William V. Torner

as told to Marlene Morris by William V. Torner in 2007

In
civilian life in 1931, I was ferrying the U. S. mail across the Ohio River from
the U. S. Post Office at Newport, Ohio, to the mail stop on the B&O
Railroad at what had been Vaucluse, Virginia, and later West Virginia, five
round trips a day six days a week.  True
to the postal tradition that the mail must go through, I was rowing a sixteen
foot skiff in all weather and river conditions day and night.  My grandfather, William V. Torner, and my uncle
Norris G. Torner had the contract for the mail ferry service and gladly let me
furnish the muscle power.  And so began
my river life from the same landing where Captain Gordon C. Greene founded
Greeneline Steamers in 1890.       

            June 1934, my first steamboat job was
when I shipped on the side-wheel J. S., of the Streckfus Steamers Line of St.
Louis, Missouri.  The J. S. was built at Dubuque, Iowa, in 1896, as the QUINCY, a wooden hull side-wheel
packet for the Diamond Jo Line operating on the Upper Mississippi River between St. Louis and Saint Paul.  Streckfus Steamers bought the Diamond Jo Line
and converted the QUINCY to a deluxe excursion boat
catering to the St. Louis carriage trade and named
the boat J.S., for John Streckfus.  I am
now one of the very few living persons who has worked on a steamboat of the
1800s.  I have heard through “the stern
line telegraph” that a woman who was a purser on the J.S., when I was on the
boat, lives in Quincy, Illinois, and remembers me; but we
have not tried to contact each other directly. 

            From passenger vessel to towboat
when I went to work as a deckhand on the wooden hull steam stern wheel RELIANCE
of the Union Barge Line out of Pittsburgh, towing gasoline tank
barges on the Monongahela and Ohio Rivers.  The RELIANCE was built in 1916 at Elizabeth, Penn., and sank in the Allegheny River near Pittsburgh in 1947.  What I learned on the RELIANCE paid off well
for me later. 

            I left the RELIANCE and went to work
for the E. I. Du Pont de Nemours Co., at the Morgantown (W. Va.) Ordnance Plant in
February, 1941, first in the blacksmith shop, then when the plant went into
operation I was transferred to production and trained to assemble and operate
high and low pressure compressors, pumps of many sizes and capacities and large
air handling ventilation blowers, becoming a stationary engineer.  Desiring to get back on the water I declined
war time deferment and volunteered for enlistment in the U. S. Navy. 

            At 5:00 PM civilian time, 1700 hours
military time or two bells ships time, at Clarksburg, W. Va., I was sworn into the U.S. Navy
Seabees with a Petty Officer rating of Water Tender 2C, on September 15, 1943, and ordered to Camp Perry just outside historic Williamsburg, Virginia.  My stationary engineer experience at the
Morgantown Ordnance Plant qualified me for the WT2C rating, bypassing
enlistment as an apprentice seaman.          

            While at Camp Perry, I learned how to assemble
pontoons into floating docks, barges, bridges and other structures.  I also operated a pontoon flat deck barge
equipped with a multi-fuel diesel engine on the York River.  As in all boot camps, there were hours of
military history and discipline.  Drawing
from all ranks and ratings, the 19^th C. B. Special Battalion, a
stevedoring battalion, was put together and shipped to Davisville, Rhode Island.  All personnel were confined on a troop train
that spent all day Christmas Day side-tracked in a Washington, D. C. railroad yard.  The next day the train proceeded to
Davisville and all personnel were assigned to barracks and Quonset huts.  No Liberty or off-base requests were
granted.  On New Year’s Day, I ice skated
in the recreational area of the base and have never been on ice skates
since. 

            Davisville, Rhode Island, was and is the U. S. Navy
Construction Battalion Equipment and Deployment Center.  The name Seabees comes from the initials C B
for Construction Battalion.  Special
denotes that battalion was or is for purposes other than construction.  Being a stevedoring battalion we loaded our
equipment and supplies to set up camp and provide stevedoring service on any
beach or in any harbor we might be assigned to onboard the SS CAPE BON, a new
C-1 merchant ship of the Grace Line on charter to the U. S. Navy.  With the cargo hatches battened down and all
personnel below decks except battalion officers who were privileged to live
with the ship’s officers, the CAPE BON left Davisville in a freezing rain and
steamed to New York Harbor to drop anchor near the Statue of Liberty. 

            After four days at anchor, the CAPE BON weighed anchor and left the
harbor to join a convoy at sea and steamed down the East Coast.  A welcome change from the weather in New
England; cause for concern as all ships in the convoy were aware of the
possibility of attack by enemy submarines. 
Some ships were headed for Africa, some to destinations unknown, and the CAPE BON developed engine room
trouble forcing it to drop out of the convoy and proceed alone to Guantanamo (Gitmo) Bay, Cuba.  After a couple of days of repair work, the CAPE BON steamed solo to Cristobal, Panama, for two more days of
repair work. 

            The CAPE BON did not have a
reciprocating steam engine for propulsion. 
It had a steam turbine powered shaft and propeller.  A steam turbine has to have a condenser to
operate efficiently, and the condenser is what was failing. 

            Permission was granted for the 19^th
C. B. Special personnel to go ashore wearing undress blues and field
boots.  All dress uniforms were in our
sea bags in the bottom hold of the ship. 
The post office was off limits, and the shore patrol stationed at the
post office prevented the mailing of letters by military personnel; but there
are ways around such restrictions.  A
sailor who was stationed in Panama invited me to dinner at the
Panama Canal Club restaurant where a glass of fresh milk sure tasted good with
a real meal.  While we were eating he
asked me if I would like to send word home telling where I was and when.  Of course I did, and he showed me how.  The menu was on a single sheet of paper with
the name of the restaurant, address, day and date.  These menus were free to any service person
who wanted them.  Taking the menu with me
my escort took me to a store where I could buy a gift to send home.  The store owner would package the gift and
menu and send it home for me.  That is
how my family knew I had been in Panama and when without me writing
or violating the post office restriction. 

            All kinds of merchandise not
available, or only in limited quantities through rationing in the United States, was in abundant supply in Panama and could be sent uncensored
to a United States address by business mail.  Now back onboard the CAPE BON and ready to transit the Panama Canal.  Those who drank too much rum and coke had to
clean up the messes they made.  Those who
stayed sober were excused from clean up duty, and as mentioned earlier I drank
fresh milk. 

            While transiting the canal the CAPE BON anchored in Gatun Lake while the ship’s crew
jury-rigged showers on top side and pumped fresh water from the lake so all
onboard could have a fresh water shower. 
The ship’s showers for troops were salt water.  After all had showered tropical uniforms were
issued, a comfortable relief from the wool undress blues. 

            After exiting the canal, the CAPE BON steamed solo heading
southwest, and the next event was crossing the equator and the traditional
ceremony of transforming polliwogs into inhabitants of the realm of King
Neptune.  Continuing on a southwesterly
course, in due time we crossed the international dateline.  Then another condenser failure in the engine
room, and while that was being worked on, the ship drifted back across the
international dateline only to get under way and recross the dateline
again.  I would like to have seen the
entries in the ship’s log as to how many days and dates the ship was in before
resuming its southwesterly course.  Some
days later we saw the island of Rapa on the horizon; the ship
kept its course and word was passed that we were going to Australia.  Soon after entering Australian waters, the CAPE BON was diverted to Milne Bay at Port Moresby, New Guinea, without ever seeing Australia.

