Barbed Wire Chaplain (Round Trip to Hell)

I’m thinking more than ever today
Of the one who has been so true
Before the day’s over – I just want to say,
“Happy Birthday”, my dearest, to you.

I look at your pictures on my table
(they’ve become so real to me)
I compare them – but I’m not able
Fifteen years difference to see

I may be biased – but I’ll always say –
As from the first I’ve maintained –
That you’re years younger – anyway,
Than the age that you’ve attained

It doesn’t seem sixteen years now
since I “Popped” the question to you
But the years roll by so “I reckon as how”
We’ll have to admit that it’s true

I haven’t always been able to get
the things you deserve – so nice
But I’ll make it up – to some extent – yet,
I won’t need this experience twice

What a strange year – all the way through,
but later, I’m sure, we’ll see
That the real things in life are quite few
And how thankful we should be

I’m thankful for you, sweetheart, tonight,
And I hope a good birthday you’ve had
And even though it doesn’t seem “right”
Being apart can’t keep us sad

so – “Many Happy Returns of the day,”
And may I be there next year –
To see you smile & hear you say,
“Oh , isn’t it wonderful dear”

Mother, dear, when I last “wrote” you
I had hoped to see you soon,
And now upon your birthday, too,
It would be such a boon

But I have stuck it out all right,
And I pray that you are well,
And now I think the time’s in sight
when these things I can tell.

I’ve had to miss 2 birthdays now,
But I hope to be there next year
And I still can’t help believe somehow
that the time is drawing near

In spite of all the war & strive
I hope your birthday’s keen –
Because of this: – that all your life
You have so wonderful been

I’m glad that I’m the only one
who has to be away
and I hope there will be one
Next year on this same day

I’ve thought of you so very much
This year that I’ve been away,
And I am longing for your touch
I think of you night and day

So many things come to my mind
With so much time for thought
that through such thought I often find
How things by you were bought

So many things have taken place
In these seventy-five years so long
– some things are easier for me to face
Since you have been so strong
[continue reading…]

M-O-T-H-E-R

M stands for mothers everywhere
O is for others, for whom she lives
T is for her tenderness so rare
H is for her heart, from which she gives
E is for her eagerness to share
R is for righteousness divine,
Which causes her to bear
Her burdens – and yours, & mine

—To My Mother —

Mother, dear, I’m quite sure you know
That this hasn’t had to wait
For mother’s Day (I love you so)
For I think of you early and late

this is always the hardest day
Of all the days of the year
To be away from you – I pray
that a swell reunion is near

You’ve done for me so many things
No other could ever have done
Your prayers, I know have been the springs
To refresh your unworthy son

You’ve been eager for me to know
The right – and you have always prayed
In this experience through which I go
I find that I’m not afraid

I’m sorry I’ve caused you added pain
but I’ve done what I thought was right
And if I should never see you again
– We’ll be united – by God’s might

Another Warrant we have with us
– A Mr. Condon by name –
And though he, too is an ornery cuss,
We like him just the same

this Condon is a boisterous stiff –
And they tell me he likes to shout
“You so an d sos just call me cliff
or I’m liable to knock you out”

But most of his fighting is with his voice
(He also talks with his hands)
So, when his friends are given a choice
They disregard his commands

One thing about Cliff is always true
– He’s always ready for a ‘spute –
The choice of sides is up to you
He’s a philosopher of repute

Though he might possess a rough edge or two
He’s not really a bad sort of guy –
He’s seldom “way up” & never blue
and usually has reasons why

so, since we’ve had to be in here
With somebody – more or less
We’ve been very glad to have Cliff near
– (on his birthday we must confess)

So, many happy returns of the day
To Condon – the great big stiff –
And while to some he may be “C.K.”
You so & sos” can call him Cliff

Well, Rosie, Dear, I must write another
Though I think of you every day,
This is a special time for mother
– And I have somewhat to say

First of all, I’ve come to know
(I learn the hard way I guess)
How stupid & how awfully slow
I’ve been – through this distress

How songs & husbands can be so dumb
When mothers & wives are so swell!!
Surely our spirits must be numb –
Our appreciation not to tell

As with other beautiful things no doubt
– sometimes you must get away
to see what they’re all about
With you – what a price to pay!

But I’m trying to think more of the day
When I can be with my own
And I also hope these days will pay
– in that I’ve wiser grown
[continue reading…]

Now have you ever been to a place
That always seems to be muddy
Especially when you have to chase
Like mad to a dark brown “study”

We’ve made mud pies as a little kid,
I’ve seen mud in the brickyard,
I used to like it as all of us did
But to leave it wouldn’t be hard

Of course we don’t have places to go
but we do have to get to the “head”
Although you must also know
At night there’s a “can” instead

In spite of all of our engineers
And all of our ditches and stuff
Even long after the rain disappears
The going is pretty rough

You wonder as you slide around
And you grope through the blackness of night
Now you’ll keep your butt off the ground
And sometimes you don’t do it, quite

It’s bad enough during daylight hours
When you can see and not just feel
But at night it taxes a Chaplain’s powers
And his feelings are hard to conceal

so when a sunshiny day comes round
as they do every now and then
Considerable happiness can be found
Even though you’re in the pen

Even at the risk of preaching a bit
As a preacher must always do,
I’m sure there’s no doubt about it
That mud has a lesson for you

No matter how much mud there may be
Bright sunshine will always replace
The sloppiest stuff you ever did see
If life, with the right spirit you face

So bring on the sunshine as soon as you please
although we can take mud for a while,
But I can assure you we’ll feel more at ease
When we ask in the light of your smile

Well, Rosie, dear, another year
Has past for us together –
So I must write away out here
Regardless of the weather

We’ve spent so little time apart
For Lo, these sixteen years
that being away ‘most breaks my heart
And I ‘spose it brings you tears

but it also brings us mem’ries
Of days that mean so much
that though in far off countries
we dream of them and such

So I’ve been dreaming of the day
When we can live anew
And do a lot of things the way
We always used to do

And I am planning lots of things
That I hope that we can do
In fact I’m sure we’ll live like kings
As we start again – we two
[continue reading…]

You ask what Christmas means to me
this year when away from home
When it is so hard to see
There are better days to come

We’ve been away from home so long
Three years for most of the men
It isn’t easy to be strong
– in fact it seems like ten

For Christmas is the time of year
When we long to be with our own
And even the strongest shed a tear
Because we’ve homesick grown

The memory of former days
When we were all together
causes us to feel it pays
To ride out stormy weather

For some things we will ne’er forget
And Christmas is the best
the things like this haven’t failed yet
To help us meet the test
[continue reading…]

by Chaplain Earl Brewster USN (Ret.)
Sketches by Rosella M. Brewster

Prologue

There I was — stranded on that waterfront — looking out across the bay, which had become a graveyard for ships and men. My own ship had fled the bombings, barely getting away alive and unhurt. So I had no “home”, no friends, nowhere to go. I was an orphan in a strange land, and felt something like a lost soul must feel on judgment day. It was almost a feeling of nakedness …in a frightened city … beginning to be ravaged by the hell of war. I was really “up the creek”, with no visible means of propulsion.

Never had I experienced such a feeling of futility and frustration. How had I gotten here? What was I doing here? And what was going to happen to me now? In order to offer answers to these questions, and many others, the following true story has been written.

FORWARD

After the final surrender of the Philippines, I was interned at the prison camp number 1 at Cabanatuan, Nueva Ecija, P. I. I met Chaplain Brewster for the first time in this camp and was immediately struck by his splendid example of courage and fortitude under the stress of the terrible circumstances in which we found ourselves. In this camp all Naval and Marine Corps personnel, seeking to keep together as much as possible, had managed to be quartered in the same portion of the camp. It was difficult to maintain faith and hope in these horrible circumstances, but it was made easier for all of us by the moral and spiritual leadership of Chaplain Brewster. He was our friend and counselor and a constant source of good cheer and hope. He ministered to the sick, organized a daily Bible class for us which benefited all of us greatly, and every Sunday he delivered a sermon to us which was absolutely inspiring. His efforts were endless even though his physical strength ebbed constantly as a result of the starvation we were enduring.

