My Troubles With Time (12 page)

The stories under the headlines describe the
Arizona’s
success in escaping the attack on Pearl Harbor and attacking the carrier task force. My name is mentioned in almost every sentence. I modestly wish that the accounts had given more stress to the heroic efforts of the men under my command.

I am so engrossed in reading the papers that I am unaware someone else is in the cabin. I look up and see it is the pilot. I jump to my feet and start to salute him, but he rushes forward and shakes my hand.

“I am Major Conway,” he says. “I would be grateful if you would give me your autograph. My son collects them and it would be the prize of his collection.”

I am startled at the pilot’s request but quickly comply. He thanks me profusely and returns to the cockpit.

The sun has already set when the pilot sends word by the stewardess that we are approaching Washington. I walk to the window to look out. I have visited Washington several times while a midshipman at Annapolis, but I have never had the opportunity to look at the nation’s capital from a plane.

The Washington Monument looks beautiful in the moonlight as we circle over Washington and prepare to land. I expect that I will be taken to a hotel to spend the night and taken to see the president on the following day.

I am wrong. When the plane lands and comes to a stop, a limousine speeds toward us, stopping by the aircraft door. The stewardess informs me that I am to be taken immediately to the White House.

As I walk to the now open plane door, the crew clusters around to bid me good bye. I shake hands, thanking each one in turn for their kindness toward me. As I shake hands with the stewardess, I realize she has slipped something into my hand.

Walking down the stairs from the plane, I take the opportunity to look at what she has given me. It is a slip of paper with her phone number and address. As I put it into my pocket carefully, I signal to her that I intend to use the information soon.

A marine colonel steps out of the car and salutes me. “I am Colonel Dresser of the White House staff,” he says. “I will escort you to the White House. President Roosevelt is most anxious to see you.”

We drive through the darkened streets. The colonel asks me about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and I attempt to fill him in.

Turning off Pennsylvania Avenue onto the White House grounds, I fall silent, impressed by the sight of the historic building. We stop in front of the entrance and a White House butler opens the door and greets me.

I am rushed past a secret serviceman upstairs and led to the president’s office. Another secret serviceman ascertains that I am Ensign Snodgrass and opens the door for me.

Inside, I see President Roosevelt, sitting behind his desk. He looks just like he does in the pictures of him I have seen. Admiral Ernest J. King, the Chief of Naval Operations, is standing to his right.

I salute the President, then Admiral King.

“Welcome Ensign Snodgrass,” says the President. “Please be seated.”

As I take the armchair in front of his desk, Admiral King sits down on a chair across from me.

President inserts a cigarette into a cigarette holder, puts the holder into his mouth and lights the cigarette.

He takes a puff, then looks at me closely. “You have made the entire nation proud of you,” he says. “Admiral King and I would like to hear your account of your voyage. Please brief us, omitting no significant detail.”

I do so. When I have finished, President Roosevelt smiles. “Thank you,” he says. “From what you have accomplished, I think you are the most brilliant naval officer since Lord Nelson.”

The Chief of Naval Operations nods in agreement. The President’s cigarette has long ago gone out. He lights another and looks at me. I am unable to interpret the expression on his face.

“There’s just one problem, Snodgrass,” he says, “You’re out of uniform.”

I blush. “I’m sorry, Mr. President,” I begin. I came here wearing the uniform I wore for three days. I haven’t had time to change.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “You’re wearing incorrect insignia.”

I look at him, trying to grasp his meaning. Then I realize that he and the Chief of Naval Operations are both smiling. “Tell him, Admiral,” the President says.

“President Roosevelt,” Admiral King explains, “Has exercised his role as chief of the army and navy to promote you to the grade of captain. Congratulations!”

It takes me a moment before the significance of his remark sinks in. From ensign to captain in one step! I have never heard of such a thing.

“Congratulations, Captain Snodgrass,” adds the President. No promotion has ever pleased me more.”

