Memories Of Alison Phillips, 1936 - 1944

This was a dynamic and challenging time as I ascended into manhood. Times were tight and unemployment was high. It was hard to get a job of any sort, and I jumped from job to job trying to bring a little money in for the family. I graduated from Kempsville High in 1935 and took a year of post graduate work in 1936. I studied Latin and geometry trying to prepare for college. I sent off for many college catalogs and dreamed of campus life, but it was not in the cards. We had no money.

Cleaning Bilges at the Norfolk Shipyard

One memorable job I tried soon after graduation was at the Norfolk Shipbuilding and Dry-dock. I answered an ad in the paper, not knowing just what the job was. It turned out that they were recruiting people desperate enough to clean the filthy bilges of ships coming in for repair. The bilge to which I was assigned was a cramped area between the double bottoms of an old freighter. This is where the crude oil is stored that fires the ship's boilers. Heavy greasy black sludge had accumulated inches deep in the bilge. I was among a crew of 10 men who entered the bilge through a manhole cut in the deck. Each of us carried a bucket and a small shovel like one used to clean ashes from a wood stove. The bilge was divided into many compartments separated by steel bulkheads with crawl holes cut in them. Each man was assigned a compartment. We would shovel the bucket full of sludge and pass it through the hole in the bulkhead to the next fellow, like a fire brigade, until the bucket was dumped through a hole in the bottom of the ship. The total blackness of the bilge was broken by the dim light provided by drop cords. And, the only air we had to breath came from the screeching end of a compressed air hose. We sat in black sludge that permeated our clothes and smudged our skin. Nature's calls were not an option. It just wasn't worth the effort of crawling through bulkhead hole after hole to get to daylight, to say nothing of going to the head with clothes and hands covered with black grease. The pay was good, 35 cents and hour, so I stuck the job out for one week. At the end of the week, I tried to clean up by bathing in kerosene which removed most of the grime left by the black oil. But, it took several baths in soap and hot water to restore my skin to normal.

Working for Lloyd Webb Harvesting Wheat

Another memorable job I took was to help Lloyd harvest his wheat crop. He had grown perhaps 15 acres of wheat on the black land deep behind the Nuchols farm on Indian River Road. The wheat combines at that time were primitive. Lloyd's combine was pulled behind his tractor. The combine picked up previously mown wheat from windrows, threshed it, and discharged the grain from a pipe into burlap bags. The chaff was blown aside in a cloud of dust. It was a noisy dusty operation and labor intensive. My job was to ride the combine, engage the bags to the pipe that discharged the grain, and then tie up the filled bag and drop it from the continually moving combine. It required muscle and it was an endurance contest. The only relief, if you can call it relief, was when we paused combining to load the flat bed truck with the bags of wheat lying in rows on the ground. As I remember, we took three truck loads of grain down to the granary in Brambleton. On each trip I weighed myself on the balance scales. On the last trip, I found that I had lost five pounds during the day. Of course, it was do to dehydration. For all of this, I earned 10 cents an hour.

Osage Hedge and Road In Front of Our Farm

Shown above on the left is a portion of the Osage Orange hedge that separated our farm from the newly paved Indian River Road. This road was originally called Shell Road, and I have talked about it in other parts of these memoirs. The Ford Truck shown in the picture belonged to Lloyd Webb. He frequently allowed us to use it. We are bringing home a load of wood. At this time our old Model T Ford truck, which had hard tires and a chain drive had bitten the dust. This is the best picture I could find of the Osage hedge which I talk about below