Finally, a group of prisoners numbering 1,000 were sent to camp number 2 at the former Davao Penal Colony in Mindanao. Chaplain Brewster and I were in this group. We all suffered terribly from exposure and the unbelievably crowded and filthy conditions on the Japanese ship during the 11-day trip to Davao. Upon our arrival there, we were forced to march about 20 miles, which, in our weakened condition, was almost beyond the limits of our endurance. It was not long after our arrival in this new camp that Chaplain Brewster developed beri-beri, the disease which caused untold suffering among the prisoners. The chaplains condition was very serious. He suffered endless, stabbing pain in his feet and legs and he was not able to get up from his bed in our crude hospital. He was very thin. Sleep for him was almost impossible since there were no sedatives and the pain never stopped, not even for a minute. He once told me, “Jack, I never knew such suffering was possible on this earth. But I will never give up.”

Col. Jack Hawkins USMC, (Ret.)

[continue reading…]

Chapter II

Pearl Harbor Bound

The two weeks between my detachment and reporting for new duty were accounted for by delay and proceed time, plus travel time. This gave me some time with my family, and to adjust to a new situation. Reporting to the District Transportation office, I found that passage to Pearl Harbor would be available in a Navy tanker toward the end of the month, so I was tentatively scheduled to be aboard. There was virtually no air transportation available in those days. During this period between duty stations we took a couple of short trips, visited relatives and friends in Southern California, and had visits in Coronado from friends and relatives, including my Mother and Rosella’s folks from Long Beach. Also there were “bull-sessions” with other chaplains, including my friend Ray Cook, whom I have mentioned previously. So, these were busy days, in spite of the fact that I was free of duty for two weeks.

During these days in San Diego and Coronado we renewed our acquaintance with the two veteran chaplains I have mentioned as having been instrumental in my becoming a chaplain. These were chaplains who had entered the Navy during World War I, and had over twenty years service when I went on active duty. The late H. S. Dyer was District Chaplain of the 11th Naval District, which embraces the Southwestern part of the country, with headquarters in San Diego. Chaplain Dyer’s health became impaired during World War II, forcing him into early retirement not long after the war’s end. After living in his country home in Virginia for a number of years he died several years ago. Harrel Dyer was a good friend, and I, among many others, benefited greatly from our association — from his wisdom and experience. He was one of the keenest men I have known.

The late R. W. Truitt was the other veteran chaplain whom I had met at church conferences, etc. while in the pastorate in the thirties. During my time at N.T.S. he was attached to the U.S.S. Saratoga, one of the early flat-tops, based in San Diego. Razzie and I became good friends during these few months, and our families visited back and forth during the war, since they, too, lived in Coronado, which was still quite a cozy place. Mrs. Truitt and Rosella became real good friends. Nan now lives at Rossmoor in Walnut Creek, California, where we see her frequently, since we live less than five miles apart. Nan Truitt is just as unique (in her own way) as her more widely known husband, and we enjoy her friendship. Razzie Truitt, well and favorably known throughout the Navy, was one of the most unique “characters” I have ever known. I use this expression in its highest sense, for his keen wit and friendliness were of the most genuine nature, born of a deep love of God, and for people.

T.I. Kirkpatrick, another veteran chaplain, whom I met during my “boot” training, was Senior Chaplain at the Marine Base (next door) during this period. Tom will be mentioned later on.

G.L. (Clede) Markle is still another veteran chaplain, who entered the Navy several years after the first World War. Clede was Senior Chaplain at the Air Station on North Island for some time while I was at N.T.S., later having been transferred to the U.S.S. Lexington, sister ship to the Saratoga. The Markles also lived in Coronado, where Mrs. Markle (Eloise) and Rosella became close friends, spending considerable time together while their husbands, together with Razzie Truitt, were overseas. So, these three chaplains’ wives were able to exchange stores, although Rosella didn’t hear much from me for most of the time. One of the most amusing (but potentially tragic) war stories I have heard came from Clede Markle as he was home for a few days between duties after the sinking of the “old Lex” during the Battle of the Coral Sea. My wife, who heard the story first hand, tells it something like this: “After the gallant old ship had been attacked and mortally damaged, Chaplain Markle remained aboard helping others in every way he could until he was among the last to leave the ship. As he prepared to go overboard he saw a pair of good binoculars that had been discarded at the last minute. Clede had always wanted some good binoculars so he picked them up, put the strap around his neck and jumped into the water. As he swam to get away from the sinking ship he soon found that the binoculars were not only excess baggage, but they almost became his undoing, as the motion of the water wound the strap around his neck tighter and tighter.” I am glad to report that he did survive, and lived to tell the story. The Markles now live in beautiful Carmel Valley. I have thought of using this story as the basis for a sermon on “Thou Shalt Not Covet.” That was not really covetousness, of course; all of us are apt to do strange things in emergencies. This evidently is especially true when a ship has almost literally been blown from under your feet. I have never been called on to undergo this experience, but have been in some pretty rough seas, and in a violent storm aboard the last ship I was assigned to, the U.S.S. Pocono, flagship of the Amphibious Forces of the Atlantic.

Ed. – This cap kindly sent from  Joseph Mcelwee (crew of the USS Pocono 1957-1959)

We were bound for our home port of Norfolk, Va., after a six month Mediterranean Cruise. We left Gibraltar expecting to be home in no more than ten days, but it was seventeen long days before we reached the safety of our home port. With the exception of the first day out from Gibraltar and the last day from Norfolk we were in a constant storm, which never let up — some days were just rougher than others. The ship rolled and pitched considerably more than it was built to withstand, and at times we didn’t know what might happen. During one twenty-four hour period we scarcely made any headway at all. Under these conditions there is naturally a tendency to become tense and irritable; what with not being able to eat or sleep properly, and feeling a little “woozy”. One night the ship was rolling so much that without the guard rail on my bunk I would have rolled off onto the deck of my stateroom. So, I took my mattress off, put it athwart-ship on the deck, and was able to sleep a little better.

I have presented the above background in order to tell you one of my favorite true stories. Aboard the Pocono it was my custom each morning at 0800, as the ship’s personnel had been mustered, to get on the ship’s loudspeaker and offer a very brief prayer. The beginning was something like this: “This is the chaplain inviting all hands to stand fast for our morning prayer.” Then I would offer a prayer of just a few sentences. I would try to vary the prayers as much as possible, so one day during the storm I asked all hands to join me in repeating the Lord’s Prayer, and it was reported to me that most of them did join in. During a storm all hands are required to wear a life-jacket when on the upper decks of the ship. Some time later in the day a “salty” boatswain’s mate, a friend of mine, was observed by a mutual friend still wearing his life-jacket down in the “bowels” of the ship. So, he was asked how cone he was still wearing his life-jacket down below. “Look, Pal”, he replied, “When things get so bad that that chaplain of ours has to have help with his prayin’, man, I ain’t takin’ no chances!”.

In mentioning the fellowship among chaplains, I want to emphasize the camaraderie that exists among Navy Chaplains. Perhaps this mutual fellow-feeling among all denominations and faiths was more pronounced when the Navy had a hundred Chaplains before the war than when there were nearly three thousand at the peak of the war in 1945.  A motto of the Chaplain’s Corps, as far as our working together is concerned, is “Cooperation without compromise.” This has reference to difference of belief and practices among denominations and faiths.

During the war qualified representatives of religious groups without ordained ministers (such as Mormons and Christian Scientists) were commissioned as chaplains. While each chaplain retains his religious affiliation, and must receive periodic endorsement from his religious body, he works with other chaplains and personnel, and endeavors to see that the religious needs of all groups are met. One physical evidence of working together is found in a number of our chapels built with three-way revolving altars, each segment of which is “rigged” behind the scene for a particular service, and turned accordingly.

One of the stories Chaplain Gatlin used to tell the recruits in one of our early indoctrination lectures to Protestants might illustrate the fact that we are not primarily interested in denominations, as such, as far as our work is concerned. The story is that. In filling out one of many questionnaires, Bill and John (from the same town) were sitting next to each other. When they came to the question of church affiliation, Bill looked over and noticed that John had put down “Methodist”, and asked him why he had indicated he was a Methodist. John’s reply was that he couldn’t spell Presbyterian!

