by Dorien Grey
Till Tomorrow
Love
Roge
13 April 1956
Dear Folks
Up until now all our rumors have been semi-pleasant ones, concerning going home. The one making the rounds today is not so pleasant—according to this one, we will be leaving Valencia at midnight tomorrow or Sunday, to proceed to Suda Bay, Crete; from there to Cypress—an island you may have read of recently in the papers. We should know later tonite, when tomorrow’s Plan of the Day arrives. This is one rumor I hope is no more than that.
Should, by any weird set of circumstances, a war develop—a real one, I mean—I want you to 1) rent a trailer and move all the valuable stuff up to the lakes; commute from the lakes to work every day, if possible. If not 2) sleep in the basement, on the side nearest the driveway. 3) Go to the cottage every weekend or if anything should happen at home. That way I’ll know where you were.
As for myself—we’ll probably be quite busy with one thing and another. Don’t believe anything you hear, unless you hear it from me directly. I’ll manage to get home somehow, but I don’t want to worry about you being in town in case anything happened.
All the above may sound very dramatic, but should anything happen, do as I’ve said. Remember that.
I’ve just been thinking—if a war starts, I doubt that it will begin in a blossom of atom bombs—it will start like this one could; two kids fighting and then the parents stepping in.
Now don’t start worrying—nothing will come of all this, but I just wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t have to worry about you.
Today, oddly enough, is Friday the 13th. Along with the above rumor and the fact that we had a mail call last night and everyone in the division got a letter but me, the day didn’t look too promising.
Then, around noon, I heard that I made 3rd Class Petty Officer; which really doesn’t mean much except $20 a month more. I still don’t believe it, though—after all, I only spent about a week in Aviation Supply before they sent me mess cooking! If it’s true I am now an AK3, but don’t address my letters differently till I know for sure. If so, it will make quite a difference in my discharge pay, and will help me in the reserves. Well, I’ll close now—till I hear from you.
Love
Roge
15 April 1956
Dear Folks
Tonite at midnight we “fold our tents like the Arabs, and silently steal away.” It will be fun to see which ports we will hit—scuttlebutt has it perhaps Istanbul, Turkey, and Athens, Greece. I would love to get to Athens—after all this mythology it will seem like a second home. We’ve never been on the mainland of Greece before.
Payday has been delayed until Wed. for some reason. I don’t know whether I should take it or let it ride on the books. Of course, not knowing where we’re going, I don’t know if there will be any need for it. One never knows around here.
Today was a really beautiful day. We wanted to go over and rent bicycles, but Lloyd couldn’t get liberty, so we stayed on board. Yesterday, while wandering around the flight deck, we saw where the last storm had torn off at least twenty feet of catwalks on the forward starboard side. For about 39 feet aft of that, the catwalks are twisted and pushed up from one to three feet!
While looking at the damage, one of the guys yelled “Jeez, look at the shark!” A sleek fin protruded above the water, and was waving gently back and forth, like a hand-fan. We ran to where we could get a better view and saw, not a shark, but the weirdest looking fish you can imagine. It was shaped like someone had tried to get it through the neck of a bottle, and its two fins were at the very back. He looked like this
After watching him (or her) for awhile, we went back to the fantail, up near the flight deck, where I used to sit and write letters when we were back in the States. The water is very clear—an odd, milky-green. I saw, off to port (the left) and about fifty yards behind the ship, a weird, musk-melon-green thing. We watched it come slowly closer. I thought it was a turtle—it certainly wasn’t a fish. It was about five feet below the surface and either had a brown band around it, or a very tapered middle. I called to some of the guys below us on the fantail and asked them what it was. When it got closer, we could see it was a jellyfish of sorts, roughly two feet in radius. He sank lower when an officers’ boat passed over him, and we lost track. A few seconds later we heard a loud splash, and looked down to see the guys on the fantail holding a large flattened tin can. They didn’t need it, for the first one they dropped had konked our jellyfish friend directly on the noggin and he, dead, unconscious, or unknowing, sank out of sight for the last time.
