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was going to include poetry about WW's I & II written by mother's by war brides, or just plain soldiers.... and of course that most obligatory poem about WAR by Randall Jarrell https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/...-turret-gunner
But I have in boxes and boxes much memorabilia from my own father, a WWII veteran, and i was so so lucky to meet Brian Turner at the Dodge Poetry Fest, an Iraq War veteran..... i think i will include Brian's poem because not only is this a great poem, beautiful and searing of image but i toss it out here to those of you who have friends, family, neighbors who have served since 2004 in the military. And then you or the soldier, i know will be inspired to buy the small paperback with poems of a soldiers experience that will prove that what Wordsworth said : "poetry is the spontaneous overflowing of powerful feelings" and is cathartic and healing. this i fervently believe. And now that you do know of Brian, please do try to visit a Veteran's Hospital and hand out a copy or two, or just give a copy of the poem to an ex serviceman you know who might be struggling.
My own son died in Fallujah in 2005 and when i met Brian, of course i just broke down in tears and as he gained fame and a nice small fortune with his poetry, he still wrote to me from time to time. i count him among the hundreds young men i have mentored and marshaled to the sweet tempo of poetry, have funded poetry workshops that have proved to be healing and expressive ways to deal with the ptsd and the ravages of violence so many police officers deal with. It is so much healthier to put pen to paper than sit in a bar for 4 hours after a shift, which, as i can attest to, will lead to divorce, alcoholism and perhaps even further damage from depression and drug abuse.
So, i will stand down from my soap box.
and just post here musings AND POEMS!!!!! from the USS SAN JUAN CL 54... in 1942, just two months after Pearl Harbor, sailing from Hampton Roads, VA to hook up with the USS Wasp in San Diego as part of a carrier task force that spent the next 4 years in the South Pacific, heroically significant in valor and part of all the great campaigns that slowly took back an entire ocean held in enemy hands.
I love history. I just do. This was a passion learned at both my grandfather's knee (WWI, Europe) with German shrapnel affecting his ability to walk until his death in 1968 to my dad's war stories, many hilarious, many terrifying, especially the ones he told of the great typhoon they experienced when two men were blown off the deck in those gales of wind.
I'm going to post excerpts from the ship's literary (lol, said tongue in cheek) newsletter published weekly, The Panther of which my dad was the associate editor..... it seems i come from a long line of journalists and artists, with my grandfather also publishing a newsletter from his desk as Tappan Post Commander, one of the very first American Legion posts in this country. My own paltry life is pale in comparison to the formation of the American legion and the liberating of the American, Brit and Dutch prisoners of war in Tokyo Harbor, which you will read a first hand account of. The sad pathetic state of disease almost all these men were suffering attacked my dad, who also nearly died of dysentery in the waning days of the war, keeping him from returning home another 6 months, fighting for his life on a red cross hospital ship
I humbly and with sincere gratitude to our veterans of all wars I now offer this small little column of history and verse. All of which has been written by the members of the pacific fleet and in Brian's case, the Iraq War. Honor our veterans this weekend, please attend a ceremony near you at your local town square, at a VFW post or a cemetary where you can help to put a flag on each veteran's graves. The need is great....... and their memories should never be forgotten.
a bit of vocabulary might be helpful here: a plank owner is the original crew from day one, skivvies are male shorts underwear , a S1c is a serviceman 1st class and NSI refers to National Security Information
THE PANTHER
Vol III Issue 3
2 September 1945
- WAR PRISONERS RELATE TALE -
The first prisoners of war liberated from the Japanese homeland by victorious allied forces were brought aboard the U.S.S. SAN JUAN, flagship of Commodore Rodger Simpson, USN, anchored in Sagami Wan in the shadow of the famous Mount Fujiyama.
Two British service men who had been confined in Japanese prison camps since the fall of Hong Kong in Dec. 1941, told the story of privations and beatings they had endured from their captors to the Commodore.
John W. Wynn, Royal Marines private, from Flixton, Manchester, England, and Edgar D. Campbell, private, English Army Service Corp of Markinch, Scotland, were confined in a small camp in the Tokyo area where they were employed at forced labor in an oil extracting refinery. They had escaped from the prison camp the night before their recovery by allied forces and made their way thirty-nine miles on feet to the edge of Sagami Wan where Admiral Halsey's fleet rode at anchor.
"We couldn't be sure they were our ships at first," said Campbell. "They were all new to us. The way we finally told was by finding some American cigarette wrappers."
The two Englishmen tried to row a small Japanese boat they found, out to the nearest destroyer but the heavy swells forced them to turn back. The men then began to swim into the bay. An American destroyer spotted the swimmers and brought them on board the San Juan.
As they came aboard in what remained of their clothing, they drew themselves erect to salute the battle flag of the ship and the officer of the deck. Then with broad grins on their faces, the Englishmen went about the deck shaking hands with everyone they could. They were taken below to be given medical attention, food, and now clothes.
"We first heard of the surrender when all the guards and factory hands gathered about a radio for a special broadcast," said Wynn. "Although we could not make out exactly what was said, we knew something big was happening."
Later, their camp leader, a British officer, came to their main room and blurted out in a trembling voice, "It's all over"! The prisoners received better treatment for a few days but no provisions were made for their release.
The immediate reaction in the prison camp was a drinking bout by factory workers, guards, and the camp commander who threatened to kill the prisoners but was restrained by a friendly Japanese guard.
The two Englishmen were in fair physical shape although they had lived mainly on a diet of watery soup and barley. "The only way we managed to keep fit was by stealing some of the vegetable oils the factory made and drinking them", Wynn said. "We also stole some grains and that helped too."
The men were brought to Honshu nine months after the fall of Hong Kong and placed in the Yokohama stadium camp. They were among the first prisoners in the camp but in a few weeks, Americans from Wake Island arrived. This was the first news they had of the heroic defense of the island.
Campbell and Wynn learned here of the brutal *** manner of questioning prisoners. In another camp across the bay, Japanese interrogators beat their prisoners, denied them sleep, and gave them just enough rice to sustain life until the questioners decided their captives of no further value.
When the Englishmen were moved to their last camp, they found the treatment they received was in accordance with the number of air raids the Americans sent over.