I have known of very little, if any, proselytizing (or stealing sheep) by Navy chaplains, which reminds me of another incident while on duty at Parris Island, South Carolina, soon after World War II. At that time the Chaplains center was the distribution point for magazines all over the Base. In charge of this (under the direction of the Recreation Department) was a young ex G.I., a native of South Carolina, whose name was Charlie. I never learned his last name, but I used to enjoy chatting with Charlie, who lived with his wife in a little town near our Island Base. Subsequently Charlie’s brother-in-law came to be the pastor of a small church in this little town, and our Charlie became the superintendent of the Sunday School. He was quite proud of this honor, so, I would make it a point each Monday to ask him how his Sunday School was doing. His usual reply was something to the effect that it was doing fine,and growing right along. After a while Charlie had two or three weeks leave. When he got back I asked him whether his Sunday School was still growing. “Oh yes, Chaplain,” he replied, “It’s growin’ by leaps and bounds!” “By the way, Charlie,” I replied, “You’re not doing any proselytizing over there, are you?” “Why Chaplain,” he replied, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself; you know I’m a married man … I stay home every night!” Well, I haven’t seen Charlie in more than twenty years, but I suppose he still thinks the chaplain was awful for even suggesting such a thing — unless he has consulted a dictionary.

The tanker on which I was booked for passage was the U.S.S. Kaskaskia, and we were to sail on Saturday, morning, 28 June. Navy tankers are named for rivers, and this ship was given the name of a river in downstate Illinois. This was to be my first cruise at sea. The only time I had left harbor had been on a couple of excursions on smaller ships to Catalina Island, a distance of twenty miles or so from San Pedro Harbor. The Kaskaskia was anchored in San Diego Bay, and I went aboard by water taxi a time or two before the end of the week to take my gear aboard, and to orient myself a little bit. Since there were to be only a half-dozen passengers aboard we were assigned nice, spacious quarters on this ship, which was one of the tankers recently built for the Navy, with a capacity of 125,000 barrels. Passengers were required to be aboard the night before sailing (so that nobody would “miss the boat”), so I went aboard late Friday afternoon, had supper (good chow) in the officers’ mess, saw the movie “Escape”, and spent my first night at sea in San Diego harbor.

After shoving off the next morning, as we were leaving San Diego bay and rounding Point Loma, I remember San Diego and Coronado fading from view as the ship headed West. Rosella and our boys were on the beach at Coronado, and although we were not able to see each other they could see the ship fading into the distance, not knowing when we would be reunited. We had never been separated for more than a couple of weeks since our marriage in 1926. It doesn’t take you long, under such circumstances, to develop a little feeling of homesickness, which, in some respects, is as bad as seasickness.

The Skipper of the tanker asked me if I would conduct a service aboard on Sunday morning, and I had told him I would be glad to. I enjoyed my breakfast and dinner on Saturday, but during the afternoon I developed an aversion to food, and had to send word to the Skipper that I was afraid to try to conduct that service Sunday morning. This was rather embarrassing, and I was in for some good-natured kidding, but those who had been seasick knew that it’s not “just in the mind.” So, I spent a rather quiet Sunday, and by Monday morning had recovered my sea legs and was able to enjoy the rest of the cruise. I began to realize what a “big pond” that old Pacific really is. Although the sea was not especially rough the first few days out, it began to be quite calm as we approached the area of balmier weather. The nights at sea, even in the dark of the moon, are something to make a believer out of the rankest so-called atheist. I stood in awe as never before as I looked up at the moon and the stars, hearing only the swish of the water as the ship’s bow plowed through the mighty sea. The thought of the smallness of man and the greatness of God Almighty came to me through such scripture as: “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth his handiwork,” (Ps. 19:1). “When I consider Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which Thou has ordained; what is man that Thou art mindful of him, and the Son of Man that Thou visitest him? For Thou has made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honor.” (From Psalm 8).  Also in the Genesis story of Creation (Chapter I) we find that the sea is mentioned prominently:

“And God called the firmament Heaven,
The dry land earth,
and the gathering together of the waters, called He seas.
And God saw that it was good.”

A verse in another Psalm has not only helped me greatly, but many years ago I used it as the basis for a High School Baccalaureate sermon: “They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters … these see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep.” The subject of the sermon was “Glorious Gamblers”, which, I think, at least got their attention. It is not for me to say whether or not I continued to hold them, but I don’t believe any of the lads and lasses went to sleep on me. The central thought, that I tried to drive home was that the real, meaningful, lasting prizes go only to those who have the faith to risk all for God and His children. After having been to sea I probably could have preached a better sermon on this theme than before I hadn’t ventured any farther than to Catalina Island.

Whenever I have been at sea, or looked out from the beach, I have remembered the Navy Hymn, which we often use to close our Divine services. Note the words to the first verse:

“Eternal Father, strong to save,
whose arm doth bind the restless wave,
Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep.
Its own appointed limits keep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.”

In spite of the roughness of many seafaring men, both in the Navy and in merchant vessels, many are men of faith — a faith bolstered by the mightiness and beauty of the sea and the heavens, and the realization that God’s all-powerful hand is behind it all. “In the beginning God created_____ .”

Our last night at sea (July 3) aboard the Kaskaskia, my diary reads, “Got ready to disembark early tomorrow morning. Sat out on deck in the moonlight, and wished Rosie were with me. We must take this cruise together sometime.” I might add that we did take that cruise together twenty years later. It was a luxury cruise on the SS Matsonia, and we enjoyed it immensely.

CHAPTER III

HOLLAND

My diary continues on the 4th of July: “A 4th of July I should remember. Got up at 0530, and saw Diamond Head looming up before us. Had my first introduction to the Hawaiian Islands. They are different, to say the least — green hills arid beautiful cloud effects. We had to wait outside Pearl Harbor entrance for some time, but came in between 0900 and 1000. The different bases and ships are quite a sight. Sailed by the Lexington, docked to unload the 100,000/barrels of fuel at 1030. Holland’s boat came after me at 1100, and I had dinner aboard my own ship with Chaplain Bennett and a few other officers. Have been with Bennett all day. He is a fine fellow. We “cased” the ship and met some of the personnel. Tomorrow (Saturday) I will meet the Skipper and the Exec, and others. Bennett will be here over Sunday, which suits me fine. He took me out to Chaplain Twitchell’s home for supper, and we had a delightful time. Understand I will get to see Rosie and our boys before too long, which sounds swell.”

Before we get away from the happenings of the first day aboard my first ship, I must relate a parting incident. Aboard the Kaskaskia the Steward’s Mate assigned to me and my room was a very pleasant lad named Cook. Cook took real good care of me, and did a number of things beyond the call of duty. When the Holland’s boat came for me and my gear Cook carried all my “stuff”, including boxes of books, than which there is nothing heavier, from the ship to the dock. It was plenty warm, and Cook got a real work-out. Before he went back to the tanker I wanted to thank him, so I said: “Cook, I certainly do thank you for taking such good care of me, and for all the extra things you’ve done.” Cook’s reply was, “O, that’s O.K, Chaplain; think nothing of it, think nothing of it; you know, Chaplain, when I gets in trouble I’m gonna look you up.” Now Cook didn’t say “if” or “if and when”, but I don’t suppose he really planned to get in trouble. Maybe he realized (from previous experience) that he was accident prone, or something, and simply wanted to apply for some ecclesiastical insurance … just in case. I doubt if Cook subsequently got into as much trouble as did the Chaplain. I have never seen him again; I wish him well wherever he might be.

Martel Twitchell, who entered the Navy in 1937, was the Chaplain at the “sub” Base, where the Holland, a “sub” tender was tied up. Martel was very cordial to me and he and his wife Mamie, plus their two small children, were more than hospitable. I enjoyed visiting (and eating Mamie’s good cooking) in their home in Honolulu. We have remained good friends, our paths having crossed several times since the war. Martel retired as a Captain several years ago, reentered the pastorate, and now is serving a church not more than twenty miles from us in the San Francisco bay area. We are glad to be able to visit with them from time to time.

Turning to my diary again; “On Saturday, the 5th, I did meet the Holland’s Skipper, Captain Gregory, and the “Exec”, Commander Pendleton, plus others of the ship’s crew. Everyone gave me a good reception, which was a compliment to my predecessor. It is always nice to follow a man who was well-liked by those with whom he has worked.”