            When the CAPE BON had set her anchor in Milne Bay, a landing float was brought
alongside at the foot of the gangway and all 19^th C. B. Special
personnel were to go down on the float to drink one can of beer and swim if
they desired to.  With swimmers in the
water, naval regulations required a life boat to be manned and in the water.  Based on my oarsmanship experience on the Ohio River at Newport, Ohio, I was assigned life boat
duty.  Wearing only swim trunks and
sitting in the tropical sun, I received the most severe sunburn of my
life.  From then on I wore shirt, pants,
cap and thick soled shoes in day light all the time I was in the tropics.  So much for rest and relaxation in Milne Bay.

            The next day the CAPE BON weighed
anchor and steamed out of Milne Bay east southeast in the Coral Sea, rounded
the end of the eastern peninsula of Papua, New Guinea into the Solomon Sea, set
a northwesterly course to Lae then east to Finschhafen and Langamac Bay where
the U. S. Military and Australian Armed Forces were establishing a supply
base.  Entering Langamac Bay, the CAPE BON docked at a newly built dock;
immediately, unloading of equipment and materiel to build a base camp in the
edge of the jungle began.  The CAPE BON remained at that dock as a
place for us Seabees to live until the camp was built and everybody moved
ashore then left the harbor without cargo sixty-five days after steaming out of
Davisville, Rhode Island, on her maiden voyage.  In that sixty-five days, the Seabee enlisted
personnel ate C Rations while the officers ate excellent meals with the ship’s
officers.  One exception being a civilian
meal when ashore in Panama and the only time off the
ship on land. 

            The SS CAPE BON survived WWII and in
the past year has been retrofitted with the latest maritime equipment as a
training ship for a Maritime Institute in Massachusetts.

            All members of the 19^th
C. B. Special Seabees worked together building the camp in the jungle near the
shore line of Langamac Bay.  Housing for the enlisted personnel of
Headquarters Company, A, B, C and D companies were 16 foot x 16 foot pyramid
tents on wood platforms.  Officers
Quarters, chow hall, latrines and rigging loft were prefabricated buildings or
Quonset huts.  With all of this put
together, and two 35 foot  x 16 foot
pontoon deck barges, each with one Chrysler Sea Mule propulsion unit for lighters,
the 19^th C. B. Special Stevedoring Battalion started working
twenty-four hours a day unloading ships at the docks, anchored in the harbor or
off shore at sea. 

            The two lighters had two man
crews.  One lighter had a man by the name
of Quigley who was quickly nicknamed Uncle Wigley for the cartoon character of
that name.  He came from Boston, Massachusetts, experienced in sail
boating in New England waters.  The other man on that
lighter was named Kline, a Great Lakes freighter wheelsman.  On the other lighter was Donald Jenks Cushman
who answered to Cush and was from Wellesley, Massachusetts, near Boston, experienced in sail
boating in New England waters and myself with towboating experience on the Ohio and Monongahela Rivers.  Cush and I shared our knowledge and worked
together until the end of World War II and beyond.  In addition to transporting cargo the lighters
also ferried stevedores and riggers to and from ships anchored in the harbor or
off shore outside the harbor.  The
riggers and stevedores rotated on and off watches while the lighter crews were
on full time watch duty.  The lighter
crews set some sort of record when we all worked sixty-two hours without
sleep. 

            Sleeping accommodations for enlisted
personnel in the pyramid tents consisted of folding cots with framing for
mosquito netting.  The heat and humidity
of the jungle made restful sleep difficult. 
The best relief was to pour water in your cot, get under the mosquito
netting and try to sleep while the evaporating water produced some
cooling.  The company street and ground
around the tents would be dry and dusty or ankle deep or deeper with mud during
the tropical rains.  With the never
ending demand for lighter service and the above described living conditions,
Cush and I took our cots from the tent and put them on our lighter.  Not having any deck space for the cots, we
rigged them one on each side of the Sea Mule over open water.  Mosquitoes do not fly over salt water so we
did away with the netting; but we did use pieces of canvas tarpaulin to keep
off rain water.  This kept us onboard for
round the clock duty and a place to sleep as time would permit with no
objection from our battalion officers. 

            When at the dock, at meal time Cush
and I would go to the chow hall to eat. 
If we were alongside a ship, we were often invited to come onboard and
eat with the ship’s crew and that was a pleasure as merchant ships served
better food and meals than our chow hall. 
One time our chow hall cooks put Spam on the table twenty-two
consecutive meals when food supplies were low. 
At first it was disgusting then became interesting to see how cooks
prepared it differently each meal.  Eggs
that you could gag down with ketchup were considered to still be fresh. Usually
eggs, like potatoes and milk, were powdered. 
Kangaroo meat from Australia was better than some
American meat. 

            A Royal Australian Navy corvette
operated out of Langamac Bay and took on supplies
there.  They did it the hard way with a
longboat and oarsmen transporting the supplies from the dock to the corvette at
anchor in the harbor. Cush and I told the officer-in-charge we would take all
the supplies in one load if his men would put them on our lighter.  He did, and we did.  It became a routine thing when the corvette
was in the harbor about once a week to ten days and a friendship developed
between us.  After many conversations
with this officer, he invited me to come to Australia after the war and help
upgrade river transportation.  There have
been times since WWII that I have wondered what my life would have become had I
accepted that invitation. 

            Langamac Bay was large enough that
tankers tied up at the fuel docks and pumped aviation gasoline, regular
gasoline and diesel fuel into huge bulk storage tanks.  In another area fresh water tankers were
filling big storage tanks.  There were
docks for dry cargo warehouses and refrigerated storage facilities.  A wide range of war materiel was arriving
that would be reshipped as the war progressed. 
Over the mountains behind the bay were Japanese forces so we were in a
combat zone and worked under enemy fire. 
The push was on to move more cargo and supplies; that brought the order
to Cush and me to go across the harbor and bring back the 70foot x 32.5 foot
pontoon deck barge that we would find at the fuel dock. It was that order that
brought river style push towing to the U. S. Navy and Royal Australian Navy. 

With the large pontoon barge to work with, space was
kept open at the dock for it and the two lighters to use.  When the large barge was being loaded or
unloaded, the two lighters were busy with their usual trips; when the large
barge had to be moved, it was Cush and I who towed it.  I asked for tow-knees to be put on our
lighter but was refused.  Longer lines
for the large barge were brought from the rigging loft and placed on our
lighter.  Cush and I were now in the
towing business and remained so through the end of the war and into occupation
duty after the war in the Philippine Islands. 

From this crude beginning, we advanced to success
and witnessed the first towboat constructed specially for push towing of barges
in harbors as well as offshore.  This
towboat was likely the first with a “deck winch barge connector rigging.”  The barge served briefly as a floating dock
for the two lighters.  With no harbor
tugs, I requested a set of tow-knees be welded on the headlog of my lighter so
that I could tow the barge and its cargo when I navigated from ships to
shore. 

This request met with strong opposition in “salty
terms” from “Big Red” Anderson, operations officer of the
19^th C. B. Special and a former freighter officer on the Great Lakes.  Push towing was not possible, he declared, in
deep water or in the harbor (Langamac Bay).   Anderson vetoed my request for tow-knees.  But the pressure was on for me to transport
cargo, so I took my suggestion to another operations officer, Michael Tenuto,
whose experience was as a dock boss in New York harbor.  He knew I had towed the barge from the fuel
dock across the harbor and saw merit in my suggestion.  He gave the go-ahead for more tow lines but
not for tow-knees.    