"We were always beaten more when the big boys dropped their bombs", said Wynn. "Once they promised us medicine if the raids stopped. Of course we never got it."
Guards in their prison camp told them of the fate of one B-29 crew shot down near the camp. Two members of the crew were able to free themselves from the plane only to be stabbed and beaten to death by a Japanese mob.
News from the outside world was completely denied the prisoners aside from the letters which occasionally reached them. The only way they received news was by stealing *** newspapers and translating their contents. Both men studied Japanese during their confinement.
"What licked them finally was the Atomic bomb and the Russians coming in", explained Wynn. "That was all they could talk about toward the bitter last. Until that time they were ready to fight to the end. In one army depot, I actually saw metal blades cut to fit on bamboo poles so that the women and children would have something to fight the invasion with".
After a refreshing shower, clothes and some nourishing food, the two repatriates were returned to their countrymen on board one of the British ships present.
*- SAN JUAN TAKES OVER -*
Last week, the San Juan crowned its long and honorable war record by earning two enviable distinctions. After being among the first to anchor in Sagami Wan, thirty-nine miles from Tokyo, we were fortunate enough to receive orders to proceed into the inner bay. Consequently, leading our little fleet in, we were the first allied warship actually to enter the inner harbor and to anchor off the city of Tokyo. Furthermore, in carrying out our duties, evacuating the Prisoners of War, we participated in the first landing on Japanese soil made by our naval forces. All of us can take great pride in the part we have played in the final stages of the war.
It was a tense moment for the men on the San Juan on the morning of 27 August 1945, alert and poised at battle stations as the first glimpse of Oshima, Japan, became barely visible through the haze of the distance. The San Juan immediately hoisted the "sighted land" signal and was promptly conceded the honor by the Task Group as having been the first ship sight "terra firma" on the *** mainland. The San Juan and her escorts of cruisers and destroyers began to steam neatly into the green water, synonymous with the approach of land, leaving a wake of perhaps a mile visually. But as the San Juan steamed leisurely into Sagami Wan that historic day, her wake extended far beyond the visible distance . . . it trailed almost 300,000 miles of the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans, lashed together by thirteen major engagements and operations, including the Guadacanal-Tulagi landings, the Battle of Santa Cruz, Occupation of Luzon, China Sea Raids, and the Occupation and Defense of Iwo Jima and Okinawa Jima and punctuated by three trips to the U.S.; spanned all but a bare three-months of the entire period of time spent in our effort to attain what proved to be an arduous and sanguinary goal . . . victory over Japan.
These alert men were grimly awaiting another chapter in the long book of Japanese treachery as the San Juan moved slowly into Sagami Wan (wan meaning bay in Japanese), one of the second wave of a solemn procession of warships, lead only by the distant silhouettes of Admiral Halsey's flagship, the Missouri, flanked by escorting destroyers. This bloodless surrender was just too good to be true, everyone was thinking, but none thought it of sufficient significance to talk about ... too, things like that were better left unsaid at times.
As we neared our anchorage, suddenly, an upper strata of clouds broke away revealing a magnificent sight . . . Mount Fujiyama. Seemingly cut in two by a layer of clouds, her pyramid shaped peak extended upwards to almost 14,000 feet toward the Heavens. It was truly a grand and imposing sight, and left few wondering why it was chosen as an idol and sacred shrine of Japan. The San Juan came to anchor under the evening shadow of Mount Fujiyama - - the "Rising Sun" had set forever.
The San Juan tugged at her anchor for two days before it was lifted and she proceeded on her assigned mission of mercy. Bright and early Wednesday morning of 29 August 1945, the San Juan proceeded into Tokyo Bay unescorted to a certain point where we picked up a Japanese Lieutenant Commander to serve as a pilot into heavily mined Tokyo Bay, before proceeding cautiously past bomb blackened Yokohama. A look through field glasses toward the beach showed a sign, "Three Cheers, Sailors" hanging from a building which was identified as an Australian prisoner of war camp. We had to pass them up though and went farther on up into the bay on our assigned duty.
Soon after dropping the anchor within visible distance of the Imperial Palace, the San Juan dispatched our medical units to aid the sick and weary on the beaches. This party was followed by our landing force group whose job it was to offer protection to our interests if the opportunity presented itself. Up to this moment this mercy work is still being carried on and in grand American style too.
* USS SAN JUAN WEEKLY PUBLICATION *
"T-H-E P-A-N-T-H-E-R"
Established Since March 1945 -
Published for the upkeep of naval morale!
Published at no cost to the Gov't
Mimeographed on Gov't Equipment
* * *
Captain GEORGE H. BAHM
Commanding:
Commander J.R. Mc CORMICK
Executive Officer.
* * *
Editor: J.A. O'Hara, Y3c.
Asso.Ed: T.F. Falloon, SK2c
Sports Ed: F.X. Gantley, Cox.
Art Ed: Lt. (jg) J. Preston Jr.
Feature Writers: Lt. M.F. Forst,
(ChC); E.S. Wheeler, SK1c
Staff: T.J. Gilhooly, Y3c
L.J. Sines, Y3c
Advisor: Lt. T.H. Galland.
(The PANTHER is considered in all respects to comply with SecNav EXOS:AO(Pub)WBW:bmed, 28 May 1945)
"TO MY BABY"
--N.H. Molios, Cox (Dedicated to my friend S.M. Rock)
Many years from now you'll look
Upon this poem that I took
From my own heart, 'n send you now.
And write it as I would a vow.
Your mom 'n daddy love you so,
And want you dear to always know,
The clouds may pass your little world,
Our hearts to you will be unfurled.
You blessed us with your presence now.
All I can give you, I do endow.
(Ed. Note: "By Popular Demand")
WHY NOT A TRADE?
A good man with a good trade is never out of a job. He'll have no trouble finding a job, and he'll have less trouble keeping one. Tradesmen are the backbone of the nation.
What are the prospects for tradesmen after the war? Unlimited. Experts in the business world maintain that our big postwar booms will be in housing, plastics and electronics, plus plenty of opportunities in the old standbys, like automobiles, radios, refrigeration and transportation.
