Essex Association Sea Stories Main

TOM'S NAVY ANTHOLOGY

Donated by Tom Fisher

Tom writes "I was in the U.S. Navy from March 4, 1959 to March 3, 1963. I was in air squadron VS-34 and was attached to the USS Essex in 1962 and 1963". Following is Toms Navy Anthology

Tom's Navy Anthology

IN THE BEGINNING, A CAVEAT!

This collection is not going to be an exercise is well-ordered composition, carefully erected for maximum impact, no! These tales, vignettes, are a series of reminiscences loosely held together by the fabric of the mind. The accuracy is subjective, incidents, rumored or factual in themselves now seen dimly through decaying synapses or perhaps more rightly the selective filtering of the adult ego looking at the adventures of a man-child at 17, somewhat precocious but fouled up. These Sea Stories, all of which involve the aircraft carrier USS Essex during World Was II, are based on incidents and fairly factual, but not with the accuracy that 40 years of professional newspaper work would demand. For that I apologize, or do I? They are written in self-satisfaction for me and the few of my generation, particularly shipmates, who remain around to appreciate them

Jonas Mather EM3/c, Spring 2007

ULITHI LAGOON, November, 1944 -- What a hell of a night it was. A gang of fleet replacements bound for the USS Essex had disembarked from the transport S.D. Sturgis in the afternoon to a minesweeper which was the ferry us to our new home. The Japs decided to make the journey memorable by setting loose a midget sub in the lagoon. We spent a long twilight and dark night cruising in circles to confuse us if not the enemy. Not a shot was fired nor ashcan dropped. Welcome to the terror and boredom of World War II.

The ship’s work seemed to rate far above any reception of replacements, so most of our first day aboard was spent on the hangar deck by the ship’s incinerator. The USS Ajax was alongside, completing repairs on the port side amidships where a kamikaze had wiped out one or more 20mm batteries and damaged Number 2 elevator. Most of us after commenting on the damage went to sleep which any good sailor will do whenever he gets a chance.

Late in the day a PPO showed up and shepherded us to the electrical workshop where the baby beef show began. Station officers and chiefs interviewed candidates for slots on the watch quarters and station bill. I drew IC and that was to give me a wonderful chance to go just about anywhere and see and hear most everything. I did, and what follows is some of it. Where there is a possibility of embarrassment to someone still surviving, I have tried to err to the side of caution. Let the Sea Stories begin:

Of Brass and Men

In the spring of ‘45 Cmdr. Fitzhugh Lee, later to be elevated to a much more august rank, Vice Admiral, was damage control officer aboard Essex and posted to a compartment adjacent to Central Station, which he engulfed in waves of an aromatic pipe tobacco. ‘Twas said the stuff was blended especially for him in some obscure Virginia tobacco town. Credible, for Lee was an FFV and a rumored descendant of the great Robert E. A real cool cat, nobody ever shattered his stolid, phlegmatic calm. No Jap attack more than raised his eyebrows, or so said his admiring DC crew. So enter Ensign Quirk (a phony name), newly aboard, full of himself and a regulation pain-in-the-ass to the enlisted men. His officiousness drew a warning response, not unusual aboard Essex, to “stay clear of the forecastle and fantail after dark,” a threat he felt he could not ignore. He took his case to Lee, explaining it in much detail and ending, “ I just don’t know what to do, sir. What shall I do?"

Cmdr. Lee drew himself up in his chair, drew heavily on his pipe and blew thick cloud of aromatic smoke, relaxed and said quite casually, “Stay clear of the forecastle and fantail after dark.”

Snippet--In ‘45 Essex left Ulithi for its longest cruise, one that included the land and sea battle for Okinawa Jima. During that campaign casualties, including the USS FRANKLIN stretched the fleet. The draw on supplies was heavy. The result was too much counterfeit chili, hydraulic spuds, and more weevils in the bread than flour. Greens were short, fruit non-existent - at least in the general mess -- and raw potatoes traded at a premium in the cumshaw market.

I was tending soundpower lines at the flight-deck forward fueling station. A Jg was observing, and we carried on a conversation, commiserating ourselves on the depravations of the inordinately long cruise. “Yep,” he says, “things are getting really tough. Why just the other day they cut out the officers’ apples.“

More Snippets -- This one has hair on it, but it is said to have happened on Essex.

Refueling was underway and the smoking lamp was out. But a Camel burned at the edge of a spitkit. Nearby was a compartment cleaner at work. “That your butt, sailor,“ asked a passing chief.

“Not mine, chief. You saw it first.”

The Judy swooped down between Essex and Wasp on our portside, amidships. Wasp’s 40s opened up, raking our hangar deck and wounding a few crewmen, one of whom rose to his feet as the firing ceased: “Stateside, stateside,” he cried as he ran toward the nearest hatch and the relative safety of below decks. .

The Typhoon of December 1944 was almost upon us as Essex topped off tin cans before the full rage of the storm. The course was difficult to hold; parallel it definitely wasn’t. We heaved, pitched, yawed and occasionally seemed to lose steering control. Deckhands tried valiantly to keep the span lines taut. A line let go, whipping across the deck and around the limbs of a hapless crewman and pulling him into the drink. Surely he drowned, or at least I thought he did and believed that for at least 40 years. Jack Yeager’s diary, published elsewhere in these pages, finally set me straight. He lived. How the rescue succeeded in those stormy seas is a mystery. Does anyone know the full story?

First Time on the Bridge: Tom Schwartzkoph and I were checking and servicing gyro repeaters. It was the routine sort of a day when Capt. Carlos W. Weiber felt relaxed and conversational and had the time to engage in it. He asked the usual folksy questions. I answered, formally and stiffly. As the skipper’s attention was diverted to something else, the helmsman gave me a hard nudge with his hip.”What’s with all those ‘Sirs’? Whatta ya want to do, spoil him?“

CV What?

We sailed from Leyte in July of ‘45 under a new captain, Capt. Roscoe L. Bowman, who previously, so it was said, had skippered a jeep job and run a rather tight ship. And that meant regulation trouble for Essex. Earrings, haircuts, white hats topside, watch that grab-ass. Edicts poured from the bridge like marching orders for Marine boots. Nobody appreciated Bowman’s efforts to turn us into “real sailors.“ Anyway it was much too late.

