My Carrier War (30 page)

Using a Navy travel voucher, I caught a commercial flight and headed for Seattle. I was going to be a husband again and a father for the first time. I was going home. Everything was going to be just fine.

My parents and Jean met me at the Seattle airport. I left the plane and hurried to the wire fence in front of the airport waiting room. Jean was standing by the gate, wearing a red dress under a soft-looking white coat. I remembered that this was the dress she had worn when I came home from Corpus Christi. She was radiant as she stood waiting for me with Donnie in her arms. My parents and Jean surrounded me as we held one another in our arms. Jean pulled free. “Norm, here’s your son, Don.” She handed me a little bundle, wrapped in a fuzzy white blanket. Gingerly, I took my son into my arms, looking down at him. He was sleeping. “He’s asleep,” I said. “Here, Jean, you’d better take him. I don’t want to wake him up.” Jean took him as my mother said, “Oh, Norman, there’s white fuzz from the baby’s blanket all over your uniform.” I brushed my uniform off as we retrieved my luggage and walked to my dad’s car.

“Sorry about the lint from the blanket, Norm.” I grinned at my lovely wife and replied, “It’s all right, Jean—just part of being a new father. If that’s the worst I’ll get when I hold him, I’ll be lucky.”

Jean and baby Donnie, summer 1943.

The first night with my folks was a short evening. We had dinner together as I tried to answer the questions Dad was asking. “How many bombing attacks did you make? Were you ever hit by enemy fire?” My mother finally hushed him up. I watched as Jean fed the baby his bottle, and we excused ourselves early. Jean had the baby, so I followed her to the basement apartment. It was perfect: a small livingroom, a tiny kitchen, one bedroom, and bath. I watched as she got Donnie ready for bed. The crib was in our bedroom. “Jean, can’t we have the crib in the livingroom?” I asked. Jean smiled at me. “Honey, I can’t have the baby that far away from where we sleep. I’d be afraid I wouldn’t hear him if he woke up.” She covered the baby with a light blanket and led me into the living room. She turned and pushed her slim body up against me. I could feel her breasts pressing against my chest. Her warm mouth whispered, “Darling, don’t worry. I’m sure you remember how to make love on a couch,” then her tongue darted into my mouth.

The first week of my leave flew by. Mother had a “welcome home” party for me with all of my parents’ friends. Dad insisted on taking me to the American Legion meeting and to the Elks’ Club. Jean and I visited with her parents, Anne and Phil Devaney, but that visit didn’t go so well. Jean’s mother was upset that we were staying with my parents. I think she expected us to stay with them. The only space they had was one bedroom. She didn’t seem to understand our desire to have a place of our own while I was on leave.

We saw very little of our old high school friends. Many of them were in the military and had left Bremerton. A few of them were working in the Navy Yard. We had dinner with one couple, but it was miserable. The conversation during the entire evening was about the terrible shortages of gasoline, meat, and liquor. Even the old high school dance pavilion, Pearl Maures, was a disappointment.

My mother agreed to babysit Donnie while Jean and I went dancing. I was in dress blues with my ribbons and my gold wings. Navy regulations required personnel to be in uniform while in public in wartime. We were greeted by a scruffy-looking group of young men with yells of, “Hey, swabbey, kill any Japs yet? Who’s the hot-looking broad with you?”

As we started to enter the dance pavilion, I noticed they were passing around a bottle. Jean said, “Norm, don’t pay any attention. They are defense workers who have come here from all over the country to work in the Navy Yard. Bremerton is a much different place, today, than when you left.”

We stepped inside the hall and looked around. There was not a single person in uniform to be seen; they were all civilians. I was especially aware of the looks some of the men were giving Jean and me. It was obvious that men in uniform were not welcome. We, who were in the military, saw these young men as “draft dodgers.” According to Jean’s father, who worked in the Navy Yard, most of these guys were unskilled labor. They were using the defense industry to avoid serving their country. Jean and I left. It was just too uncomfortable.
War Bond Duty
The following Monday morning, my mother called down to us, “Norm, you have a phone call.” It was early—only a little after eight o’clock. I went upstairs and took the call, wondering what kind of a phone call it could be. It was the Navy commandant’s office in Seattle. The person on the phone was a commander, the admiral’s public information officer. He told me that the admiral was issuing me orders to participate in a War Bond drive scheduled for a ten-day period in various cities in the Northwest. I was to report to the admiral’s office within 24 hours.

