Wartime Reminiscences: Some Laughs Linger
War’s horrors are never forgotten by those who experienced them; but fortunately for those who survived without physical or psychological damage, there are also a lot of laughs.
Cal Whorton, who retired in 1979 after 42 years in The Times sports department, recently had a reunion with four crewmen of his World War II PT boat, and they did a lot of laughing.
Whorton was skipper of PT 508, squadron 34, the squadron that led the invasion of Normandy on June 6, 1944. Their mission was to escort the minesweepers heading for Omaha Beach.
“It was like nothing had ever changed,” he recalls. “I was still ‘Mr. Whorton,’ or ‘Captain’; the men were still addressed by their surnames, and my executive officer was either ‘Lieutenant’ or ‘Mr.’ ”
When the drinks began to flow, Whorton suggested they knock off the formality, and everyone was soon calling everyone else by first names. That democratic agreement lasted only throughout the party; in the morning the old rules were back in place.
“I guess old habits are hard to change,” Whorton says.
He recalls how green he was when PT Boat 508 was commissioned at the Brooklyn Navy Yard and he was ordered to move it to another site. At the reunion one of the crew reminded him that he barked out his first order “All right, you guys, take the ropes off the posts and let’s get going.”
Any proper naval officer, of course, would have said, “Cast off the lines!”
About D-Day plus 3, he says, his boat was ordered to take the Chief of Naval Operations, Adm. Harold Stark, from a cruiser offshore to an observation position close to the beach.
While the boat was under way Whorton’s cook poked his head out of the chart room and said to Adm. Stark, “Good afternoon, sir, would you like some coffee?”
The admiral replied, “Yes, thank you,” and the cook said, “Just a minute, sir. I’ll go downstairs to the kitchen and get you some.” Whorton has always wondered whether the admiral noticed this departure from naval parlance, which would have been, “I’ll go below to the galley.”
It was a war of amateurs.
Later, PT 508 was taxiing Gen. Omar Bradley and another high-ranking general from one warship to another for a high-level conference. The two generals were seated aft over an open hatch that led to the fuel supply--3,000 gallons of high-octane gasoline. His exec reported to Whorton that one of the generals was smoking. Whorton ordered: “Go back and tell those guys to knock it off.”
“How often,” he asked, “does a lowly lieutenant get a chance to relay an order to a general?”
I was reminded of a postwar encounter I had with Gen. Clifton B. Cates, then commandant (top man) of the Marine Corps. As a major general, Cates had been commander of the 4th Marine Division, in which I served in World War II.
I had had only two firsthand encounters with the general during the war. Once we had locked eyes when he walked past me during an inspection on Maui, our training base. On another occasion, after a rain on Maui, I was standing beside a road when the general’s two-star car came by. I saluted stiffly as his tires splashed mud on my uniform.
After the war Cates was promoted to four-star general and made commandant. I was a reporter on the old downtown Daily News. On a visit to Los Angeles, Gen. Cates stopped at the Biltmore Hotel, and I was sent to interview him.
Even though I was then a civilian, I was still a victim of my Marine Corps training. I didn’t tremble, but I was tense as I knocked on his door. The general opened it himself, in mufti. He had no junior officer in attendance. He was alone.
I introduced myself. He took my hand warmly. “Come in, Smith,” he said graciously. I said, “General, I served with you in the war.” “You did! “ he exclaimed. “What outfit were you in?” I told him, “The 25th Marine Regiment, on Iwo.”
He pumped my hand. “What would you like to drink, Smith?” he said. It was a little early to be drinking, but I was not about to miss a chance to be served a drink by the commandant.
“Bourbon and water, sir,” I said.
He marched to a small bar, poured two drinks and brought mine back to me. I don’t remember whether he said, “Down the hatch,” or what, but we drank to the Marine Corps, man to man.
That was when I first knew, for sure, that I was a civilian.