- All YEARS -

One day the data converter jumped 180 degrees out of kilter and Captain Law told me to have it fixed by morning.  I worked all night long and couldn't find the problem, I think I must have checked every circuit a dozen times to no avail. When Becker, who lived in San Diego, came back from liberty around 7:00 AM I met him on the quarterdeck and begged for him to help me.  "I don't work on sonar equipment" he informed me.  I begged some more so we went down to the IC room where the data converter was located, he listened to all that I had done and checked.  He then turned off the power, reached in the unit and rotated the compass indicator 180 degrees, turn the power back on and the unit was repaired.  In less the five minutes he had soled a problem that I had worked all night on. He might not remember that, but I sure as heck do.

I was only the ship a few months out of bootcamp and we were on a shakedown cruise following three months of overhaul in Pearl Harbor.  It was night time, stormy, raining like heck and miserably cold.   I had the fantail watch, bundled up in a poncho, shivering, and sitting on the deck behind the gun turret in the only protective area from the blowing wind and rain.   I was trying to stay warm holding a cup of coffee and sipping on it while protecting it from the rain and sea water.

Every so often I had to set the cup down so that I could trigger my mike and tell the bridge that all was well on the fantail.

The ship was rolling and tossing and on this one instance the cup slid out a few feet across the deck.   I reached out for it and when I did the ship took a roll, I lost my balance and the cup and I both went sliding across the deck.  The only thing keeping me from going overboard was the safety stanchion and cabling along the edge and my phone wire connecting my headset to the gun turret.   I still ended up with part of one leg dangling over the side.

My heart didn't quit thumping for an hour! No! I didn't say anything to the bridge, I was too damn embarrassed!   And, no, I didn't lose my cup either!   But the memory of seeing all that water down below me stuck with me a long time.   I kept wondering how long it would be before anyone realized I wasn't on the fantail any longer had I tumbled into the sea.

Half the time I never knew where in hell we were (while traveling in WESPAC in '57).  Like the time when we were at Truck island.  Remember?  they let us use the E.M. club.  Officers and crew, very very informal.  I really enjoyed hob knobing with the officers that night. I had developed a taste for scotch in New Zealand, and I did well that night until I went outside and hit that jungle air.  I was stoned out of my mind.  I had my 4x5 speed graphic (camera) with me, and all my pictures were well focused and correct exposure.  That one picture of 4 or 5 guys hanging on to each other was taken that night.  I decided to go swimming.  All the guys were saying the coral was too sharp.  I felt nothing.  Andy, my striker got hit with a portuguese "man of war", and I had lost my wallet, liberty card, I.D., but a native came to the whale boat and returned it all except the $40.00 I had in there.  At that time-- I did not know--that --sharks feed at night---and--at the bottom of that bay is a whole fleet of Jap ships, sunk during WW2.  I read maybe 30 years later that our navy caught them bottled up there, and just bombed the shit out of them.  Nat'l Geographic ran a story some years later with under water pics and every thing. (Photo: from left -- Moore, Kuntz, Obarskfi, Archey, Johnson and Lalicker - Click Photo to visit Phil's Snapshots.  Click Here to visit his '57 Cruise Photos).

Good morning Don (McGill).  I woke up this morning just a little pissed, but then to find this (an email) from you, being the only thing new on my screen.  Have you seen Wayne's newest addition of my offerings? Ya know, I was so sorry that you left before we went over seas just once.  You would have liked that experience, although Hawaii was a nice touch for you prior to just getting out.  Do you recall that electricians name that used to come down to visit you all the time?  He was also the master of arms that would always beat on a shit can lid, and rip our covers off every morning.  Skinny as a rail, covered with hair.  When you left, I couldn't wait to move down to the I.C. room, just to get away from him.  As a joke, my brother had sent me a pair of skivvies with red ants all over them.  Our laundry was very late, and I had no choice but to wear them.  That morning he came by and tore off my covers and froze in his tracks, when he saw those skivvies.  He loved to have fun with me, and I hated that.  He loved to play poker in the card rooms in San Diego, as I recall.  One day, a couple hours after liberty call, we saw him returning to the ship.  Yup, his ole lady had walked out on him.  How often did we se that happen? I resolved, at that time, to leave after my 4. I don't know how those guys ever could have a family and still stay ship board.....

Spangler was a turbo-electric drive ship which I suppose accounts for the fact that we used EMs as throttlemen.  My GQ station was throttleman in the forward engine room.  LTJG Gulde was the Engineering Officer and his GQ station was also the forward engine room.  More specifically, his station was in the middle of the steel bench directly in front of the throttle board.  He never moved from that spot as far as I know.

Now the throttleman could not move around the space as everyone else could for the obvious reasons, so he was the one who wore the battle phones.  That would be me.

Mr. Gulde was also the Damage Control Officer, so reports of any damage anywhere in the ship came to him through me and his orders concerning said damage was passed back through me to the proper station I didn't have anything else to do anyway but I took it seriously.

One day , I have no idea when or where, we were at GQ and everyone was getting into it pretty good, I guess.  I kept getting reports one right after another about make-believe damage, major or minor, all over the damned ship it seemed.  I would repeat each incident to Mr. Gulde with as much urgency as the reporter had passed to me.  Hell, once I was convinced we were sinking!  But cool-hand Gulde was unmoved.  He just sat there, his cap pulled down partially over his eyes, unlit cigar in his mouth, nodding occasionally.  All these blown-to-bits stations yelling at me wanting to know what the Damage Control Officer wanted them to do.  So now, after just so much of this crap, I'm yelling at Gulde: "Hey! Rise and shine, Tex!  These guys are all over me. Whaddaya want me to tell 'em?"

He leaned even further back on his bench plopped both feet on the throttle board, clasped his hands behind his head and around that stupid unlit cigar said, " Beach, uh tell 'em....tell 'em 'war is hell' "

So I did.

The Spangler was assigned to the Fleet Sonar School for several years starting in 1950. The Captains I had during that time I was on board were:

     R. R. Carter, LCDR
     J. G. Pollock, LCD
     R. R. Law, LCDR

The info I sent you (Sonar Training School Handout , published in the Memorbilia Section of the website,) was taken from the actual sheet during Pollock's time as CO. It was the same sheet that Carter had except for the sonar gear. When the Spangler was first assigned to the sonar school she was equipped with a QGB(b) sonar stack, OKA range/range rate recorder, TRR range/rate recorder, QDA depth determining sonar and a Mk 1 Attack plotter. This equipment was located on the open bridge area in the asdic shack and it was quite cramped. (During the yard overhaul this area was enlarged and housed the AP, UQC, Mk 5 attack director plus electrical filing buttons for all ASW weapons.) We had a standard 13 depth charge pattern with hedgehogs that would only train 20 degrees and all ASW weapons were fired manually from their locations. The other change in the handout from Carter to Pollock was the cost for the officer students meals went from 50 cents to 75 cent per day.

The ship went in for yard duty at Hunters Point later that year and the Mk 5 ASW system was installed. Carter was still the CO after installation of the new ASW equipment and was the CO when the ship was awarded the Navy "E". Pollock who was Carter's XO became Captain after Carter left.

When the Mk 5 system was installed on the ship the Underwater Telephone UQC was also installed. The Spangler was the first surface ship on the west coast or maybe any coast to have this device. The UQC was installed on many submarines. One time during a "can we get you exercise" the Spangler was operating with two subs. They were chatting to each other and planning their moves as not to get sunk by the Spangler. We listened in. After the exercise was over Captain Law came in to the UBC from the open bridge, picked up the UQC mike and called the subs call name and stated, "this is June Moon Sugar, thanks for the drill" he then signed off without waiting for their, I'm sure surprised reply.

The Spangler went to Mare Island in 1951 to have another sonar control installed. During the Mk 5 conversion in 1950 the sonar control room had been relocated from the bridge to the IC room in what used to be their work shop/storage area Half of their work shop was assigned as the sonar control room. When the second sonar control was installed we took the rest of their workshop/storage room. With two sonar control we could now train twice as many students. Their was a switch in sonar control 1 which we could change which sonar control was engaged with the ASW system. These two systems had their own transmitter and scanning switch assembly with a common transducer.

At Mare Island a new deck gun fire control system was also installed with a new fire control station and mast for the antenna on the boat deck near the 40mm quad. What I thought were later photos that I have seen do not show the second mast. Was it removed?

To answer your question most all the students were enlisted men from the Sonar School. The officer students would spend their time on the bridge conning the ship during these training sessions.

Once some submarine officers seeing how the other half lived were having training and one junior officer who had the conn after the attack, and about to come about for the re-attack, asked the Captain, "which way do I turn skipper?" Captain Law informer this sub sailor that he was addressed as Captain. The submarine officer apologized by saying, "excuse me sir, I'm used to a submarine where we are all friends."

My boot camp book (Great Lakes 1948) didn't have much, if anything about my company 434 either.  Maybe all those sharp marchers etc., were from Hollywood.  The book is pretty tho.

You recall the movie "Caine Mutiny" and Capt. Queeg?" My story about a certain well known Capt.______ involves my ego as an RD and being one of the senior POs on the ship, in addition to being the leading RD I was also the OPs Div senior PO.   I busted my ass for Capt. Law ( a predecessor) and I guess I had a high opinion of my self.   Capt. ______ did't know me.   We had been out for two weeks and as usual I spent most of the time in CIC, 20 out of 24 hrs.  We came into port and tied up next to a tender .   I was in CIC alone reading a magazine when "bam!" the door flies open and in walks Capt_____.   He proceeds to chew my ass out for loafing and arbitraily gave me 30 days restriction.  He then found the Ops Office and chewed him out for my dereliction of duty.  The Ops. Officer came up to CIC and told me that per the Capt. I was repremanded and restricted for 30 days.  I told the Ops. Officer that he could tell the Capt. that he had helped me to make I decision not to reenlist.   That started me on my attitude toward some officers .   As I say maybe I resented all of this because I had the respect of Capt. Law and he treated me with respect.

My wife tells me that the older I get the worse my sea stories get and thats probably true.   I tend to remember the good times more that I do the mid watches.