The Chief of Naval Operations stands and walks toward me, opening a small jewelry box.

“Permit me to give you this,” he says, removing from it two silver eagles. “I remember how proud I was to pin these on my collar when I made captain. It gives me equal pride to be permitted to give them to you.”

Admiral King removes the gold ensigns’ bars

I have been wearing. I stand and he replaces them with the silver eagles. I am speechless.

“Oh, Captain,” says the President. It takes me a minute to realize he is addressing me. “The Admiral and I have been having a bit of a disagreement about what to do with you. He wants to assign you as skipper of one of our new battlewagons. I disagree. I have asked him instead to assign you temporarily to the White House as my naval adviser.”

“While here,” the President continues, “You will receive briefings from selected members of the Naval War College Faculty summarizing what you would have been taught there. When you finish the tutorial, which should not last more than a month, I will promote you to admiral and assign you as commander of the Pacific Fleet.”

President Roosevelt turns to Admiral King. “You had better watch out, Chief,” he says. There is a smile on his face, but I am not sure if he is really joking. “In a short time, this young fellow may have your job.”

N
o sooner had I resolved to actually carry through with my fantasy with the aid of my time machine that I began my preparations. Miles Standish University had one of the best libraries on the East Coast. As much as I hated to return to the scene of my morning’s humiliation, I forced myself to retrace my steps to the campus.

A few minutes spent in the library reading the various accounts of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor showed me that my fantasy required modification. Originally, I had fixed on the battleship
Arizona
as the vessel I would command. It had stuck in my mind because of all of the mention it had in the various accounts of the Pearl Harbor attack. Over a thousand of its crew had gone down with the ship and it had subsequently been turned into a memorial for the men killed at Pearl Harbor.

When I actually looked into the details of the attack, however, I found that the
Arizona’s
mooring site on “Battleship Row” would have made it virtually impossible for the vessel to get under way in time to evade the attacking aircraft. She was tied up inboard, with the repair ship “Vestal” outboard and between the battleships
Tennessee
and
Nevada
. Moreover, the
Arizona’s
captain had been on board the vessel and had been mortally wounded in the Japanese attack.

My disappointment about the
Arizona
gave way to elation as I read on and learned that the
Nevada
was the opportune battleship with which to implement my fantasy. It was moored at the end of a line of battleships at a site which facilitated quick departure. The
Nevada’s
captain and many of the senior officers were ashore. Best of all, the
Nevada
was the only battleship which actually attempted to evade the Japanese attack.

In events which in many respects paralleled my fantasy, a young ensign realized that Pearl Harbor was under attack and pressed the alarm signal on the
Nevada
about 8 a.m. on December 7, 1941. He and the other junior officers on board succeeded in getting steam up in 45 minutes rather than in the normal three and a half hours. The ship then left the mooring in a desperate break for the open sea.

Just reading the account of the
Nevada’s
gallant effort brought tears to my eyes. The vessel had maneuvered from its moorings without the usual assistance of tug boats. It was already seriously damaged in the initial Japanese attack. There was a gaping hole in its side and smoke billowed from several fires. With its battle flag flying, the ship had traveled some distance before the Naval District headquarters ran up signal flags ordering the
Nevada
beached in order to avoid its being sunk by the Japanese planes in the channel, blocking all passage.

The officers on board, the most senior of whom was a lieutenant, had most reluctantly obeyed.

In a happy frame of mind, I left the library and headed home. On the way, I stopped off at the costume shop at which I purchased my Union colonel’s uniform. There I was fortunate to find in stock an American naval officer’s uniform of the type worn in 1941.

My only regret was that I was unable to wear a white high-necked officer’s uniform of the sort I admired when I saw it worn by the naval officer protagonist in Puccini’s opera “Madam Butterfly. On reflection, however, I doubted that one would be worn by an officer reporting to a new ship in Honolulu in December.