When are you going to send more brownies, mother? I’m starved, as usual. They had some delicious chicken soup for supper tonite, and I wish I had some now. Oh, well.
The temptation was too strong to resist for long, so I went and got a bowl, which was enjoyed to the fullest, but only served to make me hungrier. Good Lord—it’s ten after nine already, and I’ve got to take a shower. Just think, only one hundred and eighteen (118) days to go! How wonderful! And tomorrow I cease to be a mere plebeian and become an honest-to-goodness Petty Officer third class. Oh, joy. Somehow, I cannot be consumed with glee over the idea. From NavCad to third class is still quite a drop.
So, with your kind permission, I shall retire.
Love
Roge
16 April, 1956
Dear Folks
Let there be singing and dancing in the streets—I finally got a letter; it was good to hear from you after such a long silence. Also very happy to hear things are going along so nicely at home. Now for the bad news—the rumor is not a rumor. The Captain announced this morning that we are going “to the Eastern Mediterranean for an indefinite period in support of United States policy. We will go first to Suda Bay, Crete, where we will anchor for three days. Our schedule after that is unknown. There is a possibility that we may not be relieved at Gibraltar, but somewhere in the Eastern Med. If such is the case, there may be a delay of ten days in our arrival home. The ship will be operating out of Crete, and Greek and Turkish ports.” So off we go, into the wild blue yonder, to aim an unloaded pistol at a bunch of people who want to get rid of unwanted guests. As I may have said yesterday, I hope we hit Beirut again. I wrote to the Andersons this evening—which I should have done a long time ago.
Remember what I told you in yesterday’s letter about the cottage. I mean it. Oh, yes, I become officially rated on the 16th (Monday). From then on, I’ll be getting twenty dollars a month more. And you can believe me—it will come in very handy. The yellow paper-blue ink combination isn’t too good, or easy on the eyes. Better luck next time. Tomorrow is the day Lloyd wants to go to the bullfights. I don’t know how we’ll manage it for several reasons—1) we only have $5 between us, 2) liberty is up at 8:00 at night, so that we can pull out at 12. You’ve probably heard by now whatever has happened to us—we never hear anything. The only time we get any news at all is while we’re at sea. Well, now if you will excuse me, I must get back to my mythology. I never get tired of reading that stuff.
Love
Roge
Though dwarfed by today’s aircraft carriers, the Ti was a marvelous, beautiful, and formidable war machine that did not deserve to be scrapped.
20 April 1956
Dear Folks
Thought I’d break my long-standing rule about typing a letter and try it for a change. Typewritten letters are so impersonal (except Mother’s, of course), but certainly more legible.
Sorry I haven’t written in three days; which also is not something in the rules, but I’ve been kept slightly busy. Up at four a.m. this morning (brilliant—that’s like saying “that-there” or “ain’t go no”) for replenishment at sea, which went off quite well with only a few minor mishaps like a guy falling over the side of a destroyer. They picked him up all right. We certainly look impressive, if nothing else—two
carriers, eight or ten destroyers, several tankers, oilers, AF’s (food cargo ships) and AK’s (material), and even a heavy cruiser or two. And we are all going to pull into Suda Bay, Crete, tomorrow morning. That ought to be loads of fun. From what I hear of Suda Bay, a good time will be had by all; the Shore Patrol has to take over its own drinking water, the town isn’t even a wide spot in a cow path—it was completely wiped out during World War II and never bothered to rebuild. Oh, well, we’ll only be there two day. Forgot to mention that liberty is up at 5 in the afternoon. Monday we pull out to God knows where; you may take your choice—1) since the Arab-Israeli peace treaty has been signed (and everyone knows that automatically means the solution to all problems), we will skit right back and pick up our schedule where we left off, in Barcelona. 2) We are going back to the Western Med, but first stopping at Athens, Greece, and Ismir, Turkey. 3) No one has the vaguest idea where we’re going, and all the big wheels in the 6th Fleet are having a get-together tomorrow night to figure things out.
