Valor - The Story of Whitey Taylor (8 pages)

This is a true story of my great uncle Whitey describing courage in the face of danger.

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At the 40th reunion of the Navy ship DD-743, a tin can out of Pearl Harbor, former Petty Officer Elmer ‘Whitey’ Taylor embraces the audience at his table as he elaborates his experiences while on board the ship.

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NTC (Naval Training Center) San Diego.

“Seaman Taylor!” yells the company commander, “front and center!”.

“Yes sir,” Taylor replies while turning-to (rushing) to the front of the ranks of young navy recruits.

“Your first duty assignment is the USS Bullard DD-743. You are to report no later than 10-April-1942 at O-Eight Hundred hours.” there is a pause, “You’re dismissed. Seaman Delmonico, front and center!” he continues.

“Kill some Japs for me while you’re at it,” whispers seaman apprentice Harldson as Whitey Taylor returns to his place in the ranks.

“I’ll do just that.”.

“Company!... Dismissed!” yells the company commander.

Elmer ‘White’ Taylor returns to his barracks with the rest of his boot camp division. Mixed emotions haunt him over the knowledge of his duty assignment. Until actually receiving orders your fate is undetermined. All though he was hoping for a safe place to ride out his Navy career, he still longed to be a part of the action.  He wants to be able to look back  on his life say that his time and effort had a purpose. Now he knows.

Pearl Harbor had just been  attacked and many Americans, including him want revenge. Excitement rushes over him at the thought of having been given the opportunity to do just that. On the other hand, he’s nervous, even scared, at the thought of fighting against the mighty Japanese armada.

“I guess I should send letter to mom before I leave,” Whitey thinks to himself as he arrives to the barracks to collect his gear.

“Where’d they put you?” grumbles Delmonico  to Whitey as they pack their sea bag.

”I’m on a tin can out of Hawaii,” Whitey replies, “What about you?”

“Some place called Portsmith England,” Delmonico replies, “I hope I get to blast some dirty rotten krauts.”

Delmonico continues as he wanks around the bunk, “You writing to a dame back home?”

“No, I’m just letting Ma know where I’m goin’”

*****

Whitey boards the transport ship that will take the troops  to Hawaii.

“Seaman Taylor requesting transport to Honolulu, Sir,” Whitey announces  to the quartermaster as he boards the USS Puller at the 32nd st Navy base in San Diego.

“I’ll need your orders sailor.”

“Yes sir,” Whitey acknowledges while handing the quartermaster a stack of papers.

“Follow the crowd,” replies the quartermaster, “You’ll be assigned a bunk and the mess-decks are are on the 2nd deck frame 98-0.”

“Yes sir,” replies Whitey while repressing his excitement of being on a ship for the first time.

“Let’s go, Let’s go,” orders a petty officer to the crowd, “We have a lot to do. We have bunks assigned to all ya’ll and it has to be done by ‘O-Nine thirty’.”

Whitey throws his sea bag onto his rack then makes his way to the mess decks.

“Now hear this, Now hear this, “announces the 1MC (PA system), “set the special sea and anchor detail.

On the mess decks Whitey shuffles himself through the chow-line at the galley where on his tray is slopped beans and something that resembles beef. He follows the crowd to a vacancy at one of the tables. He can feel the ship shimmer from side to side as the ship is released from the dock.

“I hear the ole man of this tub is a real mustang. Can you believe that? Swabbin’ the decks fore and aft for 15 years and when a real shot at a real command comes along, I’m talkin’ a battle wagon, then one wrong word the wrong person and you’re whole lifer career is flushed down the shitter.”

Whitey listens in to the existing scuttlebutt from the crew seated at his table.

“Taylor!” announces one of the crew seated at the table while looking at the name stenciled on Whitey’s shirt, “I knew of Taylor back home. Don’t suppose you’re related.

“Grand county, Oklahoma is where I’m from.

“No you wouldn’t be related.” The Taylor I know was from Bute Montana.”

“I Guess not,” replies Whitey.

“So there I was just coming out of the head when the whole shitter blew up. I s**t you not! There were brown trouts everywhere, The bulkheads, the overhead, even in the pissers.”

Sailors at the table were fixated at the story.

“Come to find out that the snipes had a run  in with the t**d chasing HT’s and decide to wedge a sock down the shitter. Well you know those HT’s, They don’t give a s**t. They just popped the nozzle off a four foot applicator, hooked it up to an inch and a half fire hose and blasted. And.. there you have it. That firemain pressure hit the sock and and blasted seawater and s**t all over the head. There wasn’t one square inch that didn’t get hit by s**t water.”

Whitey feels accepted by the crew is that they spoke to him between sea stories. He sat and listened.

“ … so that why I came walking in here with s**t on my boondockers and dungarees.

Secure from the special sea and anchor detail. Lunch for Bravo crew. Transit crew muster on the fantail with Senior Chief Jones. Commence underway watch.On desk section three. All hands turn-to.”

“Hey boot camp!” one of the sailor addresses Whitey, “you better live it up while you can cause once you get to where you’re going you’ll be turning-to 16 hours a day.”