Continuing from the diary: “Chaplain Bennett (Sam) found on Saturday morning that he could leave for San Diego that evening, so he dashed around getting his things together in order to make it. I went with him in the afternoon to Honolulu, where he got his ticket and checked his baggage, etc. Then we went to the “Y”, where the Twitchells picked us up, and all of us went to the pier to see Sam off. I certainly do not blame Sam for not staying aboard the Holland longer; after all, he has a baby boy at his house, whom he hasn’t yet seen! I would have been just as anxious had 1 been in his place.”

It was after the war before I saw Sam again, but over the years we have had several tours of duty near enough to the Bennett’s that we have visited back and forth, becoming real good friends. After thirty years of Navy duty Sam retired as a Captain a couple of years ago, having entered the Navy’ in 1938, and now is the pastor of a little mountain church back of San Diego.

Back to the diary again: “Sun. July 6. My first Divine service aboard — quite a thrill, even though the attendance was small. Fried chicken dinner at Twitchell’s. A good dinner and a nice visit. Clede Markell was there, and we compared notes. Made calls on Chaplains Ackiss and Salisbury. Then met Chaplain Miller at the “Y” and went with him to the windward side of Oahu, for an evening service. Chaplain Miller (Thornton) took me to his home, where we had a nice “snack” and visit with his family. To my shipboard “home” rather late.”

A word about the three veteran chaplains mentioned above will probably be of interest. The late Chaplain Ernest Ackiss entered the Navy during World War 1 and served for more than thirty years; having held a number of important assignments along the way. He was Force Chaplain aboard USS INDIANAPOLIS in 1941. Chaplain Ackiss did valuable research work after the war at the Chaplains Division in Washington.

The late Chaplain Thornton Miller entered the Navy in 1920. He was District Chaplain at Pearl Harbor when I first met him, held responsible assignments, finishing his Naval career as a Rear Admiral.

The late Chaplain S. W. (Stan) Salisbury who became a Chaplain in 1921 was aboard the Battleship Pennsylvania when I first met him at Pearl Harbor in 1941. Having served in a number of responsible assignments, Stan became a Rear Admiral in 1949 and served his last tour of duty as Chief of Chaplains.

Well, now I was on my own aboard a strange ship (they were all strange to me), but already I had found that I was among friends, who were glad to help a “land-lubber” chaplain find his way around. I had found, even aboard the Kaskaskia, that this was not so easy for me to do, and it took me some time to become oriented in the Holland and other ships I served. At first I didn’t realize there were so many decks “down below.” It took some weeks to be sure what deck I was on, or whether I was facing “fore” or “aft”, or whether I was on the port or starboard side. Perhaps a slight tendency toward claustrophobia did not help, but after a while things began to fit into place, and I was able to find my way around pretty good. When I had any particular difficulty I just swallowed my pride and asked directions — as my wife has finally taught me to do out on the road. My aim was to get around the ship lot, and to become acquainted with the officers and men where they worked. Your “parishoners” like to feel that their chaplain is interested in them during the week — not just on Sunday. Some of the most meaningful contacts a chaplain makes are those so-called casual encounters he has as he circulates about his ship or station, becoming acquainted with the personnel. Of course, in the process they are “sizing up” the chaplain, too, and’are often pretty good at it. There are usually a few “customers” who will soon try to “work”, or test, a new chaplain — to see whether he’s an easy mark, or whether he expects people to help themselves, if they can. The word seems to get around, and usually the chaplain is known for what he really is. And that is the way most of us like it.

I am rather proud of myself for something I learned all by myself after reporting to the Holland. I got to figuring that it just might look as if the chaplain might know where he was going, and why, if he had something important-looking in his hand as he went about the ship. So I always made it a point to have a legal-sized envelope, or something, to carry around, and tried to look real important on such occasions.

A chaplain is assigned an office of sorts, which often is connected with the ship’s library, which traditionally is supervised by the chaplain. To man the library and office he is assigned a yeoman, who, if he is the right kind, can be a lot of help to the chaplain. When the Chaplain is “circulating”, a good yeoman can represent him, and also get in touch with him when it is necessary — especially in case of emergencies, etc. A good chaplain should not be found in his office too much — unless he has a desk job, as such. There is a certain amount of paper work to be done during office hours, but a chaplain’s reading and study usually is accomplished in his quarters, after hours. Of course, different types of duty largely determine a chaplain’s schedule. For instance, in the case of hospital duty, he should be found most of the time visiting and counseling the sick in the wards. His yeoman will need to know where he can be reached at all times during the day, and at night he is on call (by the duty officer) in emergencies.

A case in point in relation to hospital emergencies occurred while I was Senior Chaplain at Great Lakes Naval Hospital in the middle fifties. One day the Chief Surgeon called me and asked if I could come over right away — that they had a case he thought I might be able to help with. When I got there he told me they had a patient in the dependents ward, whose life was in danger, as well as that of the baby, if she didn’t undergo a caesarian section soon, since there were critical complications. He also told me they were confident that if the operation were performed immediately the lives of both would be saved. The problem was that she would not submit to the operation without the approval of her husband, who was on duty in the far east, and could not be reached soon enough. So, the chaplain hopefully was the catalyst. Upon entering the patient’s room (after asking the good Lord to give me the right words to say) the first thing I noticed was that she was black. I was glad, for it seems that have always had a certain empathy with most negroes. After introducing myself, I pulled up a chair, sat real close to the bed, placed my hand on hers and told her quietly and sincerely that I knew the doctors involved, that they were fine surgeons, and that she could have absolute confidence in what they had told her. I told the young lady, also, that I was sure her husband would want her to go ahead with the operation — under the circumstances. I further assured her that I would advise a close relative the same as I had advised her. After I had been at the patient’s bedside for no more than five minutes she smiled and said, “Well, Chaplain, if you think this is the right thing to do, you tell the doctors to go ahead, and I’m sure the Lord will take care of me and my baby.” Before I left, I offered a short prayer of trust and assurance, asking God’s guidance for the doctors. The surgery was performed that morning, and that afternoon I was notified that it was successful, both mother and baby having been spared. The next day I called on this happy lady again, and offered up a prayer of thanksgiving for the mother and baby, and for the father, too. I firmly believe that God uses human instruments (not only doctors, ministers and scientists, but so-called ordinary people) to help perform His miracles. We are told that “we are laborers together with God … His fellow-workers.”

The foregoing incident was not related to glorify the chaplain, but to indicate how a chaplain really comes in handy at times. This incident could, have involved another chaplain, but I was there, and had the opportunity of serving. Although the chaplain represented the church, my services probably would have been offered in vain, and my advice would not have been accepted, had not this lady not only been a church goer, but also a dedicated Christian — and sometimes there is a big difference. It was not that she distrusted doctors, but that she had had more association with ministers and needed reassurance. More and more doctors, both in military and civilian practice, are recognizing the value, and even necessity, of doctors and ministers working together, and this works both ways.

Many people traditionally have had the idea that a hospital is a place people go to primarily to die. This is no longer as true as it used to be, except that there are those (probably mostly among the elderly and disadvantaged) who still are extremely apprehensive about being admitted to a hospital, or about submitting to surgery. This applies not only to blacks, but to whites as well. So, we have to take this into consideration when dealing with certain people.

Before we leave the hospital scene perhaps another aspect of such duty that could be of interest is the chaplain’s relationship to the Neuro- psychiatric Department. Doctors and ministers in this field (both civilian and military) are working together more and more in this broad and important category. At Great Lakes we chaplains had a working relationship with our doctors in this Department, and I believe our working together resulted in great benefit to a number of patients. A couple of us chaplains regularly attended (at the invitation of the Senior Psychiatrist) the seminars at the N.P. section, where we heard individual cases discussed. We were free to enter into the discussion, and often did. We chaplains, sometimes as a result of our interviews, referred individuals to the Psychiatrists for further consultation and possible treatment. It is a wise chaplain who knows the point beyond which he should not try to go in some cases. After having demonstrated love and concern for such individuals they can be referred to the Psychiatrist, together with the findings of the chaplain. Some times the chaplain will have further contact with the patient in the ward, at the suggestion of the doctors. This is a two-way street, and the doctors often referred their N. P. patients to us for consultation. One of our chaplains held a brief weekly Divine Service in a room at the end of the N.P. ward. The patients were free to attend if they chose.

We do not favor any compulsion, or captive congregations. These services were the result of a joint suggestion by the doctors and chaplains, and it was felt that this was a worth-while endeavor.

