As a teenager I envied Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn and any other boy who lived close to a river or lake. We had only small creeks nearby. I longed to paddle a boat on a river and swim in a large body of water. Each spring my brothers, cousins, and I did our best to compensate for this handicap by building a pond.

When school let out for the summer, our thoughts turned to building a pond on one of the nearby creeks. Sometimes we cooled off by taking off our clothes and sitting on the Slick Rock in a creek on my Dad’s land. But the creek banks there were low and not suitable for building a pond. Our more successful ponds were made at Uncle Will Outen’s creek where the banks were about shoulder high to us at the time.

The building was done with several shovels. We took turns with the shovels, but we never got the creek shut off on the first day of work. There was too much dirt to move for that. Generally, on the first day we extended the dam from the two banks, leaving just room enough in the middle for the creek to flow. The next day when we were refreshed, we would complete the job.

The decision to shut off this flow of water was tense and dramatic. It meant that we were committed to the job of staying ahead of the rising water. If we failed to do that, the dirt piled up the previous day would be washed away. We worked steadily until the dam was high enough to make the water flow out the runaround or spillway that we had prepared on the bank.

Often the dam sagged as the water rose against it, because in our rush to make it high, we neglected to make it thick enough. When we planned ahead, we left a plentiful supply of dirt near the dam for the shutting off and staying ahead of the rising water.

Once the dam was sufficiently high, the runaround would carry the normal volume of the creek. Then the dam was threatened only when a thunderstorm caused the level of the creek to rise. After a thunderstorm, if the flow of the creek was too great for the runaround to carry it, the water running over the dam would break it.

But even without a rainstorm, there was danger that our new dam would sag and wash away that first night after we shut off the creek. On shutoff day plus one, we could hardly wait to see how the pond had faired during the night. Usually it stood glimmering and full, but on a few disappointing mornings, we rushed to the site only to see the small creek flowing through a broken dam.

Usually we continued to build on the dam every day after the pond had survived its first test. We broadened it and made a path across it. Our footpath on the dam served to pack the soil and provide a means of crossing and adding dirt to the dam. But before we put finishing touches to the dam, we took our first swim, being careful to avoid making waves that might splash across the top.

Throughout the summer we worked in the cotton fields or did some other kind of work in the morning. Then we took a quick lunch and ran from our house through the woods and across Outen’s pasture to the pond. In a week or so, we had worn a path.

After our first swim, we would make our way through the woods beyond the pond to the open fields of Loyd Goodnight’s farm. From the edge of the woods we could see Rick Wright’s June apple trees in the distance, about two hundred yards away. Next we surveyed the fields to see whether anyone was working there. If we saw anyone working, we passed along the gulley that split the fields in the direction of the trees. In the early years there were plum bushes along this gulley and these sometimes bore fruit.

But in June we filled our pockets with apples from Mr. Wright’s trees and carried them back to the pond and bobbed for apples as we swam. In the middle of the afternoon we reluctantly went back to work in the fields or to do some other task that Dad had set for us to do that day.

By word-of-mouth the gear-jammers in Yellowstone learned about recreational possibilities around the Park. The first places I heard about were the hot-water swimming holes in several rivers. The Firehole, which begins up near Old Faithful, flows north through geyser basins and picturesque meadows, and then plunges down into a canyon before reaching Madison Junction where it becomes part of the Madison River. In that canyon a hot spring flows into the river and makes the water warm enough for bathing.

A similar place occurs on the Yellowstone River as it nears Gardiner. The road from Mammoth Hot Springs winds down near this spot on its way to North Gate at Gardiner. In these places, savages (the name we used for Park employees) gathered on their days off to bathe at spots where hot springs warmed the river water.

I have spent several pleasant afternoons lounging in these places. On one occasion a blond black bear crashed through the Firehole River just in front of me and my companion as we sat on a blanket beside the river. Black bears– especially a female with cubs–can be dangerous.

Rules prohibiting the feeding of bears are more rigorously enforced today than they were in the 1960’s. Forty odd years ago tour bus drivers frequently came upon “bear jams” along the Park roads. At these places tourists by the dozens would abandon their cars on the road to go get a close look at a bear–often a female bear with cubs. Bears commonly became beggars at places along the roads where tourists threw food from their cars.

Most grizzly bears stayed away from Park roads. But Park employees could find them at certain places like the garbage dump at West Yellowstone. One of the sporting things we did was to drive down to the dump at night and watch from our cars as grizzlies fed on trash there.

Sometimes experienced gear-jammers were given plush assignments driving limousines. My brother got some of these jobs which could last a day or more. One of his assignments in the limo included a trip to Glacier Park. Another time he took executives of the Conoco firm on a tour. He picked them up at Red Lodge, took them through the Park for a couple of days, and ended up in Teton Park.

Gear-jammers who didn’t get many assignments to Jackson Hole went there on days off. The movie Shane which was filmed there in the 1950’s was fresh in memory at the time, and I recall going by the Jackson Lodge one evening when the film was being shown to guests.

The tour-bus business run by Yellowstone Park Company began about the 1920’s as part of an arrangement with the Union Pacific Railroad. In those days few cars were driven into the Park, and tourists arrived at depots like the one at West Yellowstone. YPC buses went by the dozens to the depot to pick up an arriving train-load of tourists.

After the 1960’s the little yellow White tour buses were phased out. Tourists now come in overwhelming numbers in their own cars and campers. I have noticed that Glacier Park still operates the little buses in small numbers. (There they are painted red, not yellow.) But it has been rumored that Yellowstone considered reinstating the little buses. It would make sense for the Park to do that because it could reduce the heavy private-vehicle traffic.

My brother Paul and I arrived at Gardiner, Montana, on a May afternoon in 1960 and checked in at the Yellowstone Park Company headquarters. We signed up as tour-bus drivers for the summer, were assigned buses, and took care of other details related to the work. Then we drove up the winding road into the Park, passed the Mammoth Hotel, and parked at the concessions café near the gas station. It was a traditional gathering spot for returning drivers at the beginning of the summer season.

Jack saw us first and came out to greet Paul. “I see you’ve got that savage haircut, Paul,” he said and laughed as he rubbed his own head which also sported a close haircut. The practice of getting close haircuts was based on their theory that these cuts made them more attractive to the girls working in the Park and to the young women among their tourist passengers. Jack leaned over, pretending to speak confidentially, and said to me,”Watch out, your brother Paul is a hound dog.  He will steal your girl.”

I was introduced to several other gear-jammers, and we went inside to have refreshments. A jukebox in the corner was playing “Scotch and Soda, jigger of gin,” by the Kingston Trio. It turned out that if a certain procedure was used in selecting songs, the jukebox could be made to play without putting any money in it. So it played constantly. George, another one of my brother’s friends from summers past, showed up.
George worked at the Mammoth Hotel and was tour-bus dispatcher. His dropping by prompted one of the perennial gear-jammer jokes. Paul asked, “George, what run do you have for me tomorrow?” George, taking the cue,  answered, “Well, Paul, if you think you can handle it, I need somebody to drive to Pocatella, Idaho, to pick up a bus load of chorus girls.”

The next morning I joined  a half dozen other new drivers for the beginning of a two-day introductory tour of the Park. In charge of us was “Tiger” who had driven tour buses almost thirty years before. In those earlier days he had become completely devoted to the Park. When I was there, he managed the tour bus portion of the company’s tourist transportation business. He earned the nickname Tiger because of his gruff way of speaking, but over the summer I learned what a soft-hearted, sentimental guy he was. In the evenings he often joined the gear-jammers at a watering hole in Gardiner and told stories of by-gone summers. I think he relived his own experiences through his work with the drivers he supervised.

Our introductory tour was taken on a 1938 White bus, the model we would be driving. It required double-clutching when gearing down. When we took turns driving that day, the pressure was on to avoid scraping the gears when shifting. In addition to learning to handle the bus, we became familiar with the geography of the Park and important sites which we were to point out to our passengers. We were given handbooks that enabled us to continue our education about Yellowstone throughout the summer.

Recreation for off-duty drivers included having drinks with the gang down at Gardiner or out in West Yellowstone. We thought nothing of piling in one of our cars and driving seventy miles or so in the evening to get to other towns in that country. Many of the bus drivers had cars at the Park, but one could not count on having his own at the place where he ended up at night. So we scattered our cars around and shared the ride.

Both Gardiner and West Yellowstone were small towns in those days and very “western.” Genuine cowboys showed up on weekends to shake off the dust and have a cool one. Today Gardiner is still about the same size. But West Yellowstone has changed a great deal and most of its streets are paved. I hardly knew the place when I visited there recently.

A few summers in the early 1960’s I worked as a tour-bus driver in Yellowstone Park. My brother Paul had been spending his summers that way for a while. He had been there several years earlier when a serious earthquake hit the Park. A campground was covered by the resulting landslide along the Madison River. When Paul invited me to come along to try “gear-jamming,” I was between jobs before starting college, so we drove out to Wyoming in his blue 1956 Buick, spending the several nights along the way in inexpensive motels.

The employees of the Yellowstone Park Company were mostly college students, working there to earn a bit of money to help pay tuition and such. That company operated the touring and hotel businesses for the Park. Another big company, Hamilton Stores, operated other parts of the business there. College girls and some men worked in the hotels and stores.

