In 1944 in Europe the Allies were finding out that Italy was a “soft underbelly” only when defended by Italians. When defended by Germans it was anything but. In the Pacific we were learning of the existence of places like Kwajalein and Eniwetok. In Philly Mom was thinking, why let Pop have all the fun? So she and I hopped a train and headed for NAS Jacksonville. That’s about 840 miles away and she was 18 with a 3 month old infant. When I was 18 could make myself a bowl of cereal, as long as it was pre-sweetened.
I never heard my parents talk about this trip. Was it that uneventful? Mom had probably never been more than 3 miles from home before and here she was going through Delaware, Virginia, the Carolinas, and Georgia. Was it that easy, that uneventful? She met no one odd? No phony music professors selling band instruments?
No train hopping hobos? No egg-headed Belgian detectives?
Looking out the windows at the Carolinas and Georgia, this girl who’d never been two miles from home saw nothing of note? And what did Pop say when we arrived? Did he ask how the trip went? Did she just shrug and say, “Okay I guess”?
At Jax we bivouaced in a tiny trailer that had electricity and running water and little else. Certain amenities were provided in separate outbuildings. Oddly, amidst all this primitive rusticism there was one surprise luxury: footbaths. Mom discovered them in the outbuilding closest to the trailer. You stuck in your tootsies in at the bottom, and pulled a handle at the top. So cool and refreshing. Imagine Pop’s surprise. He was jealous. He said there were no footbaths in the men’s facility. Mom said, “Men’s facility?”
For millions it was the worst of times, but for Mom and Pop life was good. They were out in the world, on their own, out from under the parental thumb. Pop was a sailor man now, an honest-to-god u-boat killer should any u-boats dare to show themselves anywhere near Jacksonville, Florida. At the first sign of one Pop would operate the dickens out of the radio and that would be one sorry u-boat.
Mom was grown up too, a wife and mother. When she wasn’t engaged in foot care she was hanging diapers in the bright Florida sunshine while overhead Pop’s PBY waggled its wings in greeting. Of course she waved back.
While at Jax Pop carried out Operation Hoagie. He finagled his way onto a flight headed for the Philadelphia Navy Yard. Once there, he mixed with the indigenous population, coolly exiting the main gate and hopping a trolley that took him straight to a hoagie shop in West Philly owned by one of his assets. His brother Pete had been a Christian Brother at West Catholic High School for Boys (and only boys) until he met Aunt Rose and discovered his true calling.
With a quick howdy-do Pop stepped behind the counter and assembled two hoagies. Then it was a trolley back to the Navy Yard, making the return flight minutes before takeoff. They barely made it back on schedule.
The precision with which he carried out this raid, coupled with the state of World War II, convinced the Navy that Pop’s services were required at Puget Sound. That’s in Washington state, which, for the geographically challenged, happens to be clear across the country from Jacksonville, Florida. That’s how important Pop was. The radios in the PBYs in Washington needed operating and the Navy knew just the guy for the job. It’s true he was about as far away as you could get and still be in the good old US of A, but, times being what they were, the Navy spared no expense.
So back we went to Philly whence Pop entrained for Chicago and points west. After a while, Mom asked herself why Pop should have all the fun and once again she and I were riding the rails.
Alas, whatever mayhem against the Japanese that CINCPAC had planned for Pop had to be canceled when he broke his leg in an accident in which he was thrown through the roof of his ’37 Chevy and landed on a rock by the side of the road.
There was nothing left for the Navy to do but make Pop an instructor and have him to pass on his copious knowledge of PBY radio lore to the next generation of swabbies. Pretty soon Pop was a Second Class Petty Officer and the Japanese had seen all they wanted to of that. They surrendered and who’s to blame them?
Mission accomplished, Pop’s military career was over. Almost. It wasn’t a clean break, I’m sorry to say. We all know how these things go. One party wants out while the other clings desperately to what might have been. In the end, however, the Navy had to face facts. They gave Pop $300 and kissed him goodbye.