In reviewing the sea tales and the story about the shipmate that reenlisted and then was killed in an auto accident brought to mind another shipmate that was killed in an auto accident.  His name was Lew Ayres RD2.  He came aboard in 53 after having served at a radar station in Japan.  We never knew what happened only that he was hitching a ride fro downtown San Diego one night and was killed in an auto accident.  It fell my lot to go with the Exec Lt Buart Huls to the naval hospital at Balboa to make a positive ID.  He was trussed up like a piece of meat in a cold storage locker ontop of another body.  It was a very difficult thing for me to have to do and I was disgusted at the way his remains were treated.  Dick Hitt RDSN cleaned out his locker and wrote Lew's girlfriend a letter of condolance and returned all of the letters that Lew had received from her.  All of the Radar gang signed the letter.

About that QDA transducer. It would go from flat 0 degrees into the keel of the ship to 90 degrees perpendicular with the keel. You coud tell the angle of the transducer in sonar control by the dial on the QDA stack. When the ship went into dry dock I was always to have the QDA transducer at the zero degrees mark as not to damage it when the ship was supported in the dry dock. I don't recall exactly when but on one of our dry dock repairs I ensured the dial on the stack read zero. After after the water was pumped out of dry dock the word was passed for Ellis to report to the Captain who was on the dry dock. Thinking surely I had done something wonderful and Captain Law was going to reward me for a job well done I rushed to the area where the Captain was standing. He looked at me and then pointed to the QDA transducer which was at about 45 degrees and politely asked me what that was hanging down from his ship. The shear pin had stripped and the motors went and the indicators went but the transducer had not moved. I learned from that experience that electronics aren't always the answer and the next dry dock time I would go down to lower sound and make sure the mechanical angle indicator was indeed at zero. Captain Law later forgave me after we found the Submarine contact that had all the ships in the San Diego area on GQ was only kelp as first reported by the Spangler.

As a 1st class PO, I was exempt from any duty while waiting at Des Base for my discharge.  I didn't have to do any thing but I couldn't leave the base during duty hours.  The barracks were off limits during those hours but one day I went in the barracks to change into my dress blues.  Standing in front of my locker with just my tee shirt on I was accosted by a MAA, a 3rd class BM, you will recall the type! 

He proceeded to chew me out for being in the barracks and wound up by telling me to come with him that he had a head that needed swabbing down.  I guess he thought I was some young boot that he could bully, in only that way a BM3 MAA with 8 years of service could do! (No slam on BM's intended).   I didn't say anything but put my jumper on and then while pointing to my crow with 3 chevrons, I said "Boats I've got 3, you only have 1, so if someone is going to swab the head it will be you not me."   He said that we need to talk to the Chief MAA about this. 

I told the Chief MAA that I was first class PO and that I was "entitled to a little more respect than I had received from a BM3, does that stand for bowel movement?  In addition I have less than 5 days left in the USN and didn't care to put up with this BS!"   I think I flabbergasted the CPO because all he said was "Get out of here!"

I guess this must have been 1955. We were station ship in Hong Kong. Frank Hill, a young EM who had come aboard the same day as me ( we had gone to "A" school together at Great Lakes), was relaxing on the fantail one Saturday afternoon when, I suppose most of the crew was on the beach.  I spotted him and stopped to see what he was up to because he was always up to something.

He pointed out across the harbor and said, "What do you see out there, son?"

I looked out in the direction he was pointing.  "I see a bunch of guys rowing a boat."

"Wrong!" he corrected me, "what you see is a challenge."  He went on to tell me he had done the research and that that was a British pulling boat crew and that they were always looking for competition.  Not only that , but also that he, Frank Hill EMFN, had decided that the Spangler's rowing crew should challenge them.  I thought that I should let him in on the secret that Spangler had no rowing crew. "She does, now", he said, "starting with you and me."

So now he gets up off his backside and says he going up right now to tell the Captain what he has in mind.  Now, this is Captain O'Connel he's talking about so I figured I would never, ever see ol' Frank again.

I guess it was about twenty minutes later when He came back, grinning like the proverbial possum and told me, "The Old Man bought it".  He said the Captain thought it was a great idea, but he didn't like Frank's plan to recruit the crew from the engineers.  So the Captain told him that each division would form a crew and they would race against each other and the winner would challenge the British. So, that's the way it was.

I don't know how the other divisions fared, but didn't take Frank long to round up enough of us to fill a boat.  Frank was our coxwain, of course.

On the appointed day the several crews from Spangler went to the Hong Kong Yacht Club to get boats.  I'm told that Captain O'Connel, being a mustang GM was alittle disappointed when the gunners sat down in their boat backwards, but I heard that he took it pretty well.

Anyway, after all the Fol de rol and preliminary races were finished the engineers were the winners.  Frank got his way.

I have not a clue about the machinations of issuing an official challenge to HMS what-ever-it-was but I know it was isSood and accepted and we, the crew began practicing every morning after a breakfast of steak and eggs as per The Captains instructions.   Life was good, except for the practice. I don't remember who was in our crew except for Dick LeGendre, a BT named Archey, Frank Hill and myself.

I was the smallest one of the oars, and during one of the early practice sessions Frank became disenchanted with my usefulness as a galley slave and began yelling at me at the top of his Kentucky lungs and then I got mad and told him he should take my oar and I would sit back there and holler "stroke!" And that, children , is how I became coxswain of the brave little whale boat.

The day of the race arrived and the course was laid out from some point at the yacht club to the bow of the Spangler.  I think it was a mile. Both boats were in place, both crews at the ready and Captain O'Connel was observing from the British Admiral's barge.

Bang! "Stroke!" I screamed and eight pumped engineers heaved on the oars. We were off. I kept hollering, one hand on the tiller and one eye on the British boat which seemed to be getting further away from us.  Not that they were leaving us behind, actually it appeared to be a very close race. It just looked like the distance between our parallel courses was increasing, as if one of us was moving off course.About that time I heard Frank yelling at me again, calling some kind of dirty name.  I think it was "doody head" or something.  You know how sailors talk.

It seems that sometime during the previous night an APD had come into the harbor and anchored some distance directly to port of the Spangler.  I remember being told later that day that an APD is a "converted" , what ever that means DE and bow on, they look alike. Anyway, that's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

Yes, we were off course and had been for most of the race.  But, quick as a cat, I shoved that tiller over and we finished the race albeit a little later than the Brits.

Well, you can imagine the verbal abuse that stupid crew of engineers heaped upon their coxswain all the way back to the ship where, no sooner had we all gotten aboardthunderous voice from the heavens: "NOW THE COXSWAIN OF THE WHALE BOAT CREW LAY UP TO THE CAPTAIN'S CABIN."

I knocked on the Captain's door with my forehead, I think and once in side, he said, "I want to congratulate you on a nice little piece of seamanship that I never expected."  I'm thinking, 'yeah, yeah, you sarcastic,,,,,,,,, just get it over with...' "I mean" he continued, "the way you kept that strong wind off your starboard quarter all that time and then put it at your stern for the last stretch. Amazing, for an engineer.  If you'd had any oars you mignt have won."

When I got back down to where the guys were waitng to find out what was to be my punishment, I'm pretty sure they didn't believe what I told them the Captain had said.  But I could tell they didn't hate me.

You know how it's tradition in rowing circles to throw the coxswain of the winning crew over the side?  Well, they extended that honor to me.

I have no idea where we were when this happened and I can't even recall the year.   I do remember the sailor involved, but I won't mention his name. I'll just say he was a young seaman from Tennessee; a MM striker, I think.  Also, when he came aboard he weighed about the same as an empty pea coat.  He was, as were many of us, assigned to mess cook duty.  After three months in the mess hall he could have held his own in a wrestling match with the motor whale boat.

Anyway, one day over the squawk box,"Now, all hands stand by your lockers for locker inspection beginning immedietly".  We all did as we were told, of course, but since this had come as a complete surprise, there was much talk in the engineer's living space, and I'm sure, through-out the ship as to what was going on.  Time passed and rumors were flying.  Finally somebody said that a forty-five had turned up missing from the armory and that's what they were looking for.  I don't know why we believed it, but we did.

As the inspecting party, led by the Exec. got closer, our little seaman (or rather our BIG seaman) seemed to be getting more and more nervous.  His locker was only a few feet from mine and I started thinking, "He's got that damn gun in his locker!"  I couldn't believe he would do a stupid thing like that, but as the inspecting party approached his locker, he looked as if he might vomit.

"It's in his locker!", I thought.

"Open your locker", said an inspector.  The young man slowly raised the lid of his foot locker and there, right on top, for all to see , was a bowl of mashed potatoes he had stolen from the Chief's quarters.  I loved it!

When I joined Spangler in 1954, with my two little red stripes on my left arm and found out I was something called an "electrician's mate striker", I pictured myself up the mast, out on a yard arm, or maybe down in some dark little nook, possibly even a cranny deep in the bowels of an actual United States Navy Man O' War making delicate adjustments to absolutely essential electrical equipment while the ship rocked and I rolled.

Like many others, though, I found myself on mess cookin'. And after the first day or two, it was great.  I ate really well, got to a major portion of the crew very quickly. All-in-all it was not an unpleasant experience.  It lasted three months, I think.  So, those first three months I was fat and happy and comfortable. And safe.

Then I went back in Repair division where the Electrician's Mate Chief, a great guy named Abe Jantzen, told me that I'd be standing watches in the engine rooms , learning to be a throttleman.  Great!  I couldn't wait for my first watch and I loved it.  Couple of Machinst's Mates down there, two other electricians (a throttleman and a boardman) and me.  Terrific! Safe and sound.

Then, toward the end of the watch I was informed that. as the new guy, it fell to me to wake the relieving watch.  Oh, oh!  I couldn't have seen it coming.  They drew me a little map so I could find where everyone slept.  Then they told me that one of the relievers, a guy named Horton, was "kinda hard to wake up".

"You'll think he's awake", they said, "but he might not be.  You got to make sure".

okay!  Now I'm fat, DUMB and happy!  I go to Horton"s rack first.  "Horton, time to relieve the watch!"

"Yeah, got it", he almost hollers back.  Great. No prob, Bob. I wake the rest of the guys.  Where's Horton ? Still in his rack. Hasn't moved.

"Horton! Get up!  You got the watch, man.

He didn't stir.  I walk around for a few seconds. Nothin'.

I go back, take hold of hi shoulder and say, "Hor....."  He flips the blanket off, grabs my left wrist with one hand, my left elbow with the other, bares his teeth, snarls with the greatest Lon Chaney impersonation I've ever seen, and he bit me on my left fore arm.