The only business that they seem to be shying from is aviation. And their advice to servicemen is to stay out of aviation unless you have a really exceptional opportunity. The reason is that the end of the War shall bring a drastic cut in the demand for planes, and that it will be a long time before the industry ever approaches it's wartime volume of business. On top of that the United States is crawling with aeronautical engineers and technicians, many of them good men. Pilots, too, are a dime a dozen. The situation is currently so bad that discharged military pilots cannot even take an examination for commercial flying license, not to speak of finding a job flying planes.
The field for tradesmen is wide open. The only question is can you hold the job when you get it? If you feel that you can't, then instead of just bluffing your way through, why not make use of your GI Bill of Rights and take a few courses for a year or two at some vocational training school? Such training may mean for you, a better job, more money and above all the assurance that once you land a job, that job will be yours.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MATE ! !
Greetings once again! During this coming week the below named men will have become one year wiser to the happenings in this world!
Wanted immediately thirteen (13) seabags in any form or size for an (un)lucky thirteen (13) who are Uncle Sugar bound.
- TOTAL -- THIRTEEN NOW -
With the authority contained in Commander-In-Chief's letter P-15, Serial 5305 of 30 June 1945, the San Juan is entitled to one (1) battle star on the Asiatic-Pacific Area Service Ribbon to be displayed for Third Fleet Supporting Operations during the Luzon Campaign. According to the letter, a star is offered for anyone of the below listed attacks of which the San Juan participated in all:
LUZON ATTACKS: 6 and 7 Jan 1945.
FORMOSA ATTACKS: 3, 4, 9, 15 and 21 Jan 1945.
CHINA COAST ATTACKS: 12 and 16 Jan 1945.
NANSEI SHOTO ATTACKS: 22 Jan 1945.
As to date, the USS San Juan rates a total number of twelve (12) battle stars on the Asiatic-Pacific Area Service Ribbon and one (1) star on the Philippine Liberation Ribbon.
- EXPERT LOOKOUTS -
During the week, the Second Division Officer, Lt. B.M. Jacobson, conducted an expert lookout examination in accordance with the provisions set forth in BuPors Circular Letter No. 91-45. The examination was given to all Second Division enlisted personnel who stand a condition three lookout watch. The below named men are the subjects that cam through with "flying colors":
CRICK, J.P.
BELTRAN, S.
WANNER, W.W.
SNYDER, C.J.
WHITE, J.D.
WOOD, R.H.
HICKSON, V.
PITZER, O.
BOROWIECZ, J. S1c
S1c
S1c
S1c
S1c
S1c
S1c
S1c
S1c
The qualified, who meet all requirements for EXPERT LOOKOUT are entitled to wear a designating badge on the sleeve of their dress jumper, as illustrated in Vol II, Issue 3, 17 June 1945 of "The Panther", and a notation of qualifying for a 4.0 spotter will be made a permanent part of their service records.
A - PRAYER
Each night, before I close my eyes
I see you, flying though the skies;
I sense the straightening of your back
Weaving through the murderous flak.
I see the flash of lights that blind
and make your target hard to find.
I always think that I won't pray;
That God's had such a busy day
He'll be too tired to heed my plea
And listen to just one like me.
But, as I toss, I realize
That He hears every heart that sighs
God, help me through my misery
And bring him safely back to me!
--- Carrie Tonnis
All the present draftees will soon be happy DISCHARGEES.
*- SAN JUAN WAR RECORD -*
As previously announced in the Plan of the Day on 31 August 1945, the ship plans to sponsor a booklet entitled San Juan War Record, and which, upon completion, is to be distributed to the crew, a copy for each man. The cover of this gift is to be especially attractive since a picture of the San Juan with Mount Fujiyama over shadowing its sleek form is to be displayed thereon. (Similar to this week's title page of the Panther.) The original idea was derived from the photograph taken by our esteemed ship's photographer, W.F. Rohloff. From the picture, Mr. Preston, Art Editor of the Panther, took the bulk of the work on his shoulders and came through (as usual) with an elegantly designed cover. The book is to contain a complete history of the ship.
On 29 August 1945, several members of the ship's company had the rare privilege of seeing one of the most beautiful sights that man has the honor to see. To state the fact, "several hundred prisoners of war were liberated from the Tokyo area on Wednesday, 29 August", is a masterpiece of understatement. Those men were given freedom. That was the magic of it; the precious thing that this war has been fought for . . . the freedom of man as an individual.
The air was permeated with that contagious emotional sensation that these men felt. We too felt in some small measure that overwhelming sensation that made them jump into the water and swim for our landing boats; made them shout and laugh; made brave soldiers and sailors stand, unabashed with tears streaming down their cheeks; made them want to touch us to get a sense of reality that we were really there!
We had lumps in our throats as we saw this stark emotional display. It was something to see, that oddly clothed cheering crowd proudly holding aloft the secretly made flags of the United States, Great Britain and the Dutch. We were so proud to be there. It made us feel that it has all been worthwhile and our efforts so insignificant. We were jumbled by their magnificent courage.
As we pulled into land, the men gave us all the help they could. They wanted to touch us. We were the essence of freedom to them. Hundreds of heart-touching dramas were occurring each second. One's hand was grasped by all within reach. Words were quite useless to them during this wonderful moment. Most of them gave their name and told where they were from. Nothing needed to be said. Those four years of waiting, wanting, starvation, and imminent touch of ever-pending death were gone in a flash . . . really gone. Again, they were free Americans, free British, free Dutch, and above all, free men. No more stealing food, cigarettes, any little comfort that was so highly treasured. Today they could throw away a cigarette butt a full inch long. No more following a *** to pick up his butts to be carefully rolled into a hoarded toilet paper for that one secret puff after his meal. It was, indeed, a rare privilege to behold!
As we moved into the camp, the first moment was over and the group became individuals. We talked with them, mostly about the excitement of the food they had had for three days, the treatment they had received, how they existed, and when they were going home.
There was a strange bond between them. They were a little worried about being separated from the members of that strange little society which had been able to do better than the *** in his own land. They well miss that mass ingenuity of their little band of freedom loving souls, pitted against a diabolical, depraved enemy.
They could still laugh, even about being caught and being beaten for it. Many little things were funny, pathetically funny to us, as one described a little incident of having the head of a stolen fish pop up from his collar when he bowed to the sentry.