My Summer Job with Asplund Tree Surgeons

Our farm was separated from the Shell Road by a quarter mile long Osage orange hedge. This hedge was planted by the previous owner to fence in his cattle from the road. The limbs were covered with vicious thorns that would gouge man or cattle if brushed against. In better days, Dad hired labor to keep the young tender growth trimmed. But, when times got tight, we had to abandon trimming the hedge. It grew vigorously and in a few years it reached up and interfered with the roadside telephone lines. The telephone company hired the Asplund Tree Surgeons to trim the hedge back to the stubble at about waist high. We were pleased to have the crew on the job, and I watched them with amusement as the tried to cope with the thorny branches that would rip leather gloves unless cautiously handled. I was 16 years old at the time, and had considerable experience fighting the hedge. I took pity on their frustration as they battled the thorns and went to the barn and fetched a couple of long handle forks and demonstrated how the limbs could be stacked with a fork. The crew leader was impressed and asked me if I wanted a summer job to work with them. I immediately accepted and spent the summer, first grooming our own hedge, and then working on the ditch banks of community roads. Hacking brush with a bush axe was hard sweaty work, but it paid 35 cents an hour, more than three times what I was paid for farm work. I suffered minor red bug bites, but one of the workers was bitten badly, including the genital area. I took him up to our barn and gave him a rag soaked in kerosene to bath the infected areas. It did the job. Finally, Asplund left the area, and left me with memories. Even today (2003) when I see an Asplund truck, it brings back memories of that special summer.

Building Houses With Mr. Lovelace

Mr. Lovelace was a good and talented man. He was the father of Warren, a high school friend. He was an architect and builder who drew his own plans and built some impressive structures in Princess Anne County. One of his achievements was the construction of a large barn with a rounded hayloft. It was built for one of the Mennonite farmers. The Mennonites' are good craftsmen and quite self sufficient, but the shape of the barn roof was beyond their expertise. Mr. Lovelace worked on the job with the houses he built, and he hired Warren and I as apprentices. He supplied the detailed instructions, and we worked hard to satisfy his demands. I worked on several houses with Mr. Lovelace. He was so good to me and taught me a lot about home construction. We worked hard and burned calories at a rapid pace. No plywood panels were used at this time. Subfloors and siding were of six inch boards. No power tools were used, every board was cut by a hand saw. I can remember taking six sandwiches to work. One of the houses I helped build was in the Norview section of Norfolk. I had no transportation at the time, the city streetcar was slow, and on one occasion I walked home to the farm all the way from Norview. Mr. Lovelace taught me how to frame windows, and balloon construction, which was new at the time.

My Job With The Cudahy Meat Packing Company

When I was about 18, or so, I played tennis at Froggie Rountrey's court every chance I could get. John Stevens was one of my formidable opponents and a close friend. At that time he was working for the Cudahy Meat Packing Co. He was helpful in me getting a job there too. Cudahy operated a large meat packing and distribution plant near the waterfront in Norfolk. They made and sold all sorts of prepared meats and were big on baloney and frankfurters. My primary job was to dye and cook the franks. The franks were extruded by a machine into long chains which I hung on racks on a special dolly that was rolled into the scalding shower room. The room would hold a number of dollies, which enabled me to cook several thousand franks in one batch. For most part, the franks are made of ground tripe which is pale in color. I had a recipe for adding the dye to the scalding water used to cook the franks. I carried a meat thermometer in my pocket, and after a timed cooking, I would turn the water off, enter the room, and check the internal temperature of the franks. If I remember correctly, the frank's temperature had to be 140 degrees. If the franks passed the temperature test, I would wheel the dollies out, allow them to cool, and then store the franks in a roll in refrigerator that was very cold. Needless to say, it was stressful to be steaming hot one minute and chilly cold a little later. I applied myself diligently, for this was the best paid job I had yet found. After the plant had closed for the day, I had to clean up the frank kitchen which became soiled with the meat fragments of the day. I wore rubber boots as I trampled through the mess. At times I shoveled tripe that spilled to the floor back into the grinding machines. I used steam and hot water to blast away the food particle from the dollies and to wash down the floor. The cleaning job added a couple of hours to my day's work, but I was told that I would receive overtime pay, so I tolerated it. After two weeks of this routine, it was payday. There was no overtime pay in my check, and they told me to forget it, or they would hire someone else. I told them to do just that. (I wish I had told them to take the job an jam it.) That ended my Cudahy work.

