"One more thing."
My sister left the kitchen, with its small dry sink punctuated with photos of nieces, nephews, brothers, sisters and mom -- all of us looking much younger than we were today. Throughout the house, there were reminders of a happier, less complicated time -- a retrospection on how quickly life passes. I made a mental note to get my sister a copy of a family photo taken a few years ago when all of us were together for Mom's funeral.
Linda returned with something in her hand. It was a faded white envelope with the words "Dad's Writings" written in cursive handwriting.
"I've been going through a lot of mom's stuff upstairs and I came across these writings from Dad," she said, handing the envelope to me. "I think you would get more out of these than I would, so why don't you take them?"
Mom had passed away in September of 2018 after more than a year in a nursing home. Dad had died in September 2001, the same month and year the twin towers had fallen in New York City. My sister had lived with both parents in our childhood house, taking care of them and providing immeasurable assistance that allowed both to stay home for much longer than any of us expected. My brother and younger sister had agreed that Linda would get the house after mom passed -- a no brainer after all she had sacrificed and done through the years.
Not much had changed in the house over the last two years; it still smelled and looked the same but with her retirement (which still involved working at the greenhouse), Linda was gradually going through the bedrooms, closets and the attic to get rid of dad and mom's stuff.
Maybe "getting rid of" aren't the correct words to use. Anyone who has lost their parents knows you never get rid of things that belonged to them. You may take items to Goodwill or sell them on eBay, but some small part of them remains in your DNA. I still remember the vintage smell of mom's fur coat that was kept upstairs in the closet when not being worn. It had the slightest hint of cigarette smoke, maybe whiskey from a party, and a lipstick sweetness that would always accompany her good night kisses.
Regardless, my sister faced an overwhelming and emotional task considering how many memories still lived in the house after more than sixty years. Of those memories -- and one that was always on the periphery of my knowledge -- was Dad's writings, which explained why Linda was handing me the envelope.
Most of my memories of dad involved fishing and hunting, or perhaps working downstairs in his small workshop. Despite its limitations, there was no limit to Dad's ability to build a new lamp or coffee table, or even a bed that got me through my college years in Madison. Looking at the kitchen and its many wooden components, I was reminded of how he built most of this house I used to call home.
He was a simple man, who liked to stay close to home, content to have a good family and enjoy the beauty of the Mississippi River and surrounding bluffs. Dad was quiet, prone to minimal conversation, unless you got into trouble. Then he would lower the boom and put you in your place. At least that's what my brother said, since I can honestly say I never got into trouble.
I say he was quiet, but I don't honestly know if that was true. The fifties and sixties were a different time, when adults spent time with adults and kids played with other kids outside. So our interactions were minimal by design, I suppose. As a father figure, he checked off all the boxes -- stern, religious and loving, but there was certainly more to him than I knew.
Something that did not fit into the dad box was his time spent in the Pacific as a radio operator on board a battleship escort fighting the Japanese. I remember his World War 2 gray model ships that were proudly displayed above our living room picture window. He must have spent hours building them, but I don't remember any of it, so they must have been built before I was born. All I know is that they didn't float very well in the bathtub. To me, a young boy with a vivid imagination, these highly detailed ships -- with their narrow hulls, gun turrets, navigation bridge and anti-ship missile launcher -- represented real intrigue, something from another place and time. One far removed from Dad's time spent fishing and woodworking.
Later in life, as he struggled with various illnesses and the loss of his job, he started writing about his time as a young boy growing up in rural West Salem. Much of it was preserved on a tape recorder, mixed in with the melancholy sounds of mourning doves and loons. His story telling eventually found its way onto a typewriter, either transposed from his tape recordings or simply put to paper based on memories and photos. By that time, I was away at college, then off to Michigan to start my career and eventually get married.
A few stories would be found here or there -- in correspondence with my aunt or uncovered by a cousin who was interested in our family's history -- but at best they were incomplete, poorly written and heavily edited to the point they represented mere thoughts, more so than stories to be read and enjoyed.
Which is why the discovery of the letters my sister handed to me that day would strike such a significant chord. Like a musician searching for notes to a new song, I had found a connection to a time and place I don't remember in any of my discussions with dad or my uncles. A connection to exotic locations, dangerous ocean crossings and new friendships forged in combat.
As I opened the envelope and started reading, I pictured myself -- like anyone reading a good book -- riding alongside my father as he left the safety of his parent's home to discover a dangerous world that was being torn apart by a war that would change mankind forever.
* * * * *
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"It was December 7th, 1941, the day Japan struck at Pearl Harbor. The Carlson boys were hunting as usual, in the swamps for pheasant and rabbits. We got the news from mother and dad, when we got home that evening.
