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Text
to love and serve
world war II chaplains of the
new england province of jesuits
Edited by Joseph P. Duffy, S.J., Boston College
�dedicated to:
graduates of new england jesuit higher education
and secondary school institutions
who died serving their country
�to love and serve
Table of Contents
6 – 7
5
Acknowledgements
31–32
Bronze Star Medal
Introduction
33
Navy and Marine
Corps Medal
34
Air Force Commendation Medal
35
Army Commendation Medal
36
chapter 4
37 In Their Own Words
chapter 1
8 – 9
First Chaplain
chapter 2
10 Men for Others
11 – 25
Chaplain Service Records
chapter 3
26 – 36 The Medals and the Men
2
6 – 27
Citations and Awards
28
Medal of Honor
29
30
Purple Heart
Legion of Merit
3 | table of contents
38–39
40–41
Fighting in France
The Bravest Man
I Ever Knew
42–43
Benemerenti Medal
44–58
The American Spirit
Journey to Morocco
�to love and serve
Table of Contents (continued)
59
Battlefield Promotion
60
Darwin’s Dead
82–86
61–64
Worship in Wartime
65–68
Parable of Redemption
Pastoral Ministry
69
70–73
The Padre Reports
74–79
Veterans Day Remembrance
80
Afterword
81
New England Province
Military Chaplains,
1918–2014
87–89
New England Province
Military Chaplains,
Number By Year,
1942–2014
90
New England Province
Military Chaplains,
Post World War II
91–93
4 | table of contents
Appendices
Photo Gallery
�to love and serve
Acknowledgements
this volume would not have been possible without the exhaustive research of
gerard f. giblin, s.j. on jesuits as chaplains in the armed forces. Much of this story
of New England Province Jesuit Chaplains in World War II is built on that firm foundation.
More immediately I am indebted to David Horn, Special Projects Librarian, Burns Library,
Boston College and Shelley Barber, Reference and Archives Specialist, Burns Library, for their
cooperation, especially in retrieving materials.
D
eserving special appreciation is Alice
Howe, Curator of Collections, New England Jesuit Archives, College of the Holy
Cross. Her editing, formatting and constructive
suggestions were immensely helpful. She was also
more than generous with her time during my visits
to Holy Cross and provided for my review and consideration everything that I requested as well as additional materials she thought might be of interest.
And worthy of special mention is Ben Birnbaum,
Executive Director, Office of Marketing Communications, for his interest in and his support of this
5 | acknowledgements
project and for making available the expertise
of his staff in bringing it to completion.
I also wish to acknowledge America and
Company magazines for granting permission
to reprint articles from their publications that
are valuable contributions to this story of a
special time in Jesuit and American history.
Finally, my deep gratitude to my good friend
and colleague, the late Dr. Thomas H. O’Connor,
University Historian, Boston College, for his
constant encouragement, gentle guidance and
professional assistance all along the way.
�to love and serve
Introduction
In the Contemplation on the Love of God that concludes the Spiritual Exercises of St.
Ignatius, the grace petitioned is that one “may be able in all things to love and serve”1
the Lord. That ideal of love and service is at the heart of the Jesuit vocation and the
motivating force behind whatever apostolic activities are undertaken on behalf of
the People of God. That this extends to the men and women in the armed forces of their
respective countries should come as no surprise. Such service has been part of Jesuit history
since its earliest years.
R
ev. James Laynez, S.J., who succeeded St.
Ignatius as General of the Society of Jesus,
was the first Jesuit to serve as a military
chaplain. In 1550 he was invited by John de Vega
to accompany him and his men in a war against
pirates in the eastern Mediterranean. As chaplain
Laynez ministered to both the physical and spiritual needs of the fighting forces. From this experience he offered advice about engaging chaplains
in the military to John de la Cerda, who had been
appointed Viceroy of Sicily after de Vega’s death.
“I believe that our Lord will be very well served
and Your Excellency much consoled if you send
some good religious along on this expedition, men
who will be true servants of God and who will seek
the salvation of souls. By prayer and good example,
by preaching and hearing confessions, by nursing the sick and helping the dying, these men will
do a tremendous amount of good. They will teach
the soldiers the proper motives for fighting, keep
them from quarreling among themselves, and will
call them to task for blasphemies and gambling.
Finally, I know that the soldiers of our nation will
really profit from this, for by their peace of mind
and confidence in God they will better fulfill their
2
duties in the war.”
Despite all the changes over the centuries in
how wars are conducted, the role of the Catholic
chaplain has remained essentially the same in our
own nation as well as in nations throughout the
world. And Jesuits have been leaders among those
who have served their various countries with honor
and distinction. Rev. Gerard F. Giblin, S.J. has
documented the records of Jesuits in the United
States who served in the Armed Forces from 1917
3
to 1960. Building on his detailed report, this
volume focuses on Jesuits from the New England
Province during World War II. At its peak in 1945,
246 American Jesuits were serving at chaplains.
The second largest number was from the New
England Province (54); only the New York
Province had more (59).
They were a part of what Tom Brokaw has
called “The Greatest Generation.” They responded
to our nation’s and our world’s need in the
company of and in support of young men mostly,
1 The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola. (New York: Catholic Book Publishing, 1956), 115.
2 Joseph H. Fichter, James Laynez, Jesuit. (St. Louis, B. Herder Book Co., 1944), 277.
6 | introduction
�to love and serve
Introduction (continued)
much younger than themselves, and many
thousands of whom gave their lives in the
fight for freedom. All of these Chaplains have
long since gone to their eternal reward and,
like those whom and with whom they served,
with stories untold. Through their service
records, citations for “conspicuous gallantry
and intrepidity,” “meritorious achievement”
and “heroic conduct,” and in their own and in
the words of others, we catch a glimpse, not
only of their own generous service and often
courageous accomplishments, but also of their
appreciation and admiration for the youth of
our nation and for what one Chaplain described
as “The American Spirit.”
May 2014
Joseph P. Duffy, S.J.
3 Gerard F. Giblin, “Jesuits as Chaplains in the Armed Forces,” Woodstock Letters, 89, 323-482.
7 | introduction
�chapter 1 | to love and serve
First Chaplain
in american jesuit history one of the first to serve as a chaplain in the military was
none other than the renowned fr. john mcelroy, s.j., founder of boston college. For
reasons pragmatic and political rather than religious or spiritual, President James Polk was
anxious to have Catholic priests appointed as chaplains to American troops in the war
against Mexico.
W
ith the help of three Roman Catholic
bishops, he was able to secure the
services of Fr. John McElroy, S.J. at
the age of 64 and Fr. Anthony Rey, S.J., who
was 39 years of age.
The nature of their appointment was spelled
out in a letter to Fr. McElroy from the Secretary
of War W. L. Marcy. “It is proper that I should
apprize you that the existing laws do not authorize
the President to appoint and commission chaplains,
but he has authority to employ persons to perform
4
such duties as appertain to chaplains.” Marcy had
requested Fr. McElroy for his views of what those
duties might include and he was evidently pleased
that Marcy expressed them in his letter to General
Zachary Taylor, notifying him of their assignment.
“…it is his (Polk’s) wish that they be received in that
character (as chaplains) by you and your officers,
be respected as such and be treated with kindness
and courtesy – that they should be permitted to
have intercourse with the soldiers of the Catholic
Faith – to administer to them religious instruction,
to perform divine service for such as may wish to
attend whenever it can be done without interfering
with their military duties, and to have free access to
5
the sick or wounded in hospitals or elsewhere.”
After a long and difficult journey Father
McElroy arrived in Matamoras, Mexico where he
remained for a little more than ten months in 1846
and 1847 during which time he had been almost
constantly sick, suffering from a hernia condition.
This became so painful that some six months after
his arrival in Matamoras he was unable to mount a
horse to carry him around to the various hospitals.
Still it was in the various army hospitals that most
of his apostolic work was accomplished. His routine
involved daily Mass in a covered shed which served
as a sacristy, visits to the various buildings used as
hospitals, other visits to either troops moving up to
support the U. S. Army or returning units awaiting
discharge. As if this were not enough, in whatever
time he could spare, he began classes for the children of both merchants and Army personnel and
giving instructions to converts to Catholicism.
But apparently because of his age and physical
condition, in April 1847 he was directed by his
religious superior to return to Georgetown as soon
as convenient. (His fellow chaplain, Fr. Anthony
Rey, S.J., had been murdered by highway robbers
in 1847 during this conflict.) Before his return he
reflected on his ministry in Mexico and on the good
that can be accomplished in serving as a chaplain
4 John McElroy, “Chaplains for the Mexican War – 1846,” Woodstock Letters, 15, 200.
5 Ibid., 201.
8 | first chaplain
�chapter 1 | to love and serve
to members of the military. “I am now fully convinced, though I was not at the beginning of our
Mission, that our labors in these various departments had a happy effect on sectarian soldiers and
on the country generally. Not only time was necessary on our part to learn how to treat successfully
with the soldiers, both officers and privates, but also
it is important for them to have an opportunity of
learning somewhat of our religion, from our practice and our labors. Thus I found that those who
were shy in the commencement became familiar
and confident with us in the end. I think that very
few would depart this life either on the battlefield
from their wounds, or in the hospital by disease,
without accepting or calling for our ministry. It is in
such functions, our religion becomes in their eyes,
what it always was, a religion based upon charity,
6
having for its divine author the God of charity.”
A local newspaper offered an affirmation
of the impact that his presence as chaplain had on
the local community. “We are quite sure we express
the sentiments of every citizen of Matamoras when
we say it has sustained a loss in the departure from
our midst of Father McElroy. He was ever ready to
impart instruction or administer consolation to the
afflicted. His was not that cold, austere piety that
enshrouds itself in the cloak of bigotry and freezes
into an iceberg those who have been taught a different mode of worship. He held no one to accountability for a difference of opinion; his heart pulsated
only with devotion to his supreme Lord and Master,
7
and peace and good will to the human family.”
