JONATHAN GROUT
...New York and San Juan are great places to visit, but I would never want to live in New York...
by Joe Hafford

My money finally ran out. I had only enough to get back to Montrose and look for another ship. I went to the Union Hall in Mobile and found the place practically deserted. There was a desperate shortage of seamen by this time, in sharp contrast to the pre-war days. It had taken me over a year to get a job on a ship the first time I shipped out before the war. The Hall in New Orleans had always been crowded witn men killing time and hoping for a job. This time I was given an immediate assignment and had the feeling that there would be no way I could get away without being sent to a ship.

I shipped again as an OS as I didn't have the requisite time to take the AB exam. The ship I was offered was a Liberty Ship, the Jonathan Grout, better known as an Ugly Duckling. During the war these ships had been built in assembly line fashion, some yards turning out almost one-a-day once they got into full production.

A few words about Liberty Ships are in order. The German subs had been taking a terrible toll of British shipping. More ships were being sunk than their shipyards could replace. In early 1941 the US started shipbuilding program in 'indirect' support of the British in their war with Germany. Our shipyards were almost non-existant for the purpose and what design expertise there was in this country was totally unable to meet the need. As a result, a rather ancient British design was adopted, with a few modifications made primarily to accelerate construction. The very first Liberty Ship was delivered in October of 1941.

These were EC2 class ships. The E was for emergency, C designated it as a cargo ship and the 2 meant it was mid-sized, i.e. larger than the C1 and smaller than the C3. There may have been a few EC1s or EC3s built, but I am unaware of them. By the end of the war, over 2700 of these ships had been built. Of these, more than 200 were lost to enemy action. Expectations were for them to last about five years, but they continued in service well into the 60s. About 1970 saw the last of them in active duty. Only two remain functional, the John W. Brown that is currently stationed in Baltimore, Md. and the Jeremiah O'Brian which makes its home on the West Coast. The history of the construction, operation and disposition of these ships makes for fascinating reading.

The Liberty Ships were well constructed as demonstrated by the combat damage many of them sustained and still managed to stay afloat. They were of all welded construction, which in itself was a major departure from conventional practice and the subject of much controversy. The ships were welded mainly because of time constraints and there were some problems encountered with cracking hulls and even some cases of ships breaking in half. On many ships steel support straps were rivited along the sides at the top of the hull to strengthen them and effectivly minimize the problem.

The overall length of a Liberty Ship was 441ft 6in. Breadth was 57ft, and depth 37ft, with a full load draft of about 27ft. They had a displacement tonnage of 14,245 and a light displacement of 3380 tons. The maximun mast height was about 100ft from the keel plate. They had a 2500 hp reciprocating steam engine (more about this later) with a propellor of 18ft 6in diameter that drove the ship at eleven knots, a respectable speed considering that they would ordinarily travel in convoys that were confined to the speed of the slowest ship, generally less than the eleven knots of the Liberty.

The Grout was built in New Orleans and launched in September of 42 and if memory serves me, it was assigned to the Delta Steamship Co. It was old enough to have made only one very short trip before I came aboard, perhaps only from New Orleans to Tampa where I was sent to meet the ship. An OS - yet - being sent to another city for a ship! That tells you how short handed we were at the time.

I do remember quite clearly the day I boarded. I was walking toward the gangplank when I heard a shout. "HEY POSSUM!" It was Sammy Salerno. I have already mentioned that I had shipped out before the war a couple of times. Once was on the Seatrain New Orleans as an OS. For some warped reason the day I came aboard one of the crew dubbed me 'Possum' and no one ever knew my name from then on. It must have fit me. Anyhow, Sammy had been on that ship with me and needless to say, I was Possum for the duration of my time on the Grout. I liked Sammy a lot, but I never really forgave him. Sammy was a member of the engine room crew, the 'black gang', a label that was a throwback to the days of coal fired ships when the firemen would come up after a watch covered with coal dust and really be black. He was a big powerful Italian from somewhere in the Northeast with very thick dark hair and a hairy chest. He was one of those men whose jaw turned black a couple of hours after shaving.