Whitey picks up his tray and follows the crowd the the scullery.

For the next three days life on the transit became pretty routine. Réveille is heard over the ship’s 1-MC, followed by breakfast for the crew. Somewhere in the middle of breakfast the next duty section takes over the watch, then quarters, followed by nothing until lunch. Lunch is served and somewhere in the middle of lunch the next duty section relieves the watch. Then once again nothing until dinner. It’s quite a different story for the ship’s crew for they are who is manning the watch, maintaining the ship and keeping alert for bogeys, the worst being U-boats. Once U-boats launch their fish it’s all over. When torpedoes hit, it’s like a shock wave with enough force send a sailor through a bulkhead. If the keel manages to stay in tact, there’s a slim chance of survival. Most of the transit crew find ways to entertain themselves. One such form of entertainment is boxing. Usually boxing is performed between branches of service. The ‘Grunts’ (Marines) are kept on the Forecastle or Foc's'le while the ‘Squids’ (Sailors) are kept in the fantail (rear of the ship).

Many take advantage of the time to write letters home. Unfortunately, for some, the letters make it home and the soldiers do not.

After a long boring day in the sun, dinner for the crew followed set condition Dog Zebra (darken ship) then taps,  lights out, the smoking lamp is out is all berthing compartments.

By the end of the third day the ship is mooring to the pier at Pearl Harbor.

Now hear this, Now hear this. Secure from the special sea and anchor detail. On deck section 1, Quarterdeck port side. Cinderella liberty for the crew. Any sailors not back by midnight will be considered U.A. and will be sent the captain’s mass. Maintain condition alpha.”

Whitey is released by the OOD (Officer of the Deck/Day) on the quarterdeck just prior to walking down the gangway to the dock below. The tropical breeze is quite refreshing. Looking to the west the splendor of Hawaii reveals its majestic volcanic peaks covered with lush green foliage. The the east is quite a different story. Apparent is the wake of destruction left by the Japanese attack just 4 months earlier.

The bustling repair crews reminds Whitey of a bee’s nest being built to support a newly arrived queen bee.

Whitey knows that the ground below his feet is solid and not in motion but after being at sea he finds himself and other still swaying from side to side while walking down the pier. He knows that soon he’ll be back on ship where his sea legs will have him walking straight again.

Whitey looks to the far side of the harbor see a destroyer with the numbers 743 on its bow. He knows that he’s looking at his future home for the next two years, maybe longer.

Once on the gangway Whitey stops briefly to salute to flag then rotates to salute the OOD (Officer of the Day), “Permission to come aboard?”

“Permission granted the OOD replies then ask Whitey to stand aside as the CO (commanding officer) and the XO (executive officer) walk past.

“Attention on deck!” announces the quartermaster.

Everybody pops to attention and salutes as the two men walk by.

“” the bell rings while the quartermaster announces, “Bullard Departing.”

“Carry on, As you were,” announces the CO.

Once the captain and XO has left the gangway Whitey says to the OOD, “Seaman Taylor reporting as ordered,” while handing the OOD his papers.

“Get on the growler and call petty officer Wakeman to the quarterdeck,” orders the OOD to the quartermaster.

“Aye sir.”

Before long a young petty officer walks out from behind the WTD (Water Tight Door).

“Dog that hatch Wakeman, We’re still at condition Alpha,” the OOD says to Wakeman.

Wakeman turns to the hatch and fastens the dogs (securing mechanisms) on the door.

“Wakeman,” The OOD continues, “This is Taylor. He is Boyd’s replacement. Give him Boyd’s rack and locker and set him up with meal chits. I’ll take the papers to personnel and Master Chief will do the rest at morning quarters.”

“Follow me,” says Wakeman. “You’ll be working for me in ‘Deck Division’. We all answer to Master Chief, but don’t worry, he’s a good guy. Don’t let his rank scare you. What was your name again?”

“Taylor.”

“Well Taylor, welcome aboard.”

Wakeman leads Whitey down several ladders (stairs) and then down endless passageways (corridors), “And that’s the Pecker Checker (sick bay). We only have one corpsman who happens to be a chief.”

They continue walking, “And this is the mess deck followed by the galley. As a new recruit, you’ll probably have to serve as mess crank for a while. With any luck you’ll get the goat locker (chief’s mess) or better yet the wardroom (officer’s mess). But if you’re like most cranks you’ll be serving s**t on a shingles (gravy and sausage over toast) to the crew. If you screw up there they’ll put you in the scullery or the spud locker peeling potatoes all day. The good news is you’re hours will be what they are. Early to rise, late to the sack but between meals is your time. When you come back to the division you can be put to work any time.”

They walk past the restroom while entering a berthing compartment, “There’s the head, pissers on the right, shitters on the left.”

They come to a bunk, “Here we are. Top bunk is yours. The good new is there’s no hot bunking on this ship. There are enough racks for everyone. Word of advice, rotated your fart sack (mattress) every once in awhile. Your locker is over here number 42, seabag on the bottom, your ditty bag and skivvies on top and dress uniforms on the side. Quarters is on the O-three level, port side between the fifty cals. at zero eight hundred hours. The rest of the day is yours. Get yourself settled in and I’ll see you at Oh-eight hundred sharp. And by the way, ship’s movement is at eleven hundred hours tomorrow. Sea and anchor will be from ten hundred to twelve hundred. Welcome aboard.”