The guys in the engine room said,  "Oh yeah, we should have told you not to touch him.

But it's okay!  John (that's Hortons human name) and I became buds after that.  I've even run into him twice in the past fifty years.  But he still refuses to put me in for hazardous duty pay.

Mid 1949, we were operating out of Pearl with UTE (Underway Training Unit)and COMSUBPAC.  We were training on the procedure of attacking submarines, Capt. Robert R. Carter in command of the ship.  We had an arrogant Ensign at the CON training on How to Attack a submarine.  We had made three or four runs with-out a hit or even a close miss.  Beebe stuck his head out of the Sonar shack and asked the Captain, " We made 3 perfect runs and all misses.  What is going on out there?" He knew that the Captain was not at the CON.  Captain Carter was sitting in his chair with his baseball cap over his eyes half asleep (acting).  He looked over at Beebe and said "Do you think you could do better?". A moment later Beebe came out of the shack and took over the CON from this bewildered Ensign.  He made an hedgehog run and up came the bubble in the middle of the circle.  A hit.  Beebe gave up the CON and returned to the Sonar Shack.  The befuddled Engin. looked at Captain Carter who said " Mr, that is how you do it?"

New Years Eve 1949/50, we were tied up at the Baker dock at the Naval Station Pearl.  My buddies, Gerald Graham and Gerald King were my seniors by 3 and 5 days.  As the junior radioman I was stuck with the duty and couldn’t go ashore.  It really ticked me off.  The ships crew was very small that night.  The duty quartermaster, an radar man and myself were the only ones in our division aboard that night.  Sullivan, the cook, had baked a ham and we had it in the radio shack eating trying to figure out how we were going to celebrate New Years.  Some yelled at us to answer the blinkers from the other ships in the harbor.  When we got to signal bridge we noticed that all our lights were out except the running lights on the yard arm.  We went to the big 24 inch light on the port side.  It was dead.  The small light was also dead.  Ensign Shanhouse came out on the port wing about that time and wanted to know what we were doing.  We told him.  He said this ship was not going to "light up" and do anything stupid like the other ships.  We said this is New Years Eve.  No Go.  He went back to the wardroom.  We answered the ships our dilemma with the yard arm lights, then went into the radio shack ate more ham and pondered our dilemma.  The quartermaster said the only thing he found was the very pistol in the chart room next to CIC. .  We checked it out and sure enough there the very pistol was.  At least we could shoot the darn thing at midnight.  Only trouble was, we couldn’t find the shells.  Shanhouse apparently hid them too.  About that time someone broke the pistol open and there was one in the chamber.  Well at least we could shot one shot.  So up onto the signal bridge we went in front of the pilot house where we could shoot the very pistol.  We had awnings covering the stern portion of the ship and also the bow.  Well it was coming up on midnight and we were counting down when who should show up but Ensign Shanhouse just as the quartermaster raised his arm to fire.  Shanhouse grabbed his arm and pulled it down and the pistol was fired right on to the bow awning.  Shanhouse to our amazement, jumped over on to that awning and began to try and put those little sparklers out with his had.  As it was they were rolling back towards him and he was hopping around like a jack rabbit trying to get away from them.  We started to laugh our heads off.  If he had left well enough alone the sparklers would have rolled off into the water.  The next day Captain Carter asked us what happened.  We told him and all he did was shake his head.

I was ticked off by Pinky and Gerry sticking me with the duty on New Years Eve and giving me a hard time so I decided to get back at them.  With the help of the others that were stuck on board that night with me.  We took all the mattress off the bunks and hauled them up to the CIC shack and I locked my self in and slept there.  When my buddies came back to the ship, they had just the springs to sack out on.  In their state, anyplace was ok.  The next morning before they could find me, I was ashore on liberty.

Lt. Tamassia was the engineering officer aboard the Spangler.  He was one of the best officers and respected by all hands.   The snipes thought he was outstanding.   I do not ever recall he getting up set with anyone.   He was one of the most even tempered men (officers) I have ever had the privilege to serve with.

It was a hot July evening and we were tied up along side Ford Island in Pearl Harbor.   I was on the mid-watch in between Fox skeds so I went out on the port side of the boat deck.   To my surprise, there were two snipes, drunk as a skunk, in our little dingy paddling around along side.   The line to the dingy had a lot of play in it so they thought they were relative free, which they were not.   One of them had an officers cover.   He also was standing up barking commands to the fellow shipmate who was paddling with a piece of wood we used as a paddle.   Well they came to end of their “rope” and the snip standing went into the drink.   Now the water alongside Ford Island was the dirtiest you would find anyplace.   The oil on top is thick and gooey.   The fellows swam over to the rope ladder we had over the side and came up on board.   The hat that one had on was a mess.   They apparently discussed what to do.   A moment later they disappeared and I just guessed they returned the cover to the ward room.   I waited a few minutes to be sure they were gone then I went down to the ward room and sure enough that officers hat was in its place dripping oil and water and a real mess.   I checked the name in it and it was Lt. Tamassia’s.

I never heard a peep out of anyone, the two snipes or Mr Tamassia except that “How in the world did my hat get this way”.   I do not think I told anyone of that incident for years.

A lot of events occur during the Mid-Watch.   Most of them are funny then and now.   This one occurred one such night.   We were tied up at the Baker docks in Pearl.   Two drunks came staggering up towards the ship from the direction of the stern.   Both had been restricted to the base for fighting, they were cousins and always fighting each other especially when they had a few drinks in them.   One stopped and sat on one of the Bull-locks that we secure the ships lines to at the stern of the ship.   The other staggered aboard and went to the stern by our depth charge racks.   The one on shore proceeded to throw bottles of beer to his cousin.   The bottles fell into the water, fortunately, all but one.   The cousin on board did catch that one and only bottle.   His buddy/cousin then came aboard.   They were both standing together when the Master of Arms came up out of the stern compartment and saw them with that beer bottle in their hands.

No this Master at Arms was not very swift, he was a 2 hash mark 3rd class Boatswain.   He wore his white hat on the bridge of his nose and swaggered and pulled his authority when he could.   He tried to bully everyone.   Most of the folks ignored him much to his frustrations.   He also was noted for the tattoos he had.   On the cheeks of his rear was tattooed “ Stand Clear, Twin Screws”, but more about that later.

He yelled for those two drunks to “Come here”.   They did.   He must have forgot where he was cause he tried to step back and instead he fell back, down that compartments ladder.   When he hit the bottom, he was out cold.   The two drunks just stood there staring down the hatch.   I came up at that time and told them to first throw that bottle of beer over the side and go get the roving patrol and tell the quarter deck watch to get the pharmacist mate.   I went down the ladder and saw that the MA was not bleeding and breathing OK.   About that time the pharmacist came up in his skivvies and checked him out.   He was out cold.   I told everyone that I saw him fall down the ladder, leaving out the details of the beer etc.   I saw no reason to tell that to anyone.   The pharmacist mate decided the best was to put him in his bunk and let him sleep.   He told the quarter deck/roving patrol to check on him every once in awhile and any problems to call him.

The next morning the MA filed a report that these two drunks and hit him and knocked him down the hatch.   They denied that they touched him.   The Exec. called me in to the ward room and asked me what I saw.   I told him I saw everything, that the two drunks were walking up to the MA and he took a step back and down he went.   The MA was mad as a hornet at me and became angry until the Exec. shut him up.   The MA never mentioned the beer bottle and neither did I.   Later that day I was routing messages and saw Capt. Carter.   He asked me to tell him the whole story and leave out nothing.   I asked him if I did would he punish the two drunks? He said tell me the story and I’ll decide.   So told him what had happened.   He laughed and told me that since they threw the beer bottle over the side and they didn’t hit the MA that he would take it no further.

We had just got a bunch of reserves aboard and were going on a 2 week cruise (likely in late '57).  Sanchez (the ships barber) was cutting hair in his shop, I was walking down the midships passage way and he hollered at me to come in and cut hair while he took a break and went and got a cup of coffee.  I looked at him sorta funny and waited for him to laugh, he just smiled and said "You Can Do It!"  So I did!!  After I fixed a couple of the reserves "right up" I left.  I was in the operations compartment when they came over the 21MC and said "LUND lay up to the executives officer state room."  So away I went!! Needless to say when I knocked and went inside Mr. Hall said "Lund, what the hell are you doing?"  My response was "About What?   He then reminded me in his own sweet way that I was no damn barber!!!  And I said "They will pass inspection won't they?  I made sure I cut it all above their ears!!"  He admitted I was right about it being above the ears, but let me know I was not to do it again!!   I guess a couple of the reserves had threatened to write their Congress man.  That's appreciation for you!!  Anyway, that ended my barbering career.....

We were in Hong Kong and went over for a little fun.  There were guite a few of us that started together but we got sidetracked from each other in the night.  I cannot remember who was with me but we decided to go find them (the rest of the guys).  We hailed two rickshaws down and made a bet that the last one there had to pay for both rides.  We started off and was going a pretty good speed and I was passing him and he decided to get more speed out of his man so he reached up and took his white hat off and give the man a good swipe across the back. The man dropped the bars of the rickshaw and they stuck in the street and the next thing I saw was a human catapult, he went up and then he came down hard.  I stopped and went to check him out, he was ok but mad for losing and having to pay.  We had to walk to the next bar because they would not let us ride again.

We pulled into Singapore before going to play games with the British.  Art and. and I decided to go have a few beers (We didn't have much money) and take in the sights.  After three or four beers each, we decided to go back to the ship.  We thought we had enough money to catch a taxi so we hailed one down.  We were almost all the way back to the ship when we realized we dind't have enough, so Art (being the kind soul he was) told the driver (who by the way had a big turban on his head, and carried a really big knife that we hadn't seen yet!) that I would stay there with him and Art would go get money....well, Art whispered to me to run when he got out a ways and waved at me, so being the obedient one I waited for the wave and took off but the driver stepped out with the big machete that I was telling you about.  He started after me and needless to say I passed up Art going about 120 mph.  The spangler was tied outside a british frigate (?) so the first opening I seen, I went in and appeared in the middle of the rum ration.   I was invited to stay and partake of the nectors with them (which I did just to be socialable) after I made sure the coast was clear (and the rum was gone) I returned to the Spangler to "check on my good buddy Art!"   Nothing more was said until quarters the next morning and Mr. Simmons brought the subject up of "what had happened" and warned who ever did it not to let it happen again!!  He was looking right at Art (and me) I never went back to shore there again!