Most of the older men and women working in Yellowstone had fallen in love with the job during their youth. Afterward, through fall, winter, and spring, they had other jobs that permitted them the luxury of continuing to work in the Park’s hotels or stores during the summer.

In those days gear-jammers formed a kind of fraternity. They were, by and large, college-aged men. They were paid a modest amount by the company, but tips from the “dudes” (tourists) could improve earnings substantially. Still, most of the drivers were as interested in the numerous female employees as they were in the money they could make during the summer.

Gear-jammers had their own bunkhouse at each major point in the Park. They carried a change of clothes and a shaving kit on the bus. Where they spent the night depended on what assignments they were given during the day by the dispatcher. Near the town of West Yellowstone, a bunkhouse sat down on the bank of the Madison River. Other bunkhouses were located in Mammoth Hot Springs, Canyon Village, Yellowstone Lake, and Old Faithful.

A typical half-day run for a tour bus was a trip between two of these points. For example, a morning run for a driver might be to take a load of dudes from Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel to the Old Faithful Hotel. Then in the afternoon, he might take a load from Old Faithful to Yellowstone Lake Hotel. But sometimes a morning or afternoon job might be something like a short sight-seeing trip from Old Faithful to the Norris Geyser Basin and back. Less often a driver spent a half-day waiting at the bunkhouse for an assignment. When we were sent with an empty bus to some place to pick up tourists, that was called “dead-heading.”

Romances frequently blossomed for gear-jammers. And when this happened to a driver at—say—-Canyon Village, he prayed for assignments during the day that would put him at Canyon for the night. The greatest fear he had was that another driver would become too friendly with the girl while he was elsewhere. But there were plenty of girls, and it was not uncommon for a driver to be preventing home-sickness for a different girl in every village in the Park.

When I was about ten, the coming of Easter was a harbinger of the wonderful summer season that lay ahead. School would soon be out, and we would be freed spirits. The numerous carefree days stretched before me like a dream that just might forestall forever the return of autumn and the obligation to go back to school.

By the first of June we had been going without shoes for a couple of months. We started thinking of the summer as soon as new leaves budded and blossoms appeared on the enormous pear tree at our back door. That tree was one solid vision of white. On those mornings, I awoke to a multitude of bird songs far and near. The woods invited us with splashes of pink maple and white dogwood blossoms, with distant crow calls, and with the odor of damp leaves and flowers.

Although Easter can come quite early in the spring as it did last year, our mother usually allowed us to start going barefooted at Easter. But she had certain rules about it. She insisted, for example, that we not walk barefooted on the dew-drenched grass in the morning. She believed that its poison can cause infections. So we wore shoes on the colder days and didn’t really discard our shoes until school let out for the summer about the end of May.

By fall our leathery feet had outgrown last winter’s shoes, and one of the standard rituals of preparing for school in the fall was to be fitted with a new pair of cowhide shoes. These were not dressy footwear, but they were very sensible for boys who waded mud puddles, crawled through the dirt, and kicked rocks.

When Easter morning came, usually some of the family would go to the sunrise services at Saint Enoch Church. Others waited to go to the regular Sunday morning services. But on Easter mornings I awoke to the sound of brass music from our radio. Mom tuned our old Philco radio to the Moravian Easter broadcast from Winston-Salem. While we listened, Mom washed our faces and ears with a soapy wash cloth which she had dipped into a wash pan of water, warmed on the wood cookstove in the kitchen.

On other similar Sunday mornings throughout the summer, going through much the same ritual, we listened to the Renfro Valley broadcast which was a nostalgic program about a community of people singing old hymns and reverently recalling their traditions. And on Saturday mornings we listened to Let’s Pretend sponsored by Buster Brown shoes. "Woof, woof—that’s my dog, Tag. He lives in a shoe. I’m Buster Brown; look for me in there too!"

At noon on Easter Sunday we enjoyed one of Mom’s most elaborate meals. The dishes were not exotic, but they were special to us. There would be potato salad with boiled eggs chopped into it, some meat like beefstew, and banana pudding for dessert.

My oldest brother Lawrence never let us forget the story of Mom preparing a cake on Saturday for Sunday dinner (the noon meal) and hiding it from us boys. She hid it in the "Sunday Trunk." I don’t know how it became known as the "Sunday trunk," but that name distinguished it from another trunk that Mom had inherited from her mother. The Sunday trunk had a dome shaped lid, whereas the other trunk had a flat one. In the flat-topped trunk she kept important papers, stamps, letters, and ration coupons during World War II.

On the occasion of the hidden cake, some of us boys sniffed it out and could not resist pinching some of the icing for a taste. When Mom took out the cake and found the damage, she thought a mouse had been into it and threw it away. We must have hated to see that delicacy go to waste but did not tell her we were the guilty mice.

On Easter afternoon we hunted colored eggs. On the night before, all the children helped to color the eggs and experimented with colors by dipping the eggs in several different dyes arrayed in serving bowls on the dining table. Mom usually boiled several dozen eggs for this occasion. She had saved lots of them from our chickens which, by this time of year, were laying profusely.

Dad, who did the shopping for groceries, would bring tablets for preparing the egg coloring. We had paper drawings to be transferred to the colored eggs, and the process of printing these crucifixes, bunnies, and stars to the eggs involved pressing the drawing to the egg with a cloth and then dipping the cloth-covered egg into a saucer of vinegar. The odor of vinegar filled the kitchen area as we worked around the dining table. Invariably, a few eggs were broken as they were boiled or colored, but we never complained. We liked eating eggs better than hunting them.

When I was about ten, the coming of Easter was a harbinger of the wonderful summer season that lay ahead. School would soon be out, and we would be freed spirits. The numerous carefree days stretched before me like a dream that just might forestall forever the return of autumn and the obligation to go back to school.

from   SERVING ABOARD LCS 11 in WWII    by LBS

On January 3, 1946, we departed Shanghai aboard LCS 11 and arrived at the outer harbor of Sasebo, Japan, on January the 5th.    By January the 8th we were in a floating dry dock.  On the 11th we left the dry dock and tied up at Charlie dock.  Our ship was being prepared for her trip back across the Pacific to the States.  On the 12th we were docked at No. 2 Graving dry dock.

                 LCS 11 in dry dock,  Sasebo, Japan, 1946

On January 14, 1946,  at Sasebo,  I learned I was leaving LCS 11. And  on the 15th  I was transferred  to PGM 13.  I thought PGM stood for “Patrol Gun Boat”—or something like that — as I seem to remember the mission of these boats was to patrol coastlines, inland-type bays and rivers, and rescue downed pilots, and so forth, but I can’t figure out what the M stands for.

                 LBS and shipmates at Sasebo, Japan

Several other crewmen from LCS 11 were transferred at the same time.  I can’t remember who else was transferred off the Eleven and went aboard PGM 13 with me, but Creekmur and Borsch certainly did because they were later with me in the flight from Palawan to Manila.  Kellog said he was also transferred to a PGM.  It may have been #12 or #21, because my entry for February 11, says PGM 12, 13, and 21 left Sasebo at the same time for the Phillippines.   I remember seeing Willis Rogers in a photo given to me by Kellog.  It was taken aboard a PGM lovingly named “Lacanuki” and that was painted on the wheel house.  So Rogers must have been on the PGM with Kellog.

We lived aboard PGM 13 in Sasebo Harbor for almost a month before sailing for the Philippines.  During that time, on  January 25th, we watched LCS 11 pull out for the States.  Some new crew members had been assigned to her, but several of the old hands were still aboard.  Before the Lucky Eleven pulled out,  a ceremony honoring her service was held.  The program brought back a flood memories of my days spent on her.

Then on February 11, 1946, on board PGM 13, in the company of PGM’s 12 and 21, some of my LCS 11 shipmates and I  left Sasebo for the Phillippines.  I was pleased to be going to the Phillipines again.  Following the Battle of Okinawa, we had spent some time at Leyte waiting for the invasion of Japan to begin.  I note with interest the entry in my log for February 13, 1946, which  says, “We passed just to the west of Okinawa and saw Ibehya Shima and Kerma Retto.”   As we passed the islands, I remembered some of the things we had experienced there during the Okinawa campaign.  LCS 11 had escorted a PBM to its base at Kerma Retto.  Also we went to Kerma Retto for repairs after we had run aground for some reason on June 4, 1945.

We arrived at Puerto Princessa, Palawan, in the Southwest Phillipine Islands on February 15th.  A kind of melancholy came over me as I walked around under thick palms on a place where a base had been located during the war.  The palms were like a roof overhead, and no grass grew underneath.  The sand was sugar-white, and tables had been built between two trees near each hut.  I guess these tables were where the men ate their meals.  But not a soul was thereabouts now, and the place had been left very clean and neat.  At the air base nearby I enjoyed watching P-51 mustangs land and take off.  They reminded me of angry wasps back on the farm.  But there were only a few of these planes and some C-47’s painted that dull khaki green-brown.

Several other crewmen and I  from LCS 11 stayed aboard PGM 13 in the harbor of Puerto Princessa through the first week of March.  On the 6th we got word that we were eligible to leave.  We packed our gear and prepared for a flight to Manila. The officers had made preparations for us to leave the next day.  I got paid $150.

