One morning the swells began to subside, and the day dawned bright and sunny. We knew then, we were approaching land, and my ruminations came to an end. Late in the afternoon of 26 March 1945, we entered the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The wooded, green swathed coast of Washington presented the most beautiful sight anyone could have desired. We all stood up on deck watching the shoreline as we sailed down the Strait. We remained glued to the scene until darkness forced us to go below. Sometime around midnight we stopped in Puget Sound, midway between Bremerton and Seattle. A ferry pulled alongside, and we disembarked from the USS Lexington. The ferry deposited us on the receiving dock at Seattle. Navy buses picked up and transported the group to NAS Sand Point. By the time we had been assigned rooms and wrestled our gear into the them, most of us were so tired, we just fell into bed. What a night's sleep that was! We were back in the good old USA without a worry in the world.

  When I woke up the next morning, I couldn't believe my eyes. The BOQ was luxurious. The rooms had comfortable beds, carpet on the floor, and showers with glass doors. Breakfast in the BOQ mess was an experience. The food was terrific, and the choices seemed to be limitless. It took most of the first day to adjust and realize this was not all a dream.

  In the afternoon a meeting was held to determine what sort of an assignment each pilot wanted, in the event that BUPERS (Bureau of Personnel) had such billets available. All the younger pilots wanted to be included in Air Group 3 when it was reformed. The older pilots like MacBrayer requested other types of assignments. The information was to be sent to BUPERS and would require several days before new orders could be issued.

 

Auerbach and I went down to the carpenter shop and dug up enough lumber for each of us to build a sea chest for his gear. After loading the sea chests with everything we wouldn't need for a while, we entrusted the shipment to old unreliable Railway Express. I expected never to see the chest again.

 

The next night, girls from the University of Washington gave us a party in the Sand Point Officer's Club. That was a most delightful evening. We ate, danced, drank and had a great time.

 

Finally orders were received from BUPERS. Wolf was reassigned to a new squadron. McBrayer was to train to become an Air Officer aboard a carrier (same position as my friend Shannahan who had wanted me Court Martialed). Some of the boys got reassigned to Air Group Three, and the rest to other Air Groups. Two billets, which required volunteers, were left to be filled. These billets were for training as an LSO (Landing Signal Officer). Finally, after a great deal of persuasion by Fritz Wolf, Auerbach and I agreed to volunteer. Our orders were then cut for the SO Training School at NAS Jacksonville, Florida.

 

The day before we left Sand Point, Mac invited Auerbach, McLean, Bajack, and me to have dinner with him at the Olympic Hotel. When we arrived he had obtained a private dining room for the five of us. Over a champagne toast, Mac told us he had been planning this for a long time. He indicated that he had made himself a promise that he would do his best to bring us all back alive, and if successful, we would celebrate the end of the cruise together. That was a dinner to remember. The best of food, wine and company.

 

Although, I kept in contact with Mac for a number of years, that was the last time I ever saw him. He was a true gentleman, and he imparted much wisdom to me and the others in his Division.

 

The next day 1 April 1945, we picked up our orders and plane tickets, and headed home for a thirty-day leave.

 

It was wonderful to be home again and with Mom and Dad. It was truly a gift from God. Many times, in the months just passed, it seemed that I would never see home again.

 

  The next few days, we had to do a lot of catching up. The first thing the folks wanted to know was why I had not told them I was in combat. I had made a habit of writing the folks once a week, after I left the States. Each time I was transferred, I would write and tell them I had been transferred to a new area for training. I didn't know how long they would believe that fiction, but I hoped it might postpone their worries for a while. They told me they had been suspicious for some time, and when they learned Jack Pfisterer was home, they went to Evanston and talked with him. When they asked Jack if I had been in combat, he replied yes, and that I had been for several months.

 

A few days after arriving home, I ordered dinner at Lamb's Cafe in Salt Lake. Everything went well until the order was placed before me. When I began to eat, I became very nauseated. I had to leave the meal uneaten. For the next few days I was unable to eat anything. The smell of food produced nausea. I went to my old Doctor friend in Salt Lake. A complete examination produced nothing. He had been in World War I, and drawing upon his past experience, he told me that, most probably, the stress of combat had finally caught up with me. He recommended mostly juice and soup. He also said I should drink Ginger Ale each time I felt nausea. His wisdom worked. It took about a month before I was back to eating normally.

 

I logged in with the Officer of the Deck, at NAS Jacksonville, Florida, 7 May 1945. I then began check-in procedure with the SO Training Division. Suddenly through the door came Jack Auerbach. We exchanged greetings and preceded with the check-in. Jack then left to find suitable quarters for himself and his wife.

 

NAS Jacksonville was situated about 10 miles south of the center of the city of Jacksonville, on the banks of the St. Johns River. The base was large and sprawling. The grounds were well laid out and well kept. The two Junior Officers BOQ's were situated about a mile from the flight line, in a grove of pine trees. From the window of my room on the second deck, I could observe tree squirrels as they played in the tree about three feet from the window. As the summer progressed, the squirrels became so friendly they would sit in the tree and watch me as I studied. The room contained two beds, but when I first checked in, I had the room to myself.

 

When I checked into the Base Post Office, I found a large box of mail. All the letters that had failed to catch up to me while at sea had finally reached their destination. Most had so many Navy unit address stamps on the envelopes, that it was difficult to make out my name. It was fun to read all the letters, but they would have been much more appreciated had I received them while I was in the combat zone.

 

A few days later I received a notice from Railway Express that they had found my foot locker which had been in San Pedro since the previous September when they admitted it had been lost. So much for the Railway Express.