I was Mess Treasurer of the Wardroom Mess. A group of British ships had arrived and two destroyers were nesting together, I suggested to the captain that we invite a couple of officers for dinner.  He agreed so four Limey officers came to dinner – three lieutenants and a sub-lieutenant.

Our mess table seated ten so the captain, the commodore, the XO, the next two senior officers of ships company and I made the ten. My place was assured because as Mess Treasurer I owned the seat at the foot of the table. The rest of the ships officers were served in their staterooms.

During the course of the meal one of the Brits asked the skipper what he thought of King George of Greece.  The skipper replied, “He’s a harmless old duffer.” The Brit then pointed to one of his companions, “Lieutenant Mountbatten is Prince Philip of Greece, the king’s nephew.

After dinner we went to the fantail for the movie.   During the movie the officer of the deck came back to tell the skipper that word had come in that the Emperor of Japan had sued for peace. We went back to the wardroom and toasted the end of the war – in Coca-Cola since there was nothing stronger aboard.  The following morning we went to the wardroom of one of the British destroyers and repeated the sentiment in drinks provided by his majesty, King George VI of England.

SEQUEL: We could always say that we knew a lieutenant who married the boss’s daughter and became an admiral.  LT Mountbatten is today Duke of Edinburgh, husband of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.

-- Guy Thompson (sometimes known as Cisco -- although many men thought I didn't know that that was my nickname)

I had previously mentioned the dinner guests on the night we learned the Emperor had sued for peace.   A few days after that memorable evening I left for Pearl Harbor to attend Fleet Gunnery School.  On the same flight was the commodore Captain R.R. "Railroad" Jackson who had just been relieved as Commander Escort Division 39.  (Also on that flight was the commander who had armed the atom bomb dropped in Hiroshima -- by coincidence years later I was on his staff as communicator when he was a rear admiral.)

We flew first to Johnson Island where we stopped for lunch and fuel.  While we were on Johnson all Hell broke loose.  Every whistle and siren blew full blast; every fire truck roared about with screaming sailors aboard; every gooney bird --- and there were a lot of gooney birds --- took to the air.  The Japs had surrendered.

I arrived in Pearl Harbor that night.  I'll leave you to imagine the scene there.

Back to SPANGLER.  She pulled in to Pearl just as I finished school.  She went along an oiler for fuel and picked me up. No one went ashore.  Then it was off to the states.  We had picked up some new movies to enliven the evenings.

I want you to get a mental picture of the situation on the fantail that evening.  Here is he crew most of whom have not spoken to nor seen a female for many, many, months.  All are anticipating arrival in the states.  Common decency requires that we avert our eyes and thoughts from what they were contemplating.

But, mind you, there I sit with my several weeks of Pearl Harbor gazing at the poor, misfortunates with good natured tolerance.

But, wait, the movie is about to start.  What is it? Oooh it has Yvonne DeCarlo!  Wipe your mouth!  You're slobbering!  Here's the title: "Salome, Where She Danced."  Sound intriguing?

Oh, it was! It was!  There were moans, groans, and shrieks from as horny a bunch of sailors as ever had all the lures of sex dangled enticingly just beyond reach.  There was stomping on the deck, and rattling of buckets.

And that Bastard Cisco sat there with a smug and complacent look on hs face!

Twice I have mentioned that my nickname aboard was "Cisco".   Of the roughly fourteen ships in which I was either assigned ship's company or embarked staff SPANGLER was far and away the most devoted to nicknames.   After sixty years I don't remember them all -- I do recall Cisco; The Tall Texan; Sea Pig; Mouse; Sparrow; Whitey; The Finlander.   There are lots of others that are just beyond the margin of memory.

Of course, it was axiomatic among the crew that no officer could possibly know his nickname.   Of course among the offices we would chuckle a lot at that notion.   For example, how long did it take an officer to learn what is nick name was?   Well, now, it was like this.   I came aboard during the forenoon watch.   We got under way in the first dog.   At dinner the First Lieutenant -- Lt. Reigal- "The Finlander" -- told me the crew had a nickname for me: "The Cisco Kid".   Since I came aboard wearing half Wellington boots I was not surprised.  I had been wearing such sea boots since my days skippering a party boat out of Gloucester before the war.

The nickname was soon shortened to just "Cisco".   More than one sailor coming aboard thereafter addressed me as "Mr.Cisco, sir . . ." in the honest belief that such was my name.

Then there was the day about six months after I came aboard when I mentioned to one of the boatswain's mates that we would do something in a particular way because:

"Cisco wants it that way."

He replied with almost open-mouthed astonishment:

"You know that that's what we call you???"

Yes, I knew just as the Gunnery Officer knew who "The Tall Texan" was.   And the First Lieutenant knew the identity of The Finlander." I have been called less pleasant things and it is great to remember when I was.

When I went aboard SPANGLER and was assigned Second Division  I noticed quickly that the motor whale boat had no cleat for a sea painter. I put in a chit to the Assistant First Lieutenant.  He pretended to know what I was talking about and went about his business.

Shortly he came back to me and triumphantly informed me that I didn't need a cleat.   A sea painter is properly led aft and a turn taken around the second thwart.  When I expressed amazement, astonishment, and similar emotions of disbelief he tauntingly showed me the picture in the book he had gone to (obviously to find out what a "sea painter" was.   He was bright enough -- barely --to realize it was not a sailor with a brush.  Yes, indeed, he was right.  The book he had was Knight's Seamanship with which I would NEVER argue nor cavil.

As gently as I could I explained to him that the boat in the picture with the sea painter around the second thwart was a pulling whale boat and indeed had thwarts for the oarsman to sit on.  We in SPANGLER, however, had a motor whale boat hence no thwarts.

I guess he didn't like my attitude because he then said that he wasn't going to install a cleat for a sea painter anyway.  Since he was a full LT. and I was a raw-ass ENS that was that.

Until I remarked that if we ever had to lower that boat in a sea way it would be manned by his First Division because my Second Division sure as Hell would not be in it.

An hour or so later the carpenter's mate was asking just where I wanted the cleat installed.

When we got underway for China in 1946 we had on board so much spare paint that some was stored on the forecastle lashed to the life lines.  A day or so out of port the Paint Locker Keeper noticed bad fumes in the locker so he left the hatch open.  He didn't tell the chief boatswain's mate nor me.  A sharp eyed sailor gong by saw a chance to get hold of some paint without putting in a chit that would have to pass through that bastard Cisco.  So he hopped down into the locker.  Another passing sailor saw the first one passed out and spread the word.   When Chief Anthony and I arrived the first sailor had been removed and the second was obviously drunk as a coot.   The chief and I want into the locker and in about half a moment the CPO was becoming incoherent so we left.

At that time -- shortly after the war -- most of the crew very, very green -- the only person I could safely put into an RBA (later called an OBA) was myself.   I put on the apparatus and went down the ladder.  About the time I hit bottom I realized that the RBA was acting up.  I came out and accompanied by the chief hared it for the fantail. By the I dropped the canister into a bucket it was smoldering and smoking.  The chief tossed it over the side.  As it hit the water it was aflame -- the chief said it exploded.  I wouldn't take my oath on that but I was bloody glad that I hadn't sent some one less experienced who might not have recognized the malfunction until the damned thing blew up on his chest.   Think of the paperwork that would have caused!!!

I reloaded the RBA and went back.  I found that some one had thought the paint locker was a good place to store the spare gasoline for the handy billies.  It wasn't.  We brought in a blower to clear the fumes and stationed a man to keep out visitors until the situation was cleared and we could lock up again.

A man with a healthy appetite, Myhre (my apologies if I have spelled the name wrong) was very content with the Navy.  After all there was plenty of food and movies that would have cost ten cents to see in his hometown were free.   He was sure he would stay in the Navy after the war.

Since he was reputed to have eaten a whole turkey all by himself at Thanksgiving he was taken seriously when he announced , "I can eat one more egg than any man on this ship."

The XO set up a contest.   Each division entered one man and the CPO mess entered one.   All of the contestants were watched by heir backers to make sure they had no breakfast and no lunch.

All that is except Myhre – he ate his usual meals.

The port deck outside the galley was the scene of battle.   Most of ship’s company off watch were spectators.   Fried eggs started coming from the galley to the contestants. Cheering was loud, wagers were placed.   After about a half dozen eggs the contending chief staggered to the rail and since he didn’t have a towel to throw in he did he next best thing and threw in (or up) the contents of his stomach.

Most of the other contestants one by one became glassy eyed and merely toyed with their last pair of eggs.

Except Myhre, he stoically and heroically plodded on.

Eggs coming from the galley were less and less cooked as the cooks rushed to keep up with the demand.

Finally the last of his opponents left and Myhre ate two more eggs and heaved a sigh of contentment.

None of the contestants showed up for dinner that evening.

Except Myhre, he ate his usual hearty meal.

SPANGLER was moored to buoys in the Wangpoo River off Shanghai for several weeks.   During that time the skipper, LCDR Easteling, never went ashore.   In the wardroom we discussed the possibility of his going stir crazy.

His room was the first to starboard forward of the wardroom; mine was the second to port.   One night about 0200 I was awakened by the sound of my curtain being pulled aside.   I sat up in my berth.   There stood the captain in his skivvy shorts and holding a samurai sword.

"There’s a rat in here!"

I grabbed the batten from the bookcase over the desk and stood up.

"I’ll help you find him!"

Visions of myself dueling the captain in the passage flashed through my mind.   Scenes from every pirate movie replayed on my mental screen.

About that time the rat (a genuine four legged kind) ran out of the room and headed for the ladder to CPO quarters.   We chivvied him on his way and went back to the CO’s room where he showed me the footprints across his pillow, except for the middle where his head had been.   He had awakened with the rat walking across his face.

The chiefs, being the knowledgeable and efficient "Men O’ Warsmen" that they were, killed the rat.

I don’t know how much piping boatswain’s mates do today, but the pipe was used for good purpose in SPANGLER in my day.   The call known as "Call Mates" – a useful call in the days before PA systems.   Not every one aboard knew the meaning of the call --- most could recognize necessary calls like "Attention"; "Word to be Passed"; "Draw Mess Gear"; "Spread Mess Gear"(Although most knew those last two as "Mess Gear" and "Chow Down")

All boatswain’s mates, leading deck force seamen, and a few officers of the saltier variety knew that "Call Mates" really meant "coffee is ready at the Side Gear Locker."