A later historian commented: “More good came
of Fr. McElroy’s and Fr. Rey’s chaplaincy than
McElroy could know. The two priests set an exemplary model in the Mexican war which their fellow
Catholic chaplains would follow in many later conflicts. They ministered to Catholic and non-Catholic
alike, to the enemy as well as their own people,
8
regardless of political or religious differences.”
The effects of their inspiring example are evident in
the dedicated service of the New England Province
Jesuits who have followed in their footsteps.
His loss to the citizens of Matamoras was to be
Boston’s gain where he was missioned upon his
return from Mexico and oversaw the founding of
Boston College, that, today, more than 150 years later
stands as the greatest monument in his memory.
6 John McElroy, “Chaplains for the Mexican War – 1846,” Woodstock Letters, 16, 228.
7 Ibid., 229.
8 Steven O’Brien, “Soldiers in Black: Father John McElroy and Father Anthony Rey in the Mexican-American War,”
Papers of the Bi-National Conference on the War between Mexico and the United States, ed. Douglas A. Murphy.
(Brownsville, TX: National Park Service, 1997).
9 | first chaplain
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Men for Others
world war ii chaplain service records
anyone involved with jesuit education for the past 40 years is familiar with the phrase,
“men for others” or its more recent and more inclusive variations, “men and women for others” or “persons for others.” It was first used by Father Pedro Arrupe, S.J., 28th General of the
Society of Jesus, in an address to the International Congress of Jesuit Alumni of Europe at
Valencia, Spain on July 31, 1973.
H
e stated that “our prime educational objective must be to form men-for-others…
men who cannot even conceive of love
of God which does not include love for the least
of our neighbors; men completely convinced that
love of God which does not issue in justice for men
9
is a farce.” The phrase with its ideal of unselfish
service has application in every area of our lives.
The military service records of our Jesuit chaplains
document such application in their readiness and
willingness to undertake any assignment, at home
or abroad, in which they can provide religious worship, supply moral support and spiritual guidance,
and bring the Sacraments to the sick, wounded and
dying under even the most dangerous and difficult
circumstances. For Americans engaged in the
struggle for peace in our country and around the
globe in World War II, they embodied what it truly
means to be “men for others.”
In an effort to achieve uniformity, where available, the following information has been included
in the service records:
n Name, dates of birth, entrance into Jesuits,
ordination and date of death.
n Date of commission and branch of service.
n Serial number.
n Date of appointment to various ranks.
n Place and date of assignments.
n Date of release from service.
n If recalled, second tour of duty.
n Awards.
This information is compiled from “Jesuits as Chaplains in the Armed Forces” by Gerard F. Giblin, S.J.,
Woodstock Letters, 89, 323-482.
9 Pedro Arrupe, “Men for Others,” Justice with Faith Today, ed. Jerome Aixala. (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources,
1980), 124.
10 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
john l. barry, s.j.
Born: 13 Jan 1911. Entered Jesuits: 9 Nov 1928. Ordained: 23 Jun 1940. Died: 3 Mar 1987. Commissioned
as First Lieutenant in the Army: 11 May 1945. Serial number: 0931664. To rank of Captain: 31 March 1953.
Assignment: Fort Jackson, SC (1945 to 1946).Recalled to active duty: Aug 1951. Assignments: Fort Leonard
Wood, MO (Aug 1951 to Dec 1951); Camp Gifu, Japan (Mar 1952 to May 1952); 11th Evacuation Hospital, Korea (May 1952 to Sep 1952); 7 th Division Artillery (Sep 1952 to Aug 1953); Fort Lee, VA (Sep 1953
to May 1955); Berlin, Germany (May 1955 to Feb 1958); Göppingen, Germany (Feb 1958 to Apr 1959);
Headquarters, 5th USA, Chicago (May 1959 to 1970) Awards: Bronze Star; Purple Heart.
john l. bonn, s.j.
Born: 23 Oct 1906. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1923. Ordained: 23 Jun 1935. Died: 17 Jan 1975. Commissioned
as Lieutenant (j.g.) in the Navy 7 Apr 1943. Serial number: 307221. To Lieutenant: 1 Jan 1945. Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (13 Sep 1943 to 7 Nov 1943); Naval Training Station, Great
Lakes, IL (19 Nov 1943 to 22 Jan 1944); Naval Air Station, Ottumwa, IA (27 Jan 1944 to 21 Oct 1944);
13th Naval District (Northwest coast of U.S.: 2 Jan 1945 until relieved of duty). Reverted to inactive status: 31
Oct 1945. Retired from Naval Reserve: 1 Jan 1954.
bernard r. boylan, s.j.
Born: 5 May 1905. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1924. Ordained 21 Jun 1936. Died: 29 Jan 1978. Commissioned
as Lieutenant (j.g.) in the Navy: 6 Mar 1943. Serial number: 262652. To Lieutenant: 1 Jun 1944. Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (18 Apr 1943 to 6 Jun 1943); Naval Hospital, New River, NC
(18 Jun 1943 to 7 Apr 1944); with Commander, 7 th Fleet, Australia (Apr 1944 to 14 Jun 1945); 88th Naval
Construction Battalion, New Guinea (14 Jun 1945 to 8 Oct 1945); Naval Air Base #3964, Philippines
(8 Oct 1945 to 14 Dec 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 28 Mar 1946. Appointed Lieutenant Commander
in the Naval Reserve. Resigned from the Naval Reserve: 9 Feb 1951. Award: Navy and Marine Corps Medal.
thomas a. brennan, s.j.
Born: 27 Dec 1895. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1915. Ordained: 20 Jun 1928. Died: 27 Dec 1967. Appointed to the
Army: 4 Apr 1945. Serial number: 0931744. Assignments: Chaplain School, Fort Devens, MA (11 May
1945 to 22 Jun 1945); Fort Mason, San Francisco, CA (22 Jun 1945 to 7 Jul 1945); Camp Stoneman, CA
(7 Jul 1945 to 14 Jul 1945); Fort Ord, CA (14 Jul 1945 to 17 Apr 1946). Reverted to inactive status: 17 May
1946. Retired as Captain in the Officers’ Reserve Corps: 1946.
11 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Laurence M. Brock, S.J.
Born: 30 May 1903. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1923. Ordained: 21 Jun 1935. Died: 9 Feb 1989. Appointed
to the Army: 16 Jan 1941. Serial number: 0403400. To rank of Major: (182nd Infantry, Mass. N. G.)
15 Nov. 1947; to Lieutenant Colonel: 12 Apr 1958. Assignments: 182nd Infantry Regiment, 26th Division,
Camp Edwards, MA (1941); 182nd Regiment, 26th Division, Southwest Pacific Area (1942 to 1944); Fort
Devens, MA (20 Jul 1944); 1448th SCU, Camp Blanding, FL (13 Nov 1944); 1400th SCU, Headquarters,
4th Service Command, Atlanta, GA (29 Jul 1945). Relieved of active duty: 15 May 1946. Award: Legion
of Merit.
Anthony G. Carroll, S.J.
Born: 9 Aug 1906. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1922. Ordained: 23 Jun 1935. Appointed to Army: 12 Jan 1940.
Serial number: 0386674. To the rank of Captain: 24 Apr 1942; to Major: 12 May 1945. Assignments: from
1942 to 1945 served with Army Air Force Units in Australia, New Guinea, Philippines and Japan. Served
in the United States and overseas with the 102nd Coast Artillery. Overseas with the following units: 380th
Bombardment Group; 8th Fighter Group; 5th Fighter Command. Reverted to inactive status: 9 Nov 1946.
John L. Clancy, S.J.
Born: 25 Oct 1903. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1922. Ordained: 20 Jun 1934. Died: 11 Apr 1984. Commissioned
in the Army as First lieutenant: 28 Dec 1937. Serial number: 0361159. To rank of Captain: 20 Jun 1942;
to Major: 27 Sep 1945. Assignments: Chaplain, Civilian Conservation Corps; Fort Edwards, MA with
68th Coast Artillery, 26th Division Special Troops, 181st Infantry Regiment; Eastern Defense Command;
Cushing General Hospital, Framingham, MA; Panamarim Field, Natal, Brazil; served also with units of
the Air Transport Command. Reverted to inactive status: 15 May 1946.JFCSJ
jeremiah f. coleman, s.j.
Born: 16 Jun 1911. Entered Jesuits: 7 Sep 1928. Ordained: 22 Jun 1940. Died: 7 May 1961. Appointed to
the Army: 6 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0549368. To the rank of Captain: 4 Apr 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (30 Apr 1944); Headquarters, 3rd Air Force, Tampa, FL (16 May 1944); 335 AAF
BU Dale Mabry Field, FL (15 Jun 1944); 354 AAF BU, Rapid City Air Base, SD (9 Nov 1945). Reverted to
inactive status: 14 Apr 1946. Recalled: 15 Jun 1951. Assignments: Camp Kilmer, NJ (1951); Germany
(1952). Returned to Camp Kilmer and relieved of active duty: 28 Oct. 1952.
12 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
J. Bryan Connors, S.J.
Born: 15 Mar 1898. Entered Jesuits: 15 Aug 1918. Ordained: 16 Jun 1931. Died: 24 Oct 1970. Appointed
to the Army: 27 Sep 1944. Serial number: 0927185. To the rank of Captain: 18 Sep 1945. Assignments:
Chaplain School, Fort Devens, MA (7 Oct 1944); Keesler Field, Biloxi, MS (1944 to 1946). Reverted to
inactive status: 20 May 1946.
Joseph P. Curran, S.J.