Liberties were respectable sized ships being considerably longer than a football field. They had five cargo holds, but had the old fashioned wooden hatch covers. The deck machinery was all steam. The only electricity was for necessary operational use and the degaussing coils. Fortunatly, there was enough for fans throughout the ship as ventilation could be a bit chancey, especially sailing under blackout conditions, which was the case at all times at sea.

During the war, the Germans had developed a deadly anti-ship mine that was triggered by the distortion of the earth's magnetic field by a ship. The magnetic mine could be anchored well below the depth that a mine sweeper could work. They took a terrible toll of ships before counter measures were taken. These measures consisted of making the ship itself a huge magnet that countered the earth's field and thus didn't set off the mines. Massive cables of copper were wrapped completely around the ship several times. The size of the cables minimized the electrical resistance and allowed a sufficient magnetic field to do the job with the limited electric generating capacity the ships possessed. This was called degaussing.

The quarters were laid out pretty much as on the Prospector, except that the gun crew had quarters aft under the gun tub. It was an interesting gun crew. The only one that had ever been on a ship was the gunner's mate and he wasn't exactly an old salt. There were about six very green sailors that the Gunny had to whip into some sort of efficiency and the usual 90-day wonder for ensign who was nominally in charge of the Navy detachment. Fortunatly, the Ensign had enough sense to stand aside and let the Gunny handle the men.

To give you an idea of the problem the Gunny had, there wasn't a man in the gun crew over 20, with most of them being younger than me and I was only 19. He had them doing all sorts of practice handling the weapons. This included the usual collection of 20mm anti-aircraft cannons and a five incher on the stern and an assortment of small arms. The small arms included several old stand-by Colt 45 automatics. These were very effective weapons at close range but were notoriously inaccurate at any distance. Anyway, each man had to strip and clean these things until he could do it blindfolded. There was one of the men that was working on the poop deck struggling with the gun and finally got it back together. The last thing he did was to slide a loaded clip into the magazine and slide the top piece to check the action and cock the weapon. Well then he saw the gun was cocked and remembered the proper way to drop the hammer was to simply pull the trigger, so he did - forgetting that the gun was loaded. Now the slug from the 45 is a relatively massive thing and it ricocheted off a couple of steel plates and columns loudly announcing its presence before leaving the vicinity.

He got a lot of attention about then, and still in a state of shock he promptly removed the clip from the gun; but the hammer was still back and his dimly recalled instruction reasserted and he pulled the trigger again - forgetting that it was an automatic and had reloaded itself on being fired the first time and there was another round in the chamber. Well two slugs bouncing around the deck was too much for the Gunny, he finally reached the sailor and took the weapon away from him. Fortunatly no one was in the way of either of the errant slugs and no harm was done.

I was assigned to the 12-4 watch; midnight to four A.M. and noon to four P.M. This was the Second Mate's watch as was the custom then (and to this day as far as I know.) As paradoxical as it may seem, the 8-12 watch was the least desired because most of the leisure time activity took place on the 8-12 evening watch. It was a sort of toss-up with the 12-4 as most men hated to be called out at midnight every day. The choice watch was of course the 4-8.

The ship was loading general cargo but at the time we had no idea where for. It wasn't too bad as none of the cargo appeared to be war material and as we got under way, it was revealed that we were going to Puerto Rico. The news was met with general delight as Puerto Rico was a popular shore leave location - regardless of which port was the destination. Cheap liquor and plenty of women.

The weather was excellent and we moved along easily in a small convoy. The convoy took us around Cuba to Guantanamo Bay at the Eastern end of the island. We stayed at anchor there a couple of days before another convoy arrived to get us to San Juan, Puerto Rico. There was no going ashore in Guantanamo, but we sure made up for it in San Juan.

A word about my watch mates, two ABs. There was Jake, a relatively old timer, at least to me. He was probably in his mid 30's although he looked a lot older due to a lot of hard living. He stood about 5'10" and about 190 pounds; quite muscular but a little fat. His hair was curly, reddish, receding and thinning. He looked for all the world like a dissipated Irishman with a rather large nose that you knew would turn red after a few days in the waterfront dives. Jake had a weakness for tattoos. There were several on his arms but the ones that really set him apart were two clown faces that were tattooed on his chest, located so that the clowns noses were his nipples. The clowns were somewhat hidden by a luxurious growth of rust colored hair.