Anonymous and uncomplimentary phone calls flooded bridge and exec’s office. Pilots switched their affirmatives from Roger to “Roscoe.” In general in a spirit of rebellion, if not outright mutiny, the crew grew surly. Jobs got done, but not with the verve of the old Essex.

Then the pivotal transition moment. One morning on the Island structure forward there appeared in large chalked letters: “USS Essex CVE 8 1/2”

Things quieted down after that, and Capt. Bowman got a chance to see his crew in action off the coast of Japan and on until the end of the war. The great moment came as we cruised the Great Circle on our way home in September 1945. The skipper took the ship’s MC (amplifier system) and for what seemed 15 minutes praised us as “the greatest crew I‘ve ever sailed with.”

Of Booze and Broads

The Navy is ambivalent to alcohol. It‘s blue-nosed about the subject of booze aboard ship. Rightly so. Drunken crews are not fighting crews. Sometimes, however, it benefits both brass and men to cast a blind eye on the subject such as happened on occasion aboard Essex.

Women visitors on the other hand were always welcomed. But just how many women were there at Iwo, Okinawa, or for that matter Leyte Gulf?

Christmas, 1944, comes to mind. We were anchored in Ulithi for replenishment and re-supply, and, of course, Christmas dinner in the general mess, if you could escape from your working party to eat it. There was a certain Joie de vivre (SP) in Officers Country and lacking elsewhere, except where other provisions had been made like in a certain engineering space where a still chugged merrily along, cooled by CO2 from fire bottles -- until they and the distillate ran out. The shipfitters, ‘twas said, were attending the party. “We’ll fix this” said a couple of them disappearing through a passageway. They did.

Half-hour or so later they arrived with a supply of Medical Stores Alcohol. Some say two cases. They had torched their way into the storage locker, removed the goods, and like the best of Essex sailors proceeded to their assigned jobs. They welded it back up.

And nary a word was ever said.

Candy Jones was a New York model of glamorous reputation and, apparently, sponsored by the USO to visit Pacific fleet sailors. We heard she was coming at least a day before she arrived, so the crew was well prepared to follow and ogle, which we did. She had such a large following that you could check her port and starboard movement with an inclinometer. She also was off limits to enlisted personnel, except the chosen few for news pictures.

Commander S. L. Ward, chief engineer and a consummate tinkerer, enthusiastically tried to invent the dollar bill changing machine years before its time. He loved gadgets and had a squawk box connected for his convenience between his quarters and the log room. To those quarters he lured Miss Jones inadvertently leaving the squawk box turned on. Quite a crowd gathered to hear the rumored scion of the Montgomery Ward millions put the make on Candy. The show ended when he found the switch on and shut it off. To this day some of us wonder how he made out.

Fearless Freddie

That's what we called Rear Admiral Frederick Charles Sherman who commanded Task Groups 38-3 and 58-3 from Essex. Actually he was anything but, although a cautious stratetegic fighter and considerate of his men, Sherman was a bulldog (sorry Halsey) when it came to carrying the fight to the enemy. He projected an attitude an acceptance of situational realities that endeared him to his men, a real cool cat. .

Sherman commanded the old Lexington during the Battle of the Coral Sea. When she took that final fish, he called for damage control reports and probabilities of survival. They were unanimously negative.

"Let's get the hell off this old firetrap," he said, ordering abandon ship. They argue how much that reduced casualties and the order seemed to violate the Navy's don't-give-up-the-ship tradition dating to the Revolutionary War. John Paul Jones would have been appalled. But Sherman's men cheered; more importantly, their lives were saved to fight another day.

Salty Dog

March 1945 was a particularly perilous time for the fleet. The Japs had refined their Kamikaze tactics and were plastering our carriers despite vigorous air defense by ship's batteries and CAP. The days were long. Mostly we were at GQ. One-Easy was about the only relief to the tension. Everybody was nervous and some downright irritable. Sherman was on the Flag Bridge with staff officers "Rough Day, Admiral," one of them said.

"Yep," Sherman replied. "Orderly, where the hell's the salt for my apple?"

Parade Rest

Frenchy (O.J. LaForrest Em3/c) was from Fall River, Mass., which must be quite a flambouyant town if the garb and actions of one of its previous citizens proves an example. I say previous because I find no entry for him in the current white pages,. and there seens to be only one LaForrest listed elsewhere, a woman apparantly. In 1945 as the crew of the Essex was going "Asiatic" Frenchy was going over the top. Multi-colored plastic handled sheath-knives were in. He had one about 14 inches long strapped to his side like a pirate's cutlass. Jeep caps were in with the few who would wear hats willingly. He had one. Beards and mustaches? He wore a wax-tipped handle-bar, no whiskers. Earrings became a fad. He wore one. In short Frenchy was a beachcomber's fashion plate when wave dungarees were added to the mix. As such he drew Flag attention. It happened on a June day in Leyte Gulf.

Sherman was no spit-and-polish type, but admiral's inspections must have been required. Sherman's were completely in his style. Hanger-deck quarters, dungarees, and hats were required. That was all. Perhaps the duty was onerous, for Sherman, himself garbed in a leather flight jacket with an OD jeep cap, sped through the ranks like a midget race car. Almost. He passed O.J., logged about ten more feet, then came about. The confrontation was brief:

"You're an excentric little son of a bitch. Aren't you,." said the admiral doing a right about and continuing on his way.

Blowing a Fuse

The war over and the Essex was in drydock at Bremerton, Wash. Still considered a ship of the line, she had a full four-striper in command, Capt. Laurence O. Mathews Jr., although in the yardbird created disarray about us we seldom saw him.

Blowing a Fuse

The war over and the Essex was in drydock at Bremerton, Wash. Still considered a ship of the line, she had a full four-striper in command, Capt.

Laurence O. Mathews Jr., although in the yardbird created disarray about us we seldom saw him.

The captain liked his coffee early and often, but he had a Joe-pot in his quarters that was infested with a chronic, erratic bug. Frequent calls to

the electrical workshop were of little avail. The best brains in the shop worked it over, practically rebuilt it, but it was still utterly unreliable.