Born: 5 Jan 1910. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1929. Ordained: 22 Jun 1940. Appointed to the Army: 19 Apr
1944. Serial number: 0550495. To the rank of Captain: 25 Jun 1945. Assignments: Harvard Chaplain
School (30 Apr 1944); Venice, FL (12 Jun 1944 to Nov 1945), Stuttgart, AR (Nov 1945 to Dec 1945); Brooks
Field, San Antonio, TX (Dec 1945 to Jan 1946); Biggs Field, El Paso, TX (Jan 1946 to Feb. 1946); Mitchell
Field, NY (Feb 1946 to Apr 1946). Reverted to inactive status: 23 May 1946.
John F. Devlin, S.J.
Born: 25 Nov 1905. Entered Jesuits: 8 Sep 1927. Ordained: 19 Jun 1938. Died: 19 Nov 1981. Appointed
to the Army: 24 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0550793. To the rank of Captain: 18 May 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (1 May 1944); Richmond Army Air Base, VA; Camp Springs Army Air Base,
Washington, DC; Bradley Field, Windsor Locks, CT; Westover Army Air Base, Chicopee, MA; Seymour
Johnson Army Air Base, Goldsboro, NC; Charleston Army Air Base, SC; Chatham Field, Savannah, GA;
Myrtle Beach Army Air Base, SC; Shaw Field, Sumter, SC. Reverted to inactive status: 19 May 1946.
James J. Dolan, S.J.
Born: 25 Apr 1903. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1920. Ordained: 22 Jun 1933. Died: 5 Mar 1952. Appointed to
the Army: 21 Dec 1940. Serial number: 0402252. To the rank of Captain: 1 Feb 1943; To Major: 30 Jan
1946. Assignments: 63rd Coast Artillery, Fort Bliss, TX (1941); Fort Lewis, WA (1941); Hawaii (10 Dec 1941
to 30 Nov 1942; Harvard Chaplain School (30 Nov 1942); 63rd Coast Artillery, Seattle WA (Feb 1943 to
Feb 1944); 13th Replacement Depot, Hawaii (28 Mar 1944); 751st AAA, Guam and Saipan (28 Jul 1944 to
end 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 30 May 1946. Award: Bronze Star.
13 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Michael J. Doody, S.J.
Born: 25 Mar 1898. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1918. Ordained: 20 Jun 1932. Died: 10 Apr 1988. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 3 Mar 1942. Serial number: 139093. To Lieutenant Commander: 10 Jul 1945.
Assignments: Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (6 Apr 1942 to 30 May 1942); Naval Hospital, Aiea Heights,
Hawaii (21 Jun 1942 to 10 Jan 1944); Naval Air Station, Glynco, Brunswick, GA (10 Feb 1944 to 23 Nov
1944); U.S.S. Richmond (cruiser) (19 Dec 1944 to 27 Nov 1945); Personnel Separation Center, Great Lakes,
IL (12 Dec 1945 to 22 Apr 1946). Reverted to inactive status: 19 Jul 1946. Resigned from Naval Reserve:
20 Jan 1954.
William J. Duffy, S. J.
Born: 1 Jan 1902. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1918. Ordained: 16 Jun 1931. Died: 23 Jul 1998. Appointed to the
Army: 25 Jan 1944. Serial number: 0544422. To the rank of Captain: 10 Oct 1945. Assignments: Harvard
Chaplain School (10 Feb 1944); Stark General Hospital, Charleston, SC; Finney General Hospital,
Thomasville, GA; 755th Anti-Aircraft Gun Battalion, Hawaii; Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. Reverted to
inactive status: 22 Oct 1946.
John J. Dugan, S.J.
Born: 26 Jun 1897. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1915. Ordained: 20 Jun 1928. Died: 6 Dec 1964. Appointed to
Army: 28 Aug 1936. Serial number: 0348200. To the rank of Captain: 6 Feb 1941; to Major: 18 Feb 1945;
to Lieutenant Colonel (Massachusetts National Guard): 11 May 1946; separated from the Mass. National
Guard as Colonel Jun 1953; separated from the Army Reserve as Lieutenant Colonel 25 May 1954.
Assignments: Chaplain USAR, CCC, VT (Nov 1937 to Jun 1940); Fort Riley, KS (Jun 1940 to Sep 1941);
to Philippines (Oct 1941); to Bilibid Prison, Manila (20 Jun 1942); to Cabanatuan, Luzon, Prison Camp #1
(3 Jul 1942); to Cabu, Luzon, Prison Camp #3 (10 Jul 1942); to Cabanatuan, Luzon, Prison Camp # 1 (1 Nov
th
1942); liberated by 6 Ranger Battalion (30 Jan 1945); arrived in San Francisco (8 May 1945); Chaplain,
Cushing General Hospital, Framingham, MA (May 1945). Relieved of active duty: 25 Aug 1946. Recalled:
21 Jun 1948. Assignments: Randolph Field, TX (Jun 1948); Oliver General Hospital, Augusta, GA (Sep 1949);
Fort Custer, MI (Feb 1950): Camp Crawford, Hokkaido, Japan (Oct 1950); Guam (Feb 1951); Manila (Feb 1952);
Camp Stewart, Hinesville, GA (Feb 1953). Relieved of active duty: Jun 1953. Awards: Bronze Star;
Army Commendation Ribbon.
14 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Thomas A. Fay, S.J.
Born: 15 Jan 1892. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1911. Ordained: 28 Jun 1925. Died: 14 Mar 1969. Commissioned in
the United States Merchant Marine: 15 Dec 1942. Taught in Officers’ Schools on Hoffman Island, NY, Gallups
Island, Boston, and at Alameda, CA. Reached rank of Lieutenant Commander. Released from duty: Nov 1945.
Thomas P. Fay, S.J.
Born: 29 Aug 1905. Entered Jesuits: 14 Sep 1931. Ordained: 22 Jun 1940. Died: 23 Jun 1988. Appointed to
the Army: 12 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0549900. To the rank of Captain: 16 May 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (30 Apr 1944); in U. S. with 61st Ordnance Group; in U. S. and Europe with 1151
Engineer Combat Group and 3230 Engineer Service Battalion. Reverted to inactive duty status: 11 Aug
1946. Recalled 5 Aug 1948 and served with Air Force units for over a year during which time he was in
Germany for period of the Berlin Air Lift. Reverted to inactive duty: 3 Nov 1949. Award: Benemerenti
(Papal Decoration).
Bernard J. Finnegan, S.J.
Born: 9 Jan 1906. Entered Jesuits: 7 Sep 1929. Ordained: 22 Jun 1940. Died:19 Dec 1979. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 18 Jan 1945. Serial number: 445079. To Lieutenant Commander: 1 Aug 1951;
to Commander: 1 Jul 1956. Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (26 Feb 1945 to 21 Apr
1945); Naval Hospital, Shoemaker, CA (Apr 1945 to Jun 1945); U.S.S. Bottineau (attack troop transport)
(Jun 1945 to Dec 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 21 Mar 1946. Recalled: Oct 1950. Assignments: Naval Training Station, Newport, RI (Oct 1950 to Apr 1953); Assistant Fleet Chaplain, Commander, Service
Force, Atlantic, Norfolk, VA (Apr 1953 to Feb 1955); National Naval Medical Center, Bethesda, MD (Feb
1955 to Aug 1955); Naval Hospital, Newport, RI (Aug 1955 to 1957). Relieved of active duty: 1957.
John P. Foley, S.J.
Born: 6 Jun 1904. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1923. Ordained: 21 Jun 1936. Died: 21 Oct 1995. Commissioned
as Lieutenant (j.g.) in the Navy: 22 Feb 1942. Serial number: 133964. To Lieutenant: 1 Mar 1943;
to Lieutenant Commander: 3 Oct 1945. Assignments: Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (20 Apr 1942 to 12
Jun 1942); U.S.S. George Clymer (attack transport) (25 Jun 1942 to 15 Mar 1944); National Naval Medical
Center, Bethesda, MD (30 May 1944 to 15 Jan 1945); U.S.S. Vella Gulf (escort carrier) (27 Jan 1945 to 10
Nov 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 14 Jan 1946. Resigned from the Naval Reserve: 6 Apr 1946.
15 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Frederick A. Gallagher, S.J.
Born: 5 Aug 1898. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1917. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Died: 25 May 1964. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 11 Mar 1942. Serial number: 136485. To Lieutenant Commander: 1 Mar 1944;
to Commander: 5 Nov 1945. Assignments: Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (20 Apr 1942 to 12 Jun 1942);
Marine Barracks, Parris Island, SC (15 Jun 1942 to 7 Oct 1942); U.S.S. Tryon (armed hospital evacuation
ship) (7 Oct 1942 to 11 Mar 1943); Fleet Marine Force, 1st Marine Amphibious Corps (11 Mar 1943 to
1 Aug 1944); Naval Hospital, St. Albans, NY (11 Sep 1944 to 2 May 1946). Reverted to inactive status:
16 Jul 1946. Resigned from the Naval Reserve: 20 Oct 1953.
James F. Geary, S.J.
Born: 21 May 1905. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1925. Ordained: 20 Jun 1937. Died: 8 Sep 1980. Appointed
to the Army: 13 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0549986. To the rank of Captain: 1 Oct 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (30 Apr 1944); Infantry Training Battalion, Camp Croft, Spartanburg, SC;
Indiantown Gap, PA; Camp Kilmer, NJ; replacement depots, England, Belgium, Germany and France;
115th Station Hospital at Plaistow Downs, England, Metz, France and Augsburg, Germany. Reverted to
inactive status: 27 Jan 1946.
Thomas P. Hennessey, S.J.