Froggie Get's Me a Job With McCallum Inspection

Froggie Rountrey was a few years older than I and was a sort of mentor. As he got to know me better on the tennis court, he asked if I would like to work with him at the McCallum Inspection Co. I quickly agreed. This was a wonderful step for me, and very challenging. The Company had eight employees and operated in a number of eastern states and as far west as Joplin, Mo. I had I learn a lot about southern pine lumber grades, about creosote processing, and about utility pole grades and framing requirements. Froggie was a competent teacher and he taught me inspection procedures in a hurry. I studied lumber grading specifications and creosote process standards. After a few months of closely supervised work, I was given the responsibility to work independently. Mr. McCallum, the owner and manager watched my development and seemed well pleased. I traveled the east coast from Charleston SC to the northern Maryland visiting large sawmills, and creosote plants. On several occasions I went into pine forests and selected trees to be used for piling for the New York World's Fair. I watched each tree being cut down with a two-man hand saw. The panting men could cut down a towering 90 foot pine in a minute and a half. I stamped each selected piling with the MaCallum stamp of certification as it was loaded on flatcar

Inspecting Lumber and Creosoted Material

Most of my work centered around the two creosote plants at Money Point, in the Portlock area of Norfolk County. I also monitored procedures at the creosote plant in Portsmouth. This plant was just across the Southern Branch of the Elizabeth River from the Money Point plants. I have walked the iron bridge, with a two tower suspension draw, to the Portsmouth plant many times. On one occasion I walked a considerable distance on the iron rail guarding the sidewalk. I could look down some forty feet to the water's surface and it gave me a thrill.

The creosote plants were black dirty places. And, on summer days the fumes evaporating from freshly treated lumber and poles would burn your lungs and skin. My job was to inspect the untreated material; be it lumber, piles, or poles to make sure the material met the specifications stipulated by the purchaser. Several corporations were our clients including Virginia Electric Power, Western Union, New York World's Fair, and a number of municipalities. I had to keep track to see that just the approved material was submitted to the creosote chambers.

There were two basic creosoting processes, empty cell, and full cell. In the empty cell process, the creosote is injected under pressure into the material, and then sucked out of the material by vacuum pumps. With the full cell process, used primarily for underwater pilings, the creosote is allowed to remain saturated in the material. I monitored both processes which are quite detailed and the process specifications were strict. After the charge of material was hauled out of the gigantic creosoting cylinders, it was allowed to cool and then I would take increment borings from each pole to determine the degree of penetration. If the penetration did not meet specifications the pole was rejected and had to be retreated. I stamped each item that met specifications with the McCallum emblem. A special hammer was used for this purpose and the hammer was guarded closely. This was serious business, our livelihood depended upon it.

Mackie Sends Me to College

Mr. McCallum watched my growth, dispatched me on out of state trips by myself, and groomed me to assume more responsibility. He had obtained the services of a Master Chemist, Mr. T. B. McDow who set up the laboratory for testing the quality of creosote oil, cement samples, and other materials. I became McDow's assistant and apprentice.
I learned to perform fractional distillation procedures and to test the oil's residue after it had been burned to a crisp in a platinum crucible. I visited the local Lone Star Cement plant and obtained cement samples of hot cement dust from the long rotary kilns. A mixture of marl from the James river banks was ground to powder in the rotary kilns by iron balls grinding against the ever disintegrating marl. Master chemist McDow taught me many laboratory procedures, the use of super accurate balances, and the importance of significant figures. Cement samples were subjected to a battery of sieves to measure the granularity of the cement. I was fascinated by chemistry when I studied it in high school. I wanted to learn more, and Mr. McCallum encouraged me to go to college. He paid my tuition to the Norfolk Division of William and Mary, as long as I could tailor my college schedule with my work. Three days a week I would ride the street car from Berkley to City Hall Avenue in downtown Norfolk, and get a transfer to another streetcar to the college on Hampton Blvd. The days were long and grueling and it was difficult working full time and carrying a college load. My college career was abruptly cut short when I came down with pneumonia and had to spend a month in bed. This was in the year of 1940.