            Late one afternoon, a ship arrived
outside the harbor and called for a harbor pilot.  There were no harbor pilots in Langamac Bay, but the captain of the
ship insisted on having one.  Commander
Arthur of the 19^th C. B. Special was also harbor master and he
ordered Cush and me to go see what we could do for the captain.  As we came alongside the ship, a Jacob’s
ladder was lowered and Cush said he would keep the
lighter close by while I was onboard the ship. 
When I climbed the ladder to the main deck I was immediately escorted to
the bridge where the captain asked me if I were the harbor pilot.  I told him I was not but knew the harbor and
the harbor master sent me to see if I could be of help.  I asked him if he wanted dock space or to
anchor in the line of ships waiting for dock space.  He replied that he could not dock or anchor
in line with or near other ships.  Then I
asked him what his cargo was.  He said
ammunition, and he could not anchor near shore installations or other ships but
needed to get into a harbor for the night due to Japanese submarines operating
along the coast line at night.  I
directed him into the harbor and an area with no shore installations and as far
from anchored ships as possible.  Cush followed and came
alongside.  When the captain dropped his
anchor I asked him if he wanted me to take him out of the harbor in the
morning.  He said that would not be
necessary as he would go out the way I had brought him in.  I climbed down the Jacob’s ladder onto the
deck of the lighter, and we went back to our dock and reported to Commander
Arthur.  The next morning the ammunition
ship left the harbor at first light.  I
now had one more experience in my Seabee life, harbor pilot.

            One day, much to the surprise of
everyone working in the harbor, a German liner flying an American flag entered
the harbor with a U. S. Navy crew onboard. 
It was a prize of war and the crew invited all who wanted to a tour of
the ship.  After taking on fuel and
supplies the ship left the harbor the next day. 

            A few days later a ship we were
working alongside of cleared a lot of dunnage out of a cargo hold and put the
dunnage on our lighter to be taken ashore for disposal.  Cush and I salvaged enough lumber out of that
dunnage to build a deck above the Sea Mule and a shelter over that deck that we
moved our cots up to.  Now we had
protection from sun, heat and weather when operating the lighter and a safer,
more comfortable place to sleep and stow our sea bags and carbines.  We were now moved completely out of the
pyramid tent in the jungle.  When Kline
and Uncle Wigley saw what we had done, Uncle Wigley said it looked like a blivy
to him.  I asked him what a blivy was and
he answered, “Two pounds of fresh dung in a one pound paper bag.”  The name stuck, and a few days later a sign
painter presented Cush and me with a pair of nameboards, BLIVY, and we put one
on each side.  If you put a couple of
periods in the right places you have B. L. IVY, a more polite name.  Kline and Uncle Wigley kept their lighter as
it was and continued to live in the tent in the jungle. 

            The war was now advancing toward the
Philippine Islands, and new supply bases had to be established.  One of them would be in the Schouten Islands group.  Mios Woendi had a very large lagoon
surrounded by a coral reef with only one deep water opening to the sea.  The reef provided calm water in the lagoon
and protection from submarine attacks, Mios Woendi became known to all people
working there as Windy Island.

            The 19^th C. B. Special in
Langamac Bay in Finschhafen, New Guinea, was split in two, and one half stayed
there under Commander Arthur and the other half under the command of Lt.
Michael Tenuto loaded themselves and equipment including the lighter BLIVY on
the Liberty ship and steamed to the Schouten Islands north of central New
Guinea.  When the ship dropped anchor in
Windy lagoon, the lighter BLIVY was lowered into the water beside the ship and
Cush and I were immediately busy lightering all the equipment and personnel to
a designated place on the beach where the battalion camp would be set up. Such
was our introduction to Windy Island and its lagoon that would
develop into a harbor of many uses and interesting activities. 

            Other ships and landing craft
arrived with building and military materiel. 
Landing craft went right to the beach with their cargo and personnel
while merchant ships required lighters. 
High priority was given to building a dock; but at the same time shore
installations were taking shape, one of them being a military hospital.  As the dock was nearing completion, Tokyo
Rose on the Armed Forces radio informed all personnel that when the first ship
docked at that dock everything on the island and in the harbor would be wiped
out.  A few days later a ship did dock
there, and that night a Japanese air raid tried to fulfill Tokyo Rose’s
promise.  Mother Nature also had plans
for that night as a tropical storm of typhoon intensity blew over the islands
and lagoon taking the Japanese aircraft off course, and they bombed another
island nearby.

            Reconnaissance the next day revealed
that all of the coconut palm trees on that island had been flattened.  The entire island was a coconut plantation
for a company that processed coconut into copra and coconut oil for making
soap.  Even the processing buildings were
completely destroyed.  While the Japanese
did obliterate everything on that island, Windy Island had only some storm damage
that was repaired along with the building of new facilities. 

            One such facility was a hangar and
repair shop for PBY Catalina Flying Boats known as Black Cats because the
entire aircraft was painted flat black. They were amphibious and landed and
took off from the water.  They had wheels
retracted in the hull that were lowered so they could run up and down a ramp
from the hanger to the water. The Black Cats were used for hunting
submarines. 

            Anchored in the harbor was the
submarine tender USS ORION that serviced submarines with fuel, supplies and torpedoes.  When torpedoes were unloaded from Navy supply
ships, they were placed in inflatable rubber boats with a 50 HP outboard motor
and taken to the tender one torpedo to a boat at a time. 

            One day the submarine USS NAUTILUS
was alongside the USS ORION, and Cush and I were invited aboard the submarine
for a tour of the vessel. It was interesting, informative and the air
conditioning a welcome relief from the sun heat on the steel deck of the BLIVY.

            PT (Patrol Torpedo) boat tenders
anchored in the harbor with their flotillas of PT boats.  The tenders serviced the PT boats in the calm
water of the harbor with fuel, supplies, repairs, torpedoes and depth charges, and
then went to sea with them when they were on patrol.  The number of tenders and PT boats would vary
from time to time.  Cush and I had daily
contact with them and did go aboard some of the PT boats.  We saw battle damage scars from enemy fire
and from firing on the enemy when sinking a Japanese landing craft.  

            The merchant ships used the dock
where the 19^th C. B. Special stevedores worked; landing craft went
directly to the beach, and Navy supply ships transferred cargo directly ship to
ship or with tenders.  With little
lightering to do, Cush and I had a new assignment
that took all of our time and became very interesting.  The BLIVY became the harbor trash scavenger
barge. 

            The Black Cats had thin hulls and
the PT boats were plywood. Neither the Black Cats nor the PT boats wanted the
risk of hitting any floating trash no matter how small it might be.  The lagoon being surrounded by a coral reef
could become a cesspool, so Cush and I made daily rounds to all ships, boats
and aircraft in the harbor as well as picking up out of the water any floating debris
we saw such as boxes, crates and bits and pieces of lumber.  When our deck was filled we put out to sea
and around the reef where the tide would not bring anything back into the
lagoon to clear our deck. 

            We had plenty of help clearing the
deck which was fine with us.  The natives
were not allowed in the harbor with their outrigger canoes so they waited
outside the entrance to the harbor.  When
we brought the BLIVY out through the entrance we would slow to a speed where
they could grab a hand hold or use a fish spear to stay alongside while they
came aboard and picked through the trash. 
Anything they did not put in a canoe was thrown into the sea.  That left very little for Cush and me to push
or wash overboard. 

            In addition to watching for ship
movement in the harbor we had PT boats that moved faster and would come out
from behind or from between ships, and we always kept a sharp lookout for Black
Cats landing, taxiing or taking off. 
Then there were the good things like some ships providing tasty meals
and sometimes somebody in the galley crew on the USS ORION would hand us an ice
cream treat.  When things get good or an
area seems to be secure, it is time to move on.