But the next morning—the 7th— we began to run into problems.   First, the 0800 boat that was supposed to take us ashore didn’t run.  Next, when we finally got ashore, the truck that was to take us to the airstrip wouldn’t start, and when we did get to the field, the plane cancelled its 0915 flight.  We were then scheduled to board the 1130 plane for Samar.  But that plane was late; so we ate chow.  The plane never showed up, and nobody seemed to know why. We returned to PGM 13 for the night, marveling at our bad luck.

Arriving back aboard  PGM 13 seemed strange to me because we thought we had said our last goodbye to that ship. Creekmur had borrowed some money from one of the guys, and when we came back on board, the lender clapped his hands and said, “Well, Jim, I’m glad to see you didn’t wait long to look me up and pay your debt!”

The next day, March 8th, we tried it again.  We left the ship at 0800, went to the Red Cross and at 1030 reported to the MATS (Military Air Transport Service) office.  It was pouring down rain.   A MATS plane flew overhead, but it went on to Manila without landing because, we were told, the visibility was too low.  But then we saw an Army C-47 approach the field and land.  After having our noon chow, we came back to the air strip.  By then, the skies were starting to clear, and we were getting desperate.  When we learned that the Army C-47 was going to Manila, Creekmur decided to talk to the plane’s crew about our hitching a ride with them.  And, after much talking, we were allowed to board “Carmelia,” the Army C-47.

We took off  about 1325.   The C-47 on which we hitched a ride had two strips of wood down each side in the fuselage with strips of canvas stretched between.  These were our seats.  We flew low— I would guess around 5,000 feet.  We could look out, and the white foamy water breaking against the northern side of the many small islands surrounded by the blue water were very pretty.  We hit one rough spot of weather; otherwise it was a very pleasant trip.  Visibility was good, so we landed at Neilson Field, Manila, about 1530.  The only passengers on the trip had been Creekmur, Bosch, an Army lieutenant and myself.

We were surprised that the Naval Air Transport Service used such a flimsy excuse as poor visibility when they didn’t land for us, because the Army planes on the base were flying in and out.  But Creekmur was so elated about his ability to persuade the Army boys to let us hitch a ride to Manila that he didn’t want to check in with the Navy officials.  He just wanted to hitch-hike by plane all the way to the States.  But I was afraid we might end up in Alaska or South America.

We traveled then to COMPHILSEAFRON base with our sea bags, rifles (these were Japanese rifles we were taking home as souvenirs), and orders.  I found  a bunk, and we began to check out everything!  We visited a beer garden and then went to a movie.   It had been quite a day.  Our plane trip had taken two hours.  If we had sailed on PGM 13,  it would have take 30 hours.  This night of March 8th marked the first time we had slept on land since December 23, 1944.  I remember hearing, during the night, dishes or trays rattling at the mess hall nearby and jeeps revving their engines in the wee hours of the morning.  I had to admit that it wasn’t as soothing as the steady hum of the air blowers in our compartments aboard ship.

    from  SERVING ABOARD LCS 11 in WWII  by LBS

In the letter below Sid Darion recalls going ashore when LCS 11 was moored at Shanghai in late December 1945 and early January 1946.

Dear Smygly,

Your letter home from Shanghai brought back a lot of memories.  I have a batch of that old Chinese currency squirreled away somewhere.  You remember how the rate of exchange would vary from day to day and even hour to hour.  Well, thereby hangs a tale.

Scotty Rogers and I helped a Navy man in need out of a fight. The man was very appreciative.  Turns out he was a Chief Warrant Officer and lived in a nearby hotel.  This was somewhere on Bubbling Well Road, no more than a half mile from the docks.  The CWO invited us to his room while he cleaned up and then said we’d go for drinks in the hotel cocktail lounge.

When we got to his room, he went into the bathroom to wash while Scotty and I attacked a Scotch bottle.  Then Scotty noticed that one of the drawers in a chest of drawers was partly open.  It was hard not to see what was in it.  It was jammed full of U. S. currency —- and it was a big drawer.  We pretended like we had not noticed anything, but we realized later that our host had guessed that we had, even though he nudged the drawer closed.

We had our drinks at the lounge, and he introduced us to a lot of people as friends who had saved his ass.  That made us their friends.  He also introduced us to “The Fat Man” who ran an elaborate whore house on the upper floors of the hotel.  Scotty and I were “honored guests”up there several times.  We even had the options of asking for girls “Short time, long time, or all night.”

I can’t remember whether we shared any of this with the guys on the ship because we were sworn to secrecy.  Turns out the CWO was a Navy paymaster with access to a plane.  He was responsible for a Navy payroll in Shanghai and another in a city about 40 miles away.  Because of bandits and such, traveling by road was out.  The only way to transport currency safely was by plane, and he had one of the few available.

There was a consistent exchange difference between Shanghai and the other city he serviced.  So this guy was playing the entire Navy payrolls he handled on the money market and keeping the profits.  The police chief of Shanghai was in on the act.  He had brought in the mayor and some other money people including the owner of a department store outlet in San Francisco.  Our CWO’s wife, in San Francisco, became an officer in the company.  CWO’s profits were handed over in San Francisco — no transfer of funds from China that could be traced to him.  A setup so lucrative, he was seriously considering re-enlisting.  Said he couldn’t afford to give up the golden goose.  I realized later that this combine was undoubtedly contributing to the collapse of Chinese currency, but Scotty and I were not that sophisticated at the time.

Rogers and I were wined and dined and saw no reason for blowing the whistle on our friend.  One of the exciting results of this strange relationship was our being invited to a New Years Eve Party the likes of which I haven’t seen since.  Scotty and I were picked up at dockside by one of the police chief’s limos.  I remember not being scheduled for liberty that night and pleading my case not to disappoint the police chief and mayor.  The OD (officer of the deck)—-I think it was Fritz Henry, didn’t believe me of course.  But he did say, “Darion, if the limo comes for you right here where I can see it, you can go.”  Well, come it did, and off Scotty and I went.

The banquet was sensational and I couldn’t identify anything on the plates.  There must have been thirty people there, and I think each person had his own waiter.  Also it was my first introduction to chop sticks.  I would have starved if a kind and very attractive woman sitting next to me hadn’t fed me.

This is also where we were introduced to the pleasures of “kan-pay.”  That’s a phonetic spelling.  Anyway, it was done with hot rice wine.  Somebody looked at me and toasted, “Kan-pay,  Sid.”  I then had to chugalug my drink and kanpay someone else.  If I was slow, and I was, I would be kanpayed again and again.  And I was.  Scotty and I got quite bombed.

Another exotic experience that night was the duck’s head. As an honored guest I got to crack it between my teeth and suck out the brains.  It was very bad form to refuse.  Fortunately, I was in no pain at the time so I did it to much applause.

Another recollection of Shanghai is one that Hammond might remember.  Somewhere a group of us got hold of a huge cigar—- a four-foot stodgy.   We marched up Bubbling Well Road with me smoking it at the end and several of the guys smoking it from the sides with cigarette holders they jammed into it.   Behind us came Hammond beating a drum.  I can’t remember where he got the drum.  And as we marched puffing and drumming, kids started to follow us.  I think we wound up leading a parade of half the kids in the area before we peeled off for some liquid refreshment.  Ring a bell, Chuck?

Smygly, what memories you bring back!  You know, what strikes me odd now is that I have told that first story many times.  I have written about it.  I even worked parts of it into a TV script.  The only people I haven’t shared it with are the guys on this ship who were there when it all happened.  I’m sure Scotty and I talked about the dinner afterwards, but we never did tell anyone about the CWO’s operation till much, much later.  Well, I never would have had a chance to share it with you guys if you hadn’t started this great project of yours.

Note from Rogers to Darion: At that famous New Years Eve party: When it came time for the “duck’s head” there was a debate over who was “guest of honor,” you or me.  I flipped a coin and announced that you had won the toss, but didn’t show the coin.  Now I can admit I won the toss, but didn’t have the nerve for the duck’s head.  I’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time.  I must have been a little less drunk than you.  Boy, that hot rice wine was good.

   from  SERVING ABOARD LCS 11 in WWII  by LBS

Shanghai, Dec 31, 1945

Dear folks,
Here it is the end of the year 1945 —–the year that was the Victory Year.  Its end finds me in Shanghai, China.  This is the PARIS of the Far East.  On leaving Kiirun, Formosa, on December 18 we had the Group Commander aboard LCS 11.  This only gave us more work, but “Steamer” (our old skipper and now the LCS Group 8 Commander) brought along a signalman and a radioman to help us out.

I had the 4 to 8 watch on the morning of December 21.  I noticed the dark or rather reddish color of the water [off the coast of China].  This was certainly a new experience for me.  The sun was shining, and it looked like a beautiful morning except for some fog up ahead.  It seemed we would never get to the entrance of the Yangtze River but around noon we anchored near it.  When we started out again, it seemed like a different world for the sun wasn’t shining and it was cold.   As we continued up the river, it seemed to get colder.  I nearly froze to death trying to get just a glimpse of China.  A ferry dipped its flag to us as we met.  We tied up to an oiler for the night and took on water and fuel.