Mackie's Basketball Team

Mr. McCallum was a popular business man and a Mason. He enjoyed fast living and drove a yellow straight eight Buick convertible four-door sedan. He enjoyed sports and on occasion took his people to football games. One year he sponsored his own basketball team in the Norfolk Church Industrial league. He assigned Froggie and I round up the players, and provided us with snazzy uniforms. I was able to recruit several past stars from Kempsville high, including Bill Shumadine, and Stuart Brinkley. We didn't have time to practice, but we played at least a game a week in the various high school gymnasiums around the city. And, we developed a nice following of fans, mostly girls from the Oaklette area. I think we all enjoyed the support and cheers from our followers. I can so well remember a tight game when Mackie was there to cheer his team on, and I made a really nice capture and a leaping shot that helped win the game. It was tough going, working, going to college, and playing basketball. I overdid myself and played even when I had a deep chest cold. The last game I played my lungs ached. The next day I was in bed with double pneumonia. I lay at death's door for weeks, and stayed in bed for a month. Mother sat at my bedside and wept as I gasped for life. Austin Buchannon had just died from pneumonia and it was but by the Grace of God that I survived. I never played basketball again.

My Government Job As Messenger

It was a fateful day that I received an official government letter in the mail. The time arrived for me to make a decision that would effect the rest of my life. After years of waiting, I received a notice that a job was available at the Naval Air Station, for of all things, a junior messenger. It paid just $600 dollars a year. Was I to quit my good job with Mr. McCallum and go to work as a messenger? I pondered and fretted. I had been told that a government job was forever and that the pension plan was good. Sadly, I resigned from McCallum's and bade my working friends goodbye. I was assigned to work in the office of the Public Works Department for the Naval Air Station. I was given my own bicycle and my job was to take messages to the many offices and buildings on the Naval Air Station. I rode hard and fast during fair weather and foul. Once I had an ugly spill on the rain slick railroad tracks and it hurt bad, but I carried on. Then an event occurred that caused a dramatic change in my life.

Leaving the Farm Moving to Campostella

At the time of our marriage I was earning $12.50 a week. We had no place to go. So I brought Mary Hunter home to the farm to live with Mom and Dad. We moved into the upstairs bedroom where Grandpa had died. The old folks were as helpful as they could be. I continued work and brought my $12.50 paycheck home and gave it to Mom for our room and board. This, understandably, did not sit well with Mary Hunter. The first two weeks of married life were wonderful, but then things began to fall apart. The house was not big enough for Mary Hunter and my mother. We lived on the farm for six trying weeks until Mary Hunter located an apartment in Campostella owned by Mrs. Gibbs. We moved into an upstairs efficiency with a kitchen. Mrs. Gibb's home was a beautiful old place and the rent was $20 a month. We shared the bath with another newly married couple, Julia and Jack Holt. This is where we were living when Charles was born. Julia Holt, was a nurse and was with Mary Hunter when Charles was born.

Transferring to the Transportation Department

While working as a junior messenger, I kept my eyes open for a better job, I was fortunate to get an early promotion to a 'Senior Messenger' at the Overhaul and Repair Department. This job paid $1250 a year. In the meantime I was studying typing and shorthand and waiting for a clerical job to open. It was during this period that I received a promotion and I obtained a job with the Transportation Superintendent, Lt. Wingo. We got along great! As the workload increased, I became Lt. Wingo's right hand man. He hired two subordinates to work for me. I was on a roll. My salary was now $1440. He tried to promote me again and fought hard on my behalf, but he could not prevail against the regulations.

Some of My Duties in the Transportation Department

The war activity increased and the Naval Air Station was a beehive of activity. Patriotism was high. We were buying trucks, tractors, bulldozers, and crawlers. It was my job to get official numbers for each vehicle, to see that they were prepared for issue to the fleet, to maintain custody of them, and to schedule each vehicle for maintenance. I did many things not in my clerical job description. On occasion I went to the Naval Supply Center with a crew of drivers and we drove a convoy of new vehicles to our maintenance shops. I have driven large Navy gas trucks, and Caterpillar crawlers. It was rewarding to serve my country in many capacities as needed.