Born: 30 Nov 1908. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1926. Ordained: 17 Jun 1939. Died: 10 Apr 1978. Appointed
to the Army: 6 Aug 1943. Serial number: 0530788. To the rank of Captain: 16 Oct 1944; to Major:
1 Aug 1947; to Lieutenant Colonel: 13 May 1956. Assignments: 7 th Service Command, Fort Riley, KS (1943
to 1944); Chaplain School (3 Jan 1944); to France with 11th Regiment, 5th Infantry Division (13 Jun 1944);
Fort Campbell, KY (23 Jul 1945); Walter Reed Hospital, Washington, DC (1946 to 1947); Fort Ruger,
Hawaii (1947 to 1948). Separated from service in 1948. Recalled to Army 1951. Assignments: Fort McClellan, AL (1951 to 1953); Eielson Air Base, Fairbanks, AK (1953 to 1955); 505th Missile Battalion, Fort Tilden, NY
(1955 to 1958); Metz and Orleans, France (1958–1960). Relieved of active duty: 1968. Award: Bronze Star.
Harry L. Huss, S.J.
Born: 23 May 1903. Entered Jesuits: 8 Sep 1926. Ordained: 20 Jun 1937. Died: 25 Feb 1976. Appointed to
the Army: 28 Dec 1942. Serial number: 0509085. To the rank of Captain: Jul 1944; to Major: 19 Sep 1945.
Assignments: Harvard Chaplain School (3 Feb 1943); 52nd Coast Artillery, Fort Eustis, VA (3 Mar 1943),
and Fort Hancock, NJ (1 Apr 1943); 181st Infantry, Fort Devens, MA (Nov 1943). (continued)
16 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Harry L. Huss, S.J. (continued)
Assignments overseas: (1944 and 1945): Western Base Section, Chester, England; Channel Base Section,
Lille, France; Chanor Base Section, Brussels, Belgium. Reverted to inactive status: 5 Jun 1946. Award:
Bronze Star.
John J. Kelleher, S.J.
Born: 18 Sep 1908. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1928. Ordained: 22 Jun 1940. Died: 16 Dec 1964. Appointed to
the Army: 19 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0550493. To the rank of Captain: 21 Feb 1945; to Major: 12 Apr
1948; to Lieutenant Colonel: 10 May 1955. Assignments: Harvard Chaplain School (30 Apr 1944); Camp
Atterbury, IN and Crile General Hospital, Cleveland, OH (1944); Hawaii (1944 to 1945); Governors
Island, NY and Fort Dix, NJ (1946); Fort Monmouth, NJ and New Mexico (1947); Fort Sam Houston, TX
(1948); Okinawa (1949); Camp Gordon, GA (1950); U. S. Army, Europe (1951 to 1953); Camp Kilmer, NJ
(1954); Camp Dix, NJ (1955 to 1957); U. S. Forces, Caribbean (1957 to 1958); Nike Base, Coventry, RI (1958);
Headquarters, 11th Artillery Group, Rehoboth, MA (1959 to 1960); Headquarters, 11th Engineer Group,
Schwetzingen, Germany (Apr 1960 to 1964). Relieved of active duty with the rank of Major: 1964.
William J. Kenealy, S.J.
Born: 30 Jul 1904. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1922. Ordained: 20 Jun 1934. Died: 2 Mar 1974. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 2 Jan 1943. Serial number: 246575. To Lieutenant Commander: 3 Oct 1945.
Assignments: Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (22 Feb 1943 to 25 Apr 1943); Pre-Flight School, St. Mary’s
College, CA (12 May 1943 to 15 Sep 1943); U.S.S. California (battleship) (26 Sep 1943 until relieved from
duty) during which time he saw service in the invasions of Guam, Saipan, Tinian, Palau Islands, Leyte
Gulf, Lingayan Gulf, and Okinawa; participated in the sea battle of Surigao Strait. Reverted to inactive
status: 6 Feb 1946. Retired from the Naval Reserve: 1 Nov 1953.
Walter E. Kennedy, S.J.
Born: 20 Nov 1910. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1928. Ordained: 22 Jun 1940. Died: 5 Dec. 1966. Appointed to
the Army: 27 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0551228. To the rank of Captain: Feb 1945. Assignments: Harvard
Chaplain School (1 May 1944); Fort Leonard Wood, MO, as Chaplain for Engineers; Camp Barkeley, TX;
189th General Hospital, Lison, France; 189th General Hospital and 333rd Engineers, Mourmelon-le-Grand,
France; Assistant Chaplain, Base Section, Rheims, France; Base Section Chaplain, Bad Nauheim
Germany, Continental Base. Reverted to inactive status with the rank of Major: 4 May 1946.
17 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
George A. King, S.J.
Born: 23 Oct 1907. Entered Jesuits: 15 Aug 1925. Ordained: 20 Jun 1937. Died: 6 Jan 1965. Appointed
to the Army: 26 Aug 1942. Serial number: 0492181. To the rank of Captain: 1 Feb 1944; to Major:
6 Apr 1945. Assignments: 48th Evacuation Hospital, Tennessee Maneuvers (Aug to Oct 1942); Chaplain
School, Fort Devens, MA (30 Nov 1942); Ledo Road, Assam through Burma (March 1943); Base Chaplain,
Chabua, India, serving also units of Air Service Command and 10th Air Force (Nov 1943 to Nov 1944);
Headquarters, ADMAC, American New Delhi Command (Nov 1944 to Sep 1945). Reverted to inactive
status: 4 Feb 1946.
William J. Leonard, S.J.
Born: 10 Apr 1908. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1925. Ordained: 20 Jun 1937. Died: 11 Feb 2000. Appointed to
the Army: 24 Jan 1944. Serial number: 0544318. To the rank of Captain: 26 Jun 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (10 Feb 1944); 86th Infantry Division, Camp Livingston, Alexandria, LA;
9th Ordnance Battalion, Finschhafen, New Guinea and Mangaldan, Luzon; Headquarters Base X, Manila.
Reverted to inactive status: 28 Jul 1946.JJLS
john j. long, s.j.
Born: 20 Feb 1904. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1920. Ordained: 22 Jun 1933. Died: 17 Jul 1964. Appointed
to the Army: 31 Jul 1942. Serial number: 0487098. To the rank of Captain: 19 Mar 1943; to Major: 25 Oct
1943; to Lieutenant Colonel: 19 Jul 1946. Assignments: Mitchell Field, Long Island (1942 to 1944);
5th Air Force, Southwest Pacific, Philippines and Japan (1944 to 1946). Reverted to inactive status:
27 Oct 1946. Recalled to the Army: 22 Jul 1947. Assignments: 28th Bombardment Wing, Rapid City, SD
(1947 to 1948); Antilles Air Division, Puerto Rico (1948 to 1949); Caribbean Air Command, Panama,
Canal Zone (1949 to 1951); Lackland Air Force Base, TX (1951 to 1953); Headquarters, 5th Air Division,
French Morocco (1953 to 1954); Loring Air Force Base, ME (1954 to 1956). In Aug 1949 Father Long was
transferred to the Air Force; Serial number: A0487098. Reverted to inactive status: 1 May 1956.
Daniel J. Lynch, S.J.
Born: 1 Jan 1879. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1900. Ordained: 28 Jun 1916. Died: 13 Nov 1952.
Commissioned as First Lieutenant in the Army: 16 Apr 1918. Stationed at Blois and Tours with the
310th Infantry, 78th Division. Brigaded with the British near Arras. In action at the St. Mihiel
Offensive at Thiaucourt, and Liney Sector at St. Juvin in Meuse-Argonne Offensive. Cited by
General Pershing in a letter dated 11 Nov 1919 for conspicuous and meritorious (continued)
18 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
daniel j. lynch, s.j. (continued)
service at Bois des Loges. Discharged 29 May 1919 at Camp Lee, VA. To the rank of Captain:
31 Dec 1924; to Major: (National Guard) 20 Jul 1935; to Lieutenant Colonel: (National Guard) 15 May
1936. Recalled to the Army: 16 Jan 1941. Serial number: 0208785. Assignment: Assistant Chaplain
26th Division at Camp Edwards, MA and Fort Devens, MA (16 Jan 1941 to 19 Feb 1942). Honorably
discharged for physical disability resulting from a heart attack: 7 May 1942. Appointed Brigadier General,
Massachusetts Organized Militia: 16 Dec 1946. Award: Purple Heart.
John F. Lyons, S.J.
Born: 22 Oct 1904. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1926. Ordained: 17 Jun 1939. Died: 17 Jul 1964. Appointed
to the Army: 24 Jan 1944. Serial number: 0544278. To the rank of Captain: 16 Aug 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (11 Feb 1944); Mason General Hospital, Brentwood, Long Island (1944);
34th General Hospital, Atlantic City, NJ, and France (1944); 48th General Hospital, France (1944);
305th Bombardment Group, France (1945); 305th and 306th Bombardment Group, France (1946);
414th Air Service Group, France (1946). Reverted to inactive status: 17 Feb 1947.
Francis J. MacDonald, S.J.
Born: 29 Mar 1897. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1917. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Died: 14 Dec 1979. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 11 Sep 1942. Serial number: 207850. To Lieutenant Commander: 3 Oct 1945.
Assignments: Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (5 Oct 1942 to 29 Nov 1942); Mobile Hospital #7 (12 Mar 1943
to 22 May 1944); Naval Training Center, Bainbridge (13 Jul 1944 to 2 Mar 1945); U.S.S. Tutuila (15 Apr
1945 to Oct 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 13 Mar 1946. Released from Naval Reserve: 15 Oct 1954.
Harry C. MacLeod, S.J.
Born: 23 Aug 1900. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1917. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Commissioned as Lieutenant
in the Navy: 21 Aug 1942. Serial number: 200219. To Lieutenant Commander: 3 Oct 1945. Assignments:
Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (21 Sep 1942 to 13 Nov 1942); Amphibious Training Base, Solomons, MD
(23 Nov 1942 to 3 Aug 1943); Commander Naval Base, FOLD (6 Oct 1943 to 20 Mar 1944); Landing Craft
Repair Base #2 (8 Apr 1944 to Jan 1945); Naval Hospital, Fort Eustis, VA (22 Apr 1945 until relieved of
active duty). Reverted to inactive status: 1 Dec 1946.
19 | men for others
DJLS
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Leo P. McCauley, S.J.