In the morning on a tributary, the Wangapoo River, we moved on toward town.  This  river isn’t over half a mile wide anywhere, and it surely seemed strange to see all the buildings on both sides.  We passed some cruisers and AGC’s (Amphibious Group Command ships) and went by the main buildings going on up the river.  Naturally our little amphibious craft would go miles from the Liberty Landing.  We moved along the wrong (or left) side of the river.   We are two miles south of the Liberty Landing, yet we are above the city.  Sheds, buildings, and warehouses come right out to the edge of the water.  The roofs show signs such as: “Pootung Dry Docks Co., Wahung and Chia Tu Ting” and such other signs in English that sound so Chinese.

When we neared the area of downtown, we saw hundreds of junks on both sides of the river, and as we were barely moving, many of these craft came up on each side of our ship wanting to sell us something.  I thought our officers would do something to keep these junks away, but they more or less put up with them after some half-hearted shouts to keep them away from the ship. Some of these Chinese climbed up on the ship. They scrambled aboard to sell anything from suitcases and trunks to scarves and rings and watches, and we had to shoo them back off.

But I really learned something.  I heard some of the knowledgeable guys speak of “sloe” gin—-well, it surely wasn’t “slow” because a bunch of our guys were intoxicated in short order.  Bernard Michaelson, a radioman, came in the radio shack and lay on the floor and beat it with his fists, saying over and over something about “not wanting to hurt anybody.”  He would name some of our guys, especially one of our radiomen, but it didn’t make any sense to me.

The river runs fairly swift and is always very brown.  It is usually littered with a variety of sampans, fishing boats, tugs, and junks.  I read in an English newspaper that there used to be many bodies in the river in some areas.  For a while the government offered a $25 reward to those bringing in the bodies, but at that price it appeared people were throwing other people into the river to collect the $25, so they had to quit that award system.

There are several British ships and one French heavy cruiser here.  Since these ships are parked so near downtown, I guess their electricians have to keep up appearances. I noticed some pretty nifty Christmas lights on their ships.  I had never seen anything like it aboard a ship before.  I guess the mine sweepers must have special lights for they have red and green lights in sets from the top of their masts to the deck, and these lights flash on and off at regular intervals.  Some have winking stars.  There are some really nice ones.

I went on my first liberty in Shanghai on December 22.  Shanghai really is a change for fellows who, for a year,  have not been to a city where they could spend money.  The cities we visited in Japan were all blown apart and there was nothing in the stores that were still standing.

Cigarettes bring various prices.  The Camel cigarette people could feel very conceited if they saw the preference here for Camels over the other brands.  I remember for some particular article the natives had to sell they wanted six cartons of Chesterfields or four cartons of Camels for the object.  This is the usual ratio.  Chesterfields bring about 3 dollars per carton and Camels bring about 5 dollars.  But there is no open sale of them as I have noted.  It is black-market to deal in them.

We were met at the jetty by men, women, and children selling scarves, rings, and watches.  We walked down streets like those of Boston and by stores that seem to have a more plentiful supply of goods than those in the U. S.   We were amazed at the silk goods and such things as Hohner harmonicas and things that the States don’t have.  There are modern bakeries, shoe stores, and fur stores.  Window displays show many modern items for sale.  I was surprised to see new typewriters on display.  There are hat stores and all of the specialty stores.  There are modern night clubs, theaters, and hotels.

There are quite a few 1942 Buicks, Chevrolets, Studebakers, Plymouths, and Chryslers around Shanghai and they really look new.  It makes us wonder where they came from. We don’t know the outcome yet, but on January 1 traffic will change over from the left-hand side of the street to the right-hand side.

Shanghai is certainly a large city, and you can readily believe all reports of the Chinese population, for the streets are crowded most of the time.  The thousands of rickshaws are a new spectacle for me.   Seeing these two-wheeled carts being pulled by runners is something that makes me certain that I am in the Orient.  They weave in and out of traffic and compete with the smaller number of automotive vehicles.

Sex is for sale in a different way here.  You don’t see the girls on the streets.  Young boys, appearing to be about 10-15 years old, approach and cry out to passing servicemen: “You want school girl?  Young school girl?  My sister!  School girl.”  Evidently “school” is a keyword connoting youth, vitality, and knowledge.  Some women in their kimono-type dress approach servicemen early in the day, but the young boys are very active as hucksters in the early evening.

Chinese money is a topic for a book in itself.  Any money that has “Reserve” on it is no good.  Money that says “Gold Certificate” on it is worth twenty times what the bill says on its face.  Bills of the same worth are of many different sizes and colors.  Some say Bank of China, Bank of Communications, and others say Farmers Bank of China.    Yuan, or their equivalent to our dollar,  is the only Chinese money that is used so far as I know.  Chinese money is known as CN or CNC  (Chinese National Currency).

If you have read the December 24th issue of  Time magazine, you noted that the Chinese have jacked up their prices, especially because of the sailors that have swarmed ashore in Shanghai. American money is respected like gold.  But it’s best to have your money changed for you by someone you trust. You are easily cheated in change because the Chinese like to give your change in their money.

Since inflation is high, it takes 100 Yuan to amount to any money at all.  A five Yuan bill is worth less than one-half American cent.  The rate of exchange is different every day.  The first day I went on liberty, an American dollar was worth 1260 Yuan.  Yesterday it was worth 1410.  If their  money is not in denominations of 1000, it really takes a stack of it to be  worth anything at all.   Just for an example, the newspaper Stars and Stripes costs 50 Yuan.

The Red Cross operates from the foreign YMCA and does a good job.  Also the Navy Enlisted Men’s Club is very well run and can accommodate a very, very large number of men.  I had my first fresh tomatoes in a year and a half at this club.  These places are very nice to go to get away from the street vendors who swarm around you like flies.  I guess the American sailor has gained the reputation of being vulnerable to sales tactics of the Chinese.  I followed an Army guy up Nanking Street, both of us  by ourselves and walking rather fast.  The Army guy was approached only about three times with scarves, rings, and such, whereas practically everybody tried to sell me something.

Although there were supposed to be no settlements of foreigners here like before the war, there are still what are considered the French Settlement, Russian, American, and such.  The Russians rank second in population and control of Shanghai, I think.  The favorite drink is Vodka.  There are quite a few men from India with their tall, husky bodies, black beards, and turbans.

There isn’t nearly as much of the weird-type music and smoking long pipes as I have seen in movies about China.  Some of it is really pretty.  The English language is fairly well known and such songs as “Candy” and “Sentimental Journey” are sung by some of the Chinese girls at the theaters and clubs.  They have several very nice theaters.  Such pictures as “Aloma of the South Seas,” “Beau Gests,” and “Greenwich Village” are playing at the theaters. . . . all first class pictures!   I guess the Chinese are making up for what they missed during the war.

I went on liberty December 22, 24, 25, 26, 28, and 30.  On one of these trips I had some pictures made at a studio and will send you a couple.  On one of these liberties I went with several of my shipmates, and we went to a night club where a band was playing.   We had some vodka and coke and a very nice meal.  One of our radiomen had right much to drink and went up on the bandstand and took over the drummer’s place.  He drew lots of applause for his ability, but he kind of ruined it because he threw up, evidently from having too much to drink.

I have gone everywhere by walking except one short rickshaw ride.  I walked way, way out Bubbling Well Road.  It was a chilly day with the temperature around freezing.  Along the way I saw five different men lying on the sidewalk trembling and shaking, and everyone just walked around or over them, just as if they might have been a crack in the sidewalk.  I thought how different this was from America where someone would have called an ambulance or tried to assist them.

Way out this road I went into the Enlisted Men’s Club for a while.  An old salt Chief and three other servicemen were playing cards and drinking beer.  As they emptied their cans of beer, they added the cans to a pyramid of empty cans.  Evidently they had been playing for a very long time, because the pyramid was about four feet high and still growing.

Another strange thing: While we have been here, a Chinese boy has been spending most days aboard the LCS 11.  He is Leo Estrada and has a Shanghai address. I think he is part Spanish or Italian.  Some of the guys are very friendly to him and have “adopted” him, and he says he wants to come to the United States with us.

Well, folks, I have told about all there is to tell.  For further information, you would have to hear the sounds and smell the smells for yourself.    
                                              Love, your son, LB

    from SERVING ABOARD LCS 11 in WWII by LBS

Sasebo, Kyushu, Western Japan,  November 7, 1945

Dear Folks,

Premier Suzukua says that 10,000 Japanese will die this winter from disease and starvation.  In Yokosuka and Yokohama cigarettes bring 20 yen per pack.  In Tokyo they bring 30 yen.  That is $2.00.  If anyone has to have his cigarettes, it is the Japanese.  I think they would almost starve for a smoke.  They very unashamedly pick up the butts that Americans throw down.

From October 13th  to October 24th, we were moored to North Pier, Yokohama.  Many Japanese were working with lumber piled nearby.  Every day when we ate chow, they would gather around near the stern of our ship and shake heads and motion and try to get everything left on our trays.  After the first day, they brought cans and held them out.  No matter how mixed up everything was, they  ate it all with equal relish.  One of our cooks makes his soup quite hot with pepper.  One Jap guzzled down a bunch before he tasted it.  He choked and sputtered around for a while.  All this caused some arguments among our crew.  Some would give to the Japanese and others would not. Our boys broke out a can of lemon drops, which cost probably 10 cents.  The Japanese were willing to pay 50 yen per piece.

When I went on liberty to Yokohama, there was nothing to be bought to eat, and we were advised to take our water along.  But my pal and I found that he had a good friend in the Army there in Yokohama, so we would always go to the Army  camp and eat noon chow.  It was in a bombed-out block downtown and the Japanese hang out there for food.