            The 19^th C. B. Special
broke camp and loaded themselves onboard a C-2 merchant ship with the BLIVY on
a forward hatch cover.  A westward course
brought the ship to the island of Biak for a brief sojourn while
those of us fortunate enough to be dispatched ashore to get bags of long
overdue mail also found an American Red Cross lemonade stand dispensing ice
cold lemonade of which we drank all we could. 

Leaving Biak, the ship took a northerly course and all hands
were busy sorting and reading mail from home, a wonderful morale booster.  Then, lying on a hatch cover watching the
masthead sweep across the stars, listening to the swish of the bow wave and
hearing the moan in the rigging, everything was so peaceful you forgot you were
in a war.  The rest and relaxation was
well deserved and prepared us for what was about to take place.

            It is October, 1944, and the Battle
of Leyte Gulf, the biggest naval battle in recorded history, was taking place,
and we sailed into it and a harbor full of sunken ships, American, Japanese,
military and merchant.  It was good to
see a line of U.S. Navy battleships afloat. 
We found out later these ships were all out of ammunition used during
the battle of Leyte Gulf and were awaiting supply ships with ammunition. 

            The C-2 proceeded through the
maritime devastation to the merchant ship anchorage area at the south end of
the narrow ship channel in the strait between the islands of Samar and Leyte.  The BLIVY was lifted off the hatch cover and
lowered into the water.  The hatch cover
was taken off and our own stevedores began removing the equipment and supplies
they had loaded in Windy lagoon. Cush and I were lightering ashore with the
BLIVY, and the 19^th C. B. Special was setting up camp on the shore
line of a little village on the island of Samar that would be different
from any previous camp sites in that it adjoined civilians, and officers and
operation headquarters were all in tents. 
The village itself was off-limits to military personnel, and Shore
Patrol and Military Police were there to enforce the off-limits order.
Civilians could and did come to the shore but were prohibited from boarding any
military vessels.  Spanish was the
language of the Philippines and spoken in many dialects
throughout the islands, a communications barrier of sorts, but not
insurmountable.  More about that
later. 

            Cush and I ferried riggers and
stevedores to and from ships they worked on and lightered cargo to shore
installations on both Leyte and Samar.  Every day
at noon we heard Japanese aircraft flying over the
anchorage and harbor area, no doubt taking photos of ship positions to use on
their nightly air raids.  Just as
regularly in late afternoon and before dark there would be a shifting of ships
to new anchorage positions.  The BLIVY
transported the stevedores and riggers back to camp; then Cush and I would
anchor the BLIVY far enough off shore it would not go aground with tide
changes.  There was no work at night due
to the total blackout conditions.  Some
evenings we would run the BLIVY up against the shore and visit with civilians
who could speak English before going to our anchorage to watch the fireworks of
air raids and have seen and heard red hot anti-aircraft flak fall on our deck
like hail.  We usually fell asleep before
the air raid was over and the next morning checked with each other to see if
either one of us had been hit or knew of something the other one should know
about. 

            Always during the air raid, a light
could be seen on a mountain on Leyte and everyone who saw it asked the same question,
“Why isn’t it investigated and something done about it?”  The U.S. Army Air Force flew nightly patrols
around the perimeter of the area and never made any interception of enemy
aircraft.  Then one day or night somebody
discovered a camouflaged Japanese airstrip in the mountains of Leyte inside the perimeter which
accounted for why never interceptions. 
The U.S. Marines obliterated that airstrip with F4U Corsair gullwing
fighter planes, and that ended the nightly air raids and the mystery light on
the mountain. 

            Now another disturbance one night of
a different kind.  An LST (Landing Ship
Tank) had nosed up to the shore near where Cush and I anchored the BLIVY.  That night a typhoon hit and during the night
at frequent intervals the LST would turn its searchlight on the BLIVY.  The next morning Cush and I thanked the LST
for being concerned about us, and the LST crew said they were using us for a
reference to see if they were drifting or holding position. 

            Back to pleasant evenings on the
beach which was common ground for the villagers and GIs in American
uniforms.  Kids learned enough English to
beg for candy.  “Give me chocolate candy”
was usually pronounced, “Gimme chocklit candy,” and some were more emphatic
when they discovered that when they said, “Japanese no ------’

good,
gimme me chocklit candy” would get an increase in the amount of candy handed out.  Some older children and some adults became
entrepreneurs and brought home prepared food to the beach.  The general order that GIs were prohibited
from eating Philippine food was conveniently ignored.  My favorite was chicken cooked in coconut
oil.  Cush and I would each give one boy
twenty-five cents, and he would leave the beach, steal a live chicken from his
father’s chicken roost, take it to his uncle to be dressed and cooked and bring
it to us just before we backed away from the beach to anchor the BLIVY and eat
hot chicken not once but many times. 
There was a girl who baked excellent sweet rolls.  Some people provided services such as laundry
and got my clothes cleaner than I did using an empty powdered potato can for a
laundry tub.  Incidentally, powdered
potato cans became standard laundry equipment for American troops
everywhere.  Then there was Jose Menoria
who was the village blacksmith who made bolo knives for his customers and souvenir
knives for American servicemen.  Having
become friends with him and his family, I told him I wanted a knife like he
made for his customers.  He made a
genuine Philippine bolo knife with a wooden scabbard for me.  In the Philippines bolo knives are used for
harvesting crops and as weapons.            

            Bolo knives differ from machete
knives used in Central and South American countries. Bolo knives have a
straight edge curving from the handle to the tip of the blade forming a
point.  Machetes have a straight back and
straight sharp edge with a square blade end. 
I used a machete when helping to clear jungle space for the 19^th
C. B. Special base camp at Langamac Bay in Papua, New Guinea. 

            Philippine tuba is not a musical
instrument.  Tuba is fermented palm frond
juice.  Watching men and boys climb palm
trees bare hand and bare foot with their bamboo containers to collect the juice
was entertaining and better than the product they produced. 

            The 19^th C. B. Special
received orders to move to Guiuan, Samar, a town at the southeastern tip of the island with
a massive harbor opening directly to the Philippine Sea and Pacific Ocean.  Everything was loaded on a military transport
ship except the BLIVY which was towed on a hawser astern of the ship through Leyte Gulf to the Philippine Sea and into Guiuan Harbor.  There were many military installations in the
harbor and as soon as camp was set up stevedoring began on ships anchored in
the harbor and at dock side and expanded into interaction with some of the
other U. S. military units based at
Guiuan.  It was the expansion of stevedoring
work and related services that brought about the replacement of the BLIVY with
the tug-towboat.

Military and Merchant Marine activity kept the
Guiuan harbor in a constant state of activity. 
Construction of piling and timber docks went on around the clock.  Cush and I were directed to use our lighter
to haul pontoons from deep water to the assembly area in shallow water.  Although we could handle up to 16 pontoons on
our deck, we were unable to get to the beach at low tide. PAD-4 constructed a
pontoon dock from the beach to the site we could reach at low tide. The dock
floated at high tide and sat aground at low tide, but we were still unable to
keep pace with the requisite movement of pontoons as well as angle irons and
deck hardware.  We needed additional
lighter capacity, and it was clear that the most efficient means would be to
load the cargo onto a pontoon barge and nudge it up onto the beach as far as
the tide would allow.  PAD-4 readied a
pontoon barge that was larger than what we had had at Finschhafen, and we
needed more towing power.  The only tug
sat idle, her engine burned out. I requested a larger and more powerful towing
vessel.  PAD-4 had the means to build it
without delay. 

