CHIPPAWA
...another pleasant tour of the Carribbean, one could get used to this...
by Joe Hafford

I signed on the Chippewa as an oiler on Sept. 1, 1943. The Chippewa was at least 20 years old and the smallest ship I was ever on. It had been in a sort of tramp catagory before the war, calling at ports where cargo was to be found and delivering where needed at the time. I can't recall now what company operated the ship. It was about half the size of a Liberty Ship. Crew accomodations were aft in keeping with the custom on older ships. The engine room was much like the Amelia, except smaller. The familiar triple expansion engine was there, only half the size of the Liberty but enough to push along at about 12 knots. Two small scotch boilers supplied steam.

As the last oiler to sign on, I had to take the 12-4 watch again. The 2nd was a mid-westerner, from Minnesota I think, and definitly Norwegian. He was a really good guy and as it turned out I was lucky to get on his watch.

We left Mobile for another pleasant tour of the Gulf and Caribbean. I can't remember all the ports-of-call we made. Several stops were made to drop off bits of cargo, and in some cases pick up a few things. One of the 'things' we picked up was a torpedo that was left lashed down on the deck for delivery at a later stop. Definitly unwelcome. We were seldom in port long enough to get ashore and look for adventure. The only stop of any significance was, if my poor memory serves me, in the Dominican Republic. We were in Santo Domingo for a couple of days so we broke watches and I managed to get off for a trip to town, unfortunatly with very little wherewithal. Along with a couple of shipmates, we hit a few 'pubs' and found the action very slow. Our funds were depleted and we were heading back to the ship.

At our last stop, while sucking up my last beer, having used my last coin, a little hispanic girl took a shine to me. My fatal attraction for these girls struck again. She was very small. I doubt she was over 5 feet tall, and couldn't have been over 90 pounds soaking wet. Quite a contrast to me, 6' 2" tall and a strapping 180 pounds. We made a bit of a contrast on the dance floor and when I started to leave, she wanted me to stay. I pulled out my pockets to show I was now broke, but that didn't deter her. It was a bit late and she wanted me to go home with her. As I didn't have anything of value to lose, I went along. She lived a short distance away in a small walkup apartment on the third floor that opened onto a little balcony overlooking the harbor; very modest but neat and clean. It was late and we went straight to bed.

We had a terrific time, much better than I expected considering how small she was. She was fascinated with the rings I was wearing, my high school class ring and the bloodstone ring I had got in New York. She persuaded me to let her wear them while I was there. A mistake - sort of. The next morning she brought me breakfast in bed yet. Obviously there was no shortage of food there. I was no sooner finished than she crawled back into bed and wanted a repeat performance. I of course obliged, after all I was only 20 years old and in perfect health and condition

Trouble arose when I wanted my rings back. I got dressed and she wouldn't give them back 'until I went another round'. I got dressed again and still couldn't get my rings back. I don't recall how many times I had to get undressed and perform again; I must admit I wasn't too reluctant as she was wonderfully responsive, but even at 20, there is a limit. I finally got the class ring back by convincing her it was mainly of sentimental value to me, and decided the bloodstone was a reasonable gift for the outstanding pleasure I had enjoyed.

I must have been feeling my oats as an oiler because I got a bit careless one time. The oilers' main responsibility is to be sure the main engine is always well lubricated. This was particularly true in wartime as an engine failure could be fatal. At one o'clock my relief came down and checked the bearings as usual and found a hot one! I was horrified! We were potentially dead in the water. We poured oil to the bearing for the next two hours and kept it cool enough to keep running, fortunatly. We were close to Trinidad by now and managed to get into the harbor, much to my relief. It was no great task to repair the damage while in port.

There was a bit of an incident while coming alongside the dock in Port- of-Spain. First let me explain. Fresh water for general purpose use was supplied from a 200 gallon tank on the boat deck. Whenever water ran out, someone in the engine room had to activate a pump to refill the tank from the main fresh water tanks in the engine room. This 'request' usually consisted of the person wanting the water sticking his head in the engine room door on the main deck and yelling to the men in the engine room to fill the tank. As it happened, water was needed, desperatly, by a man getting ready to go ashore and needing a shower. He was persistant while we were in the middle of maneuvering. We couldn't leave the controls as orders were steadily coming in from the bridge. The 2nd got exasperated and yelled back to shut up, but he didn't realioze the distraction caused him to miss the fact that the engine was idle at the moment, but set in the ahead position. A signal came down for half astern. He turned up the steam to HALF AHEAD! Then a violent signal came down FULL ASTERN! He turned up the steam to FULL AHEAD! Just about this time the 3rd caught on and came flying down and reversed the engine.

There was no accident as the Mate had managed to get the ship steered away from the pier and back into the bay. Deck hands had to release a hawser that had already been thrown over a bollard on the dock and retrieve it later, a bit of nuisance. We were subject to a bit of ribbing but were thankful there hadn't been an accident. The engineer was of course responsible but I felt bad for not catching it myself. Nothing came of it, but some deck hands expressed nervousness what with the torpedo still lashed to the deck.

We didn't stay long in Trinidad as most of our cargo had been dropped off in bits and pieces along the way. We left Trinidad this time without incident. I couldn't help but recall the last time I was on a ship leaving there when we were attacked by the German sub.

The Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea are generally relativly peaceful bodies of water. Except for the occasional hurricane when all hell breaks loose, the seas are seldom more than a foot or two. I have seen the Gulf so calm, it looked like a mill pond on a very calm day. The water can be literally mirror smooth. It is quite impressive. On nice days it was common for porpoises to keep a ship company for a while, they would ride the bow wave of a ship. I have seen as many as ten of them lined up side by side easily keeping up right in front of the bow. It is wonderful to see several of them leaping through the water to catch up with the ship just to keep us company for a while. They are truly beautiful creatures.

On nice days, which are common in the Gulf, one sees schools of flying fish skipping across the water. If the ship is heavily loaded and thus lying low in the water, the flying fish would sometimes land on deck. Several times I have walked across the deck of a ship early in the morning and found dead flying fish that made the mistake of flying too high at the wrong time.

To my annoyance, the Chippewa didn't go back to the Gulf Coast. We ended up in New York. I paid off on Oct 14, 1943 and decided to stay in New York instead of heading back South. I had been gone only about six weeks so I wasn't too home sick - yet. I had a little money so I checked in to a hotel near Times Square for a few days. Needless to say I headed straight for the Music Box Canteen. I ran into Lucretia Herrera again. Lucretia had been brought to New York at an early age so had no trace of a Cuban accent, but her mother did have a slight accent. They lived together in a small apartment in Greenwich Village just a block off Columbus Square. I never did question the whereabouts of her father but he was obviously absent. I always suspected her mother was something of a swinger as she was never there when I would bring Lucretia home late. No problem as it gave us some time for privacy.

Lucretia was very fun loving, but drew the line at anything beyond serious petting. I had a good time anyway and we dated repeatedly over the months I shipped out of New York. She introduced me to a night spot called the Monkey Bar. It was located in a hotel a few blocks north of Times Square. There were three entertainers that played the piano and sang almost continuously. A very pleasant place to spend a couple of hours after a good dinner.

It took me only a few days to run out of money, even with doing virtually all of my eating at the Canteen. I was so close to broke that I had to specially contract with a cabbie to take me to the facility dedicated to seamen on the beach waiting for ships. I was there only one night. The Union Hall was nearby and I had hardly walked in when I was sent out to another Liberty Ship as an oiler. The William Sturgis.

CHARLES HENDERSON ...where I find the British social structure to be strictly from hunger...

WILLIAM STURGESS ...an unforgettable Christmas...