Summing up the relationship between ministers and psychiatrists, I would have this brief suggestion for ministers: We should read as widely as possible in the field of mental illness – especially in the realm of religious factors in such illness, and become conversant with the basic terms used, while making an effort also to see the patient as the doctors see him. Many Seminaries are offering courses in this field, and there are many available seminars, and more and more helpful books in this important field are being published. The one big hazard for ministers is that it is so easy for some of us (consciously or not) to presume to become “experts” in this whole field. Let us keep in mind that we are not doctors, and pray the Lord that we might have enough common sense to realize it.

I would not presume to advise the Psychiatrists, but I have noted among some of them an apparent lack of any meaningful realization of the importance of religious factors in mental illness — and other kinds of illness — for that matter. We can’t expect every doctor to be devoutly religious (thank God for those who are), but it is not too much to expect them to at least take into consideration the patient’s religious background, including his religious faith, and the particular branch within that faith. Otherwise, I fail to see how some cases can be fully evaluated, diagnosed and treated. It would seem that medical training should include more than apparently is presently the case. So much for that. Be assured, I do appreciate doctors, and we get along fine together.

I am not trying to enhance the chaplain’s importance when I say that Commanding Officers of military hospitals (and heads of more and more civilian hospitals) would be quite reluctant to undertake the administration of their institutions of healing without the ready availability of the representatives of religion. For that matter I have known of more than,  one ship’s Skipper who would not sail without a chaplain aboard.

Although chaplains (a very few) go back to the very first beginnings of our Navy, there was no appreciable number before World War I,  and then there were no more than two hundred during that conflict, the number of Navy chaplains (mostly reserves) diminished along with the reduction of Navy personnel, and even a year before Pearl-Harbor there were only about one hundred on duty) practically all of these were regular Navy. While the chaplains who served before that time served faithfully and well, laying a firm foundation for the future, it was not until World War II, when the number of Navy chaplains reached almost three thousand, that the chaplains corps was adequately recognized, and chaplains more generally accepted by officers and men alike. This does not mean that everybody in the Navy is always enthusiastic about chaplains, or a particular chaplain. Sometimes we are only tolerated, if not disliked. But, by and large, I think, there is a general recognition of the place of the chaplain in the Navy, and an appreciation of his work — if he does his job.

There have been, and still are, “chaplains and chaplains” … the same as with people in other walks of life. I firmly believe, however, that in the long run chaplains, as well as other ministers, will receive respect if and as they merit it. We won’t receive, and shouldn’t expect to have, respect and admiration unless we ourselves earn it. Such recognition does not come automatically with a clerical collar, a uniform, or rank. We chaplains and other ministers have a lot to live up to, since our opportunities for serving are so great and challenging. We should be eternally grateful for those who have paved the way, making it possible for us to carry on the work they have begun. God have mercy on our souls if we betray that honor and trust! Amen.

My first week aboard “my ship” was a busy one, of course. My time was largely spent in getting acquainted with things and people aboard. The ship was undergoing a periodic overhaul when I reported for duty, so, not everything was exactly in place, and naturally there was some confusion, especially in certain parts of the ship. But this was to be expected, and I hardly noticed the difference. This was partly because I hadn’t been aboard before the overhaul was undertaken, and also because I am so notoriously “non-mechanically inclined”. It is not that I am definitely disinterested in things mechanical, but that I have always had other interests.   I do like people, and seem to have a certain affinity for most individuals. There are some persons however that I like better than others, and no doubt there are plenty of people who might not “prefer” me,  either; but I hope there are not too many in that category.  At any rate, I made an honest effort to become acquainted with things aboard, while finding it required no special strain to get acquainted with the ship’s personnel. Not even a gregarious chaplain succeeds in learning the names of five hundred people overnight, but I am anxious to learn what makes people tick, if I can. In this get-acquainted process they (those interested) were probably looking the new chaplain over, too.

The Holland was built and commissioned in the middle twenties. She ‘may not have been the most beautiful, sleek, speedy ship around, but she was a work-horse, having been built to supply the needs of her squadron of submarines while ashore and at sea. She had a clipper bow, which enabled her, in earlier years, to hoist the small subs of an earlier day up and under this concave bow, where they could be serviced and repaired. Of course, this feature no longer was of use because of the much heavier modern subs, but the bow was a distinctively noticeable and identifying feature, which added to the beauty of the old girl. As is probably somewhat well known, no matter how much a sailor might cuss his current ship while aboard, and call it “an old bucket of bolts”, etc. when ashore it is the “best d— ship in the Navy”.  If anybody undertakes to dispute that allegation there is almost certain to be an altercation, which sometimes winds up in a “donnybrook” — or just a plain old free for all, or even a brawl.

The Holland was not a huge ship, by modern standards, but housed everything from a blacksmith shop to a small instrument shop. She carried all kinds of supplies and equipment, including torpedoes for her subs. So, she was not a fast ship, but quite seaworthy. In fact, she was so seaworthy that even this chaplain can’t remember having been seasick aboard her while cruising ten or twelve thousand miles in the pacific — and that’s something.

The Holland had a pretty good baseball team, and I was able to get acquainted with most of the players, none of whom were big-leaguers, but had played sand-lot ball, and in High School, etc. They loved to play, and it wasn’t always easy — because of work and watch schedules, but they usually found a way. They played teams from other ships and from shore-based units in the area. It was hard to draw up a firm schedule very far ahead and be sure of keeping it, because of ship movements and transfers of personnel. But “we” had fun, and it was a good outlet. The Navy places a great deal of emphasis on recreational activities.

During my first week at Pearl Harbor I met some other chaplains for the first time. The late Chaplain W. A. (Bill) Maguire, who was then Chaplain of the Pacific Fleet, entered the Navy in 1917, and retired in 1946, after’ a long and distinguished career. I had heard of Chaplain Maguire while in San Diego, and was glad of the opportunity of meeting him. I saw him again several times in 1946 when he was 11th Naval District Chaplain in San Diego. He retired a few months later and died suddenly on a trip to London seven or eight years after that. I was able to attend a Requiem Mass for him in the Roman Catholic Cathedral in San Diego.

Chaplain R. C. (Ray) Hohenstein, who was aboard the battleship California at this time, entered the Navy a year before I reported for duty. Ray has the distinction of being the only chaplain to have been at Pearl Harbor at the beginning of hostilities in World War II, and also at Tokyo Bay for the surrender. Over the years Ray and I had some nearby duty, and I value his friendship. Ray retired two or .three years ago, and now has a responsible position with the Lutheran Church, with headquarters in Washington, D.C.

The late Chaplain Tom Kirkpatrick, whom I met previously at the Marine Base in San Diego, was now aboard the battleship Arizona. Tom did not have his family with him, and I enjoyed being aboard the Arizona several times, and having him aboard the Holland on a couple of occasions. Tom Kirkpatrick was one of the finest Christian gentlemen I have known. A few years after the war we had the privilege of living only a block- or so from Genevieve, his widow, and Tom, Jr., their son.

On Saturday night of my first week aboard I visited Chaplain S. [ed. Chaplain H. Cerf Straus] (whom I had “under/my wing” in San Diego) and his “Happy Hour” at the Armed Forces “Y” in Honolulu. He greeted me as a “long-lost brother”,and I “just had” to get up on the stage, where he introduced me as though I were the Chief of Chaplains, or some other V.I.P. In the process he proudly referred to himself as “a Brewster-trained man”. I was fortunate in being there that particular night, since most of the entertainment consisted of a real, old- fashioned family Hula show, which featured one large family portraying their way of life by means of the various Hula rituals. This involved every member of the family — from the youngest grandchildren through the oldest  grandparents. It was really quite a revelation, and so different from the usual concept of the Hula. In the few months that Chaplain S. [ed. Chaplain H. Cerf Straus] had been out there he had become unusually well-acquainted with people and things — so, he proved to be quite a source of information.

In the few months I was in the area, thanks to the thoughtfulness of chaplains and a few other people, who were generous with their cars, I was not only able to see different parts of Honolulu, but also different parts of the island of Oahu. The sugar cane and pineapple fields were something quite different to an old California boy. The Mormon Temple is a sight to behold, and was well worth stopping for. The Pali provides one of the most spectacular views you will find anywhere.

