THROGGS NECK
Early in 1941 the US began readying for possible war. Europe was in flames and England was under siege. All eligible men were registered in the draft, including me. If you were drafted you might not get the service of your choice, but you could volunteer before your draft number was called and go into the particular service you desired. I had a rather low draft number and would probably be called within a year or so. The Navy sent a team to each engineering school and offered probationary commissions to those who would sign up. The Navy needed engineering types badly. I signed and was commissioned an ensign. In the summer of ‘42 I was ordered to North Island Naval Air Station, San Diego, for temporary duty with a training group called ACTG, or Advanced Carrier Training Group.
I was billeted in a cottage which is still there, along with Dr. Vic Falk, Billy Mitchell and two others. Vic was a flight surgeon and Billy a marine aviator who, incidentally, had never driven a car! I knew nothing of military behavior or what was expected of me. I flew with some of the senior officers of the group, usually as a gunner or bombardier. Pilots were lost to training accidents every week and I was happy to be flying with more experienced ones. I learned to use machine guns from a plane and worked with the Norden bombsight. One day I was given a torpedo boat and told to go out in the ocean and recover practice torpedoes. Fortunately, there was a chief aboard who knew how to get there and what to do then. It was not my finest hour.
We ate at tables which accommodated a senior officer and about twelve juniors. It was there I was taught some table manners and how to pass plates. It was embarrassing to be caught doing it wrong. To impress us with the seriousness of this war we were all made to wear side arms, a .45 Colt automatic. At night I stood communications watches and did decoding which was a boring task. At the end of the summer I went back to school to finish my degree.
At graduation I got orders to report to the Maritime (Merchant Marine) Academy at Throggs Neck, New York. There we were to be made into full fledged officers in 60 days. A typical day started with a five-mile run, shower, breakfast, Morse code lessons with a light, naval customs, history, etiquette, lunch, close order drill, more classes, dinner and lights out about nine pm.
Between times there were drills. Many drills. For fire drill we ran outside the barracks of which there were about ten, each accommodating 200 men, and lined up company front (single file facing the bay.) On one particular day the fire drill came just as I was really getting into a shower. I didn’t like these silly drills and decided to finish my shower. I was very soon all alone in the shower area – and then the inspection party came through. They found me and of course wanted to know why I wasn’t outside with all the others. There was no satisfactory answer so they picked me up bodily, one on each arm, and carried me outside in the very cold morning air, sans clothing. I think all 2000 men laughed at my shaking plight!
A few times in the intervening years I have encountered men who remember the incident and this time I was able to join in the laughing.
Weekends we got liberty and took the subway into the City of New York. I made my HQ at the Astor Hotel, Times Square, and almost always saw a school mate or other acquaintance there. One Saturday evening there were five of us from Southern California gathered in the bar. Harold Stassen who ran for president several times was given a commission as a Lt.Cdr. was also in training and he had a car and a driver pick him up for the ride into the city. I managed to hitch a ride with him most times.
At the end of the 60 days we were allowed to express our choice of duty and I chose submarines. The old, retired captain called me in and wanted to know why I wanted submarines. I guess I satisfied him and he sent me to sick bay where the doctor had me hold my breath for 60 seconds and passed me. I was soon on my way to sub school in Portsmouth, N. H. That’s another story.