Since coffee was always ready in the wardroom I wasn’t dependant on the Side Gear Locker but I spent many an instructive hour there.   I would go there and Norman Colby BM1 and I would exchange seamanship challenges, such things as "How would you rig a nine-fold purchase so it wouldn’t bind nor tumble?" We never did come up with an answer to that one.   Obviously in SPANGLER we would never have occasion to mess with such a purchase.   We just liked the challenge to our seamanship.   Colby was the best BM1 I ever served with.

In 1946 Mary Soo was known simply as "Garbage Mary" and was one of several labor contractors in the harbor.   Someone else beat her to SPANGLER.   As First Lieutenant I arranged the labor force that would work the ship.   We got huge numbers of coolies in exchange merely for our garbage.   Almost every man in the deck divisions had one or two coolies to do his work.   Some of the coolies were only kids.   We didn’t allow any below decks except a couple to sweep, swab, and soogie the mess deck.   Since these people were working for the garbage and since the sight of people actually and literally starving is disturbing to American sailors, the quality of garbage increased.   There were many days (most days)– when a vast quantity of rice that never appeared on the menu was cooked and went straight from galley to sampans.

Lots of kids in Hong Kong harbor came out to the ship on bamboo rafts.   They were not allowed on board.   One day I was on the fantail and noticed that a line – probably twenty-one thread or slightly larger – had fetched up around the starboard screw.

I called alongside a raft of four boys – oldest maybe twelve – and asked them to clear the line from the screw.   They did so I sent to the galley for four trays of food.   I am sure those kids had never eaten so well.   If you remember how American sailors feed kids at every opportunity you will picture it.

The oldest of the boys introduced himself and his three brothers.

"Mama Papa Kowloon side got four baby: Ah Lee, Ah Sam, Ah Chau, and Ah ___" I forget.

I designated those kids the Kowloon Master Divers Association and the stern sentry was instructed that they had permission to dive off the depth charge racks.   No other kids were accorded such a privilege.

Previously I mentioned the Assistant First Lieutenant.  I shall tell a little more about him.

Aboard SPANGLER I stood JOOW with most of the qualified OODs, although mostly with Mr. McDougal.  In a short time I was called to the skipper’s cabin and he informed me that I was now going to stand my watches with LT ___ (the Assistant First Lieutenant).  According to the captain I was a qualified OOD and was authorized and directed to take the deck away from the LT. at any time I thought the safety of he ship depended on it.  Because the officer was a full lieutenant the captain felt compelled to give him the appearance of being qualified.

The captain’s faith in the officer had been shaken some months prior to this by a frightening incident.

There was no sea cabin in on the Spangler so the skipper slept in a canvas igloo on the flying bridge.  At sunset the JOOW went down to CIC until dawn. One night on the ping line (anti submarine patrol off harbor entrance) the captain overheard the OOD give the order to the wheel:

"Come right to course 000."

Immediately thereafter he heard the OOD call CIC:

"Will that head me for the beach?"

Shocks like that are not good for a skipper’s composure.

Experienced officers regard the sampling of the crew's ration before it is piped down as a very important duty.   Inexperienced and junior officers see it as a free meal.  I was taught early in life that there are three things an officer never messes with:

    A sailor's pay
    A sailor's liberty
    A sailor's chow.

One of the reasons that the crew's mess is at 5 PM and the officers' at 6 is following the custom that an officer must not eat until he sees that his men have been fed.

On the bridge it is usually the JOOW who samples the meal as the OOD may be occupied with conning in a formation.  There was an occasion when I was JOOW under Mr. McDougal where I did not approve the ration.  Mr. McDougal agreed with me.  You should have seen the consternation.

Shortly there appeared on the bridge the chief commissary steward and the supply officer -- both furious and defending the mess (on that occasion aptly named).  Then the XO came up, took a bite and remarked:

"That could make a man sick -- matter of fact, I think it has."

Dinner was a little late that evening but was enjoyed by all except the galley crew who did a certain amount of grumbling.

One thing to keep in mind about life aboard SPANGLER in 1946.  Of the crew up till then all the officers, almost all the CPOs, and the vast majority of the white hats were reserves, hostilities only service men. Of the officers I was the only one who intended to go regular.  So there was a tremendous exodus.  The crew got an overwhelming number of fresh caught youngsters from boot camp. Among the officers there were not a few who had been commissioned hastily and without completing their training.

The innocence of the lads in the deck force was beyond belief.  The number of men who asserted up and down that they wouldn’t go contrary to the teachings of their homes and church was huge. (You have to remember this was in the forties when there was a different level of morality than seems to prevail today.)  I’ll assure you that a couple of liberties in Hong Kong changed the mind of most.  What few didn’t succumb to the lures of HK found that Shanghai was their undoing.  The VD rate in SPANGLER was unbelievably high.

Of course, there were other attractions and opportunities to be had on the China station.  There was ivory to buy.  There were clothes to buy.  There was beer to be drunk.  There were sights to be seen.  And everything was bedecked with the strange characters that passeds or writing in the orient.

I wanted to buy a dressing gown for my father.  I went to a leading merchant and told him what I wanted.  I pictured a dressing gown adorned with symbols from Chinese lore -- those emblems that meant great wisdom, happy age.  "Financial acuity" all those things that were special from me to my father.  The merchant sadly told me that it was impossible.   All the old ladies who had done such fine embroidery were dead, gone.  All the younger ones could do and would do was dragons.  Wouldn’t I like a nice robe with dragons? My father never got the robe.

I did, however, have and wear a ring carved with Chinese characters.   It was supposed to be ivory but after sixty years I have faced the fact that in my ignorance I had been had – it was bone.

However it was not entirely useless.  We "several wardroom officers and I" went ashore in Shanghai and the rickshaw coolies gathered around with much "Wulla wulla" I chose the first one who said:

"Whe we go Mista Ta Mu Son?"

My shipmates wanted to know how the coolie knew my name.  I had the easy answer:

"I’m an old China hand"

I went with a recreation group, one other officer, three CPO’s and a dozen white hats to a Chinese resort city where here were no other Americans.  The ensign, the chiefs and I were sitting at a table in a nightclub enjoying the show.   I had my left arm stretched out over the chair back alongside.  One of the Chinese at the next table asked:

"Mr. Thomson, can we practice our English with you?"

Later my group asked me how these strangers had known my name.   Again that ready answer:

Our trip had been arranged by the YMCA who sent with us two Y officials.  One looked after food and lodging; the other saw to our entertainment and education.  The latter went around to the rooms one evening to see that all was well.  That was the evening the five of us were watching that floorshow.   In one of the rooms the Y agent found a sailor alone and he asked what had happened to the young lady he had sent up.  The sailor replied:

"I tried her twice and she showed no signs of improving so I sent her home."

The hotel tried in the dining room to accommodate American tastes.  For dinner they served roast beef.  Hah.   Beef cattle aren’t abundant in China so what we had was roast yak.  Unbelievably tough.  The next day’s lunch featured hamburger from that same sacrificial beast. Unbelievably tough.

We pulled into Tsingtao.  Ah, the stories I could tell about that place.   The XO, the gunnery officer and I went ashore.  We went into a store.  The proprietor approached:

"What you like to see, Mr. Thomson?"

I merely looked aside at my shipmates.  They knew my answer to their question would be:

 "Old China hand."

I don’t know if they ever figured out that what they thought was a normal good luck symbol carved on my ring was the last three characters you will see on the accompanying picture:  Ta Mou Son.  That is the "chop" for Thompson.

I said there were stories about Tsingtao -- I am not sure if the tender ears of a younger generation are ripe for all of them.  My favorite spot in Tsingtao was the great Tsingtao Café. They served good Tsingtao beer there (NOT what has been imported into the U.S, as Tsingtao beer.).  Next-door was an establishment that I never visited but of which I heard good reports. The sign on the front of that building read in large uncompromising letters:

"First Class Brothel."

I mentioned in a previous note the coolie who had become "my" coolie through his reading my name on my ring.  All reason prompts me to disallow the possibility of his having psychic power. My innate good sense and a rather extensive experience with my fellow man causes me to scoff at his being a warlock.   My membership in the International Brotherhood of Magicians, The Society of American Magicians, The Magicians’ Alliance of Eastern States, and sundry local clubs and gathering of magi assure me that his powers in such fields were limited.  Yet, how to account for the fact that although he frequently met me as I stepped off the sixteen hundred liberty boat in Shanghai he never saw me come ashore at any other time. But one night after taps I found that sleeping was not on my mind.   I got out of bunk, dressed and went ashore.  I stopped at the Palace Hotel for a beer.  That was all I wanted I sat there drinking my beer when I heard a clapping of a pair of hands.  I looked up.  There in the door was “my” coolie.

“We go now, Mista Ta mou son.”

What could I do?  He had tracked me down.  So I went for a rickshaw ride to nowhere in particular.

We left Shanghai and sailed to Tsingtao.  After about a month their I got orders detaching me from SPANGLER to go to Guam and take command of PCE897.  I flew from Tsingtao to Shanghai to change planes.  There was no flight out that evening so they put us up at the YMCA in Shanghai.  That was in a part of the city where I had never been – The Y was primarily a hangout for white hats and officers were not in great abundance there.  There was one other LTJG in the flight and I suggested we go to dinner.  We stepped out of the Y in that strange part of the city en route to a part, which we knew better – the Russian Quarter.   I had taken no more than three steps from the Y when I heard a familiar voice:

"We go now, Mista Ta mou son."

I know he wasn’t magic.  I am sure he wasn’t psychic.   I am convinced it was just a coincidence.  For the last sixty years I have been telling myself so and I have almost convinced my audience.

I mentioned the recreational visit to the resort city.  One afternoon while visiting a temple in that ancient and revered city we stopped at a stand that sold souvenirs to the thousands of Chinese who visited the site On the table wee some old coins.  Since the idea of getting a souvenir that I would have to tote about was not appealing I figured a coin would drop handily into the pocket.  I showed the vendor a quarter and pointed to one o the coins.  He nodded okay so I swapped with him without examining it.

On the train going back to Shanghai I showed the coin to Jaykins SM1 who was of our party.  He looked at it and:

"F**k money!"