Why it wasn't replaced is a mystery. So at least twice a week I would be called to change the fuses and get the coffee perking as the captain

fretted, over the delay.

The light dawned. "Sir," I said," Why don't I show your steward the fuse box and give him a puller and new fuses? "He bought it. Problem solved, or so I

thought.

The electrical officer, Lt. Frank Jereb, was not amused. "You gave the captain a fuse puller?" He said in a tone of disbelief. I explained that

this seemed like a practical solution, forgetting this was the Navy. "He's got his coffee and I can fix it whenever."

From then on, I was on Jereb's list, but not the captain's.

Retaliation

A few weeks later Jereb, smiled grimly as I received a transfer to the 19th Fleet in Bremerton to a non-existent job with nothing to do. I stopped by

the Essex which was moored at Pier 91, Seattle, the following Saturday. As fate would have it, Capt. Mathews was on the quarterdeck. "Haven't seen you

for a while, Mather," he said.

"I've been transferred to 19th Fleet," I said.

"What are you doing there?"

"Nothing," I said with emphasis while sticking firmly to the truth but knowing the Essex was drastically shorthanded.

I reported aboard at quarters on Monday.

Mr. Jereb was not pleased.

Epilogue

Discharge on points came a month or so later in June1946, at Bremerton. On the Black Ball ferry to Seattle, the men of the Essex clustered in one last

gesture of fellowship. "They'll never get me in the GD Navy again," I said to Taylor L. Marshall, an Iowa farm boy and fellow electrician. He was

skeptical and right.

In May, 1947, I re-enlisted V6, USNR.

In the past I have asked for stores from those years aboard the USS Essex. Not all of us remember every story but Marion Hightower sent me this one. I am sure those reading this will remember their own personal story. If you have one, send it on so all of us can enjoy it too.

Frank: You had asked for stories about our time on ESSEX. The following is an incident that I remember from my days as electrician's mate aboard ESSEX, 1944-46.

We had a new E Division Lieutenant. His name was Jerab. Mr. Jerab was a mustang. He had been in WWI and came back when called during WWII.

Anyway, Mr. Jerab had a habit of checking on the men and their G-Q stations. A second class electrician's mate, Dan Reardon, from the copper mines of Montana, and I were assigned to the No. One elevator pit. Now, this is the double bottoms ~ seven decks down. One morning, Mr. Jerab came down the ladder, and Reardon was stretched out on the grating above the bottom of the elevator, and was not wearing his life jacket. Mr. Jerab began to have a conversation with Reardon about why he wasn't wearing his life jacket, that it was to help save his life, etc. etc. Reardon, in his slow Montana drawl, said, "Mr. Jerab, I don't need a life jacket. What I need is a parachute." "A parachute?!" Mr. Jerab asked, quite surprised. "Yes," replied Reardon. "Right aft the bulkhead is an aviation gas void. And just aft of that gas void is a five inch ammunition handling room. If we get a torpedo here, we're going skyward, and we're going to need something to come down with!" Mr. Jerab just looked at Reardon, his mouth agape, climbed out of the compartment, and never again came down to check on us!

Just one of those incidents that comes to mind from time to time. I know that if you and I had the time to visit, there would be many stories, but as time passes, there are fewer people to listen. Memories have faded; many memories have been lost for each of us.

Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Marion

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The e-mails below are to and from Joe DuErmit, Leonard Schlamp and one from Joe DuErmit to Bill Scott, editor of our Buccaneer.

Joe -

Daughter Hope found it on the web a few months ago and inquired if anyone had known her father Bob Veverka . Leonard Schlamp, and Joe DuErmit responded to Hope informing her we had served in the Radio Gang with her Dad. While she was visiting friends in Chula Vista, Ca. near San Diego the weekend of April 30^th 2006, my wife Barbara, daughter Shirley, and Grand daughter Deanna were able to meet Hope and share dinner with her on that Sunday evening.

Hope lost her only son, Brandon Sapp, 21 year's old in Iraq, he was in the Army. Hope is a Para Legal and has a very congenial personality, which some of you that knew Bob, her Dad, might find a bit surprising! She told us she has been able to correspond with some of the Radiomen that knew her Dad, if there are any of you that would like to communicate with Hope Veverka her E-Mail address is: Hleaglee@bellsouth.net I know she would appreciate any memories about her Father you could share with her.

Hope informed us that her Dad had moved to Florida after he got out of the Navy and worked construction. He had built his own home in West Palm Beach and raised his family there. She also told us he was a rather strict Dad, and a no nonsense boss on the job. I told Hope that at our Essex reunions the old Radiomen still share humorous stories about her Dad. She especially enjoyed my relating to her how Pappy Lee used to call her Dad Weewerka. We still get a lot of mileage out of this at our reunions. Hope would like to attend one of our reunions, so she could meet some of her dads’ old shipmates.

For countless years I thought I was the Battery Officer on Mount 5-quad 40 mm located by the flag high on the after side of the Island Structure. I was on that mount for several months, but a few years ago, my Director Operator-Dick Reith-told me I was the Battery Officer with him on Mount 2 (on the focsile underneath the flight deck. I am positive I was on mount 2 with Dick earlier that month but felt certain I had gone to Mount 5 before the Thanksgiving kamikaze hit. My roommate was the Combat Photo Officer and he had his camera set up at the side of the Director Operator
shield during Gen'l Quarters. I know he took the pictures of the Judy approach and crash, and just as the Judy hit us, he left his camera running and he hit the deck. I saw that video time after time, and that could have led to my illusion (if in fact I did not witness it) with some clear distinct recollections. Here is my best shot.

The Judy had been chased by gunnery action (5 inchers) into cloud cover at about four or five o'clock off our starboard stern. The five inchers had opened pattern fire into that cloud cover. When the Judy came out of the Cloud Cover it was in its angle of attack. We were launching planes, and had gotten off a few, but the most of them were still idling on the after quarter of our flight deck. Everybody started shooting at the Judy. Somebody smoked him and I saw one picture showing him raising up in his cockpit, probably to avoid smoke and possibly fire. He was coming in hot and a little too high and it was speculated that he put down some flaps to try to crash our planes that were gassed up and idling awaiting launch. He crashed us just forward of No. 2 elevator taking out the row of Stewards Mates on the 20 ml and also the five inch mount just forward of the '20s.