The paucity of their ration was unbelievable. As one said, "When I get back to the states, I can live on five cents a week and have four cents left". That is more truth than fiction. The basis of their diet was a soup made out of the leaves of some vegetable such as tomatoes and some type of grain such as millet, barley or rice, but most often broom corn, referred to as chicken corn. Occasionally, a few soy beans were available. Had it not been for their opportunity to pilfer, these men would all have been dead long ago.
The evacuation went off without an incident. These men were too shrewd to chance their past four years of suffering on that moment of pleasure they would have gotten by slitting a few necks. They had reason enough and pent-up hatred for all this time, but their restraint was admirable. Strangely enough, many pitied their captors. They understood them as little infidels, carrying out their orders with medieval, moral sense. Those pitiful yellow devils did not know the beauty of "love thy fellow man".
Before we finally got to sleep most of us had been going for about 24 hours, but we did not feel that normal deadening from loss of sleep. We were still carried away with the beauty of humanity. We felt so small, so glad we were AMERICANS!
*USS SAN JUAN WEEKLY PUBLICATION*
"T-H-E P-A-N-T-H-E-R"
Established Since March 1945 -
Published for the upkeep of naval morale!
Published at no cost to the Gov't
Mimeographed on Gov't Equipment
* * *
Captain GEORGE H. BAHM
Commanding:
Commander J.R. Mc CORMICK
Executive Officer.
* * *
Editor: J.A. O'Hara, Y3c.
Asso.Ed: T.F. Falloon, SK2c
Sports Ed: F.X. Gantley, Cox.
Art Ed: Lt. (jg) J. Preston Jr.
Feature Writers: Lt. M.F. Forst,
(ChC); E.S. Wheeler, SK1c
Staff: T.J. Gilhooly, Y3c
L.J. Sines, Y3c
Advisor: Lt. T.H. Galland.
(The PANTHER is considered in all respects to comply with SecNav EXOS:AO(Pub)WBW:bmed, 28 May 1945)
- DOWN PILOT REPORT -
"I had completed my run in the landing circle and my plane was ready to hit the ramp. The signal officer did not flag me away. As I proceeded to come in, the lower section of the plane hit the stack wash on the island superstructure. Under this impact, the plane and myself was flipped completely over. I landed in the water, hitting it squarely. The plane was submerging quickly so I had to work fast in order to get my safety belt loosened! I managed all right and soon found myself on the surface of the ocean. At this time, I noticed that my left arm had become numb and it pained terribly to move it. I began to look around for a means of rescue. My 'Mae West' was inflated but I couldn't locate my rubber raft. As I looked about, I noticed a five inch AA Cruiser heading towards me! I began to wave with my good right arm. I also used the green sea-dye marker which has proved successful in many mast cases. The ship steamed over to where I bobbed about the waves. Proceeding cautiously, the plane rescue ladders were dropped and I was assisted aboard by the able deck boatswain's mates as the ship lay dead in the water. "After coming aboard, I was immediately taken to Sick Bay where x-rays were taken and the damage to my arm was accessed - Well, that's it!"
The above is a personal condensed tale of Ensign Milton A. Zehr, USN, of Denver, Colorado who was rescued by the U.S.S. SAN JUAN, on 7 July 1945, just at twilight. The carrier to which Ens. Zehr was attached, sent the SAN JUAN a dispatch thanking the Captain and crew for their splendid performance in the rescuing of their valuable fighter pilot.
Mr. Zehr has been in the service for 9½ years. He entered the Navy as a enlisted man and finally earned his commission along with his wings. The Corsair pilot has 1200 flying hours to his credit. when asked what he thought of flying, he retorted, "Hell, that's the life"!
In summing up the visit of our unexpected guest, we would like to add that we enjoyed his stay aboard. Incidentally, Ens. Zehr, the fellows got quite a few laughs out of your baby's first shoe being attached to your helmet. So it's thumbs up and happy landing to one of the Navy's famous skyman!
MORE TO WRITE HOME ABOUT!!
It has been determined that a sufficient period of time has elapsed since the Okinawa Campaign to permit mention of it in personal correspondence. We may, therefore, now discuss the campaign in our letters. We must be careful, however, to limit what we say to description of our personal experiences. Particularly, statements which may disclose the strength or tactical disposition of the fleet units, such as reference by name to any other units, discussion or reference to battle damage, information derived from intelligence sources, and narrative descriptions not within the writer's personal experience are prohibited.
But there still is plenty to write about. We may mention being as sea for six straight weeks. We may describe shooting down the "twin-engined bomber" 4000 yards off our port bow - how it was coming in low over the water and how, when hit, is simply disappeared, leaving only a patch of burning gasoline on the water and one rubber wheel floating in a sulphurous slick. And we may mention that we saw fifteen or twenty planes shot down by other ships and our fighters, and how most of them burst into flames and how at night the night fighters tracers seemed to reach out and send the *** flaming into the sea, light up the horizon for an instant. To some of us, the bombardment of Minami Daito will be most memorable, since, although there was no return fire, and consequently no danger, the effect of all our guns going off in salvo was like the last trump of doom.
In addition to the release of the Okinawa Campaign from censorship, we now may also mention that the San Juan was a member of the fast carrier task force which struck Tokyo on 10 July with 1000 planes. We may comment on the pleasantly cool weather, and how, except for irregular hours of sleep, the operation was more like a pleasure cruise than war.
WHO'S TO BLAME?
"The way I figure it," said our friend, "is this. If it weren't for the War I'd be a pretty decent fellow. Before I was drafted I didn't go in for all this cheap stuff, and I went to Church regularly. But this situation's got me licked. Maybe I'm going Asiatic."
Will everyone please, just for a little while, quit blaming everything on the War? You're as much the master of your destiny and the captain of your soul today, as you ever were. Which means that you can either toss it to the sea gulls or keep it safe and true. You can say yes or no to temptation. You can do what's right, or you can do what's wrong.
If you stated this war as a pretty good kid, you muster out as a 14-carat bum, don't blame the war or the Navy, or anyone else. Blame yourself. You're the one who kicked over the traces. War or no War there would still be temptations, and there would still be your free will. You are today, and tomorrow what you make yourself, and not what the service made of you. Be honest about that.