Born: 8 May 1904. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1922. Ordained: 20 Jun 1934. Died: 31 Dec 1993. Commissioned as Lieutenant in the Navy: 31 Aug 1943. Serial number: 317540. To Lieutenant Commander:
3 Oct 1945. Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (11 Oct 1943 to 5 Dec 1943); Naval
Construction Training Center, Camp Peary, Williamsburg, VA (11 Dec 1943 to 11 Apr 1944); USN
Advanced Base, Dartmouth, Devon, England (May 1944 to August 1944); Naval Advanced Base, Fowey,
Cornwall, England (Aug 1944 to Oct 1944); Port Chaplain, Le Havre, France (Oct 1944 to Jul 1945);
Port Hueneme, CA (12 Aug 1945 to Mar 1946). Reverted to inactive status: 12 Mar 1946.
James D. McLaughlin, S.J.
Born: 11 Nov 1901. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1917. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Died: 24 Dec 1977. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 6 Nov 1943. Serial number: 335812. To Lieutenant Commander: 1 Jan 1946.
Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (3 Jan 1944 to 27 Feb 1944); Naval Hospital, San Diego
(12 Mar 1944 to 7 Jul 1944); 2nd Naval Construction Brigade (13 Jul 1944 to 2 Dec 1944); 121st Naval
Construction Base (2 Dec 1944 until relieved of active duty). Reverted to inactive status: 31 July 1946.
Released from the Naval Reserve: 15 Oct 1954.
Carl H. Morgan, S.J.
Born: 24 Mar 1908. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1926. Ordained: 19 Jun 1938. Appointed to the Army: 1 Feb
1945. Serial number: 0930671. To the rank of Captain: 27 Sep 1950. Assignments: Chaplain School, Fort
Devens, MA ((Feb 1945); Fort Wadsworth, South Island (Aug 1946 to May 1947); 11th Airborne, Sapporo,
Japan (May 1947 to Jan 1948); Osaka Army Hospital (Jan 1948 to Nov 1949); 82nd Airborne, Fayetteville
(Nov 1949 to Jul 1950); 8069 Replacement Depot, Sasebo (Jul 1950 to Dec 1950); Headquarters, Kobe
Base (Dec 1950 to Oct 1951); 279th General Hospital, Sakai (Oct 1951 to Dec 1952); 8022 A.U., Kumamoto
(Dec 1952); Fort Lee, VA (1953 to 1954). Reverted to inactive status: 30 Nov 1954.
Francis J. Murphy, S.J.
Born: 15 Jul 1905. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1924. Ordained: 21 Jun 1936. Died: 31 May 1995. Appointed to
the Army: 27 Mar 1945. Serial number: 0931658. To the rank of Captain: 24 Dec 1945. Assignments: Fort
Devens Chaplain School (11 May 1945); 33rd Infantry Division, Philippines (1945); 123rd Infantry Regiment,
Kobe, Japan (1945); Japan (1946); 38th Regimental Combat Team, Camp Carson, CO (1947). Relieved of
active duty: 16 July 1947. Recalled for a short time and again relieved: 4 May 1948.
20 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
George M. Murphy, S.J.
Born: 13 Oct 1899. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1917. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Died: 11 Jun 1971. Commissioned
First Lieutenant in the Army Reserve: 26 Aug 1938. Resigned: 28 Aug 1940. Commissioned First
Lieutenant in Massachusetts National Guard: 13 Aug 1940. Ordered into active service: 16 Sep 1940.
Serial number: 0371536. To the rank of Captain: 28 May 1942; to Major: 31 Jul 1945. Assignments:
241st Coast Artillery, Fort Andrews, MA (26 Sep 1940 to 9 Mar 1942); 50th Coast Artillery, Camp Pendleton, VA (4 Mar 1942 to 3 Apr 1942); Headquarters, Headquarters Battery and 3rd Battalion, 50th Coast
Artillery, and 20th Coast Artillery, Galveston (3 Apr 1942 to 4 Jun 1942); 50th Coast Artillery, Camp
Pendleton, VA (4 Jun 1942 to 5 Aug 1942); Harvard Chaplain School (5 Aug 1942 to 17 Sep 1942); Camp
Pendleton, VA (17 Sep 1942 to 10 Dec 1942); Chaplain, Harbor Defenses, Key West, FL (10 Dec 1942 to 13
May 1943); 50th Coast Artillery Regiment, Montauk Point, NY (13 May 1943 to 20 Sep 1943); Fort McKinley, Casco Bay, ME (20 Sep 1943 to 14 Dec 1943); Camp Hero, Montauk Point, NY (14 Dec 1943 to 14 Jan
1944); Headquarters, 16th Cavalry, Framingham, MA (17 Jan 1944 to 18 May 1944); 2nd Coast Artillery,
Fort Story, VA (18 May 1944 to 15 Jun 1944); Harbor Defenses, Chesapeake Bay (15 Jun 1944 to 25 Sep
1944); Woodrow Wilson General Hospital, Staunton, VA (25 Sep 1944 to 29 Dec 1944); Valley Forge
General Hospital, Phoenixville, PA (29 Dec 1944 to 31 Jan 1946). Reverted to inactive status: 18 Jun 1946.
Award: Army Commendation Ribbon.
Paul J. Murphy, S.J.
Born: 18 Nov 1908. Entered Jesuits: 7 Sep 1926. Ordained: 19 Jun 1938. Died: 27 Aug 1990. Originally
appointed as chaplain in the U. S. Maritime Service: Feb 1943. Served at Officers’ School, Alameda, CA,
until May 1944. Commissioned as Lieutenant (j.g.) in the Navy: 7 Jun 1944. Serial number: 394865.
To Lieutenant: 1 Feb 1946. Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (3 Jul 1944 to 27 Aug 1944);
Naval Hospital, Great Lakes, IL (8 Sep 1944 to 12 Mar 1945); Bogue Field, NC (18 Mar 1945 to 22 Aug 1945);
U.S.S. General Meigs (transport) (22 Aug 1945 to Mar 1946); Naval Hospital, Newport, RI (16 Mar 1946
until relieved). Reverted to inactive status: 14 Jul 1946. Resigned from the Naval Reserve: 13 Oct 1953.
Vincent de P. O’Brien, S.J.
Born: 23 Aug 1907. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1925. Ordained: 20 Jun 1937. Died: 5 Jul 1987. Served with
the United States Maritime Service: Feb 1945 to Dec 1945.
21 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Joseph T. O’Callahan, S.J.
Born; 14 May 1905. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1922. Ordained: 20 Jun 1934. Died: 18 Mar 1964.
Commissioned at Lieutenant (j.g.) in the Navy: 7 Aug 1940. Serial number: 87280. To Lieutenant:
2 Jan 1942; to Lieutenant Commander: 1 Jul 1943; to Commander: 20 Jul 1945. Assignments: Naval
Air Station, Pensacola (23 Nov 1940 to 20 Apr 1942); U.S.S. Ranger (carrier) (31 May 1942 to
May 1944) during which time the carrier served in North Atlantic waters and in the invasion
of North Africa; Naval Air Station, Alameda (May 1944 to Dec 1944); Naval Air Station, Hawaii
(23 Dec 1944 to 2 Mar 1945); U.S.S. Franklin (2 Mar 1945 to 8 Apr 1946) during which time the
carrier was hit by enemy bombs in waters off the coast of Japan, 19 Mar 1945; Bureau of Personnel (April 1945 until relieved of active duty). Acted as official escort chaplain for the body of
Manuel Quezon (first president of the Philippine Islands) from Washington, DC to Manila, P.I.
Reverted to inactive status: 12 Nov 1946. Retired from the Naval Reserve: 1 Nov 1953.
Awards: Medal of Honor; Purple Heart.
Daniel F. X. O’Connor, S.J.
Born: 12 Oct 1900. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1918. Ordained: 16 Jun 1931. Died: 12 Sep 1958. Commissioned as Lieutenant in the Navy: 18 May 1942. Serial number: 169209. To Lieutenant Commander:
17 Oct 1944. Assignments: Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (6 Jul 1942 to 28 Aug 1942); Naval
Hospital, Corona, CA (10 Sep 1942 to 10 Sep 1943); 14th Naval District, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii
(18 Sep 1943 to 10 Jan 1944); Naval Operating Base, Midway Island (10 Jan 1944 to 10 Oct 1944);
Iroquois Point, Oahu, Hawaii (13 Oct 1944 to 2 Jun 1945); Navy Base, Port Hueneme, CA
(6 Jul 1945 to 18 Sep 1945); Naval Training Center, San Diego (23 Sep 1945 to Apr 1946).
Reverted to inactive status: 26 May 1946. Resigned from Naval Reserve: 18 Feb 1957.
Leo P. O’Keefe, S.J.
Born: 10 Apr 1908. Entered Jesuits: 15 Aug 1929. Ordained: 17 Jun 1939. Died: 16 Nov 1991. Appointed
to the Army: 29 Jan 1944. Serial number: 0544766. To the rank of Captain: 25 Jan 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (14 Mar 1944); Randolph Field, TX (1944 to 1946). Reverted to inactive status:
22 Apr 1946.
22 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Charles J. Reardon, S.J.
Born: 2 May 1907. Entered Jesuits: 7 Sep 1927. Ordained: 17 Jun 1939. Died: 28 Jun 1991. Appointed
to the Army: 29 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0551384. To the rank of Captain: 1 May 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (8 Jun 1944); Camp Gordon, Augusta, GA (15 Jul 1944); Fort Jackson, SC
(20 Sep 1944); England, France, Holland and Germany (Oct 1944 to May 1945); 15th General Hospital,
Belgium (28 Jul 1945). Served in the United States and overseas with 1147 th Engineer Combat Group.
Reverted to inactive status: 22 Sep 1946.
Charles M. Roddy, S.J.