The consensus was that he did not have a bomb with him and that the explosion occurred from his own gasoline. There was one Hell of an explosion.

Dick Reith tells me that the Gunnery Department went to Condition Easy and some of us, including me, went to the crash site where someone was cutting up pieces of the parachute. We each got a piece plus a piece of the plane shrapnel that was sticking in the flight deck. The conversation then, and for sometime following, was to the fact that (and my room mate's camera showed it) that the stewards mates all died facing and firing at the Judy until it hit them and killed them. I never heard of any of them being alive after the impact. As to the pilot, one sailor said that he had an ankle cuff
holding him in the cockpit. We wondered why a kamakaze would be wearing a parachute after his funeral had been preached and he was cuffed to the plane. We speculated that (there were several other kamikazes ahead of him) he might have been the leader during the raid and after the others had crashed, that he could not pass up a nice big Essex Class carrier with planes all revved up on its flight deck. I clearly remember that we had the fire out and the hole in the flight deck with a temporary patch within about one half hour so that we could recover our own aircraft. I think maybe some landed on other carriers.

That is about the best I can do. I never heard of the Judy having a second pilot in it. I had heard that several other kamikazes had likewise attacked without carrying a bomb. The kamikaze that hit the Essex on April 11 during Okinawa, carried a bomb which he released (was attacking from 7:00) and which went under our port outboard (#4) screw (almost directly under my gun Mount No. 8) which exploded, and the concussion from which cleaned out my gun Mount causing me and 20 plus others to receive the Purple Heart. He then crossed on over, knocking off our radar antennas and crashed off the starboard bow. Bomb ruptured two or three of our underwater port oil compartments, bent our screw and we humped along for a long time thereafter.

Another e-mail searching for anyone who knew his father, does anyone remember this Essex Sailor?

The following e-mails come from Leonard Schlamp and Joe DuErmit. Conversations between a daughter and son asking about their fathers during WWII.

Leonard,
Do you remember a Radioman Leonard Kulbacki? Through a strange happening I found his son Leonard lives and teaches High School in Ramona a town about 20 miles from us here in Julian. John Mullin has written him and I have e-mailed him today. I am anxious to hear from him. I found him in the local paper where he was written up as a prize teacher and his picture looked exactly like the radioman we knew so I sent it to Mullin and he wrote him. Makes an interesting story. His address is 2220 Medford Place Escondido, CA 92027-1767
Joe and Barbara DuErmit

Len,
Thought I would forward Len Kulbacki's e-mail, we had a great visit. I just wish some of you guys that knew him better than I could have been here. Maybe you can e-mail him, I know he likes to hear from the people that worked with his Dad during WWII. He has been teaching for thirty years.
Joe

I am glad that Joe DuErmit has made contact with you and gave me your address. I remember your father very well. The thing that struck me the most about him was how relaxed he seemed to be when listening to code coming in at 25 words per minute and typing it out on message blanks. Many of the radiomen seemed to be quite tense, afraid they would miss a dot or a dash. I was able to read a short note while doing this, but I think he could read a book if he wanted to. If I tried to talk to someone while taking down a message I would really mess up but he had no difficulty in talking and typing out those coded groups at the same time. C. Leonard Schlamp, ex-RM2, KR Div., USS ESSEX

Dear Leonard, thank you very much for writing to me and telling me something I did not know about my father. he was quite private about his life in the navy, and never said much about it except he had little expressions like "the food you left on your plate would feed a Korean army." we always felt we had to finish what we had put there. he raised 6 kids with my mom, I am the oldest. My dad died in 2000, January, and somewhere i have the saga of the Essex book. being contacted by Joe DuErmit has been a real find. I spent the day with him and his wife Barbara last week, and may see them again on Saturday after the Julian Bluegrass Festival. I'm still waiting to hear from John Mulling, who was the first person to write me. I have his phone # though, and will call him if I don't hear from him soon. Thanks again, Leonard Kulbacki, the son of Leonard Kulbacki.

Here is a correspondence I have been having with the daughter of Veverka! I hope some of you will also write to her. I am sure she will appreciate hearing from each and everyone of you. You wil note that she states she is the mother of PFC Brandon Sapp (killed in Iraq) but she uses the name of "Hope Veverka" when giving her mailing address.

Hello, this is my first time @ this site. I am the daughter of Robert J. Veverka, who served on the USS Essex 1942. I would like to communicate with anyone who may remember my father....I am interested if anyone remembers my dad. I live here in West Palm Beach and just "happened upon this site" and see there is a reunion. "Great stuff, guys".

I was very pleased to get your E-mail. I certainly do remember your father. Who could forget him having known him? I served in the same division with him aboard ESSEX (KR Division). I have been attending ESSEX reunions since 1991, missing only this year because of the hurricane. As we former radiomen gather someone usually asks "I wonder what ever happened to Veverka?" He was always known by his last name. Although you don't mention it, am I to assume he is no longer alive?" It would be good to hear from you again.

Hello there,

I am sooo pleased to receive your message!
"Whatever did happen to Veverka?" That makes me chuckle. My father was truly a "character".....Unfortunately, my dad died September 19, 1986 of a pulmonary embolism from his right leg to his lung....It took three blood clots being "thrown" before he died. Dad was funny, a "party person" and a real strong man right up to his death. He had such a "code" that even my brother and I had to live by....Let's see if any of these are what you and he shared while serving: There is no such word as "can't"! We were NEVER allowed to wear blue jeans. Chewing gum made one look like a "cow chewing cudd" Dad was extreme when it came to being punctual...He went into construction and was a high-rise building superintendent for at least the last 2O+ years of his life. If ANYONE showed up a minute late, he sent them home! He enjoyed his Scotch on the rocks and it had to be only a certain name brand (the name has slipped my mind). My slacks had to have a crease down the front or I was "sloppy" and could not leave the house. Being a person of your word was REALLLLLYY BIG to dad. Do any of these ring a bell? I am soooo pleased you e-mailed? Please feel free to share any of your memories of dad. By the way, do you have any pics of him? God Bless You, Sir. Thank you ~
Brandon's Mom Always,
Hope