The other AB on my watch was Fred. Fred was also an old timer, by my standards, and had shipped often with Jake so they knew each other very well and formed a sort of closed brotherhood of two. Fred was a bit taller than Jake and had straight dirty blondish hair, a thin face and smiled overmuch. He must have weighed only about 160 pounds. As you can imagine they were essentially inseparable. They said very little about their private lives so I never found out if they were married or had ever been. If they were, which I doubt, they didn't let it interfere with their activities.

Fred and Jake were worthy shipmates, at least by the standards of the merchant marine of the day. They never shirked any duty, were always on time, personally clean, never made problems for anyone else and always ready to lend a hand. But, these were not people to take home to the family. Their language was crude and grammar weak. Women were purely sex objects and they weren't particular about what sort of female was available as long as she was available - and the cheaper the better. As far as they were concerned, life was good to them. Without ambitions beyond the next port of call, three squares, and money to spend. When ashore and the money ran out, they usually managed to immerse themselves in the local subculture that consisted of brothels and bars and gambling. Apparently they were kindred spirits and were taken care of when the necessity arose. I remember Jake commenting once that he had signed off a ship and spent his money in a particular gin mill where some women of the evening plied their trade. "When I went broke, that f------ broad took care of me till I caught another ship." Fred's response was, "She f------ well should have, she had all your f------ money." These men were not atypical. I would judge that about half of the pre-war seamen I knew fit their description. During the war, the influx of young men moderated this stereotype.

We made the run to San Juan and pulled into the security of the very fine harbor there. It was plenty active with a lot of Navy people everywhere. As the entire cargo was for San Juan, we broke watches, except for a few men who had to stand watch on the gangplank or the engine room. Port watches were eight hours on and sixteen off. There had to be one deck officer and one engine officer on duty at all times and a firemen and one deckhand. All the deckhand had to do was stay by the gangplank to be sure only authorized people came aboard. The fireman saw to it that there was always steam available for whatever need arose, such as deck machinery and electricity, etc. I felt myself fortunate not to have drawn any of that duty. For the duration of our stay in San Juan, I put in eight hours as if I was a human being.

There wasn't much to do, which didn't make anyone very mad. There was no maintenance to speak of as the ship was brand new. Only tidying up and making sure all necessary paraphernalia was ready for use when needed, such as having all necessary wires and lines spliced and properly located. For the most part we just killed time during the day. You might say - resting up for the evening's activities.

One of the oilers was an old-timer (again, keep in mind how relative a thing an old-timer is) of at least 40 by name of Mack. Mack had been to San Juan several times before so I jumped at the opportunity to accept his invitation to go ashore together on our first evening. Mack was an interesting character. On the short side but well proportioned and a bit balding. What hair he had left was a combination of black and grey. A little wisp of a forlock tended to fall over two very penetrating blue eyes. In his younger days he had acquired a number of tattoos, mostly on his upper arms, but at one time long past he had some stars tattooed on the backs of his hands. He soliloquized about it once, "It doesn't really matter if you get tattoos, but don't get them on your hands. You can cover up anywhere on your body but not your hands, they always stick out." I wasn't inclined to get any tattoos anyway, but that would have clinched it for me.

As we left the ship, Mack said, "Lets go to a joint down the street, the Cat's Paw. Do you know where the Cat's Paw is?" he asked. Never having been to San Juan before, I allowed as I didn't know where the Cat's Paw was. He cackled and responded, "A couple of joints below the cat's ass." Mack had a weird sense of humor. When we got there, I found the place had the unlikely name - The Sunflower.