Lt. Tenuto, as well as the PAD-4 operations officer,
considered my petition for a pontoon hull measuring 45 by 16 feet equipped with
a Chrysler Sea Mule positioned on each stern corner with a set of tow-knees on
the bow and a towing bit on the stern ahead of the rudders and flanked by the
Sea Mules.   A pedestal midship of the
foredeck would support a hand-cranked, five ton Beebe winch.   This vessel would be employed for towing;
there would be no transport of cargo. 
The plans were approved, but it would be up to us to construct our
deckhouse.  Cush and I watched the progress
as we carried on our usual duties. 

The BLIVY was left at PAD-4 when the tug-towboat was
completed.  I manned the controls on the
starboard Sea Mule, and Cush manned the controls on the
port Sea Mule.  As we made our way to our
base dock, we synchronized our engines and perfected our hand signals.  We were as tickled as two boys with a new
toy.  Carpenters helped us frame the
deckhouse, and we worked on it between towing jobs and wherever we happened to
be.  I was in command with Cush as my mate.  William Earl Boggs of West Virginia and “Smitty” Smith of
Arizona were our deckhands.  And this is
how the first towboat for river style push towing in deep water came to be.   This
tug-towboat never got a name but was known only as the tug-towboat of the 19^th
C. B. Special battalion.  It proved its
use to the U. S. Navy and to the Merchant Marine in over a year of service and
continued in service in the Guiuan harbor as a part of the Occupation Forces.

It was not long after our towboat made its debut
that a sea-going tug entered the harbor with the U. S. Navy Yards and Docks No.
127 on her towing hawser.   The lift
capacity of the YD-127 was 100 tons.  The
sea-going tug departed, and it was the number one priority task of our towboat
(tugboat) to move the YD-127 from her mooring to any anchored ship or any
dock.  When not on duty with the YD-127,
our boat aided in salvage operations, towed lighters, docked and undocked
ships.  By push towing with wire line
towing bridles, I considered this a towboat. 
Whatever we call it, we showed that river style push towing adapted well
to the navigation of deep water vessels regardless of weather and water
conditions. 

This might be the best time to interject the Seabee
motto: “The difficult we do immediately; the impossible takes a little longer.”

            It was with the tug-towboat from
PAD-4 that Cush and I with deckhands William Earl Boggs and Smitty Smith got
into marine salvage work when assigned to tow the U. S. Navy Yards and Docks
127 (YD-127) 100 ton lift capacity floating crane brought into the harbor by a
seagoing tug and left there.  The tug
then went back to sea.  The crane had its
own live-aboard crew but no small boat to get to and from shore.  YD-127 was always anchored out in the harbor
and moved to and from its work by the tug-towboat I commanded.  The tug-towboat was assigned to the floating
crane YD-127 full time, first priority.  

            One night a U.S. Coast Guard
submarine chaser cutter entered the harbor and ran up onto a reef.  The next morning I took YD-127 to where the
Coast Guard cutter was; YD-127 lifted it off of the reef, and I moved YD-127
and the cutter to deep water, refloating the cutter.  No serious damage to the cutter, and it went
out to sea. 

            Another heavy lift salvage was when
the 50 ton jumbo boom on a merchant ship at the dock buckled when it was
lifting a crawler tread crane and swinging to put the crane on the dock and
dropped it through the dock.  I brought
YD-127 alongside the ship; it boomed over the ship, lifted the 50 ton jumbo
boom and placed it over the hatches, then lifted the crawler crane and held it
while I moved YD-127 enough so that it could put the crawler crane on an
undamaged place on the dock. 

            The above are a couple of the most
memorable incidents with YD-127.  Most of
its work was routine loading and unloading cargo on merchant ships.  When it was not at work it remained at its
anchorage, and the tug-towboat was busy with other assignments. 

            YD-127 survived WWII and became part
of the U.S. Navy salvage fleet in Vietnam when it was used to salvage
the BATON ROUGE VICTORY when it was mined in the Long Tau River. 

            YD-127 was not involved in a rigging
failure that hit me personally, and I do mean hit me.  The 19^th C.B. Special riggers and
stevedores were unloading cargo from a ship at a dock in Guiuan with some cargo
going onto the dock and some onto a barge alongside the ship that I was tending
with the tug-towboat.  I was checking the
towing gear when the ships rigging failed and a broken shackle flew and hit my
hand breaking my right thumb and a swinging cargo hook hit me in the face
knocking out four upper front teeth and my prescription glasses overboard.  I stayed with the tug-towboat while towing
the barge to the dock where it was to be unloaded then to the dock where the
tug-towboat had designated dock space day and night.  Actual base of operations for the
tug-towboat.

            A couple of medics showed up and
took me to the military hospital where my mouth was cleaned up and a cast put
on my hand with a needle through my thumb to hold it in line for healing, and I
was kept over night for observation of possible shock.  The next morning I was released to go back to
the tug-towboat with a no work order. 
Before leaving, I asked to be seen by an optician for new glasses.  I was denied by someone who would not believe
Ray-Ban #3 glasses were prescription glasses and not just sunglasses. 

            Every time I went to the hospital to
have the cast on my hand checked I would be asked how the cast could be so
dirty when I was on a no work order, and I would ask them when could I see an
optician.  It was obvious that I was
doing my usual work, but not saying so. 
It was equally obvious that no consideration was being given about my
vision.  The day came when the cast was
removed and I was permitted to resume my duties.  With the use of my hand restored, I was able
to write a letter that passed through censorship to my dad telling him about my
situation.  Dad knew Senator Jennings
Randolph, a U. S. Senator from West Virginia, and contacted him.  In a reasonable time after mailing my letter,
a Navy officer came to the dock where the tug-towboat was moored and called me
on the dock and in a sarcastic manner told me I was going to see an optician
and escorted me to the hospital.  My eyes
were examined, and in a few days the Navy issued prescription glasses with
clear lenses to me.  My vision was
corrected, but no UV ray protection.  I
wore these glasses until I returned to civilian life and saw an ophthalmologist
and was fitted with prescription glasses with Ray-Ban #3 lenses. 

            Christmas, 1944, was only a few days
away, and the cooks and bakers in various military units based in the Guiuan harbor
were busy making Christmas goodies for the Christmas Eve party to be held in
the large mess hall of one of the units for all military personnel who could
attend.  The beach was lined with an
assortment of landing craft, the mess hall crowded with people enjoying
Christmas music and the goodies around a Christmas tree.  At midnight, the traditional time for
Santa Claus to arrive, he traded his sleigh for Japanese aircraft and delivered
unwelcome presents.  The mess hall went
immediately blackout, then people running on the beach to their boats with
anti-aircraft guns firing over their heads. 
Boats were backing away from the beach and scattering to their
respective places in the harbor.  A
Christmas Eve never to be forgotten by many people who were there. 

            One day I was picked for a special
mission in the harbor.  There was an LCT
(Landing Craft Tank) in the boat pool that was low on fuel, and the cooks in
the 19^th C. B. Special chow hall needed a large order of groceries
and supplies.  I was to take the cooks
and a truck across the harbor to a supply depot and go to the fuel dock and
fuel the LCT while the grocery truck was being loaded and then bring them
back.  All went well until I was fueling
the LCT and I heard rushing water. 
Raising the hatch to the engine compartment, I saw the water was coming
in the exhaust port of the hull.  I shut
off the fuel hose, started the engine and headed for a reef that I could see
ahead of me and ran the LCT on the reef to keep it from sinking.  Somebody at the fuel dock contacted the boat
pool to send another boat to get the grocery truck and me.  Three days later, I took men from the boat
pool and a portable pump on the tug-towboat and went to the LCT.  A patch was put over the exhaust port, the
engine compartment pumped out, and I towed the LCT back to the boat pool.  The LCT was overhauled and put back in
service.  I have now had a boat sunk
under me and salvaged it. 