I am sorry to have been so long in replying to your last message, but my computer has been down and I had to take it in for repairs. I am happy that you wrote "my father was truly a 'character' " so now I can write that I thought he was a 'character" too and know that you will not be offended. Even though you say that you and your brother had a 'code' to live up to, it is obvious that you loved him. Everybody in KR Division knew him and many joked about him because he was so outspoken (and with what to us was an accent). When I first reported aboard ESSEX he took me around on an impromptu tour of the ship, at least to the places I needed to see. One question: in your message heading it says "In Memory: PFC Brandon Sapp" and in your signature you sign as "Brandon's Mom Always". Would you care to explain? I want to share your messages with other KR Division shipmates in hopes that they may reply too, but some do not have E-mail. May I have a mailing address for you? I do not have any pictures of him, but it is possible someone else may have had one from some time when they were on liberty. We couldn't have a camera aboard ship during the war.

I am so very thrilled at this moment, having read your message. I was wondering what had happened to our communications. Thank you for writing.

Yes, "Robert J", as he so eloquently introduced himself to my friends while I was growing up, was 'truly a character'. My teenage friends always loved coming over to the house cuz dad was around.....He was truly an extrovert and very adamant about saying, "Is everybody havin' a good time?" Dad had two house rules for "having a good time" for all of us..they were "no drugs and no sex" allowed in the house and we'll be fine. People loved him for that or at least I know I did. Yes, he was verrrry outspoken. As an adult, I too have that characertistic....people know that about me....I learned a lot from my father as I went to live with him during those "teenage" years. While my parents were together during my childhood years, at the age of 12, my parents divorced. Within one year of their divorce, my father went to court and WON custody of me....I was always so proud of him for standing up for me like that....this happend in 1972 when it was simply unheard of for a father to have custody of his child, much less a 13 year old daughter living with him! Even during the last two days before dad passed in 1986, I stroked his forehead and whispered in his ear, "thank you so very much for what you did for me". "I love you so much, dad". In fact, I took his death very hard for years.

As for the lighter side, you mentioned his accent. Yes, being from "The Bronx" gave him an accent that too at times people kidded him about. I recall the accent being prominent on such words as "oil in the car" sounded more like "earl in the cah". Another one was the way he said the name of a city here in the area, "City of Riviera Beach" sounded more like "City of Riveera Beach"....he was a card.

As for sharing my e-mails with your shipmates, I feel honored to be a part of helping each of you to recall a thing or two about my dad. He was another true hero in my life. But I also have another true hero in my life. That is my only child, PFC Brandon Robert Sapp. Brandon was born in 1983 (three years old when dad passed), so they never really got to know each other. My son signed up for the Army and went to Iraq in March of 2004. Brandon was killed in August 2004. He was only 21. My healing continues. Since Brandon's death, I have done a lot of community events in memory of our fallen servicepersons in the Global War on Terrorism. I have also started a condolence box project called "Candles of Hope" in memory of my son wherein I make dove candle dishes and place the first name of the fallen servicepersons' name on the dish, with a white candle in the middle and send a two-page condolence letter to families of our fallen across the United States. To date, 259 boxes have been mailed. That keeps me busy.

I have pics of Brandon and my dad that I could forward in a separate e-mail, if you like.

By the way, a friend of mine, a Retired Officer in the Marines, recently gave to me the VERY toaster used on the ESSEX. It weighs a TON! His thinking is that it was the only one on the ship and possibly used by my father, and possibly some/most of you guys.....Any thoughts? Are there any of dad's shipmates who live in this area?

For now, I will close that this is a wonderful communication that has opened up in my life between my father, his shipmates and myself. God is awesome.

My address is: Hope Veverka, 5060 Elmhurst Rd/Unit E, West Palm Beach, FL, 33417

I was an FA (fireman Apprentice) out of boot camp assigned to the Engineering Dept on the USS Essex, Med Cruise in 1959. I had the privilege to fly on board while at sea. I was suppose to be assigned to the Electrical Division but the old Engineering Officer, LT Comd. McCormick, stated everybody on his ship was assigned first to six weeks in the hole ( Fireroom). The 6 weeks turn into 4 years and the four years turned into my lifelong vocation as a Utility Specialist (Boiler Inspector) with the Hartford Steam Boiler Insurance Co for the last 40 years. I retired in March 2004 so one could say I own everything I have to my early training on the USS ESSEX. I came aboard mid November 1959, and I left active service July 26, 1963. During that time frame we made 3 Med cruises and one NATO cruise to Ireland, England, Holland, Netherlands, Germany and Scotland. I also had the privilege of being in charge of the boiler rooms during our orders to Cuba (Bay of Pigs) in 1962. I was ordered to fire the boilers and get the ship underway in a record time of 1 hour and not the usual 4 hours. The job was accomplished and she was the GRAND OLD LADY

I know this is not an aviation sea story, but never the less I wish to share this with all ESSEX vets..

In the time frame of 1958-59 I served on Essex as a CS1 ,food service division later on after retirement I attended college and eventually an education doctorate. In 1979 I joined the faculty of Brenau College in Gainesville, Ga. and the chairman of the science department was none other than Larry Andrews, former FN on board Essex during that time. Larry earned a PhD from the university of Ga. Small world isn’t it

I served aboard the "nine" from April "52 to July '53. I was a desk jockey in the disbursing office and had no contact with actual "work" and was quite naive, thinking this was a pleasure cruise. We were, of course used to drills so when one afternoon right after chow we heard "General quarters, all hands man your battle stations---" We all groaned, "what a hell of a time for a drill." The announcement continued "-- This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill!" You never saw so many scared kids stumbling over themselves to get to their station. I had to cross the mess hall which had been cleared of tables and just swabbed. Needless to say, I crossed it horizontally, slammed into a stack of tables and got up to continue. My station was a loader on the 3rd deck. Most of us had no idea how to load them if we had to but I suppose someone was there who did. We were informed that it took us 3 times as long to get to our stations as it usually did in the drills. We were kept there for a few hours and then cleared. I never found out what the situation was. If anyone knows please tell me

I SERVED ON BOARD DURING THE CUBAN CONFLICT. AS FAR AS I KNOW THE ESSEX NEVER DID GET ANY CREDIT FOR EVEN BEING THERE. WE WERE IN A RE-PHASE COMMAND JUST BEING OUT OF THE YARDS.