Born: 26 Sep 1888. Entered Jesuits: 7 May 1910. Ordained: 26 Jun 1923. Died: 11 May 1967. Appointed
to the Army: 2 Aug 1943. Serial number: 0530276. To the rank of Captain: 28 Jul 1944. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (1 Oct 1943); Fort George Meade, MD (1943); Carlisle Barracks, PA and Camp
Lee, VA (1944); hospital ship chaplain (1945). Reverted to inactive status: 18 Mar 1946.
Richard L. Rooney, S.J.
Born: 21 Oct 1903. Entered Jesuits: 15 Aug 1923. Ordained: 23 Jun 1935. Died: 2 Feb 1977. Appointed
to the Army: 13 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0549988. To the rank of Captain: 21 Apr 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (30 Apr 1944); Army Air Force Base, Biggs Field, El Paso, TX. Reverted to
inactive status: 28 Feb 1946.
Daniel F. Ryan, S.J.
Born: 30 Jul 1888. Entered Jesuits: 13 Aug 1905. Ordained: 29 Jun 1920. Died: 8 Jan 1970. Appointed
to the Army: 29 May 1943. Serial number: 0523595. To the rank of Captain: 28 Jul 1944. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (4 Nov 1943); Woodrow Wilson General Hospital, Staunton, VA; Indiantown
Gap Military Reservation, PA. Reverted to inactive status: 20 May 1946.
John D. St. John, S.J.
Born: 9 Feb 1908. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1925. Ordained: 20 Jun 1937. Died: 9 Sep 1992. Appointed to
the Army: 6 Apr 1942. Serial number: 0447906. To the rank of Captain: 7 Dec 1942; to Major: 17 Aug
1944; to Lieutenant Colonel: 7 Jun 1946. Assignments: 324th Air Force Service Group, Orlando, FL
(22 Apr 1942 to 21 Aug 1942); 324th Air Force Service Group, Lakeland, FL (22 Aug 1942 to 26 Dec 1942);
324th Air Force Service Group, Algeria, Tunisia (Jan 1943 to Dec 1943); (continued)
23 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
John D. St. John, S.J. (continued)
324th Air Service Group, Foggia, Italy (Dec 1943 to May 1944); 304th Bombardment Wing, Cerignola, Italy
(May 1944 to Sep 1944); Headquarters, 15th Air Force, Bari, Italy (Sep 1944 to May 1945); 304th Bombardment Wing, Cerignola, Italy (May 1945 to Sep 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 7 Feb 1946. Appointed to
the Air Force: Jan 1949. Serial number: A0447906. To the rank of Colonel: 17 Dec 1956. Assignments:
Office of the Air Force Chief of Chaplains to organize and conduct missions for Air Force personnel
(5 Jan 1949 to 1 Jun 1957); Staff Chaplain, 9th Air Force, Tactical Air Command (25 Jun 1957 to 31 Dec
1959); Headquarters, 30th Air Division, Truax Field, Madison, WI (1 Jan 1960 to 1965). Awards: Bronze
Star, Air Force Commendation Medal; Air Force Commendation Ribbon.
Joseph P. Shanahan, S.J.
Born: 7 Mar 1908. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1925. Ordained: 19 Jun 1938. Commissioned as Lieutenant
(j.g.) in the Navy: 20 Jan 1944. Serial number: 349588. To Lieutenant: 1 Jul 1945. Assignments: Chaplain
School, Williamsburg, VA (28 Feb 1944 to 23 Apr 1944); Naval Air Station, San Diego (9 May 1944 to Jul
1945); 3rd Marine Air Wing (19 Jul 1945 to 22 Sep 1945); Naval Air Station #28 (22 Sep 1945 until relieved
of active duty.) Reverted to inactive status: 19 Apr 1946. Released from Naval Reserve: 15 Oct 1954.
Thomas A. Shanahan, S.J.
Born: 23 Jun 1895. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1916. Ordained: 22 Jun 1929. Died: 25 Jun 1963. Appointed
to the Army with the rank of Captain: 2 May 1942. Serial number: 0888031. To the rank of Major:
5 Jul 1943; to Lieutenant Colonel: 15 Jan 1946. Assignments: 35th A.B. Group, Charters Towers, North
Queensland, Australia (2 Mar 1942 to 2 Jun 1942); Headquarters, USA SOS SWPA, Deputy Chaplain,
Sydney and Brisbane, Australia (5 Jun 1942 to 18 Sep 1944); Headquarters, Base K, Tacloban, Leyte,
Philippines (19 Sep 1944 to 31 Dec 1944); Headquarters, Base M, San Fabian, Luzon (1 Jan 1945 to 8 Mar
1945); Letterman General and Lovell General Hospitals (30 May 1945 to 20 Sep 1945); Redistribution
Center, Fort Oglethorpe, GA (Sep 1945 to Nov 1945); Fort George Meade Separation Center, MD (Nov
1945 to Jan 1946); relief work in Philippines (Feb 1946 to Mar 1946). Reverted to inactive status: 8 May
1946. Prior to his appointment to the Army, Father Shanahan had been appointed as Red Cross Chaplain,
Manila (9 Dec 1941); and was Chaplain on the S.S. Mactan which evacuated wounded personnel from
Manila to Sydney, Australia (1 Jan 1942 to 28 Jan 1942). Award: Bronze Star.
Richard G. Shea, S.J.
Born: 28 Sep 1902. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1922. Ordained: 20 Jun 1934. Died: 25 Mar 1984. Appointed
to the Army: 15 Dec 1942. Serial number: 0507901. To the rank of Captain: 20 Nov 1943 (continued)
24 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Richard G. Shea, S.J. (continued)
Assignments: Harvard Chaplain School (3 Jan1943); Camp Patrick Henry, Hampton Roads Port of
Embarkation, VA (1943 to Aug 1944); Infantry Replacement Center, Camp Blanding, FL (Aug 1944
to Oct 1944); with 9th Air Force in France, Belgium, Germany (Oct 1944 to Sep 1945); Shaw Air
Force Base, Sumter, SC (Oct 1945 to Dec 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 19 Feb 1946. Appointed
to the Air Force Reserve: 1 Jul 1949. Serial number: A0507901. Called to active duty: Jun 1951. Assignments: Castle Air Force Base, CA (Jun 1951 to Mar 1952); 3918th Air Base Group, RAF Station, Upper Heyford, Oxfordshire, England (Mar 1952 to Apr 1955); Lackland Air force Base, TX (May 1955 to
Jun 1956). Relieved of active duty with the rank of Major: Jun 1956.
Robert E. Sheridan, S.J.
Born: 7 Jun 1897. Entered Jesuits: 15 Aug 1915. Ordained: 20 Jun 1928. Died: 25 Dec 1978. Appointed to
the Army: 11 Mar 1942. Serial number: 0442204. To the rank of Captain: 5 Oct 1942; to Major: 9 Dec
1946. Assignments: Port of Embarkation, Charleston, SC (23 Mar 1942); from Feb 1944 to Feb 1946,
thirteen months of hospital ship duty aboard Acadia (in Atlantic) and Chateau-Thierry (in Pacific), logging
95,000 miles at sea. Reverted to inactive status: 21 May 1946. Award: Army Commendation Ribbon.
Harold V. Stockman, S.J.
Born: 3 Jun 1898. Entered Jesuits: 16 Sep 1917. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Died: 10 Aug 1962. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 24 Aug 1943. Serial number: 316882. To Lieutenant Commander: 1 Nov 1945.
Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (11 Oct 1943 to 5 Dec 1943); Navy Yard, Norfolk
(15 Dec 1943 to 21 Jun 1944); with naval units in Mediterranean Theater of Operations (24 Jun 1944 to
25 Jul 1945); Chaplain, Portsmouth Naval Prison (Sep 1945 to Jul 1947); Naval Air Station, Green Cove
Springs, FL (Aug 1947 until relieved of active duty). Reverted to inactive status and retired from Naval
Reserve: 1 Jun 1948.
Francis V. Sullivan, S.J.
Born: 10 Apr 1898. Entered Jesuits: 23 Jan 1919. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Died: 11 Jan 1972. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 13 Mar 1942. Serial number: 139079. To Lieutenant Commander: 13 Dec 1943;
to Commander: 5 Nov 1945. Assignments: Chaplain School, Fort Schuyler, NY (1 May 1942 to 12 Jun
1942); Naval Operating Base and Chaplains’ Training School, Norfolk, VA (20 Jun 1942 to 31 Jul 1942);
3rd Marines, Samoa (1 Aug 1942 to 3 Mar 1943); Dean Chaplains School, William and Mary College, VA
(28 May 1943 to 13 Aug 1944); Senior Chaplain, European Theater, London (3 Sep 1944 until relieved of
active duty). Reverted to inactive status: 14 Mar 1946. Retired from Naval Reserve: Jan 1956.
25 | men for others
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
The Medals and the Men
citations and awards
the list of citations and awards was compiled from questionnaires and the records of
the offices of chief chaplains or the various services. The Navy and Air Force records are
reasonably complete; the Army list for Jesuits is about 80% complete. Awards that have not
been verified have not been included.
I
n the following list, the citation or general
orders conferring the decoration is cited
or, if unavailable, a précis of the citation.
If neither is available, only the title of the
decoration is listed.
world war ii citations and awards: military
barry, john l.
bronze star, purple heart
boylan, bernard r.
navy and marine corps medal
brock, laurence m.
legion of merit
dolan, james j.
bronze star
dugan, john j.
bronze star,
army commendation ribbon
hennessey, thomas p.
bronze star
huss, harry l.
bronze star
lynch, daniel j.
purple heart
murphy, george m.
army commendation medal
26 | the medals and the men
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
world war ii citations and awards: military (continued)
o’callahan, joseph t.
medal of honor, purple heart
st. john, john d.
bronze star
air force commendation medal
air force commendation ribbon
shanahan, thomas a.
bronze star
sheridan, robert e.
army commendation medal
world war ii citations and awards: papal
fay, thomas p.
benemerenti –
awarded by pope pius xii
NOTE: The Commendation Medal was originally a ribbon and was first issued by the Navy and the Coast
Guard in 1943. But by 1960, the Commendation Ribbons had been authorized as full medals and were
thereafter referred to as Commendation Medals.