Canoeing Elizabeth River

After we had settled in with Mrs. Gibbs, I obtained lodging for Don Mercier whom I had hired to help me in the Transportation Department. His place was just a block away. We became good buddies and spent many hours together. Froggie had his Old Town canoe for sale. Don and I pooled our resources, and we bought the canoe together. We kept the canoe in Don's backyard which was just off the Eastern Branch of the Elizabeth river. All summer we canoed together every chance we got, and we became quite adept with it. We could raise the canoe above our heads, charge down the embankment, flip the canoe over, and glide out into the river in one continuous motion. We would show off and stand on the gunnels. One Sunday when we were fully dressed, we were nonchalantly paddling in the middle of the river when the next thing we knew, we were both in the water and the canoe was upside down. Canoes are treacherous and we got too smart for our britches. Later on, Don was called into the army and that ended our time together, though we corresponded for many years.

Edgar Everett Buys Oyster Boat

While living in Campostella I rode to work with Edgar Everett. He was a totally carefree and irresponsible shady character. But, he was a good hearted guy and fun to be around. One day he cut a deal with a painter in the Transportation Department to have his car painted. The painter made an under the table agreement and told him to bring his car in during lunch hour. Everett did, and a half hour later came to pick up his vehicle. It was one big black smudge; the windshield, headlights, bumpers and all were painted black. Everett had to do some quick work with rags to get his car drivable for the trip home. But, I digress.
Everett loved the water and found an old oyster boat for sale up the James River in the vicinity of Chuckatuck. He asked me if I would help him bring it home to Campostella. Early one Sunday a friend drove us up to Chuckatuck, Va. We found the 22 foot wooden boat. It had a small cabin near the front, a large working space, and a one lung inboard motor in the rear. We had a can of gas and a tool box, and somehow or other got the boat underway. We put-putted out to the James river, and with the tide in our favor, several hours later we reached the wide expanse of Hampton Roads. An what do you expect? The motor abruptly quit - we were miles from shore. We spotted a channel buoy about a quarter mile ahead, and with oars managed to guide the drifting boat to the buoy where we tied up. Everett tinkered with the engine a half-hour or so, and miraculously managed to get it going again. Happily we steered up the Elizabeth river toward Norfolk, when we saw the Old Bay Line Steamer heading towards us. I thought little of it and blissfully sat perched upon the cabin as the big steamer passed closely by. The next thing I knew, our little craft was plunging in the high wake created by the speeding steamer. I was drenched, but none the worse for wear. After an unforgettable day, we safely docked across the Avenue from Mrs. Gibbs home. Everett and I made a number of exploration trips along the river sides during the summer visiting boat people with no addresses.

Moving House to Sparrow Road

It was while I was working with the Superintendent of Transportation, Lt. Wingo, that a great building boom was taking place on the Norfolk Naval Air Station. The government had condemned a large group of houses in an area of Ocean View called Monkey Bottom. The houses were being sold for $150. Somehow, I bought a small bungalow. I also purchased a 1-1/2 acre plot of pine woods from Mr. VanLeuwen on Sparrow Road. Now my job was to move the bungalow from Ocean View, some 15 miles to the wooded lot on Sparrow road. First, I cleared the home site of pine trees. This I did by hand. Then I set to work on the bungalow in Monkey Bottom. I talked a dear fellow employee to help, and we literally sawed the house in half from floor, ceiling, and roof. This was done entirely with hand tools. I folded down one section of roof upon the other to reduce the height. The bungalow was perched on concrete piers. I shoveled sand away from under the house to provide clearance for a lowboy truck to back under the house.
My supervising Officer, Lt. Wingo, looked the other way, winced, and signed an order to release a huge lowboy truck, similar to ones used to carry bulldozers, or tanks. I paid a sailor to drive the truck and he backed the truck under the house as I had planned, and with a heavy maul, I broke the piers and one half of the house thunked down on the lowboy. This we did very early on a Sunday morning. We placed official warning flags on the front of the truck, and I rode on top of the house and we started the 15 mile trek. The first part of the trip through Ocean View was hairy. As we encountered hanging wires that I would lift up to provide clearance. In one instance, I could not lift them high enough and I directed the driver to ram ahead. The wires were left hanging. When we got to Indian River Road, the rail on the little wooden bridge at King's creek interfered with our passage. I gave it a rude adjustment with the maul and we overcame our last obstacle on our way to the home site on Sparrow Road. I had to jack the house up so the truck could be withdrawn, and the driver returned to the base. God was with us. I had been denied a moving permit and could not post bond, but my overpowering need for a home for my wife and baby seemed justification for me to disregard the law. This procedure was repeated the following Sunday when I moved the other half of the house. Mary Hunter, I, and year old Charles moved into the house a few days later. The roof was still flat, and we had practically no furniture. I can remember sitting on an orange crate with little Charles in my arms and trying to sing to him. Many days of labor followed on the place, and with the help of Mr. VanLouwen, a stevedore foreman, I got the house leveled, the roof up and steps installed. I used dynamite to clear many of the stumps. (I had learned to use dynamite from Froggie while I worked for McCallum.) As evidence of my effort, that little bungalow that I moved almost single handedly in 1942 stands today in 2003, as I write this memory.