I WAS ALSO ABOARD DURING THE STORM WHEN THE MAST FELL OFF. IT CAME RIGHT THRU THE FLIGHT DECK PUNCHING A HOLE IN THE OVER HEAD OF MAIN RADIO. WE BUCKETED WATER FOR DAYS. TOOK TURNS SLEEPING AND BUCKETING. STAYED IN MAIN RADIO FOR TWO OR THREE DAYS.

I was a parachute rigger with VF-821 during the Essex 1952 Korean trip. The most memorable was Capt. Lovett, occasionally he would come down to the hanger deck where we were working on aircraft and ask how it was going. He always had a marine with him, who he liked to loose by ducking under a wing. On the flight deck was "Hot Suit Calluci" who was very serious about his job and Ens. O'Hern flight deck officer, they both drank coffee from our shop which was first deck under the flight deck starboard aft, also used by Cdr. Moser senior medical officer. One morning Cdr. Moser lifted the lid on the coffee pot and yelled clean it up. My job was not only to service aircraft but to clean the coffee pot there after. These were great memories in my four years in the navy. Worked with many great people. I made two trips aboard the Essex, after the Korean war ended we patrolled the Formosa straits.

I've seen no mention in other stories, or in the official history, of an interesting occurrence during one of the back-to-back Med/North Atlantic cruises about 1967 or 68. We were north of the Arctic circle on ASW patrol, and as usual were playing cat and mouse with Russian trawlers. On this particular day, we were evidently close enough to the mainland that a pair of Badger bombers came out to look us over. I was standing on the fantail watching them as they made a number of low-level passes, one being a slow, close fly-by mushing along below the elevation of the flight deck with gear and flaps down. He was close enough that I could actually see one of the pilots waving as he cruised by. After having their fun, both planes turned back toward the coast and headed out of sight and I figured the show was over. But it wasn't more than a few minutes later when a speck on the horizon starting getting rapidly bigger. One of them evidently had decided to give us a more memorable send-off, had circled around, and was pouring the coal to it as he over flew the ship at an elevation that appeared to be just a few feet above the mast. It looked to me like he wasn't watching his rate-of-climb indicator, as he seemed to be slowly dropping closer to the ocean on the way out. He probably would have been OK, but he decided to really impress us with a tight fighter-jockey turn in his bomber, and dug a wingtip in. We saw a fireball immediately go up, and the other bomber turned and streaked for home. We steamed to the crash site at flank, but there wasn't much left. It being the height of the cold war, I have to admit I was a little concerned for a few following hours. The ship's boats went out and recovered what they could, and the next morning a Russian destroyer showed up, collected the remains and fired a salute over the spot. That day severely eroded my image of the typical humorless Russian you'd find in the James Bond-ish movies of the era. I decided pilots would be pilots, no matter which side of the curtain they flew on.

Thank you for sharing this piece of history with the USS Essex Association and of course the world.

Frank R O'Connor USS Essex Chairman _________________________________________________________

Good afternoon SIR: It's so good to hear from you. Indeed, Michelle and I have been having some pretty good conversations but I've been careful to be as accurate as this memory will allow me to be. You have jogged my memory on a couple of points. I now remember the German newspaper article and the big X, but for some reason I didn't remember that we had actually run aground. And I'm not totally surprised the "real" story is somewhat less exciting than what finally worked its way down to my level. But believe me, our version of the pilot being kicked off the bridge brought more laughs. So it was Bogart not Searcy that took us into Hamburg. I remember being on the flight deck in dress uniform for the change of command. Didn't the change of command occur during the North Atlantic Cruise Seth was great!!! You were obviously closer to him than I but the men were sad to see him go. Let me remind you of another incident and you can tell me who said it. We were cruising, I believe in the North Atlantic, and we were experiencing an unusual number of hangar bay fires. Finally one evening, after another fire had been reported, the Captain came over the 1MC and said a few things about someone starting the fires then he said "If I catch that son-of-a-bitch I'll hang him so high the FBI won't be able to find him." I've never forgotten that phrase. I think the comment was successful because the fires soon stopped. So, my memory says Seth made the comment. Shortly after the comment was made everyone watched the Chaplain cross the hangar deck and head for the bridge. We thought he was going to complain about the language. Seth liked to visit the men occasionally. I remember him coming into the Personnel Office and no one saying "Attention on Deck" and finally, after about 15 seconds, George says it. He was very gracious. Another incident. We're cruising (but I'm not sure where) and it's close to lights out (21 or 2200) and the bridge has requested all the trash be taken to the fantail. About 15 minutes later we are all sent to muster stations for man overboard. Apparently a radioman had decided not to go all the way to the fantail with his trash and stopped on elevator 3 (if that was the side elevator) and began to throw his trash over at that point. I don't know what happened but he went with it. Can and all. As he was going past the fan tail the man overboard watch heard his cries. After about 20minutes or so of searching one of the destroyers picked him up. That made the paper to.

Final Story: I know you'll remember this one. There is a young man in the brig and he reaches the breaking point. As the Marines are marching the prisoners somewhere he decides to break line. He heads to the hangar deck and jumps overboard. We're in the North Atlantic and ice is floating by. He's lucky, but he was found. After a lot of discussion about whether he should stay in the brig or go to a hospital you later transferred him off the ship. I think to some psych ward. I think this story was also in the German paper.

I clearly remember the basement of the Ratskellar, and the arched brick columns and toasting with the steins. I don't know if I ever thanked you properly for hosting (or helping to host) that event. When you mentioned the Beatles it reminded me of our stop at Belfast, Ireland. I visited a club there (twice) that was extremely popular with the young folks and had music just like the Beatles. Each time I was there I believe there were around 250 young people so the group was very popular. I've always wondered if that group had been the Beatles. Probably not if you saw them in Hamburg. Michelle, my most vivid recollection of Belfast was the beautiful girls.