Can you imagine going down town and not finding any stores with foodstuffs in them?  But you would quickly notice that all the Japanese look really healthy.  I believe they are not actually starving as much as they are just hungry for a different diet.  They like our food because it is a variety compared to what they have been having all through the war.  They can be seen eating some rice or potatoes but nothing else that I have recognized.

One evening one of our guys told me that a Japanese boy was outside and that he was cute.  I went out there and two of the fellows were learning Japanese and teaching him English.  Our guys would point at their chin and ear and different objects and the boy would say them in Japanese.  He seemed very intelligent.  He was 11 years old.  To demonstrate sleep, he would lay his head over on his folded hands.  When we wanted to teach him a word, he would lean very close and watch our lips as we pronounced a word.  Soon we were pointing to different fellows and getting him to say their names.

They had given him some food in a can.  He would eat big mouthfuls of this and then talk some more.  When some officers came along, he folded his knees over his can and looked very unconcerned and innocent.  After they had passed, he said, “MPs.”  We found that he knew some English all right.  He said he had a brother in the Kamikaze.  He said that his brother went “zoom and boom into a ship.”  He spread out his hands to demonstrate a big explosion.  He also informed us that all this happened at Okinawa.  The guys rather smiled at this, thinking maybe he didn’t really hit a ship.

I am sure that the American occupation will change the customs of Japan.  The Japanese men pay their women no respect.  Their women occupy about the same plane of living as the Indian squaws are reported to have lived in the early days of our history.  You never see a Japanese woman and man walk down the street side by side.

General Eichelberger is in charge at Yokohama.  On the front of the building that is his headquarters is a sign showing an embarrassed GI talking to a Japanese woman and the wording under the sign says: “Learn Japanese at our night classes.”  In the Yank Magazine published in Tokyo, McArthur is quoted as saying there will be no rules restricting fraternization between GI’s and Japanese.  He says there is no better way of enlightening the people in the ways of democracy.  It also reported that Japanese girls are eager to learn the western dances so they can participate in USO dances and Red Cross programs planned for this winter in Tokyo and Yokohama.  I think the Japanese women view the Americans with a courteous curiosity.   The Japanese men could be said to view us with indifference.  The children are for us.  If you give one or two kids chewing gum, you soon are a Pied Piper of old.

I don’t know who started the G. I. Joe name, but it really sticks.  All the children in the Philippines and all in Japan call us “Joe.”  And if they can speak no other English, they can speak “Gum, Joe?”  “Candy, Joe?”  or “Hello.”  Yes, all the horrors of war can be forgotten and enemies can be forgotten.  We know we must never forget, but I can hardly realize that this Japan is the same one we fought at Okinawa.  It must be their trick, for they have almost treated us as liberators.

There is a real show of might in Yokohama.  Every standing building uptown is taken over by our Army and Navy.  Vacant lots are crowded with Ducks, Trucks, and oil drums, and each building shows it is the headquarters of some port company or division or battalion commander.  The roads are always crowded with our trucks, jeeps, and other military vehicles.  One day we just traveled back and forth over the city by catching rides in different military vehicles that came along.

By October 16th, my pal Jack Kellogg and I felt we had seen all the sights, so we went that evening to the ball park to see the USO show.  It was a nice day.  As the bleachers were filling up, about 15 or 20 Army nurses came in by ones and twos.  They were all cheered with the usual whistles and whoops and cheers.  Most were escorted by majors and colonels, but for some unknown reason, two were with sailors, just plain ordinary sailors.  Then the rest of the nurses were all escorted by Naval officers.  A sailor nearby told me that all those officers and the two sailors were off his ship.  They had brought these nurses to Yokohama on their ship, so that accounted for their monopoly.

The stage was two tractor trailer beds side by side.  The Army service group was putting up some mikes and speakers.   We noticed Danny Kaye down front among the fellows.  Some were timidly taking his picture.  One of the Army nurses went striding out there.  Danny saw her coming, and pushed the crowd back, put his hands in his pockets and stuck his chest way out.  The nurse stopped and took a picture of him, then whirled around as if to say, “So there!” and went back to her seat.

The Japanese who had gathered around were run out, but a few looked in and watched the show.  The persons taking part in the show were Danny Kaye and Leo Durocher, and an Army band.  It was a very good show.  I would like to see Danny Kaye in his last picture, “Wonder Man.”  As you know Leo Durocher is the manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers and he did okay too.  They had a funny routine where Durocher kicked dirt on an umpire, just as he does at ball games.  We were told this was the first USO show in Japan.  We surely enjoyed it.

 from  SERVING ABOARD LCS 11 in WWII by LBS

Yokohama, Japan, October 15, 1945

Dear [Brother],
On October 9th  LCS 11 arrived at Yokosuka Naval Base, just south of Yokohama and a bit further south of Tokyo itself.  We arrived at just the right time, for a typhoon was brewing.  We found a secure berth, which was fairly easy as Yokosuka is a very large base, stretching to Tokyo really.  As you probably read in the papers, the storm damage was considerable at Okinawa.

On October 10th  I went on liberty to the city of Yokosuka.  On the way there, I saw a Japanese cruiser and three destroyers.  The only Japanese  battlewagon still afloat was near our ship.  The weather was rainy and muddy on the 10th.  We were not allowed to take more than two packs of cigarettes ashore.  Shore Patrol men attempted to see that no more than that were taken.  A pack easily brings 20 yen.  That is $1.30 in our money.  A dollar is equal to 15 yen.  Only Japanese money is any good to you here.  The sailors and soldiers based here get their pay in Japanese money.

Yokosuka was the most modernized place we had touched yet since leaving Honolulu. The buildings looked fairly nice.  Only one small square of this town was hit or destroyed.  Here the Japanese  have open shops, and if you have the yen you can buy whatever they offer.  There was nothing in the food line, but there were a few trinkets like you get in the Dime Store at home cheaper than you can here.  The shops are little cubby holes.  Also there were barber shops open for business.  Also a “Wotch” (the way they spell it) shop and photographer shop.

And, of course, there were plenty of Japanese.  They are all very small, and   I have to stoop down to enter most doors.  Everywhere one hears the clip-clop sound of the wood pieces that they use for shoes.  Otherwise the natives appear well clothed.

There was a noticeable increase in the number of Japanese who could speak English here.  I noticed that our Navy had requisitioned the best buildings for administration purposes.  We saw Japanese trucks and cars driving on the “wrong” side of the road.

There was at least one prospering Geisha House.  A very, very long line of servicemen waited to enter the house.  The line wound around corners and along the streets. My pal and I stood beside the line near the front, where it turned into a courtyard and a building.  Then we saw men leave the building and go across a bricked yard to a building three stories tall.  We talked to a couple of fellows coming out of the second building, and they told us service was pretty good except for the fact that the guys had to kneel down on bamboo mats which cut the “hell outa’ your knees.”  However, the price was right—10 yen or 66 and two-thirds cents.

I saw several buildings that looked like theaters, but they are now closed.  As I have already said, I saw very little bomb-damaged places around Yokosuka.  I guess things are about the same as before the war except that the Japanese are now working for the Americans.

A fairly nice place has been set up as the Enlisted Men’s Club, but so far the most attractive thing about it is the serving of beer.  They do have some shows once in a while—a couple on Sunday.  If I were a collector and could look far enough ahead, and had a locker to store it, I might get fans or dolls or some such souvenirs.  Would you believe that the movie we saw the night before we got underway for Yokohama was “Destination Tokyo.”

On the trip to Yokohama, a short one, I noticed many more of our ships.  As far as I know the battleship New Jersey is our newest completed one, and it is here and a very beautiful piece of workmanship.   After seeing Okinawa and Leyte, I am used to seeing a harbor of about 500 to 1000 ships anchored about.  A very short distance from us, there are two Japanese ships that had been under construction, but were never equipped.  One is an aircraft carrier and the other apparently a transport.  The British have a very nice sized token force here.  Also I have seen some Australians here.

On October 14th  I started out on liberty in Yokohama.  It was the clearest day we have had in a long time.  Immediately we saw that the B-29s had done a job here.  However, the docks and waterfront seemed undamaged.  This is the first time since Tugali (in mid March) that we have tied up along a pier.  I just looked out the porthole and saw land; it seems strange.  I can’t explain how or why, but there are certain burned out areas and then a building standing almost untouched. I saw frames which used to be freight cars, now hulks, but still on the tracks.

We thumbed a ride in a jeep with a Lt. Colonel in the Army.  We rode a couple of miles, and the scenery was about the same. We caught a ride back in an Army truck.  We saw an electric train that went pretty fast over an undamaged bridge or raised railway 2 or 3 miles long.

One place with a concrete fence around the front had a nice metal plate at the gate with the inscription “Yamotochita.”  But the once elaborate home appeared as if it had collapsed from within.  After a while we came to “Church of the Sacred Heart.”  We continued along this route.  My pal would want to turn off, but I was always interested to see what was over the next hill.  Soon the street narrowed, and we turned down some steep steps.  Water was running over them, rich grass and weeds were growing there, too.  At the bottom of the steps, we came out into a thickly populated territory, and I was kind of nervous because the Japanese looked at us like we were the first Naval personnel to come this far from the water.