A memorable picnic was held for chaplains at one of the beautiful beaches on the Island. In contrast to the beaches on the California coast, the water is so warm in the islands that sometimes it is almost enervating. The swimming here, however, didn’t fail to sharpen our appetites for the good “chow” the ladies had brought for the picnic supper. In addition to the feasting there was story telling and singing. Whenever chaplains (and other ministers) get together, a good, jolly time is had by all! The one ingredient that would have made the evening complete would have been to have had Rosie and the boys along. As I mentioned before, though, it would be but a matter of weeks until I would get to see them, since around the first of September, after overhaul, dry-docking and trial runs, we were scheduled for an “R 5 R” (rest and recreation) cruise to San Diego, where we would spend a couple of weeks. So, that was something really to look forward to.

I have mentioned our Divine Services aboard, and some people might be interested to know where we hold services aboard ships. That’s a good question, since we hold them wherever it seems to be most convenient. Shore stations almost always include separate chapels. Some of them, especially in isolated areas, include facilities for Sunday School, and carry on quite a church program for the Navy families in the area. Ships can hardly be built to include chapels, as such, but the newer ships usually have suitable space available. In the case of carriers; the hangar deck is often used. On some occasions, such as Easter Sunrise services, when the weather is good, the flight deck is a unique site for a large, community service. I have participated in such services in Norfolk and San Diego. In the Holland we used the recreation lounge for services when underway; when we were tied up we held services out on the main deck forward, weather permitting.

The question of where to hold services reminds me of an incident after we had gone into drydock. About the middle of the first week we were up out of the water, and everything was in disarray. I was in the Exec’s office when he brought up the question of whether or not a church service could be held the following Sunday. He said, “Chaplain, I don’t see how we’re going to be able to rig for church Sunday.” Knowing the situation I replied, “Well, Commander, maybe it’s a case of the ox being in the ditch.” His reply was, “Well, I don’t know about that, but I do know that we’re in a hell of a hole.” But we were able to hold our service. I have found some very meaningful services can be held under seemingly adverse conditions.

Where there are no permanent chapels, such as aboard ship, portable altars with suitable equipment, are provided. A special working party, usually under the supervision of the chaplain’s yeoman, is responsible for “rigging for church”, so that everything is in readiness when church-call is sounded on the bugle (usually a record) over the loud speaker system throughout the ship or station. In the Holland we had a piano in the re-creation lounge, while for services “up above” we had a little portable pump organ. To play these instruments Chaplain Bennett had hired (out of chapel funds) a young lady in her middle twenties, who lived in Honolulu with her parents. This member of our “team” certainly did not detract from our services, and may have been partially responsible for some of the attendance we enjoyed, for she was a striking looking girl. Like many of the people of Hawaii she was a blend of several races. Her father, who was a violin teacher in town, was mostly, if not altogether, Chinese, while her mother was of Hawaiian and Portuguese extraction. Their daughter was “tall, dark and handsome.” I might say that she was well-protected, since usually her fiancé either accompanied her to the ship, or met her after the service. Maybe he had been a sailor himself!

We had some interesting people, perhaps I could even say “characters”, aboard the ship, too. – One of the most colorful was our chief boatswain, a middle-aged chief warrant officer with enough seniority that his pay probably equaled that of the Exec., if not the Skipper’s. I can’t quit’e remember his name, but he was plenty Irish, so we’ll call him “Mr. Dooley”. He was not large, but he carried a lot of weight, because of the responsible nature of his job, his seniority, and the authority of his personality. Mr. Dooley, together with the first Lieutenant, was responsible for everything and everybody out on deck. The boats and all other equipment had to be in readiness for any eventuality at all times, and the personnel had to be trained to meet any emergency. Mr. Dooley knew his job, everybody knew that he knew it, and he performed it well.

The one incident that stands out in my mind in connection with Mr, Dooley occurred after our dry-dock period, and during our trial runs in Lahaina Roads. One day when deck drills were being conducted I was standing on the quarter-deck near Mr. Dooley, who was really in fine fettle as he “cracked the whip”. He was not a terribly profane man, but he could make himself heard and understood, which he did, as the men undertook to carry out their various assignments. Among the crew some (like the chaplain) had never been to sea, and naturally were inexperienced. But as I heard Mr. Dooley’s remarks, and saw such hopeless expressions on his face, I was practically forced to the conclusion that these lads just wouldn’t do! But after this session ended, Mr. Dooley turned to me and said, “Aw, Chaplain, they’re not so bad; they’ll probably do O.K. — in fact, they are a pretty good bunch of lads.” Mr. Dooley was something like some of the football coaches I have known and heard about — they don’t want their teams to become too overconfident.

Our Exec was easy enough to work with, although he wanted things done decently and in order. Most sailors will tell you that they prefer to work for a Skipper and Exec who are “hard but fair”. Our Exec was in this latter category. I was in his office one day when a junior officer was given orders to complete a certain assignment. This young officer was unwise enough to say, “Commander, when would you like to have this done?” The reply was, “Look, Lieutenant, I want it done yesterday!” It behooves a man in the Navy to learn very soon that orders are not to be carried out with “all deliberate speed”, but with all possible speed — if not “yesterday”.

The first lieutenant aboard is in charge of maintenance work, including repairs and painting. Our first lieutenant was a merchant marine officer, who had been called up (as many other valuable officers were) from the Naval Reserve. Mr. H. looked and acted the part of a man who was used to the -roughness of the sea. You got the idea from just looking at this burly guy that the rougher it was the better he liked it. He was a bit under six feet, weighed around two hundred twenty pounds, and was about forty years old. I didn’t get acquainted with Mr. H. as readily as with some of the other officers aboard — not that we avoided each other — but we just didn’t seem to have that much in common. He wasn’t a very talkative guy, but you had a feeling he was looking you over (maybe we were looking each other over) and that if and when he had something to say, he would say it. One night, after I had been aboard a couple of weeks or so, I had my first and last encounter with Mr. H. After a movie out on deck some of us drifted back into the ward room for a cup of coffee, or a drink of water — or to just “shoot the breeze” — before going to our quarters. I had gotten a drink from the “scuttlebutt”, and was standing with my back to the bulkhead when Mr. H. sauntered up’ in front of me, looked me over, and with no preliminary greeting, said, “Chaplain, you’re a big S.O.B., aren’t you?” Although he didn’t use just the foregoing initials, I supposed he meant the combined statement and question to be just a friendly get-acquainted greeting. I had known that the term among some people is used rather loosely and not seriously. However, I wasn’t brought up that way, and hadn’t become used to it … in fact, I never have. So, my reply to my “friend” was, “Well, Lieutenant, you’re not so little yourself (I was six feet and weighed two hundred, but not exactly as hard as nails), and I will take that as a complimentary, friendly greeting; but six months ago you would have had to have taken that back, or you would have had me to whip. I don’t like the term, and I will expect you not to use it again in my presence.” He did not exactly apologize (perhaps he didn’t really know how), but we got along O.K. after that. However, I wouldn’t leave you with the idea that we became “bosom buddies”, or anything like that. I do believe that he gained respect for me, and I didn’t lose any respect for him.

Perhaps I should explain to some the term “scuttlebutt”, which is  used in the Navy for a drinking fountain and for rumors. It seems that the term comes from the days of the old sailing vessels, when they didn’t have the nice fountains which squirt ice water into your mouth by pressing down on a “gismo” (term for anything for which you do not know the name) with either a finger or a foot. The old sailors had to go for their drinking water to a barrel amidships, where they would gather and “shoot the breeze” (tell sea-stories and start rumors), as they gathered round the “scuttlebutt”. A familiar question as you go about a ship or station is “What’s the latest scuttlebutt?”, or some rumor-monger will rush up and tell you he has the latest “scuttlebutt”. For some unknown reason, a lot of the lads seem to expect the Chaplain always to have the latest scuttlebutt. The chaplain’s usual reply is, “The chaplain is always the last one to get the word.”

