THE BEGINNING
...prologue...
by Joe Hafford

ARMISTICE DAY! November 11, 1941. It was still Armistice Day then; we call it Veterans' Day now. The Day lost its meaning after we returned to war in World War II, but nobody wanted to lose a holiday, so the day was simply renamed.

I was one of the very few students in Fairhope High School who had wheels, so I got talked into going to Mobile to see the military parade that day. I wasn't into military parades, but Bessie Lee Stapleton wanted to go. The fact that she was one of the prettiest girls in school may have had something to do with it. That and the fact that she wouldn't ordinarily give me a tumble. It didn't help when I found out that Teresa Lazari and Martin Schnitzer were going along, and another girl I can't remember. I made them chip in for gas, as I was very short on ready cash. (For Bessie Lee I would have stretched my resources.)

How I came to have access to a car is a story in itself. During the depression my father had developed a propensity for picking up people down on their luck and bringing them home, giving them a place to stay until they could get back on their feet - a natural born do- gooder he was. The depression hadn't completely run its course yet (we were still in New Orleans, circa 1939) and vivid memories of the hard times were still with us. Billy Edwards was one of those wandering souls. He got quite a case on my sister Mary and after finding a job, bought a used car (a 35 Dodge) to impress her. However, Mary wasn't having any and after making one payment, he took off and joined the Marines, leaving my father who had endorsed the note to pay for the car. As I was the only one in the family who could drive, in effect I inherited a set of wheels. I never found out what happened to Billy.

It was a rather typical parade, the usual bands, marching soldiers, military rolling stock and even a tank or two carried by on the big flatbeds used to transport them. We draped ourselves on a couple of parked cars on the parade route and had seats close enough to just about reach out and touch the soldiers. Bessie Lee got a lot of attention. At one point, the parade bogged down and a Jeep with a couple of sergeants paused in front of us long enough for us to strike up a conversation.

One of them made the remark that it wouldn't be long before we were in the war alongside the British. This remark surprised me since there had been a lot of isolationist talk around and nobody I knew was the slightest interested in going to war. The prevailing attitude was to 'let them fight it out'. The remark was sufficiently disturbing for me to pursue the idea and I asked why he thought so. The soldier said, "I was drafted over a year ago for 12 months. My hitch has been extended six more months without my having anything to say about it. The only possible reason for that is to have an army to go to war." The soldier gave Bessie Lee his address and asked her to write to him. I believe she did, but I have no idea what ever happened to him. Anyway, right after graduation Bessie Lee married a local boy.

December 7, 1941! Pearl Harbor! I couldn't help but remember what the soldier had said. Now we were in it, for better or worse. Hard to figure the better part. I don't recall having any strong emotions about it. There were many personal family problems to occupy my thinking, that and the fact that the war was so far away and no one I knew, except Billy Edwards, was in the military. It kept me from getting emotionally involved. I have no recollection of what I was doing when I heard the news. I think a sense of fatalism controlled my thoughts. I was only eighteen years old and the draft age was twenty at the time so my only thought was that I would go back into the merchant marine on graduation from high school and do my part there. I am sure my typical teenagers sense of immortality contributed to my indifference.

Football was over and basketball took center stage. Dorsey Booth and I were the tallest boys in school, good enough for football but Dorsey was too slow and I was too blind to be of any help so the team had to make do with some pretty average talent. The football coach also coached the basketball team and he did a pretty good job, considering that we had a respectable season.

It was hard to concentrate on studies. The week-ends did provide a little fun and recreation. I did practically no dating as I was chronically short of funds and most of the time I couldn't so much as feed the juke box, even though it took only a nickle, or six for a quarter. I teamed up with Buddy Cummings for the most part, as he was pretty much in the same boat. Having wheels helped a lot. At least we could get around and in Fairhope at the time wheels were essential for getting around as the distances were substantial and there was no public transportation.

Of a typical Saturday evening we would start at the Casino, an open air pavilion close to Mobile Bay; then move over to the Blue Light, a small combination deli and 'night club' up past the 'Y' on the way to Mobile. There was also another place out on the highway on the way to Robertsdale. It was a roadside cafe and night spot that catered to travelers. These three places and the local movie house were about all the entertainment available for a 'city slicker' like me. I envied the country boys with the hunting and fishing and barns to spark in. Unfortunatly, Buddy, my almost inseparable companion, was tied to town the way I was, although he had a few country girl connections that helped, but not a whole lot.

From this distance I can't remember how I really felt about the country being at war. The school sponsored the usual things; a tin foil drive; a Student Council; write letters; etc. I was on the Student Council, but we didn't seem to do much. Just go around the School and talk up patriotism and support for the prescribed activities. I didn't care for that!

It was understood by us in the senior class that we were not going to follow a normal course after graduation. Some boys thought they might get a job at Brookley Field in Mobile and wait for the draft or possibly get exempted. However, the only ones that didn't get caught up in the military were Ralph Hoffman and Milton Kojis. Ralph had contracted sleeping sickness and Milton had cancer so they were 4-f. I was more than willing to have good health and go into the service somewhere. I certainly wouldn't have traded with either of them. Having been in the merchant marine, I was sure that I would opt for that rather than a branch of the uniformed services.

Winter, for me, became a sort of suspended animation. Cold weather shut down the Casino so we were left with the Blue Light and the Roadhouse. Fairhope was a small town where everybody knew everybody else, so it was possible to cycle to the few spots open at night and at least get to dance with some of the girls who came with dates. There was essentially no drinking as one had to be 21 years old to make a purchase from the State controlled liquor store. I was one of the few kids in school who looked old enough and wasn't known personally to the clerks, to buy booze; I wasn't interested at the time as I didn't drink anything stronger than beer.