I would rather fancy the second one, if I had my choice. Well, we’ll see.
Today has been a very long day, now stretching into its eighteenth hour.
I also got a little note from the government, about which I may have said something previously, saying I owe them $7.46—first time I’ve ever paid any income tax. Made a money order out this morning. From the sounds of the typewriter, I’m almost out of paper. And, being sleepy, I will ask your permission to close. Yep, I was right.
Love
Roge
Sunday, 22 April, 1956
111 days to go
Dear Folks
I must really be slipping—I didn’t write at all yesterday. Well, let’s hope it doesn’t happen again. A surprise mail call woke me up this morning around nine, and I netted two letters from you, including the pictures of the cottage.
Both yesterday and today were beautiful, sunny and warm. The entire United States Sixth Fleet is crammed together in Suda Bay—all neatly laid out if anybody wanted to pull a quick raid. Suda Bay is a long, finger-like inlet that is almost a lake. Its only entrance is through a narrow inlet, past a small fortified island. The whole thing is completely surrounded by bare mountains. We’d be pretty bottled up if anything happened.
The captain talked to us via the loudspeakers today, telling us we leave tomorrow, to be at sea for eight days. On May first, we arrive at Athens, Greece—wonder of wonders! We’ll be there for eight days, then put to sea again until the 16th, at which time we will “put in to an unknown port in either Greece or Turkey.” (Most likely Ismir, Turkey.) After that, who knows? And who cares, for by that time we’ll be ready to head for home. I hope we stop at Gibraltar for a few days so I can buy a lot of last-minute things.
Actually, this trip to Athens about climaxes my European “tour deluxe.” With it, I will have been to every major city in Southern Europe, with the exception of Madrid!
Lloyd and I went sun bathing this afternoon on the flight deck, after seeing the first half of the afternoon double feature. And guess who we saw, out for his daily stroll? My old buddy, Dale Harris, from Pensacola. Perhaps I should say Carrier Division Four (one of his titles), or “Admiral Dale Harris, onetime Chief of Naval Air Basic Training.” He walks from the island structure to the forward end of the flight deck—starboard (right) side, turns around, and walks back again. This he does at least six times, and was still pacing when we left. He’s accompanied by an armed Marine, who stands discreetly but comfortably distant.
Tonight I went back to see the second half of the double feature, and as a result staying up after taps to get this written. I know it is short, but trust you will forgive me. Again, thanks for the pictures and send more any time you have a chance.
Till tomorrow, I am
Your Humble Son
Roge
23 April 1956
Dear Folks
This will have to be short, since it’s quarter after nine and I’ve got to take a shower yet. They’ve announced that mail will close out at 0600 tomorrow morning. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going anywhere—just that it might. Again today we had another surprise mail call, and I got a letter from you. (As Chip Muchler, one of my NavCad classmates used to say, “Good-O.”)
For some reason, I’m very tired—well, not very, but quite. I’d love to sleep for days. This afternoon I went to Clothing and Small Stores to buy some more skivvies—mine have a habit of disappearing at the rate of three pair returned for every four sent. The smallest size they had were 34’s, which I’m sure I’ll fit into very nicely, if only I can find someone to share them with me (I got one pair). Also bought another white hat (incidentally, in the navy, we say it whitehat, not white HAT.)
It’s so quiet in here tonite—sounds from the movie on the after mess decks drift in occasionally, and there is a fan going, but it is comparatively silent. Don’t recall if it was mentioned, but last night I saw “The Jazz Singer,” a remake of the Jolson classic, and the woman who played the mother reminded me an awful lot of you, mom—she even looked vaguely like you.
I wish I didn’t write so small; here it is 9:25 and it looks as though I’ve scarcely begun.
Finished reading Polly Adler’s “A House is Not a Home;” enjoyed it a lot. We arrive in Athens on payday, as I probably said yesterday, and I plan to spend every spare second ashore.
