As for Ted White, I have spoken of him several times in my letters before. He was the fellow from Yale, one class ahead of Stu Clement.23 He comes from St. Paul Minn. White Bear Lake to be exact. Perhaps Dad, you know the family. If so do not write them until you get the word from me or elsewhere that the family has been officially notified. There is a possibility that they parachuted and I didn’t see them, but I am afraid it is quite remote as we received a message aboard here last nite saying that only one chute opened.24 All in all it is terribly discouraging and frankly it bothers me a good deal.
As time goes by I shall add bits to this letter and will mail it at my earliest possible convenience. I shall do the same by Bar, but shall not go into detail like this over my experience so please read her the parts of this letter which might interest her. It’s a funny thing how much I thought about Bar during the whole experience. What I wouldn’t give to be with her right now. Just to see that lovely face and those beautiful eyes and to know she was by my side. Right now I long to be with you so much. To be with you both and to be with Bar is my main desire—at least it won’t be too long, the time is going by quite rapidly.
Please excuse all my misspellings—they are caused not from ignorance but from carelessness in operating this machine.
much much love to you all,
your ever devoted and loving son,
Pop
[I was shot down off the island of Chichi Jima, in the Bonins, and rescued by the USS Finback. I am still humbled by how lucky and blessed I was that an American submarine was patrolling the area and picked me up before the Japanese. I will also always be grateful to fellow pilot Doug West, who stuck with me as long as he could, strafing the Japanese boats and pointing his wing at my life raft so the Finback could find me. Years later we learned from the Japanese report of the incident that two parachutes were seen leaving the plane. That means a great deal to me—that at least one of my crewmates made it out of the plane—although he was never found. Right after the war, the Japanese commander in charge of Chichi Jima was tried and executed for eating the livers of captured American pilots. I like to tease Barbara that I almost ended up becoming an hors d’oeuvre.]
Sept. 5th
Dear Mum and Dad,
I have just finished writing Bar a long letter so I will add a bit more to this one for you. I did tell Bar all about what happened, so disregard the part I wrote in the first part of this.
I am now standing Junior officer of the Deck watches and I really love them. I am not in any way a qualified submariner as you can well imagine, but armed with a pair of binoculars and dark glasses if I need them I can sweep the sea and skies pretty well. After my griping about the security watches aboard the ship it may seem funny my enjoying any watches, but here it is different. These watches afford me a good chance to get up topside and grab some of that fresh air. When we are submerged, I am utterly useless to them, but when on the surface I stand two watches a day—6-8PM and 4-6AM. just a nice length.
The food continues to be excellent, with steaks, ice cream, chicken etc. in abundance. You actually can’t believe how good the chow is. Of course they have a much smaller complement of officers to prepare for, but still the food is so much better that there is no comparison. As for sleep, I have been “claiming more than my fair share”.25 I usually sleep all morning and also all nite until my watch comes up. The sacks are comfortable and so darn inviting. I’d love to see ‘The Big One’ trying to get in and out of some of them. Dad, you just couldn’t do it. All the beds are fine once you get in—that is until you have to get out. I sort of get half way in and then have to pull the rest of me in like a worm. The boat is now overcrowded, having three extra officers aboard. But since two men are on watch all the time there is always a bed for everyone. The fellow coming off watch just crawls into the bed which his relief had been sleeping in. . . .
So far diving and submerging haven’t hurt my ears at all, and everything about this life agrees with me. I think I would still prefer flying, since you are out in the open so much more, but this would be my second choice.
All the officers, and crew too, are just as nice as they can be. The Captain is a peach.26 He eats his meals with us in the wardroom and is just as good a guy as you’d want to meet. Yesterday I got a hunk of liferaft and stamped the name of the ship and the date on it and then all the officers signed it. They also took some pictures the day they brought me aboard which I will try to get hold of to bring.27 Will quit now.
much love,
Pop
September 8th
Dear Mum and Dad,
. . . Haven’t been doing a great deal out of the ordinary—just daydreaming the time away. It is such fun to think about getting home, the wedding and all that. I find myself bursting forth into song up on the bridge. I am not sure the others up there appreciate my efforts too much, but if they ever complain I am going to tell them that my mother feels I am potentially a second Caruso—and I don’t mean Frank Caruso28 either. . . .
One thing I do miss aboard here is my daily shower which I loved aboard the ship. Water cannot be produced as abundantly aboard this boat, so naturally we have to conserve whenever and wherever possible. One shower per week is the ration. Tomorrow I can take mine—wow do I need it (unattractive). . . . The clothes situation is far from serious since all we wear is sandals, undies and pants—no shirts, just undershirts for meals.
I hope you have not been worrying up till the time you received these letters. This may be the first you have heard of my experience, I don’t know. I try to think about it as little as possible, yet I cannot get the thought of those two boys out of my mind. It is so different, reading about people getting killed etc. Even when Jim and Dick Houle were lost, though I did feel it deeply, it did not affect me as this has. Oh, I am O.K.—I do want to fly again and I shall not be scared of it, but I know I shall never be able to shake the memory of this incident, and I don’t believe I want to completely. They were both such fine people. . . .