Apparently some English was spoken here, for hordes of kids hollered “Hello,  Hello,” and when we said “Goodbye,” they took up that in chorus, only they cut their syllables shorter. Once a middle-aged man, in a startled manner, said: “Hello there, my friends, how are you?”  I wondered how long we had been his friend.

We saw a crowd and found some sailors were selling a few packs of cigarettes.  I don’t think food would have gathered a more interested crowd.  Selling cigarettes at $1.30 per pack, a person could get rich if he had paid only 5 cents per pack for them.  The Japanese tried to sell us old photos from their family albums.

Soon we were in a crowd that made us think of Norfolk or San Diego days.  We saw American military personnel—nurses, etc.—dressed in nice clothes.  I might add that we were dressed up in our real liberty uniforms—the first time since Hawaii.  Maybe the next port will be Tokyo, or better still, just any old port in the USA.

from  SERVING ABOARD LCS 11 in WWII  by LBS

On Sept. 24, 1945, in company with LCS Group 9 and other U. S. Navy ships, LCS 11 arrived at Ominato, Japan, en route to Aomori, Honshu, Japan, for landings to carry out the occupation of Japan.  The next day’s  landing was carried out without any untoward incidents.

On Sept. 30 a group of LCS 11 sailors went ashore, unarmed as a liberty group.  I remember some of us gave dry chocolate bars to the few Japanese kids brave enough to approach the rambling sailors.  This was the first time I had stepped ashore on Japan, and I looked with awe at the clutter of burned tin roofing piled in heaps where small houses had previously stood.

That evening LCS 11 joined several other LCS’s tied alongside a large cargo ship.  By this time LCS 11 and the others had movie projectors of their own and as darkness fell, movies were being shown on the fantails of several ships.  I and another LCS 11 crewman could not decide which movie we liked.  We stepped easily across the space to the next LCS, and then the next, and a little later the next until we were aboard the big cargo ship and found a big screen and became engrossed in the movie being shown there.

At one point during the movie, we became aware of one of the LCS’s pulling away between the big ship and our LCS 11 which was about five ships away, but we turned back to the movie and enjoyed ourselves.  When the movie ended, my buddy and I went down the gangplank to the first LCS and proceeded across the other ships toward our LCS 11 on the outside.  But she was not there.  I went to the radio shack of the LCS we were on and asked a radioman to call Dungeon One and advise them of our circumstances.  In reply, we were advised that LCS 11 was having difficulty maneuvering because one engine was not operating, and it would anchor nearby and pick us up in the morning.

I have searched my notes and they do not show who my LCS 11  buddy was who had become marooned with me.  I thought for forty-two years it was Jack Kellog, but he denies it.  Anyway, my buddy wondered where we would sleep.   We were on LCS 17 and one of their bright radiomen came up with a brilliant idea.  He said since he was on duty, I could go down to his bunk and sleep there.  When his relief came on duty, the radioman went to his relief’s sack.  The same deal was worked for my buddy from LCS 11 who had made the arrangements with the appropriate crewmen in his rating.  We had no change of clothes, toothbrush, etc, but we were treated royally.

When morning came, LCS 11 was still not in sight.  By radio we were told that it had gone to some distant location to refuel and get a part for one of its engines.  Well, this sort of thing went on for three days.  I think some of the guys even loaned us a change of clothes while ours were washed.

While we had been at Leyte Gulf in the Phillipines after the Okinawa Battle, we were anchored among hundreds of ships awaiting the expected invasion of Japan.  Some daring radioman on one of those ships had been playing music and conducting a regular radio station on the voice network we guarded (that is, we monitored).  As a result, a captain had come on the air and warned the culprit broadcasting radio music that ships with radio direction finders were prowling the gulf and the offender would be found and the guilty sailor would be given the full weight of Naval punishment.  But, apparently, the sailor-turned-disc-jockey was never found.

Well, I took one look around the LCS 17 radio shack, and I was sure I was aboard the ship that had in its crew the guy who had been broadcasting music on the ship’s radio back at Leyte.  The radio shack had those huge records that were as large as a tin tub, with Bob Hope programs on them, Tommy Dorsey, and you name it.  These huge discs were called V-Records and were made for Armed Forces Radio programs.  The shack on this LCS had various radio hook-ups to other compartments aboard the ship and special microphones.  When I asked the leading radioman whether he was the “ghost radio station,” he just grinned.

Well, after three long days we managed to get back aboard the LCS 11 and at 10 p. m. on October the 6th  we got under weigh for Yokosuka.  Evidently Robert Faller and Charles Hammond and the other radiomen on our ship covered very well for me as I do not remember getting any reprimand.  LCS 11 went on to Yokohama, Yokosuka, and Sasebo, and Shanghai.

The final part of this story played out after I was a civilian.  I returned to civilian life on April 15, 1946, hoping to get into journalism, but colleges were bulging at the seams with returning veterans and I could not get into Carolina, but did attend a temporary division in the evening at Charlotte.  My brother Jack was at Lenoir-Rhyne College in Hickory studying for the Lutheran ministry.  He pulled some strings and I enrolled there on June14, 1947.

As I went through college on an accelerated program, I finished in January 1950 and became a full-fledged reporter for the Hickory Daily Record.  I had freelanced and done features for the paper while in college.  One day the sports editor left for the Greensboro Daily News and his old job was shoved on me.   I liked to play sandlot baseball and pitch horseshoes, but I was just a mediocre sports fan.  Still, with the help of others I dug in.

In one case, my work as a reporter led to an exciting reminder of my Navy days  when Lenoir-Rhyne hired a new basketball coach, Jim (Pappy) Hamilton, in June of 1950.  Some sports-minded Hickory citizens had hosted a dinner for the new coach at the Hickory Country Club on June 13, and I was there to cover the story.

After the formal part of the program was over, I had a chance to talk with Coach Hamilton and ask him a few questions.   As we talked, I learned he had been in the Navy.  He said he had been the captain of LCS 17.  I was amazed.  So just five years after being an uninvited guest aboard his ship for three days, I ate a steak with Hamilton the skipper of the ship.  Since I was no longer in any danger of being reprimanded or thrown into the brig, I told him the little story about my three-day visit aboard his ship at Aomori, Japan.  I asked him whether he had heard that two sailors from LCS 11 had become stranded on LCS 17.

To be truthful, I was quite chagrined by his answer about the matter.  Coach Hamilton said he “thought maybe he remembered some incident like the one I described.”  The next time I get marooned on somebody’s ship I am going to kick the radio shack apart, so even the captain will know I was aboard.

from  SERVING ABOARD LCS 11 in WWII  by LBS

Aomori Wan, Northern Honshu, Japan, September 30, 1945

Dear Folks,

I want to tell you some of my experiences and opinions about the occupation of Japan in progress now.  We are anchored in a bay just off the city of Aomori. The city has a population of 93,000 as recorded by a chart I was looking at several days ago.

We arrived in this area on 24 Sept.   On 25 Sept. we made our landings at Aomori without any kind of opposition.  We weren’t surprised, but from at sea we could not really know the reason.  We could see with binoculars two tankers sunk at their piers and one other type of ship sunk here.  We knew that our bombers had been at work here.  Over in the Bay of Ominato I saw a Japanese cruiser and a destroyer with the majority of their sterns under water—- more work of our bombers.  I know that it was bombers because it would have been suicide to have come through the straits and down this beautifully-shaped bay in war ships.

Yesterday morning at 0800 a small boat came by our ship and picked up a sight-seeing party.  I was in that party.  As we neared the beach, I thought how many Marines and sailors and soldiers had approached the enemy beach like this, but with more apprehension, I am sure.  As we neared the beach, we saw a crudely  painted sign that really struck us as funny.  On the concrete wall was written: “THE SEABEES WELCOME THE US ARMY 9-22-45.”  In other words the Seabees had preceded other American units by 3 days.   I guess key men were placed ashore at different places just as soon as possible after the V-J Day signing.

Then I looked for Japanese.  They were there all right.  And I couldn’t help but remark to one of my pals, as we stepped onto Japanese soil, “These are the Japanese that were going to  march down the streets of New York and Washington.”

As we went ashore there was a feeling of apprehension at first, but that soon passed.  As we walked down the streets, we felt confident and proud.  And I must say right here that we should all be proud of every war bond we bought.   I surely am.  Where the uptown section used to be there are only acres of rubble and little piles of tin and metal that the Japanese have gathered together.  In every pile I could see there was a smashed bicycle.  There were no walls remaining like you see in the pictures of bombings in Europe.  But occasionally there were a few vaults standing.  I had read how our pilots had bombed industrial sections of Japanese cities and hadn’t bombed their churches and schools.  I had half-way believed it.  Now I know that it is true.  I saw amidst all the rubble a shrine.  The grounds around it were clean.  Even grass grew along the walks.  The trees on the borders of the grounds had been singed, the only damage done.  This shrine only covered an acre, probably less.  I saw four school buildings.  A few windows had been blown out;  all the walls were standing.

Now I will give you a few of the rules of our going ashore.  Every group of men must have an officer with them.   Nothing was explained to us, but we were told that officially there was to be no trading with the Japanese.  It is a difficult situation.  If we traded, it would put them on an equal basis, and soon their discipline would become lax.   If we took things without trading, it would be looting.  And that is what the Japanese would do if they invaded our land.  It is the same fraternization problem in Germany. . . . We planned to trade or do something to get some souvenirs.