The Sunflower appeared to be a typical gin mill. As you entered, a long bar lined the left wall. There was a juke box and a small dance floor and a number of tables scattered around - and several women lounging at a couple of tables. Mack informed me these girls were there for our entertainment, i.e. hookers and/or B-drinkers

There was a rather pleasant ambiance at the Sunflower. The drinks were quite reasonable, although I pretty well confined myself to an occasional beer, it helped considering that I wasn't exactly flush. I made eye contact with an attractive black haired girl with a light olive complexion. She promptly came over and introduced herself. "My name is Rosie. How about buying me a drink?" She obviously didn't plan to waste time. Rosie was a little short for my taste, but well developed and obviously in a good mood. Mack nudged me and whispered, "Rosie's O.K." I had a delightful time. We danced and Rosie's thirst was quite reasonable. After about an hour, Rosie called my attention to some stairs and softly suggested that there were some rooms up there for rent for limited use. I was ready! My funds were holding out and I had sufficient wherewithal to pay the rent, which I presumed (correctly) included af fee for Rosie.

I must say we enjoyed ourselves and spent about an hour there. I discovered there was a much larger dance floor adjacent to the row of bedrooms and we spent another hour or so dancing before Mack, who had collected his own girl friend, and I decided to call it an evening. Or so we thought. We made our friendly good-byes and promised to come back.

We decided to wander around a bit. San Juan had the reputation for being a safe place so we didn't worry about where we went. The streets were practically deserted and we paused on the steps of a beautiful old Catholic Church for a brief rest before heading back to the ship. It was after midnight and we had had a full evening and were a bit reluctant to see it end. Mack was sitting on the bottom step and I was four or five steps higher and to one side. Just then a young girl came briskly walking down the street. Mother Nature had been very good to her. In later years the actress Barbara Eden always reminded me of her, that's how good looking she was. Beautiful natural blonde hair and clear blue eyes.

I was thunderstruck! This time of the night and in a seedy part of town! Mack said, "Hi there." She stopped and said "Hello" in a soft spanish accent and then sat down between us. I was completely tongue- tied but Mack wasn't. "What's your name?" "Carla", she said, rolling the 'r' delightfully. They talked for a couple of minutes, but I can't remember a word that was said until Mack said, "Hey, Possum! She likes you. You Like her?" I could only nod dumbly. Mack stood up and said, "Well, see you tomorrow," and he walked off.

Carla took my hand and led me to a small bar a couple of blocks away where she said we could get a room for the night. Fortunatly, I had barely enough to pay for the room, which wasn't much. It was clean, private and quiet. We undressed and climbed into bed and I could see she was indeed a true blonde.

I woke early, as was my habit. Stupidly, I went back to the ship early on. Older and wiser it would have taken wild horses to get me away, but I was truly broke and felt I could scrounge a few bucks back aboard. I told Carla I would be back soon and to wait for me. It took me till after lunch to get away from the ship and when I got back to the bar, Carla was gone and I had no idea how to find her again. Crushed, I drifted back to the ship. After supper, several fellows were going back to the Sunflower so I fell in with them.

Rosie spotted me immediatly and took charge. We had a very pleasant evening. Rosie had taken quite a shine to me and my expenses were very low. I didn't know if she made a habit of this, but if she did, she sure didn't make much of a living. The evening wore on. I had spent most of my money and was about to head back to the ship when Rosie asked me to go home with her. I protested I was broke but she didn't care. Well, what did I have to lose? I walked her home. She lived in a small house on stilts, probably to help keep cool in the tropical climate. It was in a poor part of town, but not a slum by any means, about a half mile from the Sunflower. It was a small place, sort of like an efficiency apartment, but quite comfortable. I kept thinking about Carla, but what the hell! Rosie wasn't as pretty, but a definitly better bed companion. I got up early and found my way back to the ship in time for breakfast and put in a full days work. Rosie made me promise to come back that evening and who am I to break a promise?

The routine continued for the better part of a week. In a couple of days I was completely out of funds and continuing to see Rosie every night and go home with her. As far as I could tell she was confining her attention to me; she even supplied me with the few drinks I wanted when my money ran out. However, even at nineteen the pace was getting too much for me. I was losing entirely too much sleep. The ship was almost empty now as the longshoremen had been working day and night. I knew we would be gone soon. Being wartime, we didn't say anything, but it must have been obvious.