When I asked “Why me?” I was informed that my name had been submitted by the Navy Department to the admiral’s office as a decorated Navy pilot just returning from the South Pacific.

“Commander, I’m home on leave. I’m married with a new son. Can my wife come with me? I’ll pay her expenses.” He agreed that, under the circumstances, it would be appropriate. In fact, it might even sell more bonds. I bounded down the stairs. What a great vacation, a Navy car with a driver, hotel rooms, and meals out. As I explained the plan to Jean, she just stood looking at me. She seemed both surprised and stunned.

“Norm, can the Navy do this to you? You’re on leave! You’re just home from the Pacific!” I explained to her that yes, the Navy could do it, and what a great time we would have.

“Norm, what about the baby? What’s your plan for Donnie?” When I suggested that my mother would be happy to take care of Donnie, a frown crossed Jean’s face.

“No, Norman, I can’t do that! Please understand. It’s too long a time. I just can’t leave him for that long, even with your mother. He’s barely three months old. Please, Norm, can’t you even try to convince the admiral that you can’t go, you can’t leave your family!”

I left for Seattle the next day. Jean didn’t seem to understand that I had no choice.

The War Bond tour went well, although I did have to eat a lot of chicken at service club lunches. And then there were the obligatory rounds of drinks with members of the American Legion. The older guys were very nice, but we had little in common. I heard plenty of stories about their war—World War I. It was exciting though—a war hero talking to audiences about the need to buy bonds.

I called Jean every couple of days but avoided talking about the bond drive. I was lonely. I had time to consider my new role as a father. It was obvious that I was no longer the only person in Jean’s life. That was very clear when she refused to come with me on the bond tour. I couldn’t understand or accept her reason. Didn’t she trust my mother? I wondered if the baby was more important to Jean than I was. There was also the issue of my next assignment. Jean told me that she didn’t expect me to volunteer for another carrier squadron. I reminded her that I went where the Navy sent me. I knew she wanted me stay with her and the baby. “Ask for duty as a flight instructor, maybe back at Corpus Christi or even N.A.S. Seattle,” was her suggestion.

Hell! I didn’t know what I wanted. I only felt that my life was changing, and I didn’t like the feeling. I finished the War Bond tour and received a letter from the admiral. It would be entered in my service record commending me for a job, “Well done.”
Gone Fishing
Two days later, I received a call from a friend of my folks inviting Jean and me to their fishing lodge on Hoods Canal. It would be a short drive for us. The lodge was only about 100 miles north of Bremerton. I wondered if Jean would consider going. I had only about ten days of leave left. I could do some trout fishing—hike into the Olympics—great trout fishing in some of the lakes in the mountains. I knew just the place. I used to fish there when I was in high school. It would be great. Jean and the baby could stay at the lodge. She used to love going there while we were dating in high school. She knew the people who ran the lodge. I bet Dad would loan me his car for the trip. I could get the extra ration gas coupons because I’m on leave from the military. I sure hoped she would do it.

Later that day after a wonderful dinner, I talked with Jean about the invitation. I tried not to be insistent, but I reminded her that my leave was almost over, and I really wanted to go trout fishing. Her smile told me she would go. “All right Norm, we’ll go. After all, you fished up there before you and I were married, and I do like the lodge.”

Packing for the four-day trip was some chore—crib, bassinet, diapers, baby food, bottles, baby clothes, stroller, and play pen. This didn’t count my fishing gear or our clothes. God, I thought, it was sure different before the baby.

The four days were wonderful. I spent some time learning to hold Donnie, to feed him and even to change his diapers. I was trying and so was Jean. Nothing more was said about the Navy and my next assignment. On the first day, our hosts took Donnie on a shopping trip into the little village. Jean and I made love that afternoon. It was almost like high school again, when we first made love there at the lodge and promised that we would always love one another.