I worked at Northern Engraving at night inspecting 20 mm shells from 11 pm till 7 am in the morning. I disliked this type of work and became more restless by the day. I stayed in La Crosse and had a girl friend named Ruth. We spent the summer together, hiking the bluffs, swimming at the beach and having a good time. I knew she had a boyfriend in Washington D.C. As the days went by, I became very unhappy and seeing a number of sailors around La Crosse, in their nice looking uniforms, I decided it was time for me to enlist in the Navy.
"Enlist I did and the day I went to Milwaukee for my physical I received my draft notice from the Army. I passed my physical and with a number of other enlistees, was put on a train and shipped off to the U.S. Naval Training Station at Farragut, Idaho.
"It was the middle of November and the trip across the western prairie and mountains was a cold one since I did not have a winter coat along. The trip was a slow one, and after reaching the highest elevation, I developed an ear ache that was to bother me all the way to Farragut. Crossing the trestle bridges over the gorges was exciting.
"We were assigned to barracks and issued warm clothing, which we badly needed because of the cold. Next day was a haircut and we were given a tour of the mess halls and galley. We were assigned to squads and spent a lot of time marching on the drill fields. Standing guard duty was a frequent headache as it was always cold. And I was homesick. It would have been impossible to describe the beauty of the mountains with evergreens and all the snow.
"We spent time on Lake Pend Orielle, the deepest fresh water lake in the U.S.. We soon discovered what it was like to row a boat on a windy cold lake. The lake is deep enough to float the largest battleship. After six weeks of boot camp training, we learned how to shoot and how to jump off a sinking ship. Finally, the day of liberty arrived and we went by bus to Spokane, Washington."
After more time out west, Dad was shipped off to Texas. He continued:
"I attended classes in radio theory, operations of transmitters, receivers and learning the International Morse Code, Typing and being able to copy code was difficult, and at one point I was called into the captain's office, and advised that if I was not able to do better, I would be shipped off to sea immediately and would be a seaman swabbing down the decks, and painting the ship.. So I buckled down and for 16 weeks I worked like hell, even going to night school. I finished in the upper 2/3 of my class. After graduation, my classmates and I had liberty in Brian, College Station and Houston, Texas.
"We were next assigned to Naval Service Training in Miami where it was very hot every day with temperatures reaching over 100 degrees. A lot of Russian sailors were in Miami, for training and we all marched to classes and chow at noon. It was interesting to watch the Russians march and play soccer.
"We left Miami and went to Norfolk, VA where we actually got onboard sub chasers looking for German submarines.
We were informed that our ship was being built at Bay City, Michigan, and that the hull would be towed down the Mississippi River to New Orleans where the super structure would be added and the ship made ready for sea. So we boarded another train for another dirty ride across the South for New Orleans. As a crew, we were anxious to get to sea. After several weeks, our ship was finally ready, and we headed to Bermuda on our trail run. I enjoyed watching the phosphorous wake of the ship every night, and picking up flying fish that landed on the deck at night. The name of our ship was DS U.S.S. Bull 693, a destroyer escort.
"We rendezvoused with two other destroyer escorts and set course for Aruba, Curacao and two Dutch islands off the coast of Venezuela. The next day we picked up a convoy of oil tankers and headed up the east coast of the United States, where we picked up another convoy of cargo ships. We were bound for Londonderry, Northern Ireland with 60 to 80 ships in tow. We had a lot of ocean to cover in protecting them from German submarines. We made six trips to Ireland, one to Belfast and five to Londonderry.
"The DS U.S.S. Bull had one encounter with a German submarine off the cost of Norfolk, England. We did our best to bring her to the surface, with depth charges, but after three hours of action we were called off. On our last trip from Ireland, coming back with our convoy of empty cargo vessels, we ran into a bad storm in the North Atlantic. DS U.S.S. Bull became so coated with ice that seamen with axes had to cut away some of it from the topside. The last trip from Ireland came on the day the Allies landed on the beaches of Normandy. Everyone was happy.After one year of service, Dad was given a leave of absence and spent the first few days in New York City where he enjoyed a few nights in New York City night clubs, including the famous Chesterfield Club. He then returned home for a while. After a week, he returned to his ship. He writes:
"Our ship was ready to go after I returned to New York from my leave back home. We got our orders to proceed to the Pacific via the Panama Canal. I found it interesting going through the canal. We were tied two abreast and this is the way we traveled through the canal. At Panama City, we had one night of liberty, spent in several night clubs drinking and watching shows with Panamanian girls dancing. The next morning I purchased a large stalk of bananas, maybe four feet long, from a fruit hawker, that I hung in the radio shack. As soon as they were ripe the radio crew had bananas to eat.
"We made a stop in Honolulu, Hawaii where we picked up a new communications officer, who remained with us to the end of the war. We had one day of liberty in Honolulu where we went through shops and stores. We spent time at Waikiki Beach and got to see some of the damage done by the Japs in their attack on Pearl Harbor.