Well, you two have been having a good discussion of my past experiences and happenings, but mainly by Bill. I must say, you have a good memory. Bill--probably more accurate than mine. But there are a few comments I'd like to make. I do remember Hamburg very well. I think that visit and the gathering we had at the Ratskellar was just great and watching all the young sailors enjoying themselves was most satisfying. There were so many eating utensils to choose from as well as wine glasses situated diagonally in front of each setting, that many didn't know where to begin! The layout of foreign cigarettes and cigars on tables on the entrance to the dining room, was impressive. After an enjoyable feast, there were many toasts back and forth made to our host, the visiting squadron, and our respective heads of state. We presented a large aerial photograph of ESSEX to our host, the Nautical Club of Hamburg. They in turn, presented me with a small flag of the Nautical Club mounted on a wooden flagpole about a foot high, which I still have. Afterwards, we went down to the basement of the hotel-the Ratskellar, which was constructed of red bricks, and each room's ceiling rounded to a dome. We were entertained by a French Apache group of musicians, who wore berets, striped shirts and dark trousers. Accordionist, Guitarist, banjo, bass and drummer. They played all the popular German beer-drinking songs-those where you join arms and rock side to side. This went on to the wee hours of morning. Finally, all were rounded up and shepherded to the German army busses waiting and were transported back to the ship. No reveille was held the following morning. I think a good time was had by all. I was not familiar with the America House and the various arrangements made for the sailors to visit with German families. I think that was a wonderful thing for them to do. I spent most of my spare time with Roy and his family and did not visit with any German families. At the time we were visiting Hamburg, a group of British musicians was just starting out and were playing at a night-spot in the Raperbonn-the BEATLES! Must correct you Bill, Capt. Gerald Bogart had command of ESSEX when we went up the Elbe. The encounter with the pilot is not correct. At one point the ship was scraping a lot of ice which meant we were getting out of the channel. Up to this point, all questions made to the pilot were answered yes or no. Then he was asked a question that needed an explanation. He responded that he did NOT speak English !! Capt. Bogart went Ballistic!! Putting his hands to his face and praying that the ship did not go a-ground. However, it did ground on a sand bar. We lost all power momentarily until the emergency diesels could kick in. After all the evaporators were cleaned out and power restored, we continued on our way in the main channel to Hamburg. The local newspaper the next day had a front page article about us going aground with a big black German cross marking the spot on the Elbe where it happened. Quite an embarrassment to all concerned. Incidentally, Capt. Bogart passed away several months ago. Capt. Searcey died several years ago of Alzheimer's disease. He was the BEST. We were the largest ship ever to journey up the river to Hamburg since the battleship Bismarck was built and launched there and left for sea. I have a copy of the calendar you mentioned, Bill, I put it in an auction at one of our reunions and it brought a few dollars for our treasury. Regarding Cuba, we were there to support them in their quest to overthrow Castro. After 4 or 5 supporting sorties by our attack aircraft, we were told by Washington to stop. Capt' Searcey was livid. We did, and picked up as many ditched Cuban airman as we could. They were bomber flyers (B-26) on a one-way run from Nicaragua who ditched nearby. Our boats picked them up and carried them to the ship. The ESSEX did receive the Navy Expeditionary Medal for this activity. Vinegar is a good remedy for sunburn. My mother used to use it on me. When you had your bout, sunburn was a misdemeanor and was counted as lost time charged against you. So you were lucky no one reported you. I think that covers about everything I received. If you have any questions that I might be able to answer, I'd be happy to do so. Great to exchange memories with you. I hope you will consider becoming a member of the ESSEX association. You can find application blanks on the ESSEX website which you can download. Take care and let us hear from you soon. Past Essex Chairman

I guess those aboard, will never forget that evening of December 16th, 1963, during the height of the storm, when the 60 foot, 23 ton mast broke at the stack and crashed onto the flight deck. Damage to all aircraft, equipment and the ship itself was extensive. It might be noted, that the New York papers quoted the USS Essex Captain J. W. West, “The ships log recorded the seas at 85 feet”. The storm lasted a number of days, and in turn took a number of months to put her back in shape at the old Brooklyn Navy Yard. I know, I will never forget that time in my Naval Career; I was the Flight Deck Chief. But that was a long time ago. She was one of the Best Ships I had ever served on.