            The war goes on in the Pacific Ocean and Guiuan harbor is busy
twenty-four hours a day.  Cush, Boggs,
Smitty and I all have noticed an increase in the number of ships more heavily
encrusted with barnacles coming into the harbor.  These ships have all been in Atlantic Ocean service.  All merchant ships regardless of their areas
of service had two things in common, good meals and crew members personal gear
with liquor for sale.  Seagram’s 7-Crown
at $35.00 a bottle.  After purchase by
GIs the price often went up, or it was worth more when making trades for
unauthorized materiel and supplies. 

            Easter season, Palm Sunday, 1945, in
particular the most impressive Palm Sunday I have ever known.  The Roman Catholic Church in Guiuan was
within close walking distance of the dock where the tug-towboat was based.  It was estimated that church was about 300
years old.  It was built of stone, had
translucent windows made of sea shells, tile floor and the pews were palm logs,
no backs.  Around the church lot was a
high stone wall, ten feet or more high with only one entrance.  From this entrance to the front door of the
church was a wide walkway.  Parishioners
lined both sides of the walkway with live palm fronds that they placed on the
walkway as a priest rode a burro from the entrance to the church door.  I witnessed this and attended the Mass that
followed.  The stone wall had another use
besides protecting the church property; it is against this wall that criminals
are executed in public.

            Back to business in the harbor and
all the interesting things that happened there. 
One afternoon a wind storm made the water so rough that harbor was
closed to traffic.  An anchored merchant
ship had a barge loaded with bulldozers and road graders pounding against its
side.  The ship’s crew turned the barge
loose making it a drifting menace to everything in the harbor or to be taken
out to sea with the tide.  Time for
action with the tug-towboat that left its dock and went after the barge.  After repeated attempts, Cush and I brought
the boat close beside the barge and, when the barge and boat both dipped from
the same wave, Smitty jumped onto the barge taking the end of a new towline
with him and putting the eye of the line on a timberhead.  Boggs played out the line which was 1,200
feet in length, and near the end of the line he took turns on the towing bitt
on the stern of the boat.  Counting on
the stretch in a new line, Cush and I came ahead with the boat until the line
became taut, then letting the stretch absorb the shock caused by the rough
water, the barge was under control and we towed it to a dock where there was
room for it.  As we approached the dock,
Boggs pulled in the towline, keeping it above water.  Holding the barge against the dock with the
boat, a crew on the dock put lines on the barge; Smitty came back onboard the
tug-towboat, and we went to our own dock space. 

On August 14, 1945, all the ships in the
harbor were blowing their whistles; it was VJ day.  The war was over, and now it was Philippine
occupation duty.  Harbor work,
nevertheless, is still harbor work only under different hours and
priorities.  Our 24-hour, seven day a
week duty changed immediately to a five day a week operation, much to the
dismay of the Merchant Marine masters and their crews who were itching to
unload and head for home.  More ships
arriving in the harbor, all wanting to be unloaded, meant anchorage areas
became a little crowded.  Such was the
situation when two ships were anchored too close to each other, and when the
tide changed the current was swinging them so they would collide
broadside. 

Tug-towboat was called for assistance, and Cush and I positioned the boat
crosswise, like the cross bar in the letter H, between the ships and pushed one
ship with the boat’s tow-knees and the other ship with the propeller wash.  When the ship movement was stopped, we held
against the ship with our tow-knees while the other ship weighed anchor and
moved to another anchorage. 

Everybody makes mistakes, and ship captains are no
exception.  One day tug-towboat got a
call to assist undocking a ship.  When we
arrived at the ship I told the captain my plan was to pull the stern of his
ship away from the dock so he could back into open water.  Then I would move to his bow and push the bow
farther out from the dock and other ships at the dock.  The captain countermanded my plan and ordered
me to pull his bow away from the dock.  The
ship being unloaded and with no ballast, it was riding high in the water.  As I pulled the bow away from the dock the
stern moved in over the dock until the rudder and propeller were against the
dock. When the captain signaled to come ahead, the bow line to the tug-towboat
was dropped and Cush and I moved the tug-towboat clear of the ship.  With the first turn of the ship’s propeller
it hit the dock bending a blade in the propeller.  Cush, Boggs, Smitty and I watched as the ship
with an out of balance propeller limp passed us and out of the harbor.  We knew we were not to blame for what
happened, and a captain had a slow uncomfortable voyage to wherever his
destination. 

The operations officer of the floating crane YD-127,
whom I shall call Lt. Y. D., parked his deep sea fishing gear permanently onboard
the towboat.  With our towboat assigned
to YD-127 and the YD-127 now moored every weekend, our towboat was essentially
off-duty on weekends.  Lt. Y. D. was an
affable fellow, and he generously shared his good times with his friends and
officers as well as the towboat crew.  Our
towboat transformed into a deep sea fishing vessel on occasion and into an
excursion boat on weekends and on moonlit nights.  My experience on the old Streckfus deluxe excursion
steamer J. S., Mississippi River, 1934, was useful on these trips.

On Saturday and/or Sunday mornings or in late
afternoon or at dusk, we came to expect one, two, three, or more 30-gallon
galvanized G. I. cans to appear on the dock designated to the towboat.   The cans were promptly loaded on the
towboat.  Soon afterward, officer friends
of Lt. Y. D. would appear in the company of Navy, Army, and/or Red Cross
nurses.  The lines were cast off, and Cush
and I would navigate the boat into the harbor while Boggs and Smitty fastened
gear on deck.  It was usually Lt. Y. D. who
would study the charts and select an island removed from the harbor, proposing
we search it for discarded Japanese landing craft or for reasons of rest and
recreation.  A Japanese personnel landing craft was discovered on
one such excursion.

When
we were well on our way to the location designated on the charts, and safely
beyond the vicinity of the docks and mooring areas, Smitty or Boggs would be
asked to remove the lid from the G. I. cans. 
Butter, fresh fruits and vegetables, fresh meat, and an abundant cache
of “that great American canned beverage” were the usual bounty.  Lt. Y. D. invited all hands to enjoy the
contents.

As
the skipper, I was served the first steak so that I could take the helm while
the others dined and follow the course to an island designated by Lt. Y.
D.  We then searched for a nice beach and
a route to arrive at it in safety.  The
crew secured the boat and disembarked to comb the beach while the officers and
guests stayed on the craft.  When the
officers and nurses set foot on the beach, the crew returned to the boat and
waited for the passengers to return.  Cush
and I would work the boat off the beach and out into deep water and head for
the harbor and our dock.  The person in
charge of the vessel was required to have a sidearm, in this case a 45
automatic.  It was not uncommon for Lt.
Y. D. to transfer the gun from himself to me. 
On occasion, the beer cans were used for target practice on the way back
to the harbor.  We passed the 45 around
for all hands to take turns shooting at the beer cans.  Even the women participated.

On
weekdays, the G. I. cans’ appearance on our dock meant we would be enjoying a
moonlight tour of the harbor.  We
followed the course that most beautifully displayed the reflected lights of the
dockside ships and those anchored in the mooring, much as harbor tours of
today.  Passengers were guests of the
officer who extended the invitation, and were at times nonmilitary.  One such guest was the daughter of a U. S. Senator touring battle areas and witnessing the
duties of the occupation forces as well as their living conditions.  The crew and I were relieved to have a break
from evenings of washed-out movies.