“”He boot camp,” smirks another sailor, I need three feet of chow line and a gallon of bulkhead remover.”

“Hang it up Kuzeki,” Wakeman intervenes,  “You’re always a wise guy. He’s only been on board for ten minutes and you’re already flappin’ your gums.”

Whitey is awakened the next morning by the sound reveille announced over the 1-MC. “Reveille, Reveille, All hand heave out and trice up, Breakfast for the crew.”  

After eating Whitey makes his way to the port side 03 level and awaits the call for quarters. He looks over the railing and across the harbor to the grandeur of the Hawaiian  landscape. Others begin the gather in preparation for quarters.

“ Now hear this. Now hear this. Relieve the watch. On deck section two, Condition alpha. Quarters. All hands muster at you quarders station.”

“Fall in!” Wakeman orders as 28 sailors assemble in two rows.

An elderly man in a Khaki uniform and anchor emblems on his collar  approaches the men in ranks.

“Attention on Deck!” Announces Wakeman.

“At ease gentleman,” says the master chief to the men. “We have a new member to the Deck Division, seaman Taylor. I trust you’ll make him welcome. The POD (Plan of the Day) is pretty routine with the exception of sea and anchor at ten hundred hours. Taylor you’re to accompany petty officer Swanson to the foc's'le. Have him man the bow line with Tevette…”

After quarters Wakeman gives Whitey a shortened tour of the ship for there was not much time with the sea and anchor detail just an hour away.

During the sea and anchor detail Wakeman stand near the capsin loosening the mooring line that hold the ship the the pier. Once loose a pier worker lifts the mooring line over the bollard. Whitey and Swanson quickly retract the line through the hawes.

As the ship pulls away from the pier the mooring lines are stowed in the forward chain locker where anchor chain weighing 500 Lbs per link are stored.

“Haze grey and underway”, announces Wakeman as the ship makes its way to the harbor opening.

“ Now hear this. Now hear this. Secure from the special sea and anchor detail. On deck section 3. Lunch for the crew.”

“You’ll soon learn that strong joe (coffee) and sweet bug juice is the lifeblood of a sailor at sea”, Swanson says to Whitey as they make their way to the galley for lunch.

After lunch Whitey is given a real tour of the ship. His first assignment is scraping paint from a bulkhead in preparation for re-painting.

By the end of the day the sun is just sinking over the horizon. There is no sight of land.

The serenity of the evening is interrupted by the announcement over the 1MC, “ General Quarters! General Quarters! All hands report to your battle stations. All non-essential personnel stay clear of all weather decks…”

Whitey takes cover in the skin of the ship while dogging the hatch behind him.

The announcement continues, “Aircraft sighted, relative bearing two niner zero degrees. Angle zero one zero degrees. All non-essential personnel stay clear of all weather decks.”

The ship begins to pulsate to the rhythm of the anti-aircraft guns.

BANG!, BOOM! CRASH! then SILENT RINGING!!!.... A sharp jolt knocks Whitey off his feet.

Whitey awakens to black smoke filled compartment. As he stands he finds it hard to breath as his lungs fill with the smoke of burning fuel, paint and ammonium nitrate. He quickly drops to the deck and feels around for the door. He knows that he should go further into the ship for safety but the getting to fresh air is more important. Although the door is hot he know that fresh air is on the other side.  He cracks open the door and light pierces through the smoke in the darkened compartment.  Smoke rushes out of the door like a chimney and fresh are rushes in along the deck. He heat is almost unbearable but the fresh air is welcoming. He crawls through the door to escape the billowing smoke. Small spots of fire are all around him though he can see that flames are much worse forward of his door. He sagers to his feet.

“Ahhh..!” he hears from within the flames.

Then he sees movement… There somebody in the fire!

Quickly he breathes deep, he breathes long, and on the last intake he holds his breath and rushes into the fire.  Tears pour out of his burning smoke filled eyes as he struggles to find his shipmate. Then comes a moan from the fire and Whitey is able to find his fellow crew member. Whitey feels his tattered uniform and without mercy begins dragging the man to safety.

Once out of the fire, Whitey falls to his butt while still holding tight to his wounded comrade.  As the smoke washes from his eyes, Whitey can see that the man’s leg is badly mangled. Minutes seem like hours until the Damage Control men arrive to extinguish the fire. Both Whitey and an his wounded comrade are taken to sick bay.

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Back at the 40th reunion, Whitey continues speaking to the audience at the table, “I never knew who he was and I never saw him again. They must have shipped off to some desk job to ride out his time with a purple heart on his chest.”

Slowly the frail man sitting directly across rises to his feet. He pulls his walker close to him and he slowly walks his way around the table to Whitey.

The frail man approaches Whitey and says, “Thank you for your service.”

“We all served our country.”

“No… thank you for pulling me out of the fire that day.”

True Story

Author's Note

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this true story of my great uncle Whitey.