I was shocked and looked more closely at both sides of the coin:

In later weeks I heard various stories about the provenance of such coinage.  The most believable was that in the days of the Emperor his soldiers were provided with food, lodging, and clothing.  So there was only one kind of merchandise, which required money.  Since the Emperor had a demand on the daughters of his lowborn subjects he set up brothels for the soldiers and these coins were the circulating medium.  The amount of wear on this coin suggests a great deal of circulation by an energetic army.

Later enterprising merchants in Shanghai made copies of the coin -- larger and in cheap brass.

Since these did not circulate the design is easier to see.

I bought ten of them to distribute to my dirty minded friends and family members.

Those who entered the Service in the mid forties or later will not remember the disdain in which white hats were held by civilians.  For them I recommend the reading of Kipling’s Tommy Atkins. There were signs in some cities or parts of some "Norfolk being an example" which welcomed sailors:

Sailors and dogs not allowed.

My own experience is illustrative.  I came ashore in Brooklyn and joined my father and a young relative.  Both of them were properly dressed – suits and hats.  My father was an investment banker and maintained charge accounts in the dining rooms of several better hotels such as the Commodore and the Waldorf.  We went to lunch at the Commodore.  At the hatcheck concession my father left his hat. He got no check as the attendant recognized him.  The relative stepped up, laid down his hat, got his check and turned away.  I stepped up, laid down my white hat, and had it pushed disdainfully back to me.  My father’s back was turned so he didn’t see this.   I stuck my hat in my waistband as I would in any joint.

In the dining room the maitre d’ greeted my father by name and seated us.  The waiter filled our water glasses which we drained while reading the menu.  The waiter refilled the glasses of the other two, not mine.  We ordered.  The food came by which time those two had again emptied their glasses. The waiter refilled them pointedly not filling mine.  I finally asked my father to request that the waiter deign to fill mine.

A striker from the bridge approached me saying that he had been sent by the leading SM to request six feet of waterline.

“Six feet? You want six feet of waterline?  Do you realize that we have a very, very limited amount and can’t replace it?

“Yes, sir.  But Jaykins says get it and that’s what I am doing.”

“Well, all right. But you have to assure me that you signalmen will take damned good care of it.   I can’t have it ruined because you are sloppy or negligent in your work.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll take real good care of it.”

“Okay then you can have the six feet right there.” And I pointed over side to the stretch of waterline just below the discharge from the crew’s head.

The striker went back to the bridge with my message that I expected the bridge strikers to join the next working party over side.

I chortled a bit – but my chortling stopped when I went to the bridge and confronted Jaykins SM1 with the news of the real estate he had acquired.  He was perfectly willing to accept the care and nurturing of the given six feet.

“Just bring it up here by the flag bags – this is our cleaning station.”

Three of us from the wardroom went ashore in Tsingtao one evening.  We sat at a table in the Great Tsingtao Cabaret when a girl of about fourteen asked if we wanted some singing. I asked her what her name was.

“Murphy” she said, “Murphy White.”

“Oh half Chinese, half Fourth Marines.”

“No all Chinese. No Fourth Marines at all.”

So I gave her a couple of bucks to start the singing.

About that time I felt a tug at my sleeve and looked down and there was the most beautiful four-year-old Chinese girl solemnly shaking her finger at me and looking at me accusingly from eyes that reflected all the pain in the world.

“I all pissed off at you.  You give Murphy lotsa two bits.  You don’t give me no two bits at all.”

What could I do?  It was true.   I hadn’t given her any two bitses at all.   So I immediately remedied the situation and gave her some two bitses.  Whereupon she promptly started pulling accusingly on the sleeve of my companion.

“I all pissed off at you.   He give me two bits and you don’t give me no two bits at all.”

Meanwhile Murphy had been joined by her accompanist – an elderly hag of maybe thirty-five.   This star played on that strange stringed instrument that seems only to accommodate the music of Stephen Foster among western composers.

So we had a concert of old favorites from Stephen Foster.   I might say that any joy I might previously have taken from the nostalgic music of that composer was destroyed during my visit to the China coast.

But the most beautiful creature I saw on the China station was “all pissed off at” me.

One afternoon the liberty section from the wardroom (we were on port and starboard liberty in those days) together with the captain and the commodore (the division commander) traipsed ashore together.  Because the commodore was with us we were permitted into the senior officers portion of the officers club (he was a four striper and so entitled to that privilege).

In the course of conversation the captain commented to the commodore on the unfairness of expecting him to run a proper ship when he had so many virgins in the wardroom.  The commodore expressed the proper amount of horror at this evidence of inadequacy of supplies and armament and asked for details.

“Just who are the virgins?”

The captain promptly rattled off a bunch of names which included three who were with us:  LTJG Kreml, LTJG O’Neal, and ENS Foster.

Messers Kreml and O’Neal smiled and looked smug and well pleased with the recognition.  However, Mr. Foster protested that he had graduated from Hollywood High School and should certainly not be so considered.  Both captain and commodore conceded the point.

I protested that I had not been included.

The loud and raucous laughter of all hands present finished that as a topic of conversation.

I wonder where they got the idea that my virginity should be denied.

In the summer of 1945 we got a draft of men aboard which included a COX.   (For those whose service is of more recent years: COX was the abbreviation for coxswain which was the equivalent of what became Boatswain’s Mate Third Class.   When the Navy started keeping records on keypunch devices COX changed to BM3 just as CBM became BMC and CPO became POC.   Those of us who stood fast against change railed and ranted but the shore establishment won – as they always do.)

This COX had an innocent and childlike look most unexpected in one with that salty rate.   On his first day at sea in SPANGLER he was assigned as starboard surface lookout on my afternoon watch.   My Chief of the Watch was one of he saltier CPO’s aboard – in fact one pf the saltiest I have ever met.

Once the watch had settled down the chief approached me.

“Mr. Thompson, who is that kid in the starboard lookout bucket?”

“That, Chief, is our newest coxswain.”

“Real cute.   I’d like to take him down to the boatswain’s stores and bend him on like a Russian boot.”

Well, we had been a long time away from a liberty port.

It was the First Watch about 2200 when I decided to give the watch in after steering a bit of practice.   I called to the steersman.

“Shift steering aft.”

He complied and in about two minutes Colby BM1 was on the bridge pointing out that I had upset the trap that was set.   The Master of Arms force had drilled a hole through the bulkhead between the ship fitter’s shack and after steering and had set a watch there.   At the time I had picked for that drill the trap was about to be sprung.   I quickly shifted steering back to the pilothouse.

I later heard the details.   It seems that Chief Gaynor was upset that so many of his seamen were completely exhausted by certain activity that took place in after steering.   Hence the trap.   When the culprit had been sighted in flagrante delicto the two members of the MAA force called one of the officers who slept in junior officers’ quarters just forward of after steering on the starboard side (the Guinea Pullman).   He was later able to add his testimony to that of the MAA’s.   The perpetrator was discharged as undesirable and the other man was tried and sentenced to hard labor building the breakwater at Guam.

My, didn’t I word that quaintly.?

I very rarely got stuck with duty as shore patrol officer.   One of the occasions when I did was in Tsingtao.   That evening I heard many tales of the House of A Thousand and One Grommets.   (For those of you who do not know what a grommet is: Ask the big boys.)

This house was a favorite destination of the liberty parties.   It had innumerable rooms and countless passageways.   Once you were inside you were lost.   There was no way that by yourself you could find your way out.

There was also no way the shore patrol was going to bother you.   There were rumors of shore patrol parties who had gone in and been lost for days – a dark rumor that there was one party who was still wandering around in there after two months.   Every once in a while some one would hear one of the party call out.   While I didn’t entirely believe that, I was very glad that we had no occasion to go in.

Saltier sailors would start a yarn to tender kids,

“One time when I was in the House of 1001 Grommets in Tsingtao . . . ."

First, we should all be clear on certain differences that existed in the system of Naval justice in the forties and before.   We were governed by the Articles for the Government of the Navy – the AGN -- NOT the Uniform Code of Military Justice – the UCMJ.   A big difference was the absence of lawyers.   The courts were made up of naval officers all of whom knew that the accused was first and foremost a member of the Navy – just as much a part of that Navy as any officer on the court or acting as defense attorney or prosecutor.

A couple of sailors on an LST in Shanghai were charged with involuntary manslaughter.   I was detailed by the admiral who was SOPA (Senior Officer Present Afloat) to act as defense attorney and a young Maine first lieutenant was prosecuting.   The two of us caught a ride over to the LST to interview the CO, the shipmates, and the accused.

Good Lord.   I couldn’t find a single man aboard that ship who had a good word for those two.   The general opinion was that they were rotten.   When I heard from all the witnesses I was absolutely positive that the worst thing that could happen to those two would be for the court to hear the witnesses.

I told the two to plead guilty and throw themselves on the mercy of the court.   I thought that with a good statement that I would write the court might be lenient.   I knew that if they heard he truth there would be no leniency but instead the absolute maximum punishment.

The facts were that the two were head cleaners and they had caught one of the Chinese workers on board defecating in a washbasin and had thrown him over side where he had promptly drowned.   One did that if thrown into the Huangpo River – one had no chance in those currents.

My plan was to have them plead that they were so outraged that they had acted hastily and under the stress of emotion.   I thought that presenting them to the court as a couple of nice clean American kids whose natural decency was outraged would lead to clemency.

However, the truth of the matter was that they had mercilessly beaten the coolie while their shipmates tried to stop them.   Add to that that while they were prisoners at large awaiting trial they had gone AWOL.   Every one of their shipmates to whom I spoke hoped fervently that the court would throw the book at them.

In the boat going back to the flagship after we had done our interviews the Marine said he was going to the Admiral when we got back and ask that the charge be changed from involuntary manslaughter to voluntary manslaughter.   I knew two things:  1. That he could prove that charge without a bit of trouble;  2. That the punishment for voluntary manslaughter is one hell of a lot more than that for involuntary.

At that point I did the one thing I could do for my clients.   I broke out in hysterical laughter.   I taunted that Marine to go right ahead and get the charge changed.   I assured him I could beat that rap standing on my head.

Cisco was just salty enough to convince that young officer and he didn’t have the guts to get the charge changed.

When the court convened I was pleased to see that one of the officers on the court was a chaplain.   I watched him while I read the men’s statements (which I had written.   I didn’t’ want them opening their mouths in front of that court -- it would have hung them for sure).   The chaplain smiled at them as if to reassure them that a couple of nice clean American boys like themselves could not be expected to act other than they had.