We won't go into that, though. All we're pleading for now is a little honesty. Honesty with yourself and with your God. There are only two people it will do you absolutely no good to try to fool. One is yourself and the other is God. So why try to kid them?
Why this plea for honesty? Well, first because it's right. Secondly because if you die during this war, I think God will be much easier with you if you're at least honest enough to make your last words something like this, "God, I haven't been an angel. I've kicked your laws around. But it's not Your fault, and it's not the fault of the war. It's my fault. I did it. I'm sorry."
*PAY CALL*
After a "summer vacation" (?) of a sort, the "mezzumma" column makes a reappearance.
As most of you know the $9.00 clothing allowance is again on the books and will show up on the money list for the 20th of July. CPO's get $18.75.
It might be of interest to know that the leave ration for the fiscal year 1946 has been set at sixty-five cents, the same as last year. That's just in case any of you lucky ones get some leave.
You will note on the money list for the 20th pay day that new "pay numbers" have been assigned. These will change twice a year, January 1 and July 1 when your pay record is renewed.
AlNav 153 was published in the Plan of the Day recently but believe it bear repeating. The AlNav publishes the amendment to the National Service Life Insurance Act which extends the five year term plan for three additional years. No change in the premiums or allotments for the NSI is made and will be continued on the present records without any action on the individual's part. The same policy regarding conversion of the insurance will be followed, as has been the practice in the past.
THAT'S ALL FOLKS!!!
The Harper's Magazine just awhile ago, published an article which we believe interesting -- What do you say?
"The U.S.S. WASHINGTON received a new skipper in the name of Capt. James E. MAHER, better known as "Silent Jim" in the fleet from his habit of never speaking in anything less than a full-gale roar. MAHER had been skipper of the anti-aircraft cruiser SAN JUAN, which shot down so many *** planes that her bridge looked like a polka-dot dress with the flags painted all over it"!
PLANK OWNER'S PATTER
Well, how do you like your new showers? Nothing like the ones they took the place of but they save water. We don't say we are going to take a shower now, it's "I'm going up to take a fizz". Seriously tho', the fine spray nozzles are a real piece of workmanship, something the "A" Division can be proud of. Somebody ought to make first class!
BELATED APOLOGIES...A little slip-up on our part has been called to our attention and it touches a very sentimental spot in this columnists policy of trying to write-up all the boys who get transferred, especially the Plank Owners. During our last "rest" period, two staunch old salts of the "F" Division left for the home of the free and the brave. Both coming aboard in Boston, three & one half years ago, Gilbert Rufo, FC3c and E.T. Pokorney, FC1c, will be missed by their shipmates in the "F" Division. Rufo was awarded the Purple Heart for injuries sustained during the Battle of Santa Cruz, October 1942. Best of luck in your new assignments!
CONFIDENTIALLY YOURS. . .Saxby, Chief Quartermaster has gone and done it - yep - he extended for another three years. He must have been listening to CFC Smith - he has a style all his own when it comes to arguing for 20 years. He has it all figured out how he will retire in ten years! When you and I are civilians again, down to the corner "pub" we'll go, and weep crocodile tears in our beer for Saxby and Smith. Tsk, tsk. . .At first we thought Uncle Sam had changed the uniform regulations for officers and had substituted zoot suits, but upon further investigation we found cut that it was just Lt. Stofko swimming in a pair of pants inherited from Lt. Sarrey. Pretty shrewd, for a Philadelphia merchant..$75 a week is good pay for a Navy yard worker but when a soda jerker in the person of "Chuck" Hamm gives out with such a story, it's hard to take, brother, it's hard to take. . .Snipes candidate for the champion letter writer is J.T. Bombolis who holds forth with his magic pen every chance he gets in the Aft messing compartment . . . Charlie Farrell and Herman Duhe are very much concerned over their mutual buddy, M.A. Kennedy and his pet peeve! What about if, Marvin Albert?? ..What is this Navy coming to with Coxswains and Shipfitters taking typing lessons?? .. "Maidon Form" Rourke, shapeliest of all Bos'n's Mates; tipping the scales at a solid 215 lbs., has been observed raiding the midnite soup line. This wouldn't be of interest if Rourke stood watch. Attention MAA.
p.s: personal aside, the reference to Saxby and Smith you might have noted a bit of sarcasm..... as holders of the keys to the store rooms as store keeper second class, my own dad had his ways of dealing with Saxby with a stealth raid at night on a whole load of beer just loaded onto the boat, meant purely for the officers and execs...... my dad and a select number of his best friends spent the next 6 hours draining each bottle of beer down their own throats and then refilling the bottles with plain water and recapping them They retold this grand saga every single year from 1952 until 2006 at their reunion.
TRUE CONFESSIONS:
Dear Mr. Anthony: While returning to Farragut, Idaho from boot leave, I met a very lovely girl. True to Navy tradition I snowed her under with my sad line and sinker. Later in the summer I was transferred to her home town, San Francisco, and reported aboard the USS S.J. for duty. Immediately and naturally I got in touch with my only feminine acquaintance in town. Soon I had her down to see the ship and I must confess I was very forward in telling the guard at the gate that she was my wife. She really liked the graceful lines of the ship and the stories I told her of the famous battles she had been through (I neglected to tell her that I had only been aboard two days and still couldn't find the head). After a visit to her house, her Dad's 1941 Oldsmobile was a my call and we spent many happy hours under the moon in Golden Gate Park. Soon the SAN JUAN was off to the wars and me with it. I wrote my folds about her and naturally they invited her down to visit. She passed the Emily Post test at our house and I was greatly relieved. Upon her return home a party was held at the Rose Room of the Palace Hotel, which is really a swanky dump, and all her relatives voted me into the clan. My sister writes that everything is "rosy" and all I have to do is say the word and she could arrange a proxy marriage for me. My problem is: should I go thru with it now or should I wait till I return to the states and have all my shipmates, who have counseled me so faithfully, invited to the wedding and reception? (which should be a lulu).