Pop
I spent thirty days aboard the Finback while she completed her war patrol, getting off at Midway and flying to Pearl Harbor where I spent a couple of days on R&R. I could have rotated home, but I wanted to get back with my squadron. So eight weeks after being shot down, and after hitchhiking on various planes, I finally rejoined the San Jac at Ulithi in the Caroline Islands.
Nov. 3rd
Dear Mum and Dad,
I have so much to write about that I hardly know where to start.
Yesterday I arrived back aboard, and it was one of the happiest moments of my life—I really mean that. The first guy I saw in the squadron was the skipper—He came down to the quarterdeck and greeted me. After that all the boys came around. I was so glad to see them—they are a good bunch alright. Lately (since I’ve been away) they have been thru hell. Almost everyone has been decorated for some deed or other and believe me they deserve it. They have had it tough and I am sorry I wasn’t here to do my part. . . .
The only sad part was to find that Tom Waters has been killed in action—a bombing attack. Tom roomed with Doug West, Jack,29 and I and we all liked him a lot. . . .
First of all about the accident. It seems that someone else did get out of the plane, but his chute didn’t open. I am sorry over that, but am glad that someone at least got out of the plane besides myself. I wrote Delaney’s sister (Mary J. Delaney 34 Somerset St. Providence R.I.) and also Ted White’s parents. I am afraid the letters weren’t very good but I do hope they know how I feel about the accident. Bush Daniels told me about how bravely the Whites received the news and I must say I do admire them, even though I don’t know them.
. . . I am a little anxious over my first flight off the ship. I have flown so little lately that I will probably be rusty as can be.
I’m afraid you are wrong about my not having to come out again, though I hope you are right. This war is so big and so damn hard that you can never realize it fully unless you have actually studied it or been
out here a while.
Your ever loving,
Pop
Nov. 9th
Dear Mum and Dad,
Quite a few days have elapsed since my first letter written from here upon my return. Since that first letter I have gotten back into the swing of things pretty much, having had 2 hops so far. Both went off o.k., and it was a relief to me, as I had been a bit anxious about landing aboard again after such a long lay-off.
. . . Everyone talks of only one thing and that is getting home. We are supposed to be relieved soon, but no one knows when; and then after we are relieved it will take a few weeks to actually get home. . . . The vagueness must be hard on Bar. She has been so good about waiting and has never complained
. . . The election has come and gone and we now face 4 more years of FDR. There was hardly any talk of it on the 7th, probably cause most have felt that Dewey didn’t have much of a chance. I know how discouraged you must be about it, and I feel the same way. My knowledge of the campaign etc. is not extensive, but from all reports it was not a pleasant one.
Much love,
Pop
Dean Spratlin was one of my crewmates aboard the USS Finback.
Friday, Nov. 17th
Dear Dean,
Just a note to let you know I finally did get back here to my original squadron and to thank you for everything you did for me aboard the Finback
Since my return I have been flying quite a bit—seems the boys want me to catch up with them.
We are heading home shortly—when exactly we don’t know, but we’re hoping it will be within the next couple of weeks at the most.
I still have a “SPRAT” undershirt and one mouldy “SPRAT” sock which you may receive thru the mail some day. Thanks again, Dean, for all you did for me. I really do appreciate it. Hope the new job is a good one and has gotten you back to the States—
Best of luck from a Goddamned zoomie—30
very sincerely,
George
Nov. 23rd
Dear Mum and Dad,
. . . This morning we had a combination Thanksgiving & Memorial service. The memorial part was for all the fellows who have lost their lives—They read off all their names, and had several prayers. It was a nice service and I am glad they had it before we leave.
. . . I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving day—I can picture each of you at the table now—John, Buck, and Nance. I hope Pres got home, but I have my doubts about this.
. . . This year Thanksgiving has more significance for me than ever; for heavens knows I have more to be thankful for than ever before—mainly all of you, my loving family and my own precious Bar and the happiness which will soon be ours; and then too my own life which has been guarded and protected during these last few months.
So long, Mum & Dad. I love you both so deeply and am ever thankful that God gave me two such wonderful parents.
Your ever loving and middle-sized,31
Pop
Dec. 1st
Dear Mum and Dad,
This is the letter I have wanted to write to you for a long long time. At last I can tell you that we’re coming home. I am all thru flying, combat complete, off the ship, and ready for a nice long leave. After you get this letter, it will still be quite a while before I reach the states and can call you up; but, nevertheless, I feel pretty damned happy. I wrote Bar this A.M., but in case her letter got waylaid, please call her and tell her.
Mum, when I do get back I shall call up both you & Bar. I’ll give her a safe date when I’ll definitely be in Greenwich, and she can set the wedding date . . .
Much, much love,
Pop
Barbara had wedding invitations printed for December 17, but she had to scratch out that date as I did not make it home until Christmas Eve. We were married January 6, 1945, and after a short honeymoon, I went back into training. We jumped from base to base, among them Grosse Ile Air Station in Michigan. You will notice that after I got married, my letters home became rather sparse.