This information is compiled from “Jesuits as Chaplains in the Armed Forces” by Gerard F. Giblin, S.J.,
Woodstock Letters, 89, 361-491.
27 | the medals and the men
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
medal of honor
the medal of honor is awarded by the president in the name of congress to a person
who, while a member of the united states armed forces, distinguishes himself or
herself conspicuously by gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life or her life
above and beyond the call of duty while engaged in an action against an enemy of the
United States; while engaged in military operations involving conflict with an opposing foreign
force; or while serving with friendly foreign forces engaged in an armed conflict against an
opposing armed force in which the United States is not a belligerent party.
T
he deed performed must have been one of
personal bravery or self-sacrifice so conspicuous as to clearly distinguish the individual
above his or her comrades and must have involved
risk of life. Incontestable proof of the performance
of the service will be exacted and each recommendation for the award of this decoration will be considered on the standard of extraordinary merit.
joseph t. o’callahan, s.j.
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the
risk of life above and beyond the call of duty while
serving as chaplain on board the U.S.S. Franklin
when that vessel was attacked by enemy Japanese
aircraft during offensive operations near Kobe,
Japan, on 19 March 1945. A valiant and forceful leader, calmly braving the perilous barriers of
flames and twisted metal to aid his men and his
ship, Lieutenant Commander O’Callahan groped
his way through smoke-filled corridors to the
flight deck and into the midst of violently explod-
28 | the medals and the men
ing bombs, shells, rockets and other armament.
With the ship rocked by incessant explosions, with
debris and fragments raining down and fires raging
in increasing fury, comforting and encouraging
men of all faiths, he organized and led fire-fighting
crews into the blazing inferno on the flight deck;
he directed the jettisoning of live ammunition and
the flooding of the magazine; he manned a hose to
cool hot, armed bombs rolling dangerously on the
listing deck, continuing his efforts despite searing,
suffocating smoke which forced men to fall back
gasping and imperiled others who replaced them.
Serving with courage, fortitude and deep spiritual
strength, Lieutenant Commander O’Callahan inspired the gallant officers and men of the Franklin
to fight heroically and with profound faith in the
face of almost certain death and return their
stricken ship to port.
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
purple heart
the purple heart is awarded in the name of the president of the united states to any
member of the armed forces of the united states who, while serving under competent
authority in any capacity with one of the U.S. Armed Services after April 5, 1917, has been
wounded or killed, or who has died after being wounded.
D
uring the early period of American
involvement in World War II (December
7, 1941 – September 22, 1943), the Purple
Heart was awarded both for wounds received in
action against the enemy and for meritorious
john l. barry, s.j.
(Received the Purple Heart for wounds
sustained in action 17 October 1952 near
Kumhwa, North Korea, while on service with the
th
48 Artillery.)
daniel j. lynch, s.j.
His work comforting the dying and burying the
dead in front of the Bois des Loges in October 1918
involved much night work, exhausting mentally and
physically, under fire of all kinds.
29 | the medals and the men
performance of duty. With the establishment of the
Legion of Merit, by an Act of Congress, the practice
of awarding the Purple Heart for meritorious
service was discontinued.
Chaplain Lynch on more than one occasion
appeared at dawn at Brigade Headquarters almost
in a state of collapse from an all night of arduous,
dangerous and nerve-wracking hours. He thought
not of himself, only of others, his duty to his
country and his God.
joseph t. o’callahan, s.j.
(Wounded by an explosion aboard
U.S.S. Franklin 19 March 1945.)
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
legion of merit
the legion of merit, established by act of congress 20 july 1942, is awarded to any
member of the armed forces of the united states or a friendly foreign nation who
has distinguished himself or herself by exceptionally meritorious conduct in the
performance of outstanding services and achievements. The performance must have
been such as to merit recognition of key individuals for service rendered in a clearly
exceptional manner.
laurence m. brock, s.j.
Laurence M. Brock, 0403400, Captain,
Chaplain Corps, United States Army, for exceptionally meritorious conduct in the performance
of outstanding services in the South Pacific Area,
during the period of February 1942 to Septem-
ber 1943. As Chaplain of a regiment bivouacked
in an area of over fifty miles at an advanced base,
Captain Brock travelled to his men under the most
adverse conditions to carry out his own duties and
those of Special Service Officer prior to the time
that the Table of Organization provided an officer
for that duty. This presented Captain Brock with
the problem of extending his normal work to
30 | the medals and the men
include such arrangements as the operation and
upkeep of motion picture apparatus, and the
organization and direction of amateur theatricals.
The cumulative effect of his good work was clearly
evidenced by the high morale of the regiment
upon its entry into active combat. In his unceasing
efforts to carry the word of God to troops fighting in
perilous forward areas Captain Brock disdained all
hazards and expended his every effort. The altruistic, courageous quality of his superlative work
was best illustrated at Christmas time, 1942, when
he traversed from foxhole to foxhole under hostile
sniper fire to receive confessions and thus administer religious solace to men.
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
bronze star medal
the bronze star medal, established by executive order 9419, 4 february 1944, is awarded
to any person who, while serving in any capacity in or with the army of the united
states after 6 december 1941, distinguished himself or herself by heroic or meritorious
achievement or service, not involving participation in aerial flight, in connection with military
operations against an armed enemy; or while engaged in military operations involving conflict
with an opposing armed force in which the United States is not a belligerent party.
John L. Barry, S.J.
Chaplain (First Lieutenant) John L. Barry,
0931664, Chaplains, United States Army, a memth
ber of Headquarters, 7 Infantry Division Artillery,
distinguished himself by meritorious achievement
on 20 October 1952. While an intense attack was
being launched against the enemy, Chaplain Barry,
against the protests of the commanding officer,
moved into the thick of the battle, administering aid, both spiritual and medical, to the friendly
casualties and encouraging the fighting men. The
integrity, the sincere devotion to God and country,
and the deep personal regard for the welfare of the
men with whom he served, made Chaplain Barry
an inspiring figure and an ennobling influence on
all with whom he came in contact. The meritorious
achievement of Chaplain Barry reflects great credit
on himself and the military service.
James J. Dolan, S.J.
James J. Dolan (Captain), 0402252, Chaplains
Corps, has been awarded the Bronze Star Medal for
meritorious service and exceptional service in connection with military operations against the enemy
31 | the medals and the men
on Saipan, Marianas Islands, during the period 21
July 1944 and 2 September 1945.
John J. Dugan, S.J.
(Awarded Bronze Star by General Order 113,
Headquarters, War Department 4 December 1945.)
Thomas P. Hennessey, S.J.
Chaplain Thomas P. Hennessey, (Captain)
0530788, Corps of Chaplains, has been awarded
the Bronze Star Medal for distinctive heroism in
connection with military operations against the
enemy during the period 22 to 23 March 1945 near
Geinsheim, Germany. When assault troops crossed
the Rhine River, Chaplain Hennessey volunteered
to accompany the attached collective company.
An hour and a half enemy artillery barrage was
launched into the area occupied by the collective
station, and Chaplain Hennessey exposed himself
constantly to supervise the removal of wounded men.
His outstanding devotion to his self-appointed mission was a great inspiration to the wounded and
the men working with him and reflects great credit
upon himself and the military service.
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
bronze star medal (continued)
Harry L. Huss, S.J.
Major (Chaplain) Harry L. Huss (then
Captain), (Army Serial No. 0509085), Army
of the United States, for meritorious service in
connection with military operations, as District
Chaplain, Western District, United Kingdom Base;
Deputy Chaplain, Channel Base Section; Deputy
Chaplain, Chanor Base Section, Communications
Zone, European Theater of Operations, from 16
September 1944 to 8 May 1945. Despite the ever increasing difficulties with regard to the readjustment
of Chaplains, Chaplain Huss executed quick and
sure judgment in the redeployment program. His
zeal and energy in covering small and isolated units
who were without a Chaplain and his meticulous
attention, guaranteeing burial services of American
personnel, gained the respect and high regard of all
with whom he came in contact. His understanding
of human nature enabled him to solve many delicate problems requiring a knowledge of the civilian
statutes, army regulations and individual’s emotions. The outstanding services rendered by Chaplain Huss reflect great credit upon himself and the
Armed Forces of the United States. Entered military
service from Massachusetts.
John D. St. John, S.J.
Lieutenant Colonel John D. St. John performed
meritorious service from April 1944 to May 1945 as
Chaplain, 304th Bomb Wing, and later as Assistant
Chaplain, 15th Air Force. He exhibited a high degree
of initiative, tact and forethought to insure spiritual
and moral facilities for the entire personnel under
his ministration. He displayed exceptional executive ability and resourcefulness in reorganizing and
32 | the medals and the men
putting into effect an entirely new Chaplain’s policy
th
for the 15 Air Force, whereby all members of his
faith received guidance and consolence despite a
shortage of Chaplains.
Thomas A. Shanahan, S.J.
Chaplain (Major) Thomas A. Shanahan
(0888031), Chaplain Corps, United States Army.
For meritorious achievement in Luzon, Philippine
Islands, from 13 January 1945 to 15 March 1945,
in connection with military operations against the
enemy. Because of his former residence in the
Philippines and his intimate knowledge of their
people, Chaplain Shanahan voluntarily accompanied
the advance echelon of a major base headquarters to
Luzon. Immediately on arrival he organized relief
and rehabilitation measures for the local populace
and ministered to battle casualties in forward-area
hospitals with complete disregard for his own
safety. Among the first Americans to enter Manila,
he immediately began obtaining food, shelter, and
medical care for upward of 10,000 sick, injured,
and homeless refugees, and for 70 nuns suffering
from illness and malnutrition. While the enemy was
shelling the University of Santo Tomas, he stood by
continually to administer clerical rites to the wounded and dying and devoted himself unstintingly to
the aid of civilian internees. His efforts materially
assisted in the organization of Santo Tomas for conversion into a major hospital unit. By his intrepid
courage, inspiring spiritual guidance, and substantial material aid to a needy and suffering people,
Chaplain Shanahan upheld the highest standards of
humanity and the priesthood and rendered substantial aid in the proper care of the sick and wounded.