"Hose Nose" Schreeter
Dear "Hose Nose": After your girl friend reads in the CINCPOA communique #419 that the SAN JUAN was present in the raid on Tokyo on July 10th, she will look upon you as a hero and will gladly wait for you. She would be only too happy to have all your hero shipmates at the wedding and reception. What could be better than to have your buddies, who went through hell and the chow line with you, present at your happiest moment? As Ever, "Tony" (Mr. Anthony)
MYSTERY OF THE WEEK: Who starched the Commodore's skivvies (i add: *** underwear **** if you never heard the term) and why did George Graziuso do it?
See ya around ------
- ONE MORE STAR! -
After a great deliberation by the authorities, it was found that we rate one bronze star on our Philippine Liberation Ribbon. While on the subject of ribbons and stars tentative arrangements are being made with the Supply Department to purchase before hand, a complete supply of the various types of ribbons for the crew's use.
GET IT?
Here lies Seaman Lear,
Too lazy - he was - to don flash gear.
A lucky Kamikaze, a hit did score,
And Seaman Lear was burned to the core.
---Morphew.
* BIRTHDAY GREETINGS *
Yes something entirely new in the line of feature stories. This and every week hereafter, a list of the coming week's birthdays of men aboard the San Juan will appear in the PANTHER. So keep a sharp lookout for your name when your birthday comes rolling around. Here's hopin' we don't miss any!
Here's to the fighting ship, San Juan,
And to her mighty name.
She's spent her time on the firing line,
And won a lot of fame.
I'm not afraid of war, or big guns rear,
I like the ocean blue,
But I've had my fill of these bloody drills,
I tell you boys I'm through.
I've manned my gun in these last three years
A million times or more.
To fight off sleds or diving sleeves
Or track a seagull's soar.
We've fill our holds and magazines
With stuff to slap the Japs.
We use it all for "zootsuit" drills
And slave to get it back.
You stand your watch and dream ahead
To the day of sleeping in,
And it never fails every ****-eyed time,
It's "SHAKY'S" drills again.
I hear GQ, I grabbed my clothes
And beat it on the run.
I know at last the Yellow Japs
Would feel our blazing guns.
We opened fire, we gave them hell.
For a hundred rounds or more.
Then I raised my eyes to the smoking skies.
And it hurt me to the core.
No Japs were there, no alien ships
No submarines, no foe.
Just another sleeve was passing by,
And we couldn't let it go.
I studied hard, I worked my share,
I thought I'd make a rate.
But good things just don't come my way.
I guess you'd call it fate.
I memorized my progress book,
I could recite it through and through
But they added so much with a Harvard touch
There's not a chance for you.
So I've settled down in the same old rut
And I'll just say once again
That in this fight of sleeves and sleds
A good man just can't win!
--- Dawson & Manley, Inc.
p.s.s.s.s.s. LOL THE CARTOON BY MY DAD THOUGH RUDIMENTARY SURE DOES CAPTURE HIS SKINNY 6'2" FRAME AND HIS WILD SHOCK OF DARK HAIR HE WOULD SLICK BACK LIKE FONZIE
I sure do hope you enjoyed this Memorial Day edition and the great little poems by men who were truly the greatest generation
Last edited by ceiligrrl; 09-17-2018 at 02:15 PM..
oh my..... i shall wax poetic forever and ever, i adore her poetry..... we had similar parents and the closest thing i ever came to resolving my very complicated relationship with my parents was this last line of a poem i wrote years ago...
you carried me into life as i carried you into death
but i was kinder, and far more gentle
and these two poems from the dodge...... if you freeze frame at around 59 seconds in, there i am in all my red patent leather glory 3 seats in just past the aisle.... the first is Ode to the Composting Toilet...... which builds, gets so much funnier around 1:45 and sends me reeling on the floor over the line " nympho virgin poetic chick **it " and ends with Ode to a Tampon....https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rrb_MK0lkkM
Last edited by ceiligrrl; 05-30-2018 at 05:15 PM..
I read portions of yesterday's posts. So sorry to hear of your son's death while in service to our country. Thankful for his service. I've no idea how crushing that must be....but you are right, putting pen to paper is better than using a bar stool.
Getting your thoughts out on paper must help immensely.
I liked the few lines you wrote about parents/dying....that applied to me too. Well said.
thank so much for coming back....we seem to be the only two people here, lol............. did you see me in the youtube video? i'm wearing my honking red patent leather raincoat..... i'm only there for a second, lol....tried to find the picture taken by Galway Kinnell of me and Sharon at the 2010 Dodge Festival.....but it seems to have disappeared..... this is a newer computer and obviously it got lost along the way..... again, thanks for stopping by... I hope you liked both the May poem and the Ode to the Composting Toilet.....
thank so much for coming back....we seem to be the only two people here, lol............. did you see me in the youtube video? i'm wearing my honking red patent leather raincoat..... i'm only there for a second, lol....tried to find the picture taken by Galway Kinnell of me and Sharon at the 2010 Dodge Festival.....but it seems to have disappeared..... this is a newer computer and obviously it got lost along the way..... again, thanks for stopping by... I hope you liked both the May poem and the Ode to the Composting Toilet.....
it kinda kills me that most everyone on these forums has never heard about the great 60's poet Richard Brautigan.... the nice thing is he published, like my precious and wondrous friend Henry Braun, his books for free..... and there was never any price set for them..... this book All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace had a specific copyright statement:
Permission is granted to reprint
any of these poems in magazines,
books and newspapers if they are
given away free.
Bill Brock lived with us for a while
on Pine Street. He took the photograph
in the basement. It was a beautiful
day in San Francisco.
Some of these poems first appeared in
Hollow Orange, Totem, O'er, and Beatitude.
Five poems were published as broadsides
by the Communication Company.
I ADORED these poems when i was young young young...... and need to include Richard here for his poetry was the first poetry i had read after much too much Wordsworth Keats and Byron..... it amazed me. made me LAUGH. was so simple, so pure... the first poem below was the first poem of his i ever read. i fell on the floor laughing. this is poetry? well, i'm going to start reading poetry!!!!! The really important thing is this one author became my foundation for my life.
I remember once sailing up the Hudson River on the Clearwater, i was in my 50's and once we had raised the mainsail, we chilled.... and I read many of these poems and Pete Seeger who was just shy of 80 came over and listened.... and said "and by golly we did it didn't we?" when i finished. I had two heros in my life, Pete and the poet Lucille Clifton, who both lived lives of grace, simplicity and courage.