Our host and I left on the third day of our vacation for the trout fishing trip. We had to walk about four miles to the lake where we wanted to fish. The fishing was extremely good. We each had our limit of rainbow trout when we started the walk out to the car. I didn’t realize how much walking we’d do. I had only my fishing boots to make the eight-mile walk in and out. As I got into the car and removed my rubber boots, I saw the blisters on my feet. Those boots weren’t made for hiking.

We arrived at the lodge at dinner time. Jean met me at the door to the lodge. “Honey, I’ve a surprise for you. We have reservations at that lovely country club you like for dinner and dancing. I’ve made arrangements for a babysitter for Donnie. Why don’t you shower, and we’ll get going?” I didn’t dare mention the blisters on my feet. Besides, I loved dancing with Jean.

I had to report to COMFAIR Alameda on October 4, 1943. I assured Jean that I wouldn’t volunteer for another tour of combat duty. I did remind her, though, that I must accept my orders no matter where they sent me. She kissed me good-bye at the airport. The night before, we agreed she and Donnie would join me as soon as I had orders. Jean told me she was not going to stay in Bremerton with her parents or mine.
Promoted!
I reported to the personnel office at COMFAIR Alameda as ordered and was sent to the office of a Navy lieutenant commander. I walked in and saluted, “Lieutenant Berg, reporting as ordered, Sir.” He invited me to take a chair in front of his desk.

“Lieutenant Berg, I have some good news for you.” He handed me a copy of an ALLNAV, a teletype message from the Navy Personnel Command in Washington, D.C. used to announce promotions. “Mr. Berg, your name is on the promotion list. You are no longer a Lt. (jg.). Your date of rank as a full lieutenant is October 1, 1943. Congratulations.”

As he looked through some papers, I scanned the ALLNAV. I found my name on the promotion list.

A full lieutenant...not bad for a kid from Bremerton. Jean will be so proud. She’ll be happy for me. Nice pay raise too. Now comes the rest. He’s still shuffling papers. Where are my damn orders? Come on, commander, let’s get to it. Jean hopes for shore duty I know; I won’t volunteer.

Finally, he said, “Here they are, your orders. Let me fill you in, lieutenant. Your old squadron, VGS-28, with its fighter, dive-bombing, and torpedo squadrons has been decommissioned by the Navy Department. Replacing it will be Air Group 28 with a fighter squadron and a torpedo squadron. I will read you your orders.”

LIEUTENANT NORMAN BERG, 112307 USNR. WHEN DETACHED FROM COMFAIR ALAMEDA YOU WILL REPORT TO THE COMMANDING OFFICER OF AIRGROUP 28 FOR FURTHER ASSIGNMENT TO TORPEDO SQUADRON 28. REPORT NO LATER THAN 5 OCTOBER 1943.

Jesus, back to combat. Back to the old fears. I’ve got to live through this...again!
Reporting for Squadron Training Duty
I reported the next morning to Torpedo Squadron 28 at N.A.S. Alameda, hangar three and presented my orders to the squadron duty officer. The orders were dated October 5, 1943, my reporting date. The squadron duty officer directed me to the office of the executive officer of the squadron, Lieutenant Ronald Gift. I stood at the open entrance to his office until he saw me.

The lieutenant stood. “Come in. We’ve been expecting you. Norm Berg, isn’t it? Just back from leave and a carrier cruise in the Pacific, right? Come on in. I’ll fill you in on what’s happening. By the way, call me Rip. We’re pretty informal around here. We’re all naval reserve officers, including the skipper, Art McHolland, so there’s not much Navy protocol among the officers.”

Sure different, I thought, than the days with Commander Butts and the “Attention” call when he walked in.

I spent a good hour with Rip. He was in the Guadalcanal area at the same time I was. He was assigned to a heavy cruiser flying SOC aircraft. (The S stood for scout; the O for observation; and the C for the aircraft company that built the plane.) The SOC was designated by the Navy as a scouting and observation plane. The plane would be catapulted off the cruiser then, after completing the mission, would land in the ocean alongside the cruiser to be hoisted aboard by the ship’s crane.