My father retired from active service in 1928 and lived with my mother, my sister, and myself at The Hedges, Rosemont. He redid his own sitting room to make it resemble a ship’s cabin as much as possible; installing portholes for windows, having charts on the walls, and hanging up pictures of the various ships on which he had served. He went out very seldom, having little in common with the people who lived on the Main Line. He spent most of his time reading books on travel and corresponding with his naval friends.
My mother died in 1932. Soon afterwards Father began to take long trips to Europe where he always felt more at home than in the United States. Father was always ready to die for America but he disliked living here. As he often pointed out, it was the only country in the world where an officer in uniform did not meet with automatic respect. I remember once in New York he was standing in full dress outside our hotel when a lady approached him doubtfully and, obviously mistaking him for a doorman, asked, “Is you from Gimbels?” Furious, Father replied, “No, I be from Macy’s.” He never got over this insult.
On one of his European trips, Father encountered his old Constantinople friends, Mr. and Mrs. Henie, who were now living in Switzerland. Here he met Mrs. Henie’s younger sister whose picture he had seen in Constantinople: Countess Claudia Bougroff. Claudia’s father had been an aide to the Tzar before the Revolution but he had managed to escape from Russia with his family and part of his fortune. Claudia and Father were married in 1937. For a few years they lived at The Hedges but shortly after World War II they moved to Claudia’s estate in Geneva.
Father had always dreamed of obtaining the rank of admiral but because of his unfavorable Fitness Report from his tour of duty at the Philadelphia Navy Yard he never rose above the rank of captain.
However, a high ranking naval officer was going over the records of retired officers and came on father’s name. According to the story I heard, this man exclaimed, “I had no idea that Pratt Mannix was still alive. I remember when I was a young ensign I wanted to go ashore to meet my girl but our commanding officer was an old sundowner (martinet) and refused permission. Pratt Mannix was officer of the day. When the Old Man had gone below, Pratt Mannix said to me, ‘Go ashore, youngster, and see your girl. I’ll cover for you.’ I’ve never forgotten that.” A few weeks later, father received his promotion to Rear Admiral, his life’s ambition.
Having known him as “captain” since I was ten years old, I later sent him a letter to Geneva addressed to “Captain D. Pratt Mannix”. I promptly received a cable reminding me that he was REAR ADMIRAL Mannix and not to make that mistake again.
My father died September 17, 1957. At his request, he was buried at Arlington with his naval forebears. Cannons fired salutes, white horses drew the hearse, and the Naval and Marine guards were paraded. Shortly before his death, I had an opportunity to talk to him. I was a lieutenant in the Navy at the time and we discussed the atomic bombing of Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. “This is the end of the Navy,” he told me. “No ship can defy those damned flying machines armed with bombs like that.” There were tears in his eyes.
It has not been the end of the Navy. The Navy has changed but it still remains our first line of defense as it was in his day.
Preview
Previews of eNet Press ebooks are just a click away.
Read an excerpt from another great book by Daniel P Mannix.
Choose to read just one, or all of them!
Please follow this link -
http://enetpress.com/danielmannix/dm_works.html
or visit our website
www.enetpress.com
eNet Press Inc.
16580 Maple Circle, Lake Oswego OR 97034
View a 90 second message
Why eNet Press could be your best source for ebooks:
http://enetpress.com/readers_movie/
The Old Navy Page 35