Brautigan was a fascinating human being, one of the true iconic hippy-dippy types, a gentle soul sometimes and at other times an enigma within a conundrum...... some people think he was quite mad, lol.... i remember reading someplace he was so destitute that he threw rocks at a police station so they would arrest him find him guilty and he would then have a bed, shelter and 3 square meals a day ... i think they tried to publish this with seed packets attached and the very rudimentary printing machine they had couldn't do it..... so they scrapped the title PLEASE PLANT THIS BOOK
so: here i present with the authors express permission to do so:
"December 30"
At 1:30 in the morning a fart
smells like a marriage between
an avocado and a fish head.
I have to get out of bed
to write this down without
my glasses on.
i still want to melt into the last two lines of this poem and this was the second poem i read by Brautigan
"A Good-Talking Candle"
I had a good-talking candle
last night in my bedroom.
I was very tired but I wanted
somebody to be with me,
so I lit a candle
and listened to its comfortable
voice of light until I was asleep.
this poem encapsulated the whole 60's peace/love/live let live philosophy to just turn on to yourself, your dreams. when you are young and read things like this, well.................... it just changes you in great and small ways and still is how i live today.... right there in number 4 which is a sustained state of bliss. i just am a happy happy person. pleased with my life. and the things i was able to accomplish
"Karma Repair Kit: Items 1-4"
1. Get enough food to eat,
and eat it.
2. Find a place to sleep where it is quiet,
and sleep there.
3. Reduce intellectual activity and emotional noise
until you arrive at the silence of yourself,
and listen to it.
4.
"Hey, Bacon!"
The moon like:
mischievous bacon
crisps its desire
(while)
I harbor myself
toward two eggs
over easy.
"My Nose Is Growing Old"
Yup.
A long lazy September look
in the mirror
says it's true:
I'm 31
and my nose is growing
old.
It starts about
an inch
below the bridge
and strolls geriatrically
down
for another inch or so:
stopping.
Fortunately, the rest
of the nose is comparatively
young.
I wonder if girls
will want me with an
old nose.
I can hear them now
the heartless (*edited *) biatches
"He's cute
but his nose
is old."
"It's Raining in Love"
I don't know what it is,
but I distrust myself
when I start to like a girl
a lot.
It makes me nervous.
I don’t say the right things
or perhaps I start
to examine,
evaluate,
compute
what I am saying.
If I say, "Do you think it's going to rain?"
and she says, "I don’t know,"
I start thinking: Does she really like me?
In other words
I get a little creepy.
A friend of mine once said,
"It's twenty times better to be friends
with someone
than it is to be in love with them."
I think he's right and besides,
it's raining somewhere, programming flowers
and keeping snails happy.
That's all taken care of.
BUT
if a girl likes me a lot
and starts getting real nervous
and suddenly begins asking me funny questions
and looks sad if I give the wrong answers
and she says things like,
"Do you think it's going to rain?"
and I say, "It beats me,"
and she says, "Oh,"
and looks a little sad
at the clear blue California sky
I think: Thank God, it's you, baby, this time
instead of me
"Star Hole"
I sit here
on the perfect end
of a star,
watching light
pour itself toward
me.
The light pours
itself through
a small hole
in the sky.
I'm not very happy,
but I can see
how things are
faraway.
"The Beautiful Poem"
I go to bed in Los Angeles thinking
about you.
Pissing a few moments ago
I looked down at my penis
affectionately.
Knowing it has been inside
you twice today makes me
feel beautiful.
3 A.M.
January 15, 1967
"December 24"
She's mending the rain with her hair.
She's turning the darkness on.
Glue / switch!
That's all I have to report.
"Milk for the Duck"
ZAP!
unlaid / for 20 days
my sexual image
isn't worth a ****.
If I were dead
I couldn't attract
a female fly.
"San Francisco"
This poem was found written on a paper bag by Richard Brautigan in a laundromat in San Francisco. The author is unknown.
By accident, you put
Your money in my
Machine (#4)
By accident, I put
My money in another
Machine (#6)
On purpose, I put
Your clothes in the
Empty machine full
Of water and no
Clothes
It was lonely.
"Comets"
There are comets
that flash through
our mouths wearing
the grace
of oceans and galaxies.
God knows,
we try to do the best
we can.
There are comets
connected to chemicals
that telescope
down out tongues
to burn out against
the air.
I know
we do.
There are comets
that laugh at us
from behind our teeth
wearing the clothes
of fish and birds.
and i adored the eagerness, they synergy in this poem
"All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace"
I like to think (and
the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.
I like to think
(right now please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers
as if they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.
I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal
brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace.
sometimes i think younger people can't possibly get this, unless they too grew up during the summer of love, and had that great enormous hope we felt as we marched thru the streets for: peace love brotherhood of all mankind.... equality, women and gay rights...... my goodness we were naive, but i still love the message and live it.
i still want to melt into the last two lines of this poem and this was the second poem i read by Brautigan
"A Good-Talking Candle"
I had a good-talking candle
last night in my bedroom.
I was very tired but I wanted
somebody to be with me,
so I lit a candle
and listened to its comfortable
voice of light until I was asleep.
and dang it all to fweet: no one ever wrote me a love poem as beautiful as this:
"Nine Things"
It's night
and a numbered beauty
lapses at the wind,
chortles with the
branches of a tree,
giggles,
plays shadow dance
with a dead kite,
cajoles affection
from falling leaves,
and knows four
other things.
One is the color
of your hair.
Yup.... this is how we wanted to live total harmony with nature , graceful in beauty and in love with the stars
"Let's Voyage into the New American House"
There are doors
that want to be free
from their hinges to
fly with perfect clouds.
There are windows
that want to be
released from their
frames to run with
the deer through
back country meadows.
There are walls
that want to prowl
with the mountains
through the early
morning dusk.
There are floors
that want to digest
their furniture into
flowers and trees.
There are roofs
that want to travel
gracefully with
the stars through
circles of darkness.
Last edited by ceiligrrl; 06-01-2018 at 04:35 AM..
I'm one who has never heard of Brautigan...sorry to say. Like the candle poem and yes some are quite funny.
