it is comparatively silent. Don’t recall if it was mentioned, but last night I saw "The Jazz Singer," a remake of the Jolson classic, & the woman who played the mother reminded me an awful lot of you, mom—she even looked vaguely like you.
I wish I didn’t write so small; here it is 9:25 & it looks as though I’ve scarcely begun.
Finished reading Polly Adler’s "A House is Not a Home;" enjoyed it a lot. We arrive in Athens on payday, as I probably said yesterday, & I plan to spend every spare second ashore.
Getting so I can’t even think straight. Please excuse me for cutting it off here, but I need my beauty sleep. God knows I need something.
Love
Roge
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