I went back to the Sunflower but didn't see Rosie so I sat down at a table in the corner with my back to the dance floor and bought a beer with the bit of cash I had managed to scrounge. As I was waiting a soft arm fell across my shoulders, "Hello there." It was Carla! I was delighted to see her, for a moment. I put my arm around her and we started to talk. Not for long. Just then Rosie showed up and she was not happy! She made a few remarks in spanish that I had no desire to have translated. She even whacked me on the face, even as I could hardly feel it, I got the message. While I placated Rosie, Carla disappeared. Things were strained for the next hour or so. Rosie had to leave during the evening and Carla took the opportunity to stop by and ask me if I wanted her to get rid of Rosie. I couldn't do that. Not when Rosie had been so good to me. Carla left and I never saw her again. I couldn't help but wonder about the clout she must have had to make such an offer.

Rosie and I spent the night together again and I put in another day's work that consisted mainly of getting the ship ready for sea. I had a little time left and went back to the Sunflower to tell Rosie good bye and tell her how much I had enjoyed my stay in San Juan, and what a great person she was. She wasn't in the bar so I went upstairs to the ballroom and spied her surrounded by a half a dozen sailors from a naval ship that had just arrived in port, obviously having a good time. She didn't see me so I quietly left and returned to the ship and got the first good nights sleep in a week. We cast off in the morning and as San Juan faded from view, I was very confused by conflicting emotions. I would certainly never forget San Juan and the Sunflower.

The ship was now empty and riding very high in the water with the propellor half way up in the air making a strange flop-flop-flop noise. We were only going around the island to a small seaport, Ponce. There was no escort so I supposed the powers decided there was no danger. We arrived without incident.

Ponce was a small town but still had its waterfront bars. I was too tired to make any effort to leave the ship for at least a couple of days. The typical waterfront dives were just too seedy for me to look into, so I bypassed them. Not Jake and Fred. These dives were just their speed. Every morning they regaled us with their conquests of the local maids. They would talk about going out in back of the gin mill and finding a soft spot on the ground for action. Jake even laughed about the mosquitoes causing the girls to wiggle more and enhance the experience. Somehow I managed to constrain myself from joining them.

We loaded coffee in Ponce. I couldn't help but marvel at the longshoremen. They were small and wirey. The coffee would be lifted on pallets into the holds by deck machinery where a little man, perhaps five foot five and 150 pounds would have a bag of coffee beans swung onto his back and he would go off in a trot to a far part of the hold to deposit the bag. I think they were paid by how many bags they transferred. The bags were quite heavy, I think about 200 pounds each. Those fellows were just bone and muscle and got the ship loaded in jug time.

I took the evening off and went to a picture show. Of all things, King Kong was showing. I had never seen it before so I was looking forward to it. I knew it was a classic, however it sure seemed fakey to me, but not to two little girls behind me. Several times during the movie, they would exclaim "Mio Dio, Mio Dio!" Obviously deeply impressed. I could scarcely supress my laughter. They were more fun than the movie.

Rum in Puerto Rico was unbelievably cheap. One way it was packaged was in long necked gallon jugs wrapped in wicker, for about two dollars. I purchased two, being unable to resist such a bargain, even if I didn't drink hard liquor at the time. I had no earthly idea of what I was going to do with them.

While in Puerto Rico, the Captain, a really old timer, had overindulged and had to be relieved of command. An experienced seaman was found to stand in for the Third Mate and each other officer was bumped up. The former Third became the new Second mate and was in charge of my watch. He was well liked and I was pleased. We picked up a convoy out of Ponce and headed up the East Coast toward New York. The weather was quite decent until we got to Hatteras. This is where the Gulf Stream breaks away from the coast and the weather is very uncertain. Hatteras is very notorious for trouble for shipping and this time it lived up to its reputation. From Hatteras to New York we fought the weather. Gale force winds most of the way. My oilskins got a workout. Oilskins deserved the name. They were stiff, shiny and smelly. One had to be careful not to let them be packed too tightly in hot weather as they tended to stick and be troublesome to put on when needed. The outfit included a broadbrimmed hat that extended well down the back to prevent rain from running down your neck. These and a pair of rubber boots completed the ensemble, This was my first chance to use the gear.