Living On Sparrow Road

Things were going pretty good on our Sparrow Road home. We had a sense of ownership and were fixing up the little place quite nicely. I was now a full fledged aircraft mechanic working overtime and making a little extra money. We hired Linwood Carhart to paint the house. I had cleared much of the undergrowth and made a path back to the stream behind the property. Because I was an aircraft mechanic and had a child I had received two deferments.

Transferring to the Overhaul and Repair Department

While contemplating the future, I could see that my career in clerical work was limited, and I knew I had to make an abrupt change, if I were to advance to higher levels. My eyes turned to the Overhaul and Repair Dept., where over 5000 civil servants worked. The Aircraft Overhaul and Repair Department was growing at a breakneck pace. Navy fighters and bombers with war damage and fatigue where brought in almost daily. The need for aircraft workers was great. With reluctance, I bade my dear friend Lt. Wingo farewell and transferred to the Overhaul and Repair Dept. as a "Helper Trainee." I lost a little money and a lot of prestige in the transfer, but hoped for the best. I was hired at the lowest paid job in the mechanical field. I enjoyed working with my hands helping the mechanics repair the planes. I studied technical manuals every chance I got, and soon leaned to disassemble complete airplanes - engines, wheels, wings, tanks, everything. And, under the tutelage of experience mechanics I learned to reassemble these fighters and bombers. I advanced from helper to mechanic in record time and soon I specialized in flight controls and autopilots. To make a long story short, For the first time in my life I was earning a journeyman's wages and it felt so good.

Boot Camp at Camp Peary

But then the fatal day came, I was being drafted. I decided to take my chances with the Navy. It was a good choice. My boot camp training took place at Camp Peary, near Smithfield, Va. It was rigorous and my 26 year old body had to compete with the 18 years old. I was hurting all over most of the time. They gave us a placement examination and I scored second in the platoon of 120.

Attending Wright Junior College in Chicago

The leading scorer was a college man who garnered Officer training. Because of my good score, I was selected to attend the Electronics school at Wright Junior College in Chicago, Il. This Junior College had been converted to an Electronics Training Center. Our instructors were young graduates from technical colleges around the country. One of my best instructors was a MIT graduate. Classes were intense, almost on a battle footing. Here I received excellent training in electronic fundamentals and in math. The college gymnasium had been converted to a barracks. There were many neat rows of three tier bunks where hundreds of us slept. Discipline was high and the college was neat as a pin. The food was out of this world. It was cooked by the mothers of service man who were doing duty around the world. Chicago, during the war, treated service men with love and respect. We had free transportation all over the city. I saw much of this great city and performed in a close order drill team in Wrigley Stadium.

Attending Bliss Electrical School, Silver Springs Md.

