To
My Daughters
My
Dear Daughters,
You've
got a true American hero for a Grandpa.
Please visit the below link for a REAL shrine to a REAL man with REAL
principles.
Dad ended up as commanding officer of the mighty destroyer escort/sub
killer USS Wilhoite-DE397.
As all
kids do, I used to ferret through my Mom's and Dad's old photos. I always
loved a particular one of Dad, so handsome in his naval uniform. It
was a group photo of about twelve young Naval warriors who had just
graduated from the Cornell University School of Diesel Engineering.
Universities converted quickly to train the youth of that day to go
forth and fight for their country. I created a little page on my web
site in honor of your Grandpa.
Men of your Grandpa's era are so proud of their service in WWII. It
doesn't take but a mere mention of the subject to get them telling long,
long tales about their part in the war effort (so be careful about bringing
it up in the first place!). The enemy was so easy to identify back then.
Not like today. Back then, it was clear who the enemy was. Our country
had been attacked. The freedom of the world was at stake. And for the
first time, danger had reached the very shores of the United States.
All of our parents rallied, even those who didn't go "Over There."
For
a fabulous read on Naval history (which I am sure you two will immediately
enter on your list as "to read next," - you two girls are
SO FUNNY!), read the book "Dreadnought," by an author named
William Manchester (is he the one? Massie? One of those great historians.)
Anyway, just do a search on Amazon.com for "Dreadnought."
Naval history in the context of world history - or vice versa - is truly
fascinating. Although the central thread of "Dreadnought"
is the arms race, and particularly the building of the all-big-gun warships
known as Dreadnoughts, between Britain and Germany leading up to World
War I, this book is really a grand history about the pre-Victorian era
through the beginning of the war.
By the
way, Dad told me that the moniker "Dreadnought" - referring
to the first all-big-gun warships developed by Britain in that arms
race with Germany as World War I approached - is an obsolete name. You
don't (translated, "I am not to" ) keep calling today's warships,
the ones with the steel-enforced bottoms all the way up the side, by
the name "Dreadnought." There is another name. I forget what
Dad called them. Sometimes even I don't pay attention! Or even listen!
By the way, this weekend when I'm down in Portland, I might wander on
over to the navy base to take a gander at the Dread . . . 'er, the big
warships that recently sailed in.
In 1967,
your aunt and I participated in a 9-country summer-long odyssey through
Europe called the "Teen Overseas Project." It was not a luxury
trip. We 30 travelers stayed in youth hostels, some quite spare. The
serving bowl only went around the dinner table once so you had to fork
your meat fast.
One of
these youth hostels was an underground World War I barracks outside
of Paris. Another was a converted grain mill somewhere in rural England.
Your aunt and I bathed in the bottom pool of the water wheel that spun
around and around. God, it's depressing to look at those old photos.
I was so skinny then! Yes, girls, me!
It is
amazing when I think of it now, but World War II had ended only 22 years
previous to our trip. In many of the cities we visited, there was still
evidence of the utter destruction of the war. Scaffolding was still
up. Europe's beautiful buildings were still undergoing reconstruction.
True
to form, your Mama fell in love with a fellow traveler. I smile to think
of our last night before coming home to the good old U S of A. Our youth
hostel on the last night of this dream trip was a rundown hotel in Paris,
near enough to the Montmartre that Jeff and I could see the Sacre Coeur
from the roof of this shabby inn. We had chilled a bottle of wine in
the sink in our room. We had great fun that night, Jeff and I, the INNOCENT
play of two youngsters.
Anyway, your Grandpa's ship was heroic in both the Atlantic and the
Pacific theaters. Dad told me that it was early in January 1946 that
his ship was ordered home. For the past several months, the USS Wilhoite-DE
397 had been part of a group of other ships who were acting as beacons
for bombers flying American soldiers home.
I have
a copy of Dad's
CO report (an Adobe Acrobat pdf file - requires
Acrobat Reader; download free Acrobat Reader at http://www.adobe.com/products/acrobat/readstep2.html),
a short history of the Wilhoite's action during the war which was an
ongoing report that Dad added to and submitted to the Fleet Home Town
News Center at the end of the war. Use the back button in your browser
to return here.
