Pop tells of his varied experiences as a sailor and of his first jobs as a youth in Maine. He also worries near the end of the letter that circumstances may prevent any of his sons from getting college degrees. For the record, this proved to be one of many instances of needless worry for Pop.
Mr. Harold Lufkin, V.P. August 1, 1961
Newton Mfg. Co.
Newton, Iowa.
Dear Mr. Lufkin:
I will answer your letters of the 19th and 26th both at the same time.
Yep! I get a terrific thrill out of a “storm at sea.” Although believe it or not, these little ponds around here give me the creeps, they look so murky and dark, yet when we were over the Mindan Deeps in the Philippines (five miles straight down) I did not feel the slightest apprehension.
We were (all at the same time) in the second battle of the Philippines and also one of the worst Typhoons that had hit the old Pacific in 110 years, or so they said at the time and I could well believe it.
We were in a “Task Force” of some 1200 ships of all tonnage and character. The waves were so high that they went into the ventilators way up in sky control, and there was about two feet of water sloshing around in the after mess halls. The shields for the 20 millimeter guns were rolled up just like toilet paper from the terrific force of the water.
At the time I was looking through a little slot, way up in Sky control and on our Port side was the Battleship New Jersey. The waves would hit her, and huge as she was, she almost completely disappeared from sight, then slowly (like a submarine coming up) she would rise out of the sea, shake herself like a shaggy old sheep dog, and just for seconds you would see her whole outline, and then Wham! Another sea would hit her and she would be almost submerged again. It did not seem possible that she could survive. We were of course undergoing the same kind of treatment, being in the same sea and only a few hundred yards away, but you cannot (like a person) see yourself as others see you, so I was just fascinated in watching the New Jersey. As for my own ship, I had complete confidence that, angry as old Father Neptune was, that we would survive all the same.
Yes! A passenger is just a passenger, but a sailor is part of his ship and she is part of him. I don’t imagine there can be any love for a ship (especially in a typhoon) by a passenger, but the ship and the sailor must combine their efforts to survive.
Of course I have always had an intense love of the sea. My first money was earned, “treading hay” at the sum of ten cents a day, and the field was right side of the Ocean, down in Maine or up in Maine, whichever you prefer.
The smell of the “flats and seaweed” at low tide, and the lonely (but lovely) dry of the seagulls, were the first sounds of my boyhood. What is it they say about seagulls? Something about the lost souls of sailors or something like that I believe.
My first paying job was driving an ice wagon in Bar Harbor Maine for the old Brewer Ice Co. Believe me, it was hard work too. A hundred to a hundred and fifty pound piece of ice, carried up a couple flights of stairs maybe, on the back of a 16 year old boy is WORK. It was not too bad though as you eventually learn to kind of “balance the weight.” The worst job was of course filling up the huge coolers of the large cottages and the markets. They would take tons and tons at a time, and we had to get inside the cooler and stack it up, so as to take up every possible foot of space with ice.
It was really a nice job though. Many of the Irish maids at the cottages always left a bottle of home made root beer and a piece of cake or something for the iceman, and of course the iceman was not at all adverse to chatting with some of those “beautiful and completely unspoiled Irish girls.” Straight from “the old sod” they were, and as innocent and unaffected as the day they were born. The girls of today (to me at least) look very shoddy in comparison with them.
However to get back to the Sea. My route was on West St. in Bar Harbor, and that as you know, runs right along the seawall. At this time of year (in fact exactly) in August, the British ships and the American ships were anchored in the Harbor for the annual Tennis matches at The Bar Harbor club. In addition to that, there would be as many as forty to fifty big Yachts lying at anchor in the Harbor. J.P. Morgans, Corsair. A big, black steam yacht. The Normahaul which belonged to Vincent Astor. The Alondra which belonged to Atwater Kent, the Lone Star, the Atlantic (a beautiful sail yacht which was always in the Cup race of Sir Thomas Lipton), and many, many others. It has been a long, long time, but I used to be able to tell the name of every Yacht in the Atlantic, the minute she came over the horizon.
At any rate, by the middle of the second summer on the Ice wagon, I could stand it no longer. Captain Parker, who ran the Ships chandlery asked me one morning if I would like a job on a Yacht, that the Sachem had lost one of their sailors and was leaving for Nova Scotia in the morning and must have a man.
I rushed back to the office of Brewer Ice Company and quit right then and there, and at 4 A. M. the next morning, we were heading out to Sea for Nova Scotia, and after that I just never got it out of my system. To this day I would “jump at the chance” to be called back into the Navy, but of course I am in my second fifty years, so I guess the hope is a dim one. Also I could not bear to leave Janet and the boys at this late stage in life.
Enough of the Sea. Yes! Bobby was a very lucky boy indeed, and we as his parents are very grateful to God indeed, that he was not only spared his life, but that outside of having to limp for a week, he is apparently just as good as ever.
I am a little upset (nothing unusual for me) this morning as David was warned yesterday by the Draft Board, that in spite of the fact that he has only one and one third more years at college that he still may be taken. I am both heartbroken and furious. Furious as all this Administration preaches is that Russia is ahead of us and that we must catch up, and then they consider cutting off David’s career at this age. Heartbroken because neither Ernie or Pete finished and David has the “stuff to see it through”. I guess I am not destined to have any College Graduates for Sons, but I do have five fine sons and that is something to be very thankful for indeed.
Well I have to take Dave back to Springfield now. He works days in a child study home taking care of disturbed children and nights as a waiter in Vincent’s Steak HOUSE OUTSIDE OF Springfield. (Sorry the keys slipped), so he is a pretty busy and tired boy, but has nearly enough money for his first semester already.
Hope to see you and the Mrs. during our lovely fall, except that if lack of rain continues, the foliage will be pretty dry looking.
Sincerely,
Leon R. Sinclair
Tags: Pop's Letters