The only girls I remember dating were Doris Higbee and Carol Slaughter. Nothing developed from these casual dates probably partially because of my own reserve; having a weird family didn't help - except for my younger sister Katie. My older sister Mary was out in California during this period, much to my relief, but she came to Fairhope later much to the chagrin of Katie. Katie couldn't handle it and dropped out of school shortly before she would have graduated; but that is another story.

One little episode punctured the the sense of suspended animation. Dorsey Booth, David Allen, myself and a couple of other boys were hanging out at the Blue Light one rather dull Saturday night and as I was the only one with wheels, I was persuaded to provide transport to the Roadhouse. Dorsey wanted to drive. He decided to see how fast the old Dodge would go so he floored it. The speedometer registered in excess of 95 mph, on bald tires yet! On the way back, I drove and I couldn't let Dorsey get ahead of me so I floored it too. We only got to 92 as the return hill wasn't quite as long. To say the least it was an insane stunt but the war and uncertainty probably affected our judgement and anyway we were 'immortal'. At any rate, no one complained or refused to ride. After all, who wanted to be known as chicken! I never did that again.

The only other event that sticks in my memory was the measles. Somehow I had avoided it while growing up, so it hit me really hard. Actually I was one big measle from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. That tells you what kind of year I had after the war started. The only notable incidents were a speeding jag and the measles!

When Dad took his job in Mobile at the U.S. Engineers he first tried to buy a house on a bluff, called Seacliff, overlooking the Bay. The deal fell through so the next effort was to buy a lot down the road a bit and build on it as opportunity permitted. We had to live in a tent to start with but that didn't work out either as, even though the area was very thinly populated, someone objected and we were forced to move. We ended up in a summer home of a podiatrist who practiced in Mobile. We could only live there for the school year because the doctor wanted the home for the summer.

My father found a place in Montrose, a very small community a few miles along the road toward Mobile. An old German, Bill Heuer, had four acres of land there that he put up for sale. He had a cabin he had built himself from trees on the property. We got it for $750.00. The terms of the deal included his building another little cabin on the property and his living in it as long as he wanted. A good deal all around. I spent most of my spare time helping him get it put together and when it was finished, he moved into it and we moved into the orginal place, which consisted of one large and two very small rooms. No electricity, bath, or running water. This sort of existance was not new to my parents, but for me and Katie it was quite a change. My father found a very small trailer for an extra bedroom and had it set up in the yard. We got electricity and running water soon after moving in but the living was still very rustic as there still wasn't a bathroom so we had to make do with a privy and a big wash tub for bathing, and very little privacy.

School went onto an accelerated schedule that year in order that seniors could get a running start on their plans. Our graduation was a full month early. As it turned out only the two boys mentioned above didn't go into some branch of the service. We were a lucky class as no one was lost in the war in any sort of action, at least as far as I know. Within a week of graduation I went over to Mobile and checked in at the Union Hall. The Seafarers International Union, an A.F.L. affiliate, generally referred to as the SIU. The SIU was the rebirth of an older organization, the ISU, that had been reorganized after I had joined the interim group, the AFLSU. I was a member when the SIU was organized and received the rather low number G27. It occasionally drew comment.

In sharp contrast to my earlier experience, the Hall was virtually empty of men looking for work. Keep in mind the merchant marine is and was a civilian organization and was entirely volunteer. The first time I shipped out was several years earlier and it took me over a year to land a job. This time I was sent out immediatly to an old freighter operated by the Isthmian Line. The Company normally had business in the Far East. I remembered how often in the past I had wanted desperatly to get on one of their ships and see the Orient.

When I got to the ship, I don't remember the name of it now, I had some second thoughts. It was in a shipyard being overhauled and rearmed. It had just gotten back from the Far East and the entire crew had scattered for parts unknown, so those of us on the ship were entirely new. During the war this turned out to be a common event, seeing that the crews were civilians and could not be required to stay. The only holdovers were a couple of Armed Guard sailors. In the very early stages of the war, properly trained Naval Armed Guard were unavailable and men had to be scrounged from wherever they could be found.

The ship's armament consisted of an old World War I French 75 mounted on the stern and two 30 caliber machine guns mounted at each end of the bridge. I got friendly with the soldier on board. (I say soldier because the other one that had been ordered to stay and wait for replacement went AWOL.) He was an interesting sort, probably about 30 years old, thin and wiry, ancient to me, but even so we got along very well. He once showed me what I think he called the 'manual of arms' drill with one of the infantry rifles they had been equipped with. This drill consisted of a dramatic routine of spinning and slapping the rifle. I could see how this could be very impressive when done by a platoon. Evidently the ship had gotten through its first voyage without any trouble but he seemed reluctant to discuss very much about what had actually happened.

There were only a few other members of the crew. Two were from a training station for the merchant marine up north, Sheepshead Bay in New York I think, and had never been on a ship before. There were a couple of other characters on board but no old timers or experienced seamen. The Isthmian Line was somewhat anti-union in those days, but would accept men from anywhere and as it turned out I was the only Union man on board. The food was atrocious and as I was the only one with Union credentials, I was elected to approach the Captain and see if any improvment was possible. Well, the Captain was an old salt and didn't take kindly to a wet behind the ears kid approaching him with a grievance (I was all of 19 years old). He told me off in rough terms and I got my feelings injured. I promptly asked for my time and walked off after telling what he could do with his ship.

So ended my first encounter with the war.

...at nineteen one is sure he is immortal...

Joe Hafford ...Introduction...

ALCOA PROSPECTOR ....I get a taste of anger and bitterness...