I watched the chaplain as the judge advocate read the records of previous conviction.   When it became apparent that they had gone AWOL while waiting trial the chaplain’s jaw set and all mercy and forgivingness left his face.

The rest of the court agreed and the lads got the maximum for involuntary manslaughter.   If I hadn’t laughed at Marine they would have had the maximum for voluntary manslaughter.

So a good laugh paid off.

Many people on the China coast – in both Shanghai and Hong Kong lived in sampans.   They were born and grew up in them.   I mentioned before that the current in the Huangpo were treacherous.   As a precaution to make sure that they didn't drown if they fell overboard little boys wore a large gourd attached at all times.   This was very effective flotation gear and gave the parents the assurance that the youngster was safe.

Little girls had to learn to keep their balance and use great care.

I have mentioned the dangers of swimming in the Huangpo.   The waters off Hong Kong in contrast invited swimming and many kids swam from sampans there.

There was a group – not my Kowloon Master Divers – who were swimming nearby.   The group included the boss – by my reckoning about eleven years old, the apprentice – about five, and the diver – about nine. The diver was naked and cold – very naked and very cold -- shivering most of the time.   The apprentice had big eyes that watched everything.   No doubt he could see his future.

The boss made sure the diver went in for the coins I would throw.   I tossed in a coin.   The boss spoke.   His voice had no endearing quality – he had the makings of a chief boatswain’s mate.   The diver dove.   Usually he was successful in retrieving the coin I tossed before it had gone very deep.   He came up and sat in the sampan shivering until I tossed another.

Obviously he could not have retrieved any that went to the bottom in the harbor.   If one got away from him the boss spoke.   I don’t speak Chinese so I do not know what he said but I can be sure from general tone and reaction that it was neither gentle nor loving.   The diver sat and shivered.

For over an hour I tossed coins idly. For over an hour the diver shivered.   When I ran out I went below and got some more.   When I had finished I realized that I had thrown more than five dollars worth of nickels and dimes into the water.   That was more than I spent on a good liberty sometime.

I faced the reality.   I could have bought that kid for less than five dollar, s--- bought him and kept him on the quarterdeck.   When I wanted to see him dive all I had to do was kick him over the side.   He could have shivered on SPANGLER.

But no, I had to buy retail when I could have bought wholesale.

When we were due to leave the West Coast for China in late winter of 1946 I decided to apply myself to the study of Chinese.   After all, I could read at a pretty tolerable level both French and Spanish.   I had been able to pass myself off to the tourists as a Portaguee during the summer of 1941,   (I have since become fairly competent at Greek and have studied Japanese.   Language never was particularly difficult.)

In those days there were no learning tapes, no videos.   It was straight from the book.   So it was to the book I went.

I will assure you that by the time we fetched up in Hong Kong I could speak, read, and write the expression:

“The man is in the valley.   The cow is on the mountain.”

I found, however, that I had absolutely no opportunity to introduce those fascinating topics into any conversation so I gave up the study.

I did, however, learn some useful expressions for directing rickshaws – such as “Custom Jetty”.   “Russian Tearoom”.   “Race Track.” “Stop” “Wait”

And those quintessential bits:   “How much?   “Too much”

I always during my many years at sea remembered what the old timer told me in my younger days:

“A sailor needs to learn three things in every language:

        1.to order a meal,

        2. to make love, and

        3.to swear.”

However, dear to my heart is what the old chief told me when he heard the above sage advice:

“Nonsense, son, all you need to learn is to make love.   The women will feed you.   Their husbands will teach you to swear.”

It is to my assiduous attention to what the old chief taught than I today owe my skill at polylingual swearing.

You may wonder how the officers could speculate about men with whom they had little contact.  Well, I'll tell you.  We censored mail. In that way we knew pretty much who could express themselves and who were absolute ignoramuses.  It wasn't what was written so much as how it was written.  There wasn't discussion about what men had written but the amount of promise for future development.  We would speculate on a man's chances in college or in business.  Since that was before the GI bill chances for college were far more limited than they became after passage of that act.  Any way, Walsh and Kendzior were among what we considered sure things for successful careers.  And this is, of course, NOT something to be posted although if you communicate directly with Walsh you could tell him that that is the kind of impression he made. (I'm pretty sure Guy was referring to the War years when secrecy was critical...His mentioning of Walsh and Kendzoir was part of an email he sent me concerning the Spangler's new Chat Zone...In it,   he said, "I would like to see Colby and Walsh chime in.  I am sure that Colby would remember me and am equally sure that Walsh wouldn't.  He may have a vague memory that there was an officer called Cisco but I doubt if he ever heard my name.  He had no occasion to speak with me and vice versa. He was an electrician's mate and I never had any dealings with the black gang.   I knew him by sight as did all the officers.  He and his pal Kendsior were a team that were always seen together and we had high hopes for them after the war.   I have often wondered if they were as successful as we anticipated they would be." -- by Wayne Dorough)

This ties back to the story Bill Erwin tells in his Memoir about the young ensign that accidently fired a 45-caliber pistol while standing OOD duties.

I appreciate those stories.  However, I would like to comment on, perhaps clarify one.

First, The ensign on the quarterdeck was not -- as ensigns go -- particularly "new"  After all, I was the highest paid ensign in the ship.  I had one fogey and a big leg on the next.

Second, I was not "with a new toy".  I had worn a 45 on the landings in the Philipines the night my boat crew (from the USS Ward) and I spent in a foxhole on the first landing on the return to those Islands.  We landed the troops that knocked out the radars making it safe for MacArthur's forces to come in three days later.  Granted, I didn't get much use out of it that night as it was the only usable weapon that I and my nine sailors had.  I let them take turns holding it all night long.  Helped alleviate the anxiety.  That particular sidewarm was my own private property -- not government issue.  I lost it when we abandoned the USS WARD after she was struck and sunk by a kamikaze.

Third, it wasn't night but 1600.  That I did something stupid there is no denying.  That it arose from the vain cocksuredness endemic among ensigns is a given. That I was then and have been since covered with chagrin and embarassment I fully confess.  My relief was there and I prepared to hand ovewr the duties and sidearm of the OOD.

I withdrew the weapon from its holster and, of course, inspected it before passing on.  Yeah, that is what I should have done.  I pulled back the slide as I had done so many times.  I forgot just one leeetle detail -- I didn't eject the magazine first.  I pulled the trigger as I had done so many times.   And I forgot just one more leeetle detail -- I didn't glance in the chamber first.

And one other detail I forgot -- I didn't point the pistol up in the air before pulling that trigger.

Now, Irwin, not having been on the quarterdeck at the time, may not have known of the further embarrassing detail: the XO stepped on the quarter deck while we were still fanning the smoke from our nostrils and the reverberations were still in our ears.

Six months later in Beverly Hills My father and stepmother who had come West to see their war hero son were entertaining me and a couple other SPANGLER officers at dinner.  At dinner one of those told the story of that quarterdeck fiasco.  My embarrassment was perpetuated.

In response to an email from Wayne Dorough asking if Guy witnessed the sinking of the USS Aaron Ward, given that the ship was escorting USS Ward APD-16 at the time near Tulaghi in the Solomon Islands, Guy responded:

I didn't join WARD until after the action in which AARON WARD was lost.  However, if you want a coincidence try this on for size.

Aboard SPANGLER there was a general feeling of being cheated.  Every man in the service during a war is plagued by a feeling of wanting to know the ultimate truth about himself: how would he react in the face of extreme peril -- how would he feel under fire -- does he have what it takes?  SPANGLER had a remarkable talent for, luck in, sailing into a port just as an attack ceased and sailing away just before the next one.  When we went to Iwo Jima we could hear the action and attacks over the radio before we got there.  While we were there quiet reigned.

There was much grumbling over this being cheated of our war.  There were two crew members who did not voice such complaints. One was a seaman whose name I have forgotten --- he was a survivor of AARON WARD.  I was the other -- a survivor of WARD.  We chatted on several occasions about our satisfaction with the status quo.  We both knew the answers to those questions to our own satisfaction.

When I first went aboard Spangler I took over the Second Division.  Division Petty Officer was Colby, BM1 -- the best division petty officer I knew in all my years at sea. War ended, Colby was transferred, Gayner CBM of First Division was transferred, many of the officers were released to civilian life.  I took over as First Lieutenant (head of the hull department until two years later when it was combined with gunnery).  I also took over the First Division and left Second Division to a brand new ensign and a BM1.  That BM1 was one of the best scholars of English poetry that I have known.  That ensign lacked those pendulous brazen appurtenances that a good deck officer must have.  From a sharp and snappy division that division deteriorated to an unkempt mob.  Every morning I would pass them at quarters as I made my way to the fantail for officers' quarters.  I would later growl at the ensign.

The climax came on a day when in preparation for some maneuver I had the word passed for both divisions to fall in on the forecastle so I could give them the word.  First Division fell in in two ranks, sleeves rolled down, shirts tucked in, caps squared.  Second Division sauntered up, most with shirts unbuttoned, all with sleeves rolled up, caps anyhow on their heads. The division officer was equally unkempt.  They did not fall in but sort of gathered round.

After I put out the necessary word and dismissed them the Second Division BM came to me and said, "Mr., Thompson, I am ashamed of my division."

Now those are terrible words to hear -- terrible words for a man to have to say.  I went straight to the XO and arranged to have Second Division combined with First Division.  In order to let the blameless avoid disgrace I put out the word that I did it because there were some good softball players in the Second Division and I wanted them for the First Division so that we could beat C Division or the snipes.  The XO and I -- and of course the CO -- knew it was because of the lackadaisical ensign.

Note from webmaster: In case you are wondering, "pendulous brazen appurtenances," simply put, are "brass balls." -- Yes, I had to ask! ,

I remember the time we were station ship in Hong Cong and after we left there and had all the trouble after we were at sea and broke the starboard shaft and the fire in the after motor room and we were dead in the water and almost lost the ship and then after many hours was able to get under way on the port shaft.  Russell (Nelson) and I took part in getting power back,hooking up emergency power for the port main motor. (This incident occurred during one of the worst typhoons the Spangler experience, certainly during the 1954 - 1958 time frame. We would love to hear from any onboard at the time who recalls the typhoon and any damages resulting from it.)