It
is appropriate to mention that U. S. Navy regulations and rules of etiquette
ban the fraternizing of enlisted personnel and officers.  At the same time, the register of vessels
does not include a river style towboat constructed in the Philippine
Islands.  Our little towboat was painted
apple-leaf green instead of the U. S. Navy regulation battleship gray.  When the supplies for the deck house of the
towboat arrived, we found several different cans of paint in varying colors
which Smitty proceeded to mix resulting in the apple-leaf green color.   After
all these years,  the song “Harbor
Lights” brings back pleasant memories of the numerous harbors I have had the
good fortune to visit and the lights I caught sight of from the decks of
sternwheel steamers, touring and deep sea watercraft.    

            It is now November, 1945, and coming
out of the chow hall after our noon meal Cush and I looked at the
bulletin board and found our names on the transportation home list.  No names of A, B, C & D people on the
list, just some headquarters company personnel. 
The 19^th C. B. Special Battalion had now been in Guiuan harbor
fifty-three weeks and with the exception of some headquarters people would
continue on there. 

            Cush and I went to the tug-towboat
and packed our sea bags.  Boggs was
somewhere ashore, and Smitty was on the boat. 
We turned the boat over to Smitty and returned to headquarters and the
officer writing transportation orders and were disappointed that we would not
be on the same ship.  When we said
good-by, Cush said if I were ever in the Boston area the latch string at
his house would be out for me.  That was
the last time I saw Cush or heard his voice.  I do not know the name of the ship Cush was put on.  I was put on the USS YUKON, a Navy
refrigerator ship built in 1919.

            The YUKON’s holds were not usable for
troop transport so home bound passengers were worked in wherever sleeping space
on cots could be set up.  My cot was the
one and only cot in the library, a small triangular space under the main deck
with port and starboard bulkheads joining at the bow stem.  I got the full rise and fall as the ship
pitched in a rough sea, but I never got seasick. 

            Food and supplies were minimal as
the YUKON was headed for a scrap yard so our meals were
sparse, but meager as they were they were delicious compared to C Rations.  And there was the promise that we would be in
Pearl
Harbor for a big Thanksgiving dinner. 

            The YUKON was a rustbucket, but the
captain had Navy pride and wanted his ship to look as good as possible when
arriving in Pearl Harbor so the crew spent a lot of time chipping, scraping and painting all the
top side rails and deck fittings. 
Passengers were exempt from those work assignments. 

            Thanksgiving Day and the YUKON is one day out of Pearl Harbor.  Thanksgiving dinner consisted of cold cuts of
meat and cheese.  The old ship did not
make the time expected and was running out of food.

            The next day, as the YUKON was nearing Pearl Harbor, all crew and passengers
were ordered top side in dress uniform to enter the harbor.  Out of the harbor came the garbage scow, and
all hands had to salute, not the vessel, but the flag on her stern.  Entering the harbor and rounding Ford Island, I saw the restored
battleship WEST VIRGINIA leaving battleship row
heading out to sea.  I thought it might
be nice to be on her if she were going state side.  The YUKON docked, and the passengers
reported to the troop transportation offices for further orders. 

            Those orders were Liberty until 08:00 the next day, then return
to the troop transportation offices. 
There was free shuttle bus service between Pearl Harbor and downtown Honolulu.  I went to Honolulu and saw the Aloha Clock
Tower, the stature of King Kameamea in front of the Iolani Palace, the only royal palace in
the United States.  Then, browsing through a book store, I came
upon books with pictures and specifications of all U. S. Navy ships and how
many there were of them.  Quite a
surprise for me having been under tight censorship and not allowed to keep a
diary or any written record of ships.  I
went back to Pearl Harbor and found an empty bunk in the transient troop barracks and slept there
until time to check in at the carrier troop transportation offices.  After the usual hurry-up-and-wait time, I
received orders to go aboard the USS SARATOGA for transportation to Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay. 

            All aircraft had been removed from
the carrier, and she had been converted to a troop transport by filling the
hangar deck with canvas bunks in angle iron frames welded to the steel deck.

            The bunks were arranged two wide by
four high and long enough to utilize center deck space with passage ways
between the double rows and a wider area around them for hangar equipment that
had to remain in place and where personal sea bags were stowed.  The bunk rows were numbered and the transient
troops were called to their meals in the crew mess by row number.  The cooks and bakers worked watches around
the clock to feed crew and troops. 
Transient officers were quartered and fed with the ship’s officers. 

            In fair weather and calm sea, the
troops spent considerable time on the flight deck.  In foul weather, time was spent in the hangar
deck or in parts of the ship where permitted. 
One favorite place was the soda fountain where there was a larger than
life photo of Shirley Temple.   Navy ice
cream was always good on any ship that had the facilities to make it.  I had not had any ice cream since the USS
ORIOIN at Windy Island. 

            I was on the flight deck level
inside looking forward when a mountain of water came rushing at the ship, and
the SARATOGA took solid water on her flight foredeck, and that is sixty feet
above the water line when the ship is level in calm water.  The force of the water was so great it rolled
the ship into the trough of the wave at a dangerous degree of list.  The ship lay in this position for a long time
struggling to right herself, and slowly she did.  When she was back on even keel it was
announced that the list had been recorded on the inclinometer at 33 degrees; 35
degrees was the point-of-no-return.  With
the ship able to proceed on her own power and back on course, it was time for
damage assessment which ranged from minimal to very serious.

            In the crew mess all the tables and
benches were in a pile against a bulkhead. 
One man had a broken leg while other persons had cuts and bruises.  In the galley the food was spilled out of
kettles it was cooking in.  The galley
and mess room had to be cleaned up and more food put on to cook.  In the mess room the tables and benches were
left in the pile while the deck was scrubbed and salted to give better traction
while standing to eat.  Later the tables
and benches were cleaned and put back in place. 
In the hangar deck everyone was thankful the bunks had been welded to
the deck and that kept them in place. 
Personal belongings that had been on bunks were scattered, but mostly
retrieved and returned to owners. 

            The USS SARATOGA passed under the Golden Gate Bridge and was steaming to a dock
at Treasure
Island.  Going through the troop
transportation center was time consuming, and to spread the flow of work and
people, Liberty was granted until the next day.  I went to a movie in San Francisco, watched the movie then
slept awhile.  I took a shuttle bus back
to Treasure
Island and the transportation center to get my orders that would put me on a
troop train to Bainbridge, Md., for discharge from the U.
S. Navy. That was about 04:00, and I told the officer I
wanted to file a hardship request and explained that I would have to pay
civilian fare and ride a train half way back across the country to Waterloo, Iowa.  He agreed that would be a hardship, and a
written request would keep me on Treasure Island until the request came up
for review.  Then he said, “I’m out of
the Navy at 08:00 and will be gone before the day people know what I
have done.”  Then he wrote orders for me
for troop train transportation to Minneapolis, Minnesota, for discharge from service
and train travel from Minneapolis to Waterloo, Iowa.  Then I went to a telephone and called my Dad
in Elkins, West Virginia, and told him I was at Treasure Island and would be going to see
Mother before returning to West Virginia. 

            Hand carried grips were available on
Treasure Island for convenient troop travel, so I requested one and checked my
sea bag through to Waterloo, Iowa.  That
afternoon I was on a troop train headed for Minneapolis.  It was a long train of ten or more day
coaches with heat only in the first three coaches behind the locomotive, and I
was in the first coach.  That was fine
while at sea level in California but became miserable in the
unheated coaches as the train climbed up into mountains, and it remained that
way as it was December.  No dining car,
but lots of C Rations.  If there was a
restaurant or lunch room where the train stopped for water, many troops made a
quick run for sandwiches.  By the time
the train got to Omaha, one man was so sick he had
to be taken off the train and to a hospital. 