No one in our crowd had any sort of weapon, besides a few knives in our group.  I thought this unusual.  In pictures, I had noted that everyone seemed to be wearing a side arm in Germany, and here we were in the most treacherous of countries and none of us carried a gun.  We never needed one.

We walked through the streets that had been cleared.  Some new wood houses were going up. But they would be more like a garage to us.  Some of the Japanese were beating out smooth scrap tin up into bundles.  From outward appearances there is plenty of clothing but no one wearing shoes, except soldiers, among the Japanese.  There were plenty of Japanese dressed as soldiers.

Our group entered a school house.  There were rooms that had adults in them looking busy like they were carrying on the city government or something.  They had arm bands that said PREFECTURE GOVERNMENT.  We looked at the posters on the walls, the writing in Japanese.  We went up stairs and in the process of doing so, we saw the children’s classes in the yard back of the school.  Adults crowded the hallway.  They stayed out of our way.  Some of the older Japanese sometimes took off their hats and bowed.  A few younger ones had a slight look of contempt.  One thing very noticeable was the Japanese policeman’s uniform.  Admiral Nimitz could take lessons  —– the epaulets on their shoulders had designs and stars in yellow gold.

We went into one room in which there was only one man.  The desks were small and crude.  We looked through their class books and other equipment.  In a corner was a baby grand piano.   The boys found it to be locked.  The Japanese never protested against anything we did, but they surely looked on closely.   After some gesturing we managed to get someone to unlock the piano.  One of our fellows began to play boogie woogie.  The Japanese from up and down the hall gathered around.  Some smiled, others looked fearful.  The fellows were patting their feet and gesturing with their hands and the piano was roaring.  This was really comical.  I am sure the residents wondered what was happening.

After a couple of tunes we went out the back way.  We stopped where the kids were sitting at their desks in the yard.  We stopped and Charles A. Dubois took out some candy.  Our guys broke the candy up and threw it in their midst.   That is when the school class was forgotten.  They charged like a bunch of cattle.  But one of them spotted an old Japanese coming out of the school house and with a little rattle, rattle sound, warned the others and they remembered their seats.   The teacher came up in a half smile, talked to the youngsters, and they looked sheepish and slunk down in their seats.  Our officers arrived about this time; they happened to be the most carefree that we have and enjoyed everything as much as we did.

The squealing kids had brought all the Japanese to the windows in the school house.  My pal got a book that had pictures of Japanese bombers bombing American warships.  But the pictures were drawn, not photographs.  Another drawing showed Japanese soldiers  charging a beach, running over an American flag.

Soon we came to the area that had been untouched by bombs.  We crossed a railroad which apparently had been untouched.  The streets between the closely jumbled houses were fairly crowded with bicycles, carts, and rubber-tired taxis drawn by horses.  Here we had a chance to see many examples of how the Japanese reacted to our presence.  Some looked curious, but all seemed to go about with the air of business as usual.  The older men and women bowed.  One cigarette is worth about 50 cents here.  It was really comical the way some of our fellows did the Japanese.  One  had something wrapped up.  One of our fellows would look at it hard, and the Japanese man would bow and unwrap it.  He would smile and bow when the fellow shook his head negatively and walk on.  But about this time another of our fellows would come along and stare at the object and the Japanese man would unwrap it again.  I guess he thought we were inspectors.  The people wear everything imaginable for shoes.  The women were wearing traditional dress.

Some of the kids were pathetic.  And an American soon feels kind-hearted toward them.  The kids would steal their mother’s household belongings and trade them for candy.  And some of our fellows traded.  Also some of the grown-ups traded.  They were fast learning that the Americans can’t hold a grudge.  They bestow a very charming smile upon us when we give their children some candy.  We became quite disgusted with one of our fellows.  I guess he thought we came here to give the Japanese relief.  I guess he has already forgotten the suicide planes that came at us.  Also our friends that have been killed on the lonely islands of the Pacific.  This fellow took candy and cigarettes and handed his out like the Red Cross. . . .

On our arrival back at the beach, we saw that some Japanese were working for the U. S. Army, probably getting good pay.  Their job was giving boxes a shove on a roller chain.  Well, I guess this is enough of my observations of what is going on around here.
                                                                                                     LBS

from SERVING ABOARD LCS 11 in WWII  by LBS

In early September 1945,  LCS 11 was sailing from Leyte in the Philippines toward Tokyo Bay to join other forces in the occupation work in Japan when we got warning of an approaching typhoon.   We were many miles south of Okinawa, but we were told  to head for Buckner Bay and the safety it offered. This Bay was on the East side of Okinawa and was large enough for many of our huge ships.

We were nearing Okinawa when we received an update on the storm and how we should deal with it.  I don’t know exactly how many miles we were from the safety of the bay, but we had a terrible night ahead of us.  Then, by radio we were told to veer away from that haven at Buckner Bay because the storm was so fierce there that cruisers and large supply ships were dragging anchor.  These ships were being sent out to sea to battle the typhoon on their own because of the damage occurring to ships inside the bay.

We soon began to feel the full effects of the storm.  That would scare me to death now, but then I somehow felt that God would protect us, and our crew would handle the ship safely.  With all the hatches locked down and the air vents shut, we weren’t getting fresh air as usual.  In this situation the atmosphere in the ship had a strange smell and gave me a suffocating feeling.

A little before dark, I went outside the hatch that opened off the galley where the gangway went down to the mess hall-sleeping quarters ladder.  Safety lines had been strung everywhere outside for men to hold onto so they would not be blown or washed overboard.  To walk anywhere, inside or outside, was like being a  circus performer walking on a big ball.  It was a balancing act to keep from being thrown against a bulkhead.  In the radio shack we held to the bulkhead stanchions or whatever was handy.

When I looked aft, I saw a hill of water that looked sixty feet high, and frankly I became scared.  Since I had no business outside, I went back in so I wouldn’t see the huge waves— much higher than our ship—- rolling toward us.  As these waves lifted the stern of the ship, the bow went down at a terrible angle, like a submarine making a crash dive.  The screws came out of the water at these times, making a zizzing sound, as they revved up faster in the air.  I found that I could hear that zizzing sound inside the ship in any compartment.

Back inside, I went  into the passageway that ran along the port side of the radio shack from forward quarters to the galley and so forth.  Four or five men were crouched near the hatch door at the galley.  They explained that if the ship capsized, they felt they had a fighting chance of escaping to the open sea by being so near the door.  I didn’t know whether I should join them or not, but trying to sleep was difficult.   To avoid being thrown out of the sack, I had to put my heels down between my mattress and the pipe that was the outside rim of my hammock. And I had  to hold on with both hands and arms.   I was amazed that sixty-six men and six officers were going about their business of either trying to ignore the typhoon or — if they were on duty— trying to uphold the traditions of good seamanship to keep us afloat.

I saw our shipmate, Murray, from Upper Darby, Pennsylvania, come up from his sleeping quarters and  go to the head.  He was rubbing his eyes with one hand as he held onto the railing with the other.  One of the guys at the hatch, watching and waiting for the ship to capsize, said, “Murray, how the hell do you sleep through a typhoon?”  Murray said, “Ah, I always say my prayers before I go to bed.”

I must have slept some, and as daylight came, I was thankful to note we were still afloat and the waves were down to 10-12 feet.   Our skipper had kept our stern to the storm, like a buffalo keeping his rear to the wolves.  Ernest Hayes and Floyd Eaton manned the helm during the worst part of the storm.  We had traveled at 5-10 knots, whatever speed best balanced our ship to the size and frequency of the waves—and it had worked.  We heard later that several cruisers lost 12-15 feet of their bows—-maybe more.  Apparently the bigger ships with their long water lines weren’t able to balance their act as well as we were.  The long ships had taken several cruel waves at once in the towel-wringing episode.

It was cloudy, completely overcast, and the wind was still strong enough to blow spray off the tops of the waves.  Our quartermasters were unable to shoot the sun to fix our position.  We estimated that we were southwest of Okinawa.  The skipper came into the radio shack to see if we were hearing ships talking on our SCR radio.   We could hear traffic but it was sporadic, and we weren’t able to get much useful information from it.

Some hours passed, and I was able to learn that we were listening to traffic at Guam.  When I told the skipper this, he pointed out that we were 1500 miles from Guam and our SCR radio was only supposed to receive or send signals about 25 miles.  We attributed this  phenomenonal transmission distance  to the disturbed atmospheric conditions caused by the storm.  Later in the day we were able to contact other ships and determine our position and resume our course to Tokyo Bay.

from  SERVING ABOARD LCS 11 in WWII  by LBS

Landing Craft Support (Large) No. 11,   (LCS 11) would be dubbed “THE LUCKY ELEVEN,” by her crew.  Looking at the statistics of the Battle of Okinawa, below, one can see why we feel extremely fortunate that we came through it unscathed.