The world
is a wonderous great place, my dear daughters. Just choose your destinations
wisely and you'll have the time of your life.
Sadly, you may have trouble viewing my web page. I have an awesome Dell
system with a high resolution monitor. On lesser systems you have to
scroll around a bit to view the page.
Note
that this page may take a minute or so to download because it has an
audio file of the U.S. Naval Chorus singing "Anchors Aweigh."
I hope you can hear the sound and that the slide show works for you.
Be patient. Your efforts will be rewarded.
http://www.missmanagement.com/Albums/wilhoitegallery/wilframeset.html
Postscript
regarding my web site tribute to your Grandpa's destroyer escort/sub
killer, the mighty USS Wilhoite DE-397 (this is how we four kids of
Dad's learned to refer to his boat).
Subject:
deep waters sure do run really, really deep - and so do some "other
things"
Dear
Girls,
I felt
so proud when I had completed and launched onto the World Wide Web my
tribute to your Grandpa's ship that I called him and told him all about
it. But after I excitedly recounted my proud tale, I was YET AGAIN in
deep water, among "other things." I have often ended up there.
I don't know why. I really don't.
I had
eagerly told Dad about the wonderful stories of his that I had included
on his site.
"Dad,"
I said, "I put on there about how you anchored the Wilhoite off
Iwo Jima on New Years Eve, 1945. And also the really great story about
how you and your shipmates all went ashore for a little celebration."
And that's
when the shit hit the fantail.
Dad said,
"Are you crazy? Get that off the Internet!"
I said,
"But Dad, you told me . . ."
Well,
I did remember Dad telling me about his ship wandering around Iwo Jima,
but now that I think of it, I don't actually remember him saying anything
about "anchoring off." And while I'm reflecting on it, I admit
that I can't imagine in my wildest fantasies an anchor chain 16 million
miles long, which is about what would have been required to "anchor
off" of Iwo Jima, since it is located in the middle of the deepest
ocean waters known to man.
Dad told
me that he sure as hell hoped none of his shipmates ever visited my
web site. I guess there's a little bit of a difference between "anchoring
off" and "cruising the waters."
"But
Dad, how about your story about all the ship's crew going ashore to
Iwo Jima to celebrate New Year's Eve? That was a great story, Dad!"
(In this story, I had always pictured Dad splashing around in the water,
chasing after some Oriental beauty (he didn't marry your Gramma until
after the war), after having chugged a few cold ones.)
At this
point in my phone call with Dad, I actually had a brand new revelation
about him: There are some things that even Dad fears! I now suspect
he was worried that even 60 years later, the United States Navy might
be a little "miffed" about this story regarding a bazillion-gazillion
dollar military asset. Anyway, the truth is that they actually had left
a young tender to look after the boat. Okay, Dad, a whole bunch of sailors.
And to be on the safe side, I'll even relay that you took your cellphone
to shore in order to listen for incoming radio transmissions while you
all went off to have a little party.
Anyway,
I'm not going commit to paper or send through the United States mail
or fax, email or otherwise "transmit" Dad's actual words about
my web site tribute to his boat, about which I had now become sort of
sad.
Suffice it to say, girls, there are some good lessons to be learned
here. Don't assume that you are entitled to endless poetic license and
never let your mind wander off while you are pretending to listen to
someone or you'll maybe not even live to regret it!
Love,
Your always accurate and attentive Mama
Dear
Daughters: one last thing before I fall into bed.
Your Grandpa doesn't know the FIRST DAMNED THING about how to work his
own computer. I ask you - what has happened to the educational system
of our country that we are turning out such Grandpas?
For his benefit (and I sigh in resignation as I say this), I am going
to use my small computer expertise to snag my web site tribute to his
ship (which has been thoroughly swept for bugs) off the danged site
and burn it onto a DVD and send it to him so he can just pop it into
his DVD player and watch the danged thing.
What we kids have to put up with for our old folks!
Love,
Mom
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