Dorough phoned the other day and I asked if he knew the whereabouts of Andrs Hanson.  Every time I think about that guy I get embarrassed.  He slept in the bunk at the end of mine (recall back in those days we slept head to toe). I came back aboard one night in Yokosuka drunk as a skunk, drooling at the mouth a little.  So the guys heaved me in my bunk, with my head unfortunately in the wrong direction.  The fluid flew all over Hanson's face!  Poor guy!  He wasn't too happy about it!  So they then fixed me up with a bunk over by Ted Kapala.  I'd sure like to see Hanson and apologize!

I caught up with the Spangler in Pearl Harbor in July '57, straight out of boot camp.  The first night we were at sea some of the guys were having a little fun with me and asked if I knew what was for chow that evening.  I laughed and said "Greasy pork chops!"  They laughed back and said, "Yep, that's what we are having!"   And, sure enough, that's what we had that evening, greasy pork chops!  I've never been so sick as I was after eating chow that evening.   I climbed up the ladder from the galley and went on deck, I was so sick I didn't know what I was doing. I was throwing up all over the place!  Fortunately someone else cleaned it up, I discovered, I didn't!  The ocean ws so calm it was like a looking glass.  I went under the tarp of one of the deck guns and they couldn't find me until some one seen my foot sticking out from under the tarp.  They though I had fallen over board and I caught hell, but at the time I really didn't care.

Some of you may recall my brother Stoney, short for Phil J. Stoneburner.  He passed away not too long back.   Anyway, the two of us were aboard the Spangler for a time together and one evening he takes me over to Tyjuana.   I'm sure some of you recall what that's like!  I ended up drinking a little more than I should have. And as we crossing the bridge heading back to San Diego later that evening, Stony said, "Hey, you better straighten up!  There's a shore patrol station ahead and they'll get you for sure!"  I snapped to and straightened right up.  We made it passed the station and got about a half-block and Stony said, "Whew! Looks like we made it this time!"

But about this same time we heard the shore patrol coming running up behind us. Sure enough, they grabbed me and threw me in the brig. Stoney tried talking them out of, asking to let me return to the ship, explaining that I was only 17 and only recently came aboard.  They said, "If you don't want to spend a night in the brig too, you better hush up and move on!"  Unfortunately, they didn't have a bunk in there and I was wearing whites.  So by the time I slept on the floor all night and thrown up, my uniform was filthy.  To top it off when I got out the following morning and made it back to the pier, the Spangler had already pulled out.  I jumped in a water taxi and caught up with the it before it got out of the harbor, but had to jump to do get aboard.  When my feet hit the deck, I slipped and went sliding across on my butt.  By now my whites were really black!  Stoney came up about that time and said, "Get your ass below and get cleaned up before they catch you!"  Then he made a visit to the Old Man while I was doing that to explain the situation.  Fortunately, the Old Man was a pretty nice guy and forgave me, thanks to Stoney.

After the big letdown of being at sea again following our stay in Auckland, and being so near the equator, we needed a break big time!  So on arriving at Manus Island the CO let us go ashore for a little R&R.  We had a hell of a time!  Dick Lalicker and I returned to the ship drunk as skunks!  Dick no sooner stepped aboard and he pulled off his jersey and threw it overboard.  And what did I do, I dove overboard after it!  Yeah, in my present state I forgot these were shark infested waters.  BM1 Langschwager rushed to the side, grabbed a throw line, tied a loop in it and threw it at me.  I managed to stuggle into it enough to get it around my chest and under my arms pits and he began to pull me in. The damn roap nearly ripped my arms off and as he was pulling me up the side of the ship I hit my head on something and had to have stiches. But, damn it, I had that jersey!

According to my memory, because I was very sick with double pneumonia running a very high temperature and they (the ship on it's way to New Zealand in January '67) were trying to get to a port quickly.  Our ordinary course would have been to continue on the line we were  By the time we got to Kwajalen I was better from the intravenous penicillan and other drugs so we left port and continued south.  I contracted this disease because I was sunning every day on the bow, and I was warned about sun overexposure in the tropics.  My hard head has gotten me in trouble many times since.

When we were in Manus I played basketball against the Aussies, they took me out of the game at half time because I had already scored 20 pts.  I met and drank with an Aussie E.M. and we struck up a friendship.  He took me by jeep out to an airfield with hundreds of abandoned fighter planes with the jungle growing up around them.  An incredible sight.  Then we drank more and he deposited me at the landing.  By that time we had swaped uniforms so when I got back to the ship I was written up by the deck officer.  Not the first time either.

When we were in Auckland I was hanging out with the Chief Boats in a hotel and we were very drunk.  We arrived back at Devonport very late but saw a pub that was open we stayed a while longer then on to the ship passing the NZ mess hall where the guys came out and gave us their shots of rum for lunch.  We obviously needed that.  We rolled and stumbled back to the ship after noon, were arrested and went to Captains Mast out to sea that afternoon.   Our only saving grace that we did not all get busted was the Chief Boats. But I was not allowed to go for RM2 because of this incident.  Yes I remember Auckland well!

While in Yokosuka our radio shack decided to have a party over at some hotel, as I recall. I decided that I would make martini's, my parents favorite drink at home.  Got the Comm officer to get me some Vermouth and I got some gin and off we went with olives to the hotel.  Got very drunk, once again, and I had made very strong martinis.

We tried to do our normal thing and booze and cruise the hotel for ladies.  To drunk to do much I took a cab back to the ship which was in drydock. Got to the top of the long gangway with a short thick railing and tripped and rolled all the way down the gangway to the quarterdeck of the Spangler.  The watch escorted me to my rack and that was that. But looking back on that event and considering the drop into the dry dock I am lucky to be alive.

When we were in Osaka, Richard Ralph and I went on a trip to Takarazaka, Nara and Kyoto (I thought by ourselves).  We fell in love with the girls at the Opera, marveled at the Buda in Nara and toured around several of the palaces of the Japanese royalty, went to a tea ceremony and in general saw a part of Japan that was quite exquisite.  Back in Osaka we walked up to a policeman that spoke English and asked him where we could get some great food. "Oh, my family always eats at this restaurant it is great." We had a Sukayaki dinner, then got neck rubs and sat back.  Ralph says to me, I am still hungry. I said, Yeah, lets do it again.  So we surprised our waiters by doing the whole thing all over again.  Never ever forget that meal.

As a QM (Wayne), did you work for Arsenault?  I thought that he was a great sailor. On a stormy cruise to Alaska, Jim Hall(XO & Navigator) took to his bunk and I (Wardroom flunky and Asst. Navigator on the organization chart) was blessed with being the navigator for the cruise(& we were the flagship!).  Arsenault helped me a lot, particularly because the storm allowed only Loran fixes and they were pretty shaky at the higher latitudes.  There is a funny story involved about this that I've got to write-up sometime.  Let's just say that I didn't finish the cruise as the navigator.  When Dick Mathews left the ship for a job as XO/Navigator on an LST, he got Arsenault transferred with him to cover the navigator part of the job.

While on manuvers in the Pacific we burned up the main exciter aboard ship and had to put in Subic Bay Phillipines for major repairs. I intoduced the officers to my mothers famous Pizza late one night. The following week pizza was on the main menue

I remember we had dropped the anchor (off one of the South Pacific Islands) and I was still in the forward engine room (my sea detail station) and someone came down and said to us, "You won't believe what's coming to the ship."  When I got top side there was an out-rigger canoe along side and several natives sitting in it.  A white guy with white hair and beard and dressed in white had come aboard and was on his way to see the captain.  Turned out, I'm told, he was some sort of British missionary and had been on the island for 30 years and wanted us to show a movie to the villagers.  I have always assumed that I and about 6 other guys went ashore in the motor whale boat.  I sure don't recall doing any wading(as with the liferaft).

I can't remember who all went ashore but I always have thought there were 7 of us.  Is there anyway to find out if the squadron chaplain was riding the Spangler at that time?  (Are who the other guys might be?). Anyway, 2 or 3 of us set the projector up in the abode of the missionary.  It was up on stilts and open on all 4 sides. We pointed the projector toward acouple of palm trees between which we hung a sheet of white (or at least light colored ) canvas.  The, since there seemed to be quite a bit of daylight left, we were given a tour around the village.  And, while being guided along some paths through the jungle a lot of debris was pointed out to us and we were told it was left over from the war.  It was fascinating! The it was time for the movie which was titled "Away All Boats" I have no idea who chose it or why.  We must have had a batch of movies aboard at the time.

There waa huge crowd.  I knew that they couldn't have all lived in that village so I guess they just came from other parts of the island...Afterward, we disassembld our equipment and got ready to come back to the ship and the one of our group that I always think of as the chaplain asked the missionary if he thought the people there would sing for us.  I have no idea why.  But in no time at all they had us seated on some benches in something that looked like little back yard gazebo with a whole gob of islanders sitting on the ground in front of us and they began to sing.  And it was great. It wasn't in english, of course so we didn't know what they were singing about but it was like nothing I had ever heard before and it reminde me of a cross, maybe, between Gospel and blues.  The voices were like, enourmous.  You could feel the lower ones and almost see the higher ones.  When they finished we were asked if, since they had sung for us, if we would sing for them.  I don't know who made the inane decision that we would, but after a little hasseling we figured out that the only song we all probably knew was "You Are My Sunshine".  So we did it.  And they loved it.  They wanted us to do more.  So we did "You Are My Sunshine".

And they asked for more.  Boy, they must have been starved for some kind of diversion.  Anyway, we did "You Are My Sunshine" AGAIN! Finally we came back to the ship.

Okay.  Now.  It's several years later, I'm guessing about ten.  Marge and I are at home one evening, the twq kids are there, too and we're watching a TV show called I've Got A Secret .  You must have heard of it.  There would be three contestants come on together and one of them had a secret about who they were or something they had done, etc.  Then a celebrity panel would try to guess the secret.  On this particular evening three women showed up and the secret was that one of them, along with her husband and another couple had made some ridiculously long journey across the Pacific in a small sail boat.  So, at the end, when the right woman and the secret had been revealed, the host said something like "Wow, you must have had some interesting experiences along the way".  And she said, "Yes.  I rember Once...." And she told how once when approaching a small island in the Pacific an out-rigger came out to meet them and as they got closer they realized that the natives were not only singing, but were singing "You Are My Sunshine".  When they later asked how they knew that song they were told that some US sailors had taught it to them several years earlier.  Believe it or not.