"We continued our move into the Pacific by stopping at Eniwetok Atoll to pick up a team of underwater demolition men, with their gear and supplies. Next stop was Papua New Guinea Manus Island where we picked up communications gear, radio equipment, spare parts, etc. At the time, the Sea Bees were still working building nice blacktop roads in these tropical islands.
"We then reversed course and headed for the Ulithi Atoll where we made ready for the invasion of Luzon, northern most island in the Philippines. Ships of every description and purpose were anchored here. As far as the eyes could see there were ships from large aircraft carriers, battleships, destroyers, supply ships and picket and screen vessels to protect the convoy from hostile aircraft and submarines. In the invasion force every ship had its designated place in the task force.
"As we neared the Philippines and entered those waters, we began to get radar confirmation with unfriendly aircraft. We also had a combat air patrol our for 100 miles or so that could be called upon to shot down those unfriendlies. We entered San Bernardino Straits towards evening of the first day and immediately were pounced upon by Kamikazes. It crash dived onto the baby flat top carrier, Ommaney Bay. Three carriers were badly hit in that exchange. Despite all efforts to save the Ommaney Bay, we had to go in and sink the ship ourselves.
"After winding our way through the islands during the night and part of the next day, we encountered a host of dive bombers and torpedo planes, 59 nukes from Manila. All of these were shot down by our gunner and combat air patrols. I got to see most of this action from topside.
"We arrived in Lingayen Gulf the next morning, and since there was not much in the way of underwater obstructions, our UDT (underwater demo team) got off rather easy on this first of our three invasions.
"We had to escort several damaged ships back to safety. This was not much fun escorting wounded ships in hostile waters. On our way back we received a radio message to run in and pick up a wounded American pilot off the shores of Siquijor, Philippines who was being guarded and cared for by a nurse accompanying a guerrilla force of Philippinoes. We arrived safely back at Ulithi with our lame duck.
"It was during our time in Ulithi that we took on supplies and had to go into dry dock to have the barnacles scrapped from the undersides of the hull. It was the job of the deck hands and some of the gunners to do the job, and all haste had to be made so as to clear the dry dock. There were several floating dry docks and they were all busy making repairs. It was quite the experience in dry dock.
"It was during this interval that I got shanghaied into being a courier and taking a secret message to an island atoll in the Ulithi group of islands. By taking smaller boats, I arrived at my destination on the afternoon of the first day. I got rid of my secret message and had to wait for another boat to take me back. I got back to my ship when it was dark and missed supper and had to sleep on the mess hall floor. It was a grueling trip... "
* * * * *
And with the turn of the page, my journey with Dad ended.
Disheartened, I searched through the few remaining pages for more, but I only found memories of his childhood and family. I felt cheated, unfairly, as though there was more to his story but someone had torn the pages out, leaving me to finish his harrowing journey and to imagine the joy he must have felt at the end, when Japan and Germany surrendered to the Allied forces.
I rubbed my eyes, feeling slightly disoriented. Dad's narrative had left me empathetic to Dad's life on his ship, surrounded by sailors far from home and the people they loved. The life and death struggles faced by them made our current reaction to covid seem trivial. And the sacrifices made by so many of these young boys made a mockery of any perceived anxiety being felt by today's students seeking "safe" places.
The abrupt ending of the story had left me with many questions. Why did he join the Navy? Of the six brothers, I can only find pictures of three -- Dad, Clarence and Maynard -- in uniform. There are references to Dad's other brothers serving, but in what branch and what war? I always had the impression that Dad had stayed close to home, but his time in the Navy had seen him travel throughout the United States, Ireland, the Philippines, South America, the Caribbean and Hawaii. Did he ever travel to those places after the war? And how did he celebrate the end of the war? With a kiss? Or at a night club dancing with women eager to spend the evening with a sharp dressed sailor?
There was an intimacy with dad's writings I never felt from watching Hollywood's version of Private Ryan or The Great Escape or any of the other war movies from that time. Dad's service in the navy was anything but heroic, although being the target of Kamikaze planes seems pretty heroic to me. I felt like he did his job -- one he patriotically signed up for -- to the best of his ability, and with the understanding that it was the right thing to do. How many of us could do the same?
This latest discovery had me wishing I could have talked to him about the shooting of President Kennedy, the turbulent sixties and what he thought of the Bee Gees and disco dancing, but as I said earlier they were different times. As a result, the image I have in my mind of Dad will have to do. A quiet, dedicated husband and father, who bore the burden of war with his brothers and friends, and by himself late at night when he lay awake staring into the darkness that would come for him one day.
Nothing I get this Christmas will match the gift I have received this year, one that took more than 60 years to arrive.