The Commanding Officer of the Holland during this period was Captain “Nino” Gregory [ed. Captain Joseph Wesley Gregory]. If I ever knew the Skipper’s real given name, I have forgotten it, but his nickname, which is the Spanish “Nino”, meaning boy, was probably attached to him because of his rather small stature. You usually have more contact with the Exec than the Skipper, and I find I don’t remember too much about the latter gentleman — except the following incident. Before I reported aboard, tentative plans were being made for a big ship’s party. Such parties are held from time to time for the officers and men of a ship, and their families. This one (and they “allowed” me to get in on the planning and implementing) was to be an extra big affair. Some kind of anniversary was to be commemorated, and awards were to be made, so, we didn’t spare the horses. The scene of the party was the pool area at the sub base, which we decorated and lighted up like a Christmas tree.

Around the pool, tables were set up to be loaded with plenty of chow, and certain beverages, including coffee. I don’t recall whether or not there was any water on the menu.

Captain Gregory called me to his cabin a few days before our “shin-‘ dig”. You usually wonder, when you get such a call, “What have I done now,” or “what haven’t I done that I should have done? But, this was not that kind of call; the Skipper had a problem this time. He greeted me by saying, “Chaplain, I’ve got a problem I want you to help me with.” “Well Captain, I replied, “I’ll be glad to help you if I can.” “Well, you see,” he said, “They’ve got me down for a speech at this ship’s party we’re having, and I don’t know just how to go about preparing it; I’m not used to this speech making business. Now, you’ve had a lot of experience in this department, and I’d like for you to write this thing up for me.” We agreed that the speech should be about five minutes long, and I went to work putting-words into the Skipper’s mouth. After submitting a rough draft to him after a ‘ day or two, and getting his O.K. on it, I put the finishing touches to the speech; the Skipper memorized it word for word, gave it at the party in a pretty good voice, and got considerable applause. The party wound up with a lot of music and dancing, and a good time was had by all. So, you see, a chaplain is even a ghost writer on occasion — among many other things. Ship’s parties and other recreational activities provide an opportunity for personnel to meet members of one another’s families, and to become acquainted socially. This is good for the morale of everybody concerned, and is an area of special interest to the chaplain.

Speaking of morale I am reminded of an incident in San Diego after my retirement. I had been going to this little one-chair barber shop, which was run by an Italian-American by the name of Joe. It was in the summertime and I kept telling Joe to cut my hair shorter — not that I had enough to worry about. So, one day Joe decided to take me literally, and he really cut it short. It was the next thing to running the short clippers over my head. But I rather liked it, and so did my wife, and several friends also said it was quite becoming. Besides, now I didn’t have to worry about my hair getting “mussed-up” while driving, etc., and didn’t even have to carry a comb. So, when I went back to Joe’s the next time I was quite enthusiastic when he asked how I liked the short-short cut. My reply was, “Oh, I like it fine, my wife likes it, and my friends like it.” “Sure, Chaplain,” he replied, “It’s good for your morality.” “Then that settles it Joe, let’s keep it short; anything that’s good for my “morality” I need and want.” So, I’ve been wearing it short ever since.

One aspect of a Naval officer’s routine that I probably should have mentioned before is the matter of “duty” calls, which are a traditional custom of long-standing in the Navy. As soon as convenient after reporting aboard a ship or station junior officers and their wives are supposed to call at the homes of the senior officers of the command. These calls are to be made in the late afternoon — after working hours, and before the dinner hour, or on Sunday. Sometimes a senior officer will announce a regular “at home” time, indicating when you should call at his home’. In some cases a command party will be held at the officers club, with the stipulation that attendance will mean “all calls made and received”, which makes it simpler and easier for everybody concerned. When making calls, calling cards are left if the people are not at home, in which case the call is considered made. I have heard of cases where people made reasonably sure that no one was at home, and made some calls rather fast accordingly.

Only a few of the Holland’s officers had their families in Honolulu, so it wasn’t too much of a “chore” to make the calls indicated — even without a car at my disposal. Since the junior dental officer had not been aboard much longer than I, we decided to make our calls together. It was not too easy, since we were not familiar with the area, which is pretty large, including several miles of travel between Pearl Harbor and Honolulu. This involved taxis, public transportation, transfers, and getting caught in the rain a couple of times, but we found it quite interesting and edu-cational. In the process we learned our way around parts of Honolulu. When you make a game out of something that can be rather onerous it usually makes quite a difference. This applies not only to making duty calls in the Navy, but to many aspects of life.

I have mentioned, in passing, some of the duties, opportunities and privileges of a chaplain, but I suppose that it is not always easy for the layman to understand the relationship a chaplain has to the people with whom he is working. Some people jump to the conclusion that the chaplain must be a warmonger, since he is a part, of the military system. The Chaplain does not have an easy role to play, but as far as the military aspects of his role are concerned I have found no real difficulty. The chaplain is expected to be a minister first, and he will be respected as he governs himself accordingly. When a chaplain forgets this, and begins to think primarily in terms of the military, and proceeds to “throw his weight around”… then he loses his influence and the respect of officers and men alike. In spite of the complex role of the chaplain, I have coined the following very simple definition: “A chaplain is a commissioned clergyman who works with the officers — for the men.” This has helped me to remember my place, and to maintain it, I hope.

Several yeomen who were assigned to me in different situations have also been mentioned.’ If a chaplain is fortunate he may be assigned a young man of superior ability, who has a real interest in helping him in his office. Sometimes he has to fight to get the kind of man he feels he needs, rather than somebody that nobody else wants. I have had both kinds, and the only “fights” I have had in the Navy have been at this point. During the Korean war I was staff chaplain for the Amphibious Forces of the Pacific (Phibpac), supervising the work of about fifteen chaplains on ships in the Far East. Our headquarters were at the Amphibious Base in Coronado. To my office was assigned just one man, who needed to be efficient, talented, versatile and trustworthy. Fortunately I inherited just such a man from my predecessor, who had “handpicked” him from “boot-camp”. Carroll fulfilled all the requirements — he was a good office man, a musician, an artist — with creative imagination — and could be depended upon. When my work called me away from the office, as it often did, I knew that I was well-represented. If my work was satisfactory during those years, half the credit certainly should go to my yeoman, who was indispensable.

In order to keep in touch with our chaplains overseas my office got out a quarterly communication, which with Carroll’s talents, became a pictorial booklet that attracted considerable attention, including a commendation from the Chaplains Division in Washington. This quarterly directive was sent out as an official “word” from the Command, so each issue had to have the stamp of approval of our three-star Admiral. The liaison between the Chaplain and the Admiral was the Chief of Staff. Directives and other items were usually roughed-out by me, and Carroll would fill in and do the typing, mimeographing, art work, etc. One Monday morning, after Carroll had had my material over the week-end,  I could hardly believe my eyes as I was reading one of my directives and encountered the word “invigilation,” I had never heard or seen the word before, and Carroll hadn’t either, but as he was typing the directive, which, at this point, was urging the chaplains to keep a close watch on certain aspects of their work, he decided he needed an all-inclusive word to convey my meaning.  So, he “broke out” ‘ the dictionary and found what he thought would be just what the doctor ordered. I told my very efficient yeoman, however, that this word would never do. His reply was that the word was in the dictionary, and that it conveyed just the desired meaning, “So why not use it?” “Well”, I said, “The Chief of Staff and Admiral just won’t buy such an unusual word”. He persuaded me, though, to leave “invigilation” in, saying that “they” won’t know what it means, either, but won’t dare risk losing face by admitting it. The word stayed in, and the directive went through with no questions asked. Carroll, who is now in his late thirties, is an Episcopalian clergyman — so, maybe the association with a certain Methodist chaplain didn’t do him too much harm. Perhaps I should say, however, that my predecessor, an Episcopalian, got the lad started right!

While at PhibPac another noteworthy incident happened. For some time the Chaplains Division had had a program of selecting certain interested and capable men, who would conduct some Divine services and represent the chaplains on ships with no chaplain aboard. Many of these dedicated lay-men did very valuable work — under the direction of the chaplain in their particular area. In a report from one of our chaplains in the far east he spoke of the Skipper of one of our ships having done an outstanding job of conducting Divine services on his own ship. On noting the name of this Navy Captain,  Howard C., and after a little investigation, I realized that more than thirty years earlier, when I was a High School senior and Howard was a freshman — he was the pupil and I was his so-called teacher or leader. This was at the Long Beach, Calif. Y.M.C.A. where I was the leader of a Bible class called the “Deacons”, and “our Captain” was a little fourteen year old, freckled-faced, red-headed freshman member. He was one of the sharpest lads in the group, and I was not surprised a few years later to learn that he had received an appointment to the Naval Academy. I had heard that he was still in the Navy after World War II, but I didn’t realize that he would become one of “my” lay-leaders in the Navy. Maybe I hadn’t done the lad so much harm, after all; or it could be that Howard was an illustration of the fact that some men will succeed in spite of anything. At any rate, this was a heart-warming experience for me.