The following short article appeared in TIME magazine on July 9, 1945: 

“BATTLE OF THE SEA: The Little Ships”:

The Navy last week totaled up its losses off Okinawa; 4,907 men killed or missing; 4,824 wounded — nearly 20 percent of its total casualties in all oceans for the entire war.  Okinawa was also the war’s costliest operation for ships, according to the Navy’s own figures; 33 ships sunk, more than 50 damaged.
    One of the big reasons for this damage was finally passed by censors.  The gallant little ships (Destroyers, Destroyer Escorts, and LCS’s) which formed the ‘Picket’ line 25 to 50 miles above the main anchorage had been severely mauled.  By staying out front, the little ships with thin hulls, had been able to warn the big transports and gunnery ships of approaching Jap planes, but they became the first Okinawan targets in the sights of the Japanese suicide planes, and they took the greatest concentrated damage, plus more than 1,000 casualties.
    But the little ships stuck to their picket lines and their men stuck to their guns.  They set the world’s anti-aircraft record by shooting down 490 planes during the 82 day battle.  They went to general quarters 150 times.  The picket line men’s spirit was set down for history in a message sent by one little ship (LCS) in April. . . .”Have been hit by two suicide planes, shot down a third, and am taking damaged destroyer in tow.”

The Sacred Warriors by Denis Warner and Peggy Warner with Commander Sadao Seno, and A Glorious Way to Die by Russell Spur are two books that give lots of insight into the matter of kamikaze attacks.  On the first page of the first book is this statement:

On radar picket duty to the north of Okinawa, the Twiggs and other destroyers had LCS’s as support ships.  “They were good to have along,” said Lt. Pederson, “if for no other reason than that they might still be afloat to pick up our survivors. . . . All during April you had to consider yourself very, very lucky to come through a suicide attack.”

In reports of the DD Aaron Ward sinking, her skipper said: “Dead and wounded filled all available spaces, and men fought fires with seawater and buckets.  Others loaded the wounded on to life rafts and tied them alongside so they would not drift off.  And then along came the ‘crummy, dirty, lovely little LCS 83′ to take off the wounded.“

Ships involved in the fighting received the following message toward the end of the Okinawa battle:

From: Commander Task Force 51
To: Task Force51

This dispatch is for the purpose of giving special honor to the ships who are and have been on radar picket duty.  DD’s, DE’s, LSM’s and LCS’s, repeat LCS’s, are on this distant guard whose work is doing so much to help our troops make this operation a success.  We are very proud of the magnificent courage and effectiveness with which these vessels have discharged their difficult and hazardous tasks.

A second message followed:

From: Commander in Chief Pacific Fleet:

We share with the entire Navy the admiration expressed by CTF 51 for valor and gallantry of the resolute ships on radar picket duty who are contributing so magnificently to the successes being achieved by the current campaign.

Many other events occurred that will linger in the memory of our crew as long as we live.  On June 25th we were ordered to proceed to Leyte in the Philippines for rest and recreation.  July 1 my liberty section went ashore. . . .the first time we had set foot on dry land since March, 111 days earlier.

En route to Aomori, Japan, in September, 1945, our little ship was tossed about by a furious typhoon.  At recent reunions, our crew has agreed this was more scary than the Japanese suicide planes.  We visited Aomori, Yokohama, Yokasuka, Tokyo, Sasebo, Japan, and then we exploded mines behind mine sweepers off the Pescadores Islands and visited Shanghai for Christmas of 1945.  By April 15, 1946, most of us were civilians again.  We would send each other Christmas cards for a while and then drift away.  Fortunately, while we were at Shanghai, Sid Darion and Willis Rogers thought of the idea of publishing a “yearbook” of our crew.  It was to be a great help to me when I began to hunt the crew on June 26, 1987.

from SERVING ABOARD LCS 11 in WWII by LBS

My Cousin Cecil—the son of my mother’s sister— was a quarter master on the USS North Carolina when the Second World War began. His duty station was at the helm during battles and at other times when precise steering was called for. At these times the navigator, Commander T. J. VanMeter [see the first comment below], was at his side, giving heading changes as needed.

Cecil taking a sighting aboard USS North Carolina in WWII

The Carolina, nicknamed “The Show Boat,” was seriously damaged only once during the War.  That was during the Battle of Guadalcanal in the fall of 1942.  Cecil tells me that the aircraft carriers Wasp and Hornet were within sight of the Carolina at the time.  One of his shipmates ran into his quarters where he was sleeping and said, “The Wasp has been hit by a torpedo.”   A few seconds later the Carolina was also struck with a torpedo.  Both weapons had been launched from the same Japanese submarine.

The damage to the Carolina was on the forward port side. Nineteen compartments were flooded and eight crewmen were killed. After having some temporary repairs and the removal of the dead men from the compartments, the battleship steamed several days at about 18 knots to reach Pearl Harbor where the hull plating was replaced. But another repair was needed. One propeller shaft was bent or out of alignment, and that couldn’t be fixed at Pearl Harbor, so she sailed to the Navy shipyard at Bremerton, Washington, where the work could be done.

Since promotions were likely to be slow aboard the Carolina, Cecil transferred to another ship. He went to Astoria, Oregon, where the USS Meriwether was being finished and served aboard that ship during her sea trials.  He then sailed in the Meriwether back to Pearl Harbor where he was assigned to the USS Teton, a vessel fitted out as a command ship. The Teton was built on a freighter hull and bristled with radio antennas. Battle planning was its business and most of the crew were radiomen. In the spring of 1945, the Teton was in the waters off the east coast of Okinawa.

My oldest brother, Lawrence, went into the Navy in the fall of 1943 and shipped out to the Pacific in 1944. He was radioman on a 158-foot vessel designated, LCS 11. It and many others of the same kind were designed to accompany invading Marines close to enemy beaches.   They also did picket duty on the outer perimeter of the fleet at Okinawa. Consequently they were the first ships lying in the path of incoming enemy aircraft. Of course, that was their purpose.

                 LCS 11 at Sasebo, Japan, in October 1945

We were patrolling on Radar Picket Stations off Okinawa, in direct line between Japan and Okinawa. So we saw plenty of action there. Because of the tremendous fire-power we had for our size, our little ship and others like it were assigned to the RP  stations around Okinawa after the invasion, and we followed a destroyer around like little chicks following a hen. The destroyer gave us the task of picking up downed pilots. My ship picked up 4 downed U. S. pilots and shot down 4 suicide planes over a period of 83 days. We fired at and assisted in shooting down many more.

On the Teton, Cecil was promoted to Chief Quarter Master on April 1, 1945. He didn’t have a proper chief’s uniform and appeared in the chief’s mess hall wearing a chief’s hat and dungarees. He said a Marine master sergeant befriended him and made him feel welcome there.

At Okinawa the Japanese turned to heavy use of kamikaze attacks against US ships. Consequently, the crews were called to general quarters every day and sometimes several times per day. This kind of duty continued for weeks. Cecil recalls 99 straight days of going to general quarters.

One day during the Battle of Okinawa, Lawrence saw the USS Teton anchored some distance from his little LCS-11. He knew that his cousin was serving aboard that ship and sent a message to Cecil on the Teton. He suggested that the two of them meet to talk a while.

Cecil thought it was a good idea and approached his navigator, Lt. Commander W. D. Smith, with the request that he be allowed to go over to LCS-11 to see his cousin whom he had not seen in several years.

“Are you nuts?” he replied, “We’re in the middle of a battle here!” But Commander Smith went to the Executive Officer and asked whether it would be okay for Cecil to take the LCVP (a small boat) over to the LCS-11. The Exec said it would be okay. Commander Smith said, “Okay, Jones, go over for twenty minutes. Stay on the fantail—in sight–don’t go below. And if you get a signal to come back, be quick about it!”

Two other sailors took him to the LCS-11 and then stood off a short distance in the boat until he was ready to return to the Teton. The two cousins talked about the home folks in China Grove and figured out exactly how long it had been since Cecil came up from Florida to visit Lawrence on the farm. That night Lawrence wrote our mother a letter:

Just about 10 hours ago I shook hands with Cecil Jones. Well, you can guess how we covered 6 years in 10 minutes. It has been almost exactly 6 years since I saw Cecil last—-when he was visiting us I had the nail hole through my foot and he took me to the doctor.

Part of  a letter to LBS from Cecil, 1987
    History books call it “the Greatest Sea-Air Battle in History” and you were there.  It started at 4:00 PM on Easter Sunday, April 1, 1945.    I was promoted to Chief Quarter-Master at 12:01 AM and had my first meal in the Chiefs’s Quarters that morning.  It was also the “Last Battle” of World War II.  I went in on “D” day [first day of battle] and stayed until +72 [first day of battle plus 72 days].   During this time we recorded 99 air raids.   It was the greatest naval armada in history.  Forty carriers, 18 battleships, 200 destroyers, hundreds of transports, cruisers, supply ships, net layers, submarines, minesweepers, gunboats, LCS’s, landing craft, patrol vessels, salvage ships, & repair vessels.  1,321 ships transporting 183,000 assault troops.  The Japs lost 110,000 dead.  The U. S. lost 12,281 dead of which 5,000 were U. S. Navy.  I was 21 & you were 20 seven days after “D” day. [Cecil was born April 8, 1924; LBS was born April 8, 1925]
    Well, Lawrence, that was 42 years ago, and it seems like a lifetime ago.  My seeing you that day was one of the highlights of World War II.  It was one chance in a million.   Love, Cecil

Note:  An article about the LCS ships appears in the October, 2008, issue of  “Sea Classics”  magazine, and a photograph of LCS 11 at the Battle of Okinawa appears with the article (p. 50).