Aren't you lucky to have been introduced at a young age to this modern poetry....?
well, the iconic one that i learned on was Reflections on a Gift of a Watermelon Pickle....... the title alone is worth the read!!!!!!!...... it's probably out of print.... you might find a used book store that has a very dusty copy
well, am feeling very very nostalgic in the wee hours of the morning here..... couldn't sleep.... it's getting closer to the anniversary of the death of my son..... sometimes i wonder if it's all my fault he died..... sometimes i think if i hadn't been so gung-ho proud to be an american.... not the rabid kind, but the very very aware of veteran kind, being the grand daughter of a WW one vet and the daughter of a WW two vet..... lol, my dad had a flag the exact size of our garage, covered it completely it was so huge.... so i grew up very very conscious of the sacrifice veterans make, the reverence they have for their service, their shipmates, their place in history.... oh i don't know, i'm rambling again ain't i?
Ted Kooser, just the cutest poet ever..... he looks like a little gremlin to me.... he doesn't show up like Billy Collins, all tweedy, be-scarved, aloof, elitist snot
no....not Ted, retired Omaha insurance Vice President who bought a farm out in Garland Nebraska with a wife and two dogs and not many more people or animals near by ...... he shows up for readings in his timberland work boots, covered in Nebraska dust (and probably poop) .....he'll show up in Overalls, lol..... or his best sweater.... and if he has to wear a jacket, it's usually over a plaid flannel shirt...... this is the nicest poet ever..... i adore him, i think he stands all of 5'4 inches, weighs maybe 120 soaking wet...... i can't think of just one poem i love..... down the road i'll post more....but tonite, while i can't sleep, while thoughts of the past keep pounding relentless into me out of every dark corner and the moon itself has gone dark with sorrow.... i offer Ted's poem Pearl................................ because tonight i sit with ghosts and a boy who shall always be my boy.....
and i don't have to include the words, for this is modern American Poetry after all, just a great simple story you can listen to.... and fall in love with.... ....... and there i am, LOL at the 2:27 minute part, while Vera and Pearl are peeeeing on top of a Nebraska porch roof, see me? right in the middle of row 3..... all red patent leather raincoated me, in awe, in love with the simple words, the magic they weave, the spell they cast, the happiness they bring every time to me.....here is Pearl https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPOYk976UKE
p.s. and should you just like simple poems, well written, with spare words and largesse of heart, do subscribe to American Life in Poetry...... Ted's poetry project from when he was our poet laureate..... you get just one poem every Monday morning in your email....
and wouldn't it be lovely that you come to enjoy them..............look forward to Mondays just because of a poem..... and you too might come to the realization that poetry gives to your life meaningful beauty or even a beautiful meaning.
well, the iconic one that i learned on was Reflections on a Gift of a Watermelon Pickle....... the title alone is worth the read!!!!!!!...... it's probably out of print.... you might find a used book store that has a very dusty copy
well, am feeling very very nostalgic in the wee hours of the morning here..... couldn't sleep.... it's getting closer to the anniversary of the death of my son..... sometimes i wonder if it's all my fault he died..... sometimes i think if i hadn't been so gung-ho proud to be an american.... not the rabid kind, but the very very aware of veteran kind, being the grand daughter of a WW one vet and the daughter of a WW two vet..... lol, my dad had a flag the exact size of our garage, covered it completely it was so huge.... so i grew up very very conscious of the sacrifice veterans make, the reverence they have for their service, their shipmates, their place in history.... oh i don't know, i'm rambling again ain't i?
Ted Kooser, just the cutest poet ever..... he looks like a little gremlin to me.... he doesn't show up like Billy Collins, all tweedy, be-scarved, aloof, elitist snot
no....not Ted, retired Omaha insurance Vice President who bought a farm out in Garland Nebraska with a wife and two dogs and not many more people or animals near by ...... he shows up for readings in his timberland work boots, covered in Nebraska dust (and probably poop) .....he'll show up in Overalls, lol..... or his best sweater.... and if he has to wear a jacket, it's usually over a plaid flannel shirt...... this is the nicest poet ever..... i adore him, i think he stands all of 5'4 inches, weighs maybe 120 soaking wet...... i can't think of just one poem i love..... down the road i'll post more....but tonite, while i can't sleep, while thoughts of the past keep pounding relentless into me out of every dark corner and the moon itself has gone dark with sorrow.... i offer Ted's poem Pearl................................ because tonight i sit with ghosts and a boy who shall always be my boy.....
and i don't have to include the words, for this is modern American Poetry after all, just a great simple story you can listen to.... and fall in love with.... ....... and there i am, LOL at the 2:27 minute part, while Vera and Pearl are peeeeing on top of a Nebraska porch roof, see me? right in the middle of row 3..... all red patent leather raincoated me, in awe, in love with the simple words, the magic they weave, the spell they cast, the happiness they bring every time to me.....here is Pearl https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPOYk976UKE
p.s. and should you just like simple poems, well written, with spare words and largesse of heart, do subscribe to American Life in Poetry...... Ted's poetry project from when he was our poet laureate..... you get just one poem every Monday morning in your email....
and wouldn't it be lovely that you come to enjoy them..............look forward to Mondays just because of a poem..... and you too might come to the realization that poetry gives to your life meaningful beauty or even a beautiful meaning.
Oh the anniversary.....so sorry, again. Of course you aren't responsible...and being patriotic is something to be proud of...as your 3 family members showed by their actions and service. My dad was a WWII paratrooper....proud of him...he was wounded though and sent home.
Hoping you'll find a way to have a peaceful day on the anniversary. So many emotions....
Thanks for the clips, I'll watch a bit later and yes I'd love to get a poem each Monday!
thank so much for coming back....we seem to be the only two people here, lol............. did you see me in the youtube video? i'm wearing my honking red patent leather raincoat..... i'm only there for a second, lol....tried to find the picture taken by Galway Kinnell of me and Sharon at the 2010 Dodge Festival.....but it seems to have disappeared..... this is a newer computer and obviously it got lost along the way..... again, thanks for stopping by... I hope you liked both the May poem and the Ode to the Composting Toilet.....
I'm still coming and going from this thread. I don't like to rush through the poems so I'll probably stay behind. But I'm still here!
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They retold this grand saga every single year from 1952 until 2006 at their reunion.