It was not unusual for personnel of ships during their far-Eastern tour of duty to raise money for various worthwhile projects. This particular ship of ours had raised a considerable sum and it was decided to use at least a part of it to bring the mothers of four of the men to San Diego to meet the ship when she returned to her home port. They were to have the red-carpet treatment, and to be wined and dined for a week. The mothers were chosen by lot, and as the time approached for their arrival in San Diego, it was learned that one of the mothers was a negro. Perhaps this would have presented no particular problem in 1969, but it presented a potentially explosive problem in 1953. Since I had been designated as the official greeter, and to see that arrangements were made for the entertainment (including hotel accommodations) of the ladies, I soon realized that we had a problem on our hands.

In sounding out a couple of the best “north of Broadway” hotels in San Diego I was forced to the conclusion that, to put it mildly, they were not about to include our dark-skinned lady, although they would have been glad to have the ofher three mothers as guests. I realized that this would never do as a matter of expediency, in addition to the principle involved. To have the white mothers staying at a fine “uptown” hotel, while the black mother would be found in some little shabby place “on the other side of the tracks” was out of the question. This would have been a perfect “story” for some eager-beaver reporter to sink his fangs into, and make trouble for the Navy, and everybody concerned. So, it seemed to be up to the chaplain to find a way out.

I thought we were really stymied until, as I was thinking about any possible solution, I had a sudden brain-storm. It didn’t take me long to get over to see the Chief of Staff, who was not aware that we were facing such a serious problem until I told him about the “mixed” group, and what I had found out from the hotels. When he realized the potential seriousness of the situation, he said, “Chaplain, what are we going to do?” My reply was that I had just one suggestion — to try the Y.W.C.A. in downtown San Diego. The reply of the Chief of Staff was to call for an official car and driver to take me to see the General Secretary of the Y.W.C.A. She understood the situation perfectly, and without any hesitation offered us two of the building’s best rooms, which were being refurbished and would be ready just in time for our honored guests. Needless to say,, I reserved them on the spot. The Y.W. subsequently reported to us that “our” mothers were among the most delightful guests they had ever had. Perhaps the chaplain “made a few points” with the Chief of Staff when it was reported that this mission was accomplished. It is another illustration of the fact that the chaplain does come in handy at times.

The sequence to the story is that the chaplain met the mothers at Lindbergh Field, got them settled in their new rooms, and escorted them aboard the ship to greet their sons, who, together with their shipmates, saw that these ladies really had a “ball” in and around San Diego for the ensuing week. Incidentally, in addition to the “lady in black” being from the South, two of the white mothers were from Southern states. As far as we could determine, this made no difference to these fine ladies, or anybody else — and a good time was had by all!

An incident involving my”prize” yeoman might be of some amusement to others, as it was to me — and as it certainly was to Carroll and some of his cronies. One morning when I arrived at my office Carroll was unusually cheerful (he was capable of being moody) and very anxious that I sit at my desk and look over some things he had been working on and about which he had some questions. It so happened that I was in a pretty good mood myself that morning, and fortunately my language was not too bad. In fact, I was so cheerful that I was singing and humming a current song which went … “a-round the corner, ooh, who, beneath the berry tree, etc.. (l had to hum the rest of the words). Well, that yeoman had hidden a tape-recorder under my desk and had recorded everything that was said, sung and hummed during the first fifteen minutes I was in the office. He proceeded to play it back to our mutual friends at every opportunity, and I think he probably created some such opportunities. Boys will be boys!

While speaking of yeomen that I have had, others include those who have become a Presbyterian minister, a social worker, a dentist, a church organist and a business executive. So, you can see that all of them do not “go to the dogs” as a result of their association with chaplains.

In relating the incident of the “mixed” mothers, I was reminded of how the Navy (and other branches of the Service, too) have been integrated since World War II. Previously practically all black sailors were steward’s mates, but recently all the rates have been opened up to everybody, and now our Afro-Americans are to be found among the whites in every department of the Navy. Nowhere in our society will more complete integration be found. There is no separation as far as eating and sleeping arrangements are concerned, and certainly our Divine services are mixed. On occasion I have had a little fun with a few of my pastor friends by asking them how many black people they had in their services the previous Sunday. Usually the answer has been, “Well, er, I guess I didn’t have any.” My usual rejoinder has been that this seemed odd to me, since the church conventions and conferences were always passing resolutions on civil rights, integration, etc., and the military, which has often been criticized as being un-Christian, seemed to be beating the churches at their own game. I would usually be asked, “How come?” Then I would mention the fact that I have black people in my services right along, and nobody thinks anything of it. This has been a rather mean thing for me to do, for I realize that the churches have their problems, and that the two situations are not parallel. Often the problem is not so much with the pastors as with some laymen. Sometimes there are no blacks within the bounds of a civilian parish, and often black people would rather go to their own churches. However, I do think it is rather noteworthy that the military has taken the lead here.

Now, after having taken some “excursion cruises” we’ll get back aboard ray ship. One of the most memorable associations I had aboard the Holland, or in the Navy, resulted from the reporting aboard, several weeks after I did, of a young ensign a dozen years younger than I. Chet C. had received his reserve commission at U.C., Berkeley, where he had been an All-American basketball player. Since graduation a couple of years earlier he had been teaching school, but now since things were “warming up” he was needed on active duty. Chet was a blond giant, six feet four inches tall and weighed two hundred pounds. Although he probably wasn’t a “Hollywood type” he was striking looking, and his ready smile and polite manner caused him to be universally well-liked. Chet and I seemed to “hit it off” from the first — in spite of the difference in our ages. We were both from Southern California, having known a few people in common. Also, both of us had active church backgrounds.

At any rate, it wasn’t long before Chet and I were good friends, and we spent considerable time together. One of our recreational activities was to go over to the sub base pool for a swim after working-hours in the afternoon. Also we went into Honolulu and to the beach at Waikiki. Chet was a powerful swimmer, a good diver and a natural athlete. In spite of his popularity, and of all the accolades he had received, he was one of the most unassuming and modest men I have known. Our young lady organist whom I mentioned previously subsequently got married and left us, so Chet, who had played hymns for Sunday School when he was growing up, was “volunteered” to play for our services. When he played our little portable organ his knees would protrude on either side, but he was a big help, and was a good influence on others for church attendance, as well as otherwise.

Over a period of a week or so, as we were going to the pool about every afternoon, Chet kept complaining,”Geez (an expression he probably had unconsciously picked up in college). Chaplain, my gerts hurt”, holding his hand on his stomach. After a few days of this I began to advise him to have the ship’s doctor examine his “gerts”, thinking of the possibility, of appendicitis or something. So, finally one day after the noon meal in the wardroom I got Chet and the doctor together, having contacted the doctor, a Louisianian, beforehand. So Chet approached the doctor by saying, “Say, Doc, what should a guy do when his gerts hurt?” With a twinkle in his eye, and in his soft Southern accent the doctor, queried, “What did you say, Mistah C?” Placing his hand on his stomach, Chet replied, “Well,  Geez, doc, my gerts hurt.” “Oh, countered the doctor, “You’ve got a bellyache, huh?” “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” said Chet. “Well, Mistah C, ah believe if ah wuh you — I would see a doctuh.” So, it was arranged for Chet to go down to sick-bay, where nothing serious was found, and Chet’s complaint was eliminated. One of the worst hazards for tall men aboard ship is to be found in low overheads, which require stooping if a man is above average height. Poor “old” Chet was always forgetting to duck, and usually had bruises on his forehead to show for it.

After the ship’s period in dry-dock and our trial runs in Lahanai Roads, the next big event was the rest and recreation cruise to San Diego, which extended from late August to the latter part of September. In addition to providing leave for many of the ship’s personnel while in San Diego, the cruise provided an opportunity for a “shakedown” after the complete overhaul and trial runs. On our way to the west coast, as we joined other Navy s