I had dedicated myself to being a deck hand and was acquiring the 'tools of the trade'. Among these tools was a set of foul weather gear, as described above. I might mention, in addition to the lack of income between ships, the individual seaman had to supply his own clothes, rainwear included. Many ships were poorly equipped with all the minor tools a seaman could find use for in executing his duties such as minor spikes and wrenches needed in splicing rope and wire. The real seamen would have a personal toolbox with what he felt was necessary in the functioning of his job. Officially acquired at his own expense, although I suspect many an item disappeared from the ships inventory into such boxes - thereby depleting what tools the ship might have and making the acquisition more imperative.

Half way between Hatteras and New York the weather became particularly miserable, cold, wet, windy with the deck pitching strongly. I was grateful for the load of coffee. I took a break about 2 AM and decided now was a good time to sample my rum. It was very warming. In a fit of consideration, I poured a good slug into a cup of black coffee and took it up to the flying bridge for the 2nd Mate where he was conversing with the Captain (2 AM yet). I got him aside and offered him the cup, but as I had only one cup he declined with the Captain standing there. I didn't mention the rum, so I just drank it myself and the weather seemed to improve. You can't win them all.

We arrived in New York without further incident. This time the shipping company decided to give us our travel expense at the payoff with the hope that the crew would stay on for the next voyage. It worked for many of the men, but I was torn with an urge to get back to New Orleans. It was now late November and we had Thanksgiving dinner about the time we arrived. Not a very memorable Thanksgiving except for having got back to the States without trouble. I still had my two jugs of rum. I didn't know what to do with them as I was leery of taking them ashore, so I sold them to a shipmate for what I paid for them. He was from New York and added the two I sold him to several more he had and strung them around his waist. He was a bit obvious I must say, but when he returned, he said he merely handed one of the jugs to the Customs guard as he left and was waved through in a breeze! The guard was feeling no pain when he got back.

I did stay on board a few days, visiting New York. I wandered about Times Square and went to the Paramount Theatre. I don't remember the movie, but Frank Sinatra was featured on stage. I entered during his performance and became immediatly irritated by the screaming teeners. I had never heard of him and decided then and there I didn't care if I never heard of him again. I saw the movie and when the stage show commenced, I got up and left when Sinatra got to where I came in. I had had enough!

Early on during the war not much recognition was given to the merchant marine. Uniformed servicemen had the Stage Door Canteen to provide some free entertainment, but merchant seamen were not welcome so we had to fend for ourselves. Later there were a couple of places where we could go, but for the time being I settled for the dime-a-dance halls. I think they were called Taxi Dances. If you had a bit of money, the girls might go out with you and maybe you could get lucky. I never had luck, being too parsimonius, but it was fun to go and the girls were excellent dancers and generally quite pretty.

Growing up during the depression years resulted in my having a very limited wardrobe so one of the first things I always did when paid off was to get some clothes. This time I went to Brooks Brothers on Times Square and bought a suit with an extra pair of pants. I was now in high cotton. I had been on the Grout two and a half months even though it seemed a lot longer.

Adding up all the time I had shipped as OS I discovered I had the requisite minimum time to take the AB exam. I boned up on all the questions I might be asked and prepared myself to explain securing the ship, launching life boats, storing hawsers and cables, identifying all the various parts of a ship, tying knots, quartermaster duties, etc. I was quite excited and so found my way down to the Coast Guard offices in the Battery in New York and applied. To my utter dismay, they gave me an eye test and of course I flunked miserably. They showed me the door and said I could continue as OS as long as I wanted. Needless to say, I didn't want. In hindsight, I might have fared better in Mobile, as they were more lenient and more aware of the extreme shortage of seamen. It was for the best after all as I then got an endorsement for engine room wiper. In retrospect, the engine room was more my milieu anyway.

By now I had moved my base of operation to an institution dedicated to Merchant Seamen known as Snug Harbor. It was a sort of YMCA for seamen. It was a place to go where one could live cheaply while waiting for a ship. It was quite clean and secure. I wasn't there very long. My first trip to the Union Hall landed me on another ship as a wiper.

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

AMELIA ...old freighters never die, they just rust away...