Dear Mum,
. . . Bar probably told you we had one room . . . It is a nice room and we were lucky to get it the first day; but it costs $14 per week and we don’t get kitchen privileges, so now that we have time we are looking around for something else. Out at the base they help us find places. . . . It’s about 41/2 miles to the base and about 1/2 mile to the center of town. Bar walks in for lunch and then we walk in together for supper. They have one small-townish restaurant, but it’s not too bad. It is sort of a lonely existence for poor Bar, but she doesn’t complain at all, and I am just in heaven having her here.
. . . Bar has returned from the laundering and is now sitting at this table making a puzzle. Tomorrow she is going out to check on a new place to live.
. . . Our landlady has a electric massager which I love—I have had a sore shoulder for a week now, but it’s well on its way to recovery. Bar is in good health, and is a perfect wife. It is such fun to come home and find her here—She always is in a good humor and when worryin’ Pop appears on the scene she always cheers him up. . . .
Your ever loving,
Pop
Monday
Dear Mum,
. . . Our landlady is funny—nice and friendly and I feel fine having Bar with her all day, but she is so odd. She thinks she is being so patriotic having these 2 rooms for rent, when actually she is making a mint on us. She even thinks she’s making a huge sacrifice when she lets Bar use the laundry.
. . . Bar is quite the wife—launders, irons, cleans well etc. The only thing she hasn’t tried is cooking but perhaps she’ll get a chance at that soon. . . .
Much love,
Pop
Monday—2/26/
Dear Mum and Dad,
Time seems to be whipping right by, but still no orders. . . . There are rumors going around that a big nite Torpedo outfit is forming—may get stuck in that. I wouldn’t like it too much, since I find it enough work flying off a carrier during the day. Worse than the nite part though is the possibility that it may form way down in the Florida Keys where you can’t take wives. That would be too much to take. . . .
Yesterday was my day off. Bar and I stayed in the whole day—just rested and read the papers and Newsweek.
. . . Bar had a little cold a few days ago but she is now completely cured. She is really a good cook now. The other day we had fancy shirred eggs. She is good on vegetables, too. Yesterday we had sausage, beets, and mashed potatoes, a real good lunch. She always has the ice box full of milk. We drink about 31/2 quarts a day, and that counts my eating lunch out here. . . .
Your ever loving,
Pop
On that rather dramatic statement about Barbara’s cooking, the World War II letters end. My mother did not have any other letters in her collection.
Barbara and I bounced around the country for eight months, finally landing back at the Navy base in Norfolk, Virginia. My squadron had received orders to ship back out to the South Pacific, to participate in the invasion of Japan, when Japan surrendered and World War II ended on August 14, 1945. (Germany had surrendered in May.) Suddenly, it was over, and along with it, my three-year Navy career. Because I had flown fifty-eight combat missions and won the Distinguished Flying Cross, I had enough “points” to get an early discharge from the Navy.
As I look back on these letters, I realize how protected my life had been until I joined the Navy. In addition, although my childhood was very happy, my upbringing was also strict—indeed, puritanical. As a result, my vision of the world was narrow, and I was a little judgmental at age eighteen. Like most young people, my horizon needed expanding.
Most troubling, of course, was what happened to me on September 2, 1944. Although I am confident that I followed all the procedures necessary for getting my crew and myself out of my burning plane, it still haunts me today that I lived and my two crewmen died. Both John’s and Ted’s sisters visited me in the White House nearly fifty years later and were very kind to me. Unfortunately, my
letters written to their families in 1944 have been lost.
All in all these are letters written from the heart from a loving son to his parents—letters from a kid sometimes homesick, sometimes scared; and certainly from a kid who was madly in love with the woman who has now been his wife for nearly fifty-five years.
ZAPATA OFF-SHORE COMPANY
1701 HOUSTON CLUB BUILDING
HOUSTON, TEXAS 77002
CHAPTER 2
“Texas, Our Texas”1
Despite my earlier misgivings about going to college, I had come to my senses by the end of the war, and like millions of other discharged veterans, I headed to college on the G.I. Bill. Next stop for Barbara and me was New Haven, Connecticut, and Yale University. We were all anxious to get on with our lives, so most of us went through school on a fast track, receiving some credit for military service. It took me just two and a half years to get a bachelor’s degree in economics. In addition to a heavy class load, I was fairly active on campus, including playing first base for the baseball team and serving as team captain my senior year. And last but certainly not least, our first child, George W. Bush, was born July 6, 1946. No wonder there’s no record of any letters I wrote in 1946 or 1947.
This chapter begins with one written in June 1948, right before graduation, to my good friend FitzGerald (Gerry) Bemiss, who lived then (and now) in Richmond, Va. Gerry and I had become great friends in Kennebunkport, where both our families spent their summers. This letter was written on “Hotel Robert E. Lee” stationery, from Winston-Salem, North Carolina, where I had traveled with the Yale baseball team.
All the Best, George Bush: My Life in Letters and Other Writings Page 6