Upon graduation, I was transferred to Bliss Electrical School in Silver Spring, Md. This was a lovely school founded by Mr. Bliss, a peer and friend of Thomas Edison. Many of the instructors were all old timers who knew their work inside out. Newer faculty were versed in electronics. We had hands on experience with measuring devices and performed electrical experiments. Only privileged students made it to this fine school. Many of my classmates were engineers and I stood in awe of them. Here we had rooms to sleep and study in. Olin Nance, a math professor, was my bunkmate. I could not have made it through the courses, had it not been for the generous help of my classmates. It was during this period that I was so fortunate as to find a lovely room with Mrs. Walker and Aunt Lois, just a block away from campus. I sent for Mary Hunter and Charles. It was so good and comforting to have my loving wife and child with me during these tenuous times.

Attending the Navy Radar School at Belleview, Md.

After three busy months, I graduated from Bliss, but the Navy had more training in store for me. I was transferred to the Radar School at the Naval Research Lab, in Belleview Md. The duty here was unusually tough. It was boot camp all over. The Commanding Officer would not allow any shore leave at all until each student had completed a grueling obstacle course in a nearly impossible time. In my case the incentive was very high, I had a wife and son to go home to. I trained and after repeated efforts finally conquered the course in the required time. The swimming requirements were so stringent that it required champions. We had to swim the pool full length under water and then return under water without surfacing. I swam till I felt my lungs would burst, and then swam more and more till I was nearly unconscious before I made it. While I taking classes the Red Cross sent a telegram that my dear Daddy became critically ill. I was allowed to visit him on his dying bed. It was so sad. I returned to school, but my grades suffered. I was called before the Commanding Officer, Cdr. Cooke, who would have sent me to sea but for the efforts of my Platoon Chief who explained what I had been through. Thereafter, I studied every waking moment, in the chow line and everywhere. I fought my way back and graduated with good grades. For this effort I was sent the LORAN School which I completed handily. No more Navy schooling.

Gunboat Duty on PGM-23

The next thing I knew I was on a troop transport, four bunks deep, head for Okinawa. There I transferred to a gunboat, PGM-23, and we sailed to Sasebo Bay, Japan for duty. After a few months, we got our orders to return home. Nine happy sailors started their 3,000 mile cruise across the Pacific on the little gunboat with it's deck four feet above water. We weathered storms and I can remember standing ankle deep in water on the highest point of the ship. The propellers would come out of the water and fan the air. During the long cruise we ran out of all food except sauerkraut. The whole crew urged the Captain to sail on, and finally arrived at the beautiful Golden Gate bridge. I wept.

The Sawmill On Rankin's Farm,

The Wallace family were loggers in Princess Anne County. Pigtail Wallace took Latin with me at Kempsville High. We were the only two boys in the class. He had a very high IQ as did his father and sister. Both Pigtail and his sister were valedictorians of their respective classes. I think that the Wallace family had interest in the sawmill that operated on the Rankin property just two blocks from Mr. Branches home. The sawmill was an old fashioned steam sawmill that used the slab wood for firing the boiler. They used a cutoff saw to make firewood of the slabs and sold the surplus. We bought a load once. The sawmill operated for a number of years and accumulated a pile of sawdust which it blew into the revenue. On the farm, we would listen for the 12 O'clock steam whistle to leave the fields. I can remember the logging trucks taking loads of pine logs to the mill. Sadly, I can remember when a Wallace man, I think it was Cressler, was crushed to death as he unloaded the logs. I don't remember when the last log was sawn, but things change with time.

Lindsey Lumber Yard On Lloyd Webb's Farm

Junior Lindsey would come to visit his Uncle Lloyd Webb whose farm was just across Shell road from ours. Junior and I played together as children. Junior was a heavy eater and put on weight rapidly. He kept adding weight until he weighed 550 pounds and joined a side show with the circus to bring in a little money. That was not a nice job, and his family helped him establish a lumber yard on Uncle Lloyd's property. It was a convenient location and for a while the lumber yard prospered. Junior was too heavy to move around, and he set up his headquarters in an open booth near the entrance. He would direct customer's to the proper area to pickup their lumber, tally the lumber when they left, and take care of the cash register. On occasion I would visit him and have a chat. The lumber business ran its course and because the real estate was so valuable other businesses took over. I cannot establish dates.