Getting so I can’t even think straight. Please excuse me for cutting it off here, but I need my beauty sleep. God knows I need something.
Love
Roge
24 April 1956
Dear Folks
I’m starting tonite’s letter early, so that what it may lack in quality it may partially atone for in quantity. Of course, like I said last night, if I insist on writing so small, no matter how much I write it won’t look like much.
Slept like a log last night, and hated to get up, as usual. Today was a second-class day—cloudy but not really too bad. Oh, I forgot to mention in passing the last few days—Saturday while we were out strolling along the flight deck, we sat down on the edge where the catwalk had been torn away by the storm. When we looked down at the water, I couldn’t believe it at first—there were literally thousands of jellyfish—so light and transparent they could hardly be seen, floating just below the surface. They were completely surrounding the ship; whether we attracted them or they’re like that all over, I don’t know. They were almost a solid mass, just lying there, wafting slowly back and forth with the motion of the waves.
We’ve had more mail calls in the past week than in the preceding two weeks. Got a letter from you today, mailed on the 19th, which isn’t bad, all things considered.
Oh, about that Fantasia record again, mother—I know it has Swan Lake on it—it has all his great works, and I think it is beautiful. Please get it and I’ll pay you for it.
I have a box for your binoculars, dad, and will send them on in a few days. I think I’ll also put in several rolls of film with it; you may look at it once, if you like.
Tell me, mother—do you want me to pick up any silks or brocades if I get a chance in Istanbul/Ismir (whichever one)? I can get just plain cloth—roll or bale or whatever you call it—by the yard. I still kick myself for not having gotten any in Beirut. It was $9 a meter (39”), but would be about $15 or $20 in the States. I won’t pass up a chance like that again, if you’d like some. Oh, well….
Athens is supposed to have some good buys, too. If there is anything you want in the way of practically anything, let me know and I’ll try to pick it up. After all, my Mediterranean Cruise is just about over.
Here are some “advised buys” in Athens: “dolls in regional costumes, ceramics, ash trays, vases, plates, etc.; handmade silver and silver plated jewelry, mirrors, desk sets, etc.’ hand embroidery and hand woven covers for tables and luncheon sets, bags, blouses, and children’s clothes; hand woven silk and cotton by the yard; hand woven mufflers and scarves, men’s ties,….” The underlinings are mine. If you want m
e to pick up any of this stuff, either for you or for Xmas presents for the relatives, let me know. I have, or will have next payday, about $200 on the books, so you needn’t worry about my having enough money.
Don’t count too heavily on my getting out early—the other day I did what I should have done the first time I heard those rumors—called a buddy in Personnel and asked him. Personnel Office handles all transfers and discharges, and said they hadn’t heard a word about anyone getting out early. It’s possible, of course, but then almost anything is possible in the Navy.
Oh, yes—it’s official now about being 3rd Class (“glorified seaman”) so you can address my letters AK3 instead of AN.
It’s been awfully warm down here (below decks) lately. Guess Spring is here.
Any further ideas or thoughts on coming out to meet me? You can no doubt get last-minute plane reservations at almost any time. I was just thinking how long it’s been since I’ve seen you. I remember mother standing before the Cathedral in New Orleans, and eating toasted cheese sandwiches by the swimming pool at the motel. That was a very nice place—too bad we didn’t get any pictures of it. And I remember both of you when you got off the planes—mom in a brown suit or dress—I can see it, but don’t recall which it was) and dad looking out that weird egg-shaped window.
Well, I think I’ll start cutting that box down to mail the binoculars. More tomorrow.
Love
Roge
26 April 1956
Dear Folks
Last night I got all of two lines of a letter written, and then gave it up—there just wasn’t anything to write about. This is the second draft of this letter. The handwriting in the first was so atrocious even I couldn’t read it. I can see this is not going to be too much of an improvement. My handwriting is definitely going downhill.