With great effort, I managed to bargain with the owner of the costume shop until he reluctantly agreed to accept in payment the few dollars I had left in my check account. I was fortunate, I realized that navy uniforms of the 1940’s commanded a far lower price than those of the Civil War era.

Arriving home with my purchase, my happy state of mind survived viewing the damage Princess had newly inflicted on my living room rug. I quickly ate dinner, then put on the uniform again and inspected myself in the mirror. The insignia on the sleeves of my uniform jacket was that of a commander, too senior for my purposes.

With a razor blade, I carefully removed the three gold band insignia from the sleeves, uncertain of how to replace them. It was unlikely I could pass myself off as an ensign. It might be possible for me to claim to be younger than my 33 years, but the face I saw in the mirror was obviously too old to be that of an ensign.

Moreover, I had to be senior to the other officers on board the
Nevada
to assume command. The various pieces of insignia I had purchased at the costume shop fortunately included the two bands of a full lieutenant. I decided to use these and to claim as much seniority as I needed to outrank the other lieutenant.

My sewing was not very good, but I managed on my second try to attach the insignia to its proper place on the jacket sleeves.Early, the next morning I awakened, my mind full of plans for my forthcoming trip back in time. Then I recalled that Dr. Bolton had instructed me to teach Endicott’s two classes while he accompanied Dr. Bolton to Philadelphia.

Still bitter about how the Department Chairman had treated me, I was tempted to tell Endicott’s classes that he and Dr. Bolton had been arrested on a morals charge by the Philadelphia police and that because of Endicott’s poor teaching, I was giving every member of the class an “A”.

This notion was pleasant to contemplate, but reason told me it was foolish for me to burn my bridges behind me. Although I planned to make myself a comfortable niche someplace in time, I did not wish to completely rule out someday returning to academia.

I dutifully put on a suit and tie and started out for the campus planning to teach Endicott’s classes. I knew I would not suffer the embarrassment of meeting any senior members of the Physics Department, as all of them were going to Philadelphia for the National Physics Society meeting.

Approaching Guggenheim Hall, I passed two instructors in the department. When they saw me, they broke off the conversation they had been having and bid me good morning. I thought I detected amusement on their faces and suspected they had been discussing me.

My resentment against Dr. Bolton and the way I had been treated returned. One of Endicott’s two classes was scheduled for the afternoon. I would be foolish, I decided, to waste the day when I could be off in the time machine to Pearl Harbor.

On the blackboard of the classroom I wrote in chalk that I was ill and that the physics classes had been canceled. Bolton would be angry when he learned I had not taught the classes, but would be forced to accept my excuse as valid.

In a much better frame of mind, I left the quadrangle and walked to a coin and stamp collectors shop. There I purchased several dollar bills printed before 1941 to use on my trip. The proprietor told me they were rare and charged me what I considered an exorbitant price, but I did not have sufficient knowledge to argue with him.

I counted out the bills I had to my wallet and just managed to pay what he asked. My wallet was now as empty as my check account. No matter, I thought. If I was successful in my effort, money would never again be a problem for me.

My last destination before heading home was a pawnshop in a rather seedy part of town. I went through several trays of old rings and was successful in finding a Naval Academy class ring to lend authenticity to my impersonation of a naval officer. Remembering the problem I had experienced in 1870 Paris concealing my battery operated watch, I also purchased an old wrist watch manufactured by a company which the owner assured me had gone out of business in the 1930s. Fortunately, the pawn shop apparently considered these items as junk and I managed to pay for them with the coins I had in my pocket.

Returning home, I had a light lunch and put on my naval officer’s uniform and prepared to start on my trip back through time. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I would need some sort of identification beyond my uniform to enter the Honolulu naval base and board the
Nevada
. Using my computer I prepared orders transferring Lieutenant Maynard Snodgrass from the Ordinance Bureau of the Navy Department to the USS
Nevada
. The orders would not stand much examination, but I decided they would be sufficient to gain me access to the base and the battleship if presented late on a Saturday night.