            December
14, 1945, U. S. Navy Personnel Separation Center at Minneapolis, Minnesota, where I received my
Honorable Discharge and an order for train travel via the Rock Island Railroad
to Waterloo, Iowa.  Some
dischargees could not wait until they got home to become civilians and bought
civilian clothes in Minneapolis and changed into them.  That night on the train when called to the
dining car they had to pay for their meals. 
Those of us still in uniform were given complimentary meals courtesy of
the Rock Island Railroad. 

            Arriving in Waterloo, I was met by my mother and
other family members.  A check of the
depot baggage room and no sea bag.  I was
taken to my mother’s home and welcomed home. 
Another check of the depot baggage room a few days later and picked up
my sea bag.  

            Sometime after the first of 1946, I
received a letter directing me to see Dr. Hospers, a Waterloo dentist.  He had an order from the Veterans Administration
to examine my teeth and make a bridge with four porcelain teeth.  It was a gold bridge that restored the
natural shape of my mouth and comfortable eating. 

            In civilian life, I became a member
of the U. S. Coast Guard Auxiliary. 
After twenty-five years of active duty as a Flotilla Training Officer, I
was awarded permanent lifetime membership, retired status.  I am now in my fifty-first year of
membership.  As a member of the Waterloo
Boat Club, I used my knowledge to supervise the building and installation of
replica U. S. Coast Guard aids to navigation markers in the Cedar River between Waterloo and Cedar Falls. 

            Having obtained a pilot license and
engineer license from the State of Iowa valid on all state owned
waters and the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers where they border Iowa, I operated THE BARGE, a
one hundred fifty passenger tour boat on the Cedar River for the Waterloo Riverfront
Commission. 

            My interest in pontoons and heavy
lift equipment carried over into civilian life and continues to this day.  I have designed and built pontoon houseboats,
bought used open deck pontoon boats and converted them into mini-houseboats
that were nice for fishing in inclement weather on the Upper Mississippi River.  That is also where I provided trip pilot
service on private owned and charter boats.

            The use of pontoons and heavy
equipment for marine salvage work holds a high priority for my attention.  Then there are the tugboats that tow and
maneuver the floating cranes and derrick boats used in marine salvage and
construction.

            Tugboats are a subject unto
themselves that I will mention briefly at this time.  The day of the conventional tugboat is about
over.  Now there are many classes of
tugboats, each with its own characteristics for the special work it will do
such as deep sea hawser towing, deep sea push towing, ship assist work in
harbors with container ships and liquid natural gas tankers each requiring a
different type tugboat.  Yes, there are
submarine tugboats.  No, they are not
submerged but assist submarines on the surface. 

            I never got to accept Donald Jenks
Cushman’s invitation to pull his latch string in Wellesley, Massachusetts.  His widow, Carol, sent word that he died from
a ruptured tumor in his brain after he returned home. 

            May God bless the souls of the men and women who are
serving and have served in the Armed Forces of the United States of America—William
V. Torner, U. S. N. R., C. B.

Cumberland Village Care and Rehabilitation Center

136 Davis Lane.  ∙  LaFollette, TN  37766  ∙ (423) 562-0760

Former WWII Seabee and Now Nursing Home Resident takes a Riverboat Ride as his Twilight Wish

For Immediate Release

Contact: Diana Fisher or Rob Flowers

Asst. Administrator/ Administrator

(423) 562-0760

Editor note: You are invited to the Knoxville Star Volunteer Landing located at 300 Neyland Drive
as this wish unfolds on June 6, 2011. Details are provided below. Please contact activities director, Debra Vinsant for best times.   

May 24, 2011 (Knoxville, TN)— When Debra Vinsant, activities director at Cumberland Village Care and Rehabilitation, routinely asks her residents, “If you could have one wish, what would it be?” as part of a program the center began in 2008 called Wish Upon a Twilight Star, she never realized that working on William Torner’s wish would turn out to be so special. The 96-year young former WWII Navy Seabee, (The name Seabee comes from the initials C B for Construction Battalion) who resides at Cumberland Village Care and Rehabilitation Center in LaFollette, Tenn., asked to take a ride on a boat one more time as his Twilight Wish. Now this veteran's wish will come true on the historic D-Day anniversary on June 6, at 10 a.m. thanks to the generosity of the nursing center and the Knoxville Star Riverboat who donated the trip when they heard about Mr. Torner’s story. Captain John Farmer will be at the helm of the riverboat.

Despite Torner’s somewhat frail health he is excited for the ride. When Vinsant, who organized the boat ride with her team at the care center, told Mr. Torner that he would be receiving his long-awaited wish, he replied, “This is the best day of my life.” He has invited his roommate to take the voyage with him.

About Mr. Torner (Also posted on the Newport Ohio historical website:  www.newportohiohistory.com

Torner’s family was one of the original families that settled Newport, OH. His grandparents Victor and Charlotte Torner came from Sweden to settle Newport, OH in 1854. He was named for his grandfather, William Victor Torner, and is the son of James Victor Hugo Torner and Elsie Gertrude Stocking Torner. He lived in Marietta, OH and for awhile in Newport with his grandparents, William and Jennie Torner, and has very fond memories of Newport. He spent his working years on the rivers of North America and also served as a Seabee in WWII. 

An excerpt from his own personal account of his wartime experiences and now posted on the Ohio Newport history website states:

Langamac Bay was large enough that tankers tied up at the fuel docks and pumped aviation gasoline, regular
gasoline and diesel fuel into huge bulk storage tanks.  In another area fresh water tankers were
filling big storage tanks.  There weredocks for dry cargo warehouses and refrigerated storage facilities.  A wide range of war materiel was arriving that would be reshipped as the war progressed. 
Over the mountains behind the bay were Japanese forces so we were in a
combat zone and worked under enemy fire. 
The push was on to move more cargo and supplies; that brought the order
to Cush and me to go across the harbor and bring back the 70foot x 32.5 foot
pontoon deck barge that we would find at the fuel dock. It was that order that
brought river style push towing to the U. S. Navy and Royal Australian Navy. 

With the large pontoon barge to work with, space was kept open at the dock for it and the two lighters to use.  When the large barge was being loaded or unloaded, the two lighters were busy with their usual trips; when the large
barge had to be moved, it was Cush and I who towed it.  I asked for tow-knees to be put on our
lighter but was refused.  Longer lines for the large barge were brought from the rigging loft and placed on our
lighter.  Cush and I were now in the towing business and remained so through the end of the war and into occupation duty after the war in the Philippine Islands. 

Source: www.newportohiohistory.com

About the Wish Upon a Twilight Star program and Cumberland Village Care and Rehab Center:

             The wish granting program, Wish Upon a Twilight Star originated from a partnership between the nursing center and the Twilight Wish Foundation—a non profit group that grants wishes to the elderly. This particular wish however, is being made possible by the staff at Cumberland Village Care and Rehabilitation Center—a skilled nursing center that offers short-term rehabilitation and long-term care for up to 182 patients and residents. The nursing center has served Campbell County for 26 years since opening its doors in 1985. To learn more about the center visit their website at www.sunbridgehealthcare.com. To learn more about the wish program and other wishes granted go to: http://www.sunbridgehealthcare.com/About_Us/Twilight_Wishes.aspx