To Walter F. Rodee, every step of the three miles he ran to the Tucson, Ariz., airport in 1922 pulled him closer to a dream. A barnstorming pilot was offering 20-minute rides in a biplane at $1 each. For the 18-year-old runner, that seemed about as close to heaven as he could imagine. A few years later, the young flying enthusiast received his wings as a naval aviator. Then, during a 35-year military career that spanned two wars, he would receive the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Navy Cross and rise to rear admiral. Adm. Rodee, who flew everything from blimps and biplanes to helicopters and jets, died New Year's Day at his home in San Pedro. He was 98. The cause of death was complications from a stroke, said a son, John Rodee. After being assigned to the aircraft carrier Hornet in 1941, Adm. Rodee commanded air squadrons in the battles of Midway, Guadalcanal and Santa Cruz. The Distinguished Flying Cross was awarded for his efforts against Japanese forces in the pivotal Midway Island battle in June 1942, when he led his squadron through a relentless barrage of anti-aircraft fire. Five months later, he led his group of torpedo and dive bombers against Japanese carrier task forces near the Santa Cruz Islands, an action that resulted in the Navy Cross. On Oct. 26, 1942, the Hornet was hit by two kamikaze planes, seven bombs and two torpedoes. After a second attack by six torpedo planes, the crew was ordered to abandon ship. Flying eastward, Adm. Rodee crash-landed on Espiritu Santu and found his way to a detachment of Marines. Because he had lost all his possessions when the Hornet sank, he donned a Marine uniform. "When he came home to Coronado in November, he surprised everybody by showing up looking like a Marine," John Rodee said. Adm. Rodee, who called the San Diego area home for three decades, served in San Diego after World War II as a Bureau of Aeronautics representative at Consolidated-Vultee Aircraft, the forerunner of the Convair Division of General Dynamics. Early in the Korean War, he served on the carriers Valley Forge and Boxer. He received a Legion of Merit as chief of staff and aide to the commander of Carrier Division 3. In January 1952, Adm. Rodee was assigned command of the carrier Essex. His leadership in the face of what the Navy termed "numerous obstacles presented by increasing shortages of trained personnel and deficiencies of material" earned him a gold star with a combat V. It was awarded in lieu of another Legion of Merit. He returned to San Diego after the Korean War to assume command of North Island Naval Air Station. His final assignment before retiring from active duty in 1961 involved planning and coordinating a merger of naval air bases with the newly established Fleet Air, San Diego. He also was assigned command of naval air bases for the 11th Naval District. As a civilian, Adm. Rodee moved from Coronado to Pasadena to work for Air Logistics Corp. in Pasadena. After five years, he retired and settled in San Pedro. Born in Milwaukee, Adm. Rodee grew up in Tucson, where he planned to study engineering at the University of Arizona. But a call in June 1922 from a state senator set him on an exciting new course. Offered an appointment to the U.S. Naval Academy, he quickly accepted. Adm. Rodee played outfield and third base on the midshipmen's baseball team and graduated with a class of 456 in 1926. His first assignment, before receiving orders for flight training, was aboard the battleship West Virginia. Before reporting to Pensacola, Fla., in 1928 for flight training, he married Virginia Curran in Yuma. The couple had met in 1927, when he was stationed in Long Beach. "As the story goes, Walter was en route to Florida but decided to return to the West Coast and ask Virginia to be his bride," John Rodee said. "Time being too short to acquire a wedding license in California, the couple – along with the entire Curran family – traveled to Yuma. They were married in a Catholic church." Adm. Rodee served aboard the carrier Lexington after earning his wings. He then resumed his education – first at postgraduate school in Annapolis, later at the California Institute of Technology, where he received a master's degree in aeronautical engineering. A lifelong baseball fan, Adm. Rodee told his family of seeing Babe Ruth play in the 1927 World Series for the New York Yankees, which some historians consider to be the greatest team ever. In 1984, he joined his son, John, in watching the San Diego Padres host the Detroit Tigers in a World Series game. In recent years, he followed the fortunes of the Anaheim Angels, who rewarded their long-suffering fans with a 2002 World Series title. Survivors include his wife, Virginia; daughters, Mary Elizabeth Metzger of Napa, Carolyn Carlson of San Diego, Virginia Rodee of San Diego and Catherine Brennan of Los Angeles; sons, Walter F. Rodee Jr. of Houston, Donald Rodee of Fallbrook and John Rodee of San Diego; 21 grandchildren; and 19 great-grandchildren. Services were held Tuesday at Mary Star of the Sea Catholic Church, San Pedro. Donations are suggested to the University of San Diego Athletic Endowment Fund.

I got a copy of the "ESSEX EAGLE" from Jerry McDonell, who was aboard with us in 1958, with ATG201 and VF11. I Thought you all might like this. During the 1958 Med cruise we had a stowaway on board that became a shipmate. Tink Rhodes had the run of the ship, but his favorite two places, was either on the Skippers lap or in the crews mess. Lt.jg. Tink Rhodes was a real seadog. The following is from the ship's newspaper. I think he was part Jack Russell Terrier. "ESSEX EAGLE", November 16, 1958. - Submitted by Robert "Guns"Sourisseau

Lt.jg. Tink Rhodes - ESSEX has added to Navy Tradition. Naval Tradition has its mascots, including the famous Annapolis Goat that appears at nearly every Navy football game. During this cruise the ESSEX has added to the traditions of the Navy in many respects, and she did not overlook the matter of a mascot. LT.jg. Rhodes has been adopted as the ESSEX mascot.

During the ship's visit to Rhodes, Greece Tink Rhodes wandered aboard in a half starved condition and James R. Jackson, AN, V3 Division befriended him and fed him back to robust health.Thus Lt.jg. Rhodes first experience was that of a stowaway. But he did not go undetected for long, and once discovered his star soared as he was issued a Navy ID card complete with paw print after being given a complete physical exam plus shots. He was also issued a summons to the "Crossing the line Ceremonies" during which he had his, hair cut slightly, ran the Billy club gauntlet, and was given a big snootful of the juice issued the other pollywogs. He is probably one of the worlds few Shellback Dogs!

His crowning achievement however, was becoming unofficial V3 Division Officer and having his picture placed on the Officers Board on the Quarterdeck. Since being aboard ESSEX he has traveled through the Lebanon crisis, transited the Suez Canal, operated off Formosa, seen Malaya, Ceylon, South America, and South Africa. Next stop; Mayport! His owners big concern now is getting him off the ship so he can give him to his six year old daughter, but first he has to get his full Naval uniform for the homecoming ceremonies and pay his parting respects to Captain Thomas A. Christopher. The crew, which has come to accept "JG Tink Rhodes" as an everyday occurrence and cheerful shipmate, will miss him when he leaves.

September 24, 1957 - Anti submarine squadron VS-36 had been on many cruises that year aboard the USS Valley Forge, and the USS Essex. The Commander was Captain Fredrick W. Oliver, from Pensacola Florida. On September 24, 1957, the USS Essex with VS-36, along with the USS Intrepid, USS Forestall, USS Saratoga and HMS Arc Royal were participating with NATO forces in operation 'Strike Back' with the USS Saratoga serving as flagship. Operation Strike Back was taking place above the Arctic Circle, off the coast of Norway. In the early hours of that date the Saratoga was recovering aircraft when one of their F4D Skyray in the landing pattern crashed into the sea. The airborne Saratoga aircraft were joined by aircraft from the other vessels in search and rescue effort. S2F-2 aircraft with a crew of four from the VS-36 Squadron aboard the Essex joined in the search. Two of the S2F's collided in mid-air and crashed into the sea. An extensive search for the missing ensued. Press releases reported that 11 airmen were feared missing. The New York Times reported the New York area missing as the son of Admiral Mack, and Eugene McAuliffe, both from Brooklyn. The bodies recovered from the S2F crash site could not be identified so the policy for a group burial was followed.