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
navy and marine corps medal
The Navy and Marine Corps Medal, established by an Act of Congress on August 7, 1942,
may be awarded to service members who, while serving in any capacity with the Navy or
Marine Corps, distinguish themselves by heroism not involving actual conflict with an enemy.
For acts of lifesaving, or attempted lifesaving, it is required that the action be performed at the
risk of one’s own life.
Bernard R. Boylan, S.J.
For heroic conduct during rescue operations in
Finschhafen Harbor on August 23, 1944. With the
gasoline laden S.S. John C. Calhoun enveloped in
flames following an explosion in the hold, Lieutenant Boylan leaped from an adjoining vessel to
go to the aid of several casualties on the stricken
33 | the medals and the men
ship. Aware of the imminent danger of additional
explosions, he assisted in removing men to safety;
searched the debris for other wounded; and refused
to leave the scene until all casualties had been cared
for. His initiative and courage throughout reflect
the highest credit upon Lieutenant Boylan and the
United States Naval Service.
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
air force commendation medal
The Air Force Commendation Medal was authorized by the Secretary of the Air
Force on March 28, 1958, for award to members of the Armed Forces of the United
States who, while serving in any capacity with the Air force after March 24, 1958,
shall have distinguished themselves by meritorious achievement and service. The degree of
merit must be distinctive, though it need not be unique. Acts of courage which do not involve
the voluntary risk of life required for the Soldier’s Medal may be considered for the Air Force
Commendation Medal.
John D. St. John, S.J.
John D. St. John, S.J.
Chaplain (Colonel) John D. St. John
distinguished himself for meritorious service
as Staff Chaplain, Ninth Air Force, Shaw Air
Force Base, South Carolina, from 25 June 1957
to 1 November 1959. During this period of unprecedented operational activity and frequent overseas
deployment by units of this command, Chaplain
St. John’s dynamic personality and tireless efforts
were an inspiration to the commanders and unit
chaplains charged with maintaining the morale
and spiritual welfare of Ninth Air Force personnel.
In addition Headquarters United States Air Force
has accepted a plan conceived by Chaplain St. John
for sending selected members of the USAF Chaplain Corps to civilian institutions of learning to receive specialized training. Designed to enhance the
professional qualifications and prestige of Air Force
chaplains, this program will yield far reaching benefits throughout the Air Force. Chaplain St. John’s
initiative, devotion to duty, and unflagging concern
for the welfare of others have reflected great credit
upon himself, Ninth Air Force and Tactical
Air Command.
Chaplain (Lieutenant Colonel) John D. St. John
distinguished himself by meritorious service as a
member of the USAF Catholic preaching mission
team, Office of the Chief of Air Force Chaplains,
Headquarters USAF, during the period 12 May 1949
to 19 July 1955. During this period Chaplain St. John
traveled 238,082 air miles, which included 1228:58
hours of flying time, to conduct Catholic preaching missions within every oversea Air Force Command. In carrying out these preaching missions,
Chaplain St. John and his co-missioner conducted
218 missions, 1,203 evening services, 2,624 Masses
and administered 64,462 Holy Communions. It is
estimated that 387,784 Air Force personnel and their
dependents of the Catholic faith took part in these
mission activities. Through his efforts as a member
of the Catholic preaching mission team, Chaplain St.
John has brought spiritual benefits and enlightenment to personnel of the Catholic faith and in turn
advanced the program of the Air Force Chaplains
Six-Point Program in developing the spiritual well
being and morale of Air Force Catholic personnel.
In accomplishing his duties in such an outstanding
manner, Chaplain St. John has reflected great credit
upon himself and the United States Air Force.
34 | the medals and the men
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
army commendation medal
The Army Commendation Medal (ARCOM), established by War Department Circular 377,
18 December 1945, is awarded to any member of the Armed Forces of the United States
who, while serving in any capacity in the Army after 6 December 1941, distinguishes
himself or herself by heroism, meritorious achievement or meritorious service.
Award may be made to a member of the Armed Forces of a friendly foreign nation who,
after 1 June 1962, distinguishes himself or herself by an act of heroism, extraordinary
achievement, or meritorious service which has been of mutual benefit to a friendly nation and
the United States. Awards of the Army Commendation Ribbon and of the Commendation
Ribbon with Metal Pendant were redesignated by DA General Orders 10, 31 March 1960, as
awards of the Army Commendation Medal, without amendment of orders previously issued.
George M. Murphy, S.J.
For meritorious and outstanding service
as Chaplain at Valley Forge General Hospital,
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania, from December 1944
to 1 February 1946. Chaplain Murphy filled the
spiritual needs of the patients and no call on his
services went unanswered. Above and beyond his
normal duties he has won the friendship of patients
and staff alike by his sympathetic understanding of
their problems and his congenial personality which
was reflected in his daily tasks. Chaplain Murphy
exemplified the finest attributes of his profession
35 | the medals and the men
and his contribution to the service reflects
great credit upon the Chaplain Corps and the
Military Service.
Robert E. Sheridan, S.J.
His untiring efforts, cheerfulness, pleasing
personality and complete devotion to duty
displayed from 10 May 1945 to 21 February 1946
gave comfort and confidence to patients aboard
the Hospital Ship Chateau Thierry. A high state of
morale was also achieved throughout the voyage.
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
benemerenti medal
The Benemerenti Medal, instituted by Pope Gregory XVI in 1832, is conferred on those who
have exhibited long and exceptional service to the Catholic Church, their families and community. The word benemerenti means “to a well deserving person.”
Thomas P. Fay, S.J.
PIUS XII PONTIFEX MAXIMUS
Numisma Decernere Ac Dilargiri
Dignatus Est
rev. p. thomas p. fay, s.j.
Virtutis Laude Benemerenti
Eidem Facultatem Faciens Seipsum Hoc
Ornamento Decorandi
Ex Aedibus Vaticanis,
Die 30 Aprilis 1947
Benemerenti medal in the collection of the
Thomas P. Fay, S.J., Archives of the Society
of Jesus of New England, College of the Holy
Cross, Worcester, MA
36 | the medals and the men
While serving as Chaplain with the Armed
Forces of the United States of America in the
European Theatre during two years, from July 1944
to July 1946, and particularly during the period
from May 1945 to July 1946, as Chaplain attached
to Western Base Headquarters, France, Thomas
Patrick Fay, of the Society of Jesus, rendered signal
service over and above the line of duty in administration of duties, not only to the American personnel in his charge, but also to the needy population
of the war torn countries and in particular to the
numerous clergy of all faiths among the prisoners
of war held by the victorious American armies in
various encampments in France and Belgium.
Father Fay arranged and provided for spiritual
retreats for Catholic priests and for Lutheran
ministers among the prisoners of war and showed a
devotion to his fellow men which richly deserves the
recognition of the award of the medal “Benemerenti”.
Father Fay’s services in this regard were unique
and invaluable: the more so as they are evidence of
a charity that is truly Christian and transcending
motives merely human.
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
This selection of articles offers an inside look at Jesuit Chaplains. They offer accounts
of their personal experiences, the spiritual dimensions of their service, the harsh realities of war, their admiration for the young men to whom they ministered and with
whom they suffered imprisonment. Also included are sample expressions of appreciation of
extraordinary courage and singular commitment of individual Jesuits that merited for so many
well deserved citations and awards.
M
any of these articles are reprinted from
The Woodstock Letters, a publication
of the Society of Jesus from 1872 until
1969. The Woodstock Letters include historical
articles, updates on work being done by the Jesuits,
eyewitness accounts of historic events, book reviews, obituaries, and various others items of interest to the Society. They provide an invaluable record
of the work done by American Jesuits throughout
th
th
the 19 and 20 centuries. They are now fully
digitized and available online at the St. Louis
University Libraries Digital Collection,
http://cdm.slu.edu/cdm/landingpage/collection/
woodstock
37 | in their own words
Two autobiographical publications, too
lengthy to reprint here, may be of interest.
n “Life Under the Japs: From Bataan’s Fall to
Miraculous Rescue at Cabanatuan by Yanks”
by Major John J. Dugan, S.J. as told to Willard
de Lue and published in installments in the
Boston Globe newspaper from Sunday, April 1
to Saturday, April 21, 1945. Based on a series
of interviews, the full story of Fr. Dugan’s
34 months as a prisoner of war under
the Japanese.
n I Was Chaplain on the “Franklin” by Joseph T.
O’Callahan, S.J. (New York: Macmillan Company, 1956). Fr. O’Callahan recounts his experience
as a Navy Chaplain on the USS “Franklin”, an
aircraft carrier bombed by Japanese aircraft.
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
fighting in france
Father Daniel Lynch was the only New England Province Jesuit to serve in both World
War I and World War II. For his outstanding service in World War I he was awarded the
Purple Heart as well as the Croix de Guerre from the French government for heroic
service during several successive hours under heavy fire. This letter about some of
his experiences in World War I is included here since it captures the spirit that characterized
his later service in World War II.
N
ow that the censorship has relaxed a little,
I shall give you a brief account of my
wanderings over France.
I left New York on May second, on the British India steamer Leistershire. The fleet of fifteen
troop ships were all British, carrying about thirty
thousand troops, with the San Diego (U.S. cruiser)
as escort. After fifteen days at sea we sighted the
north of Ireland and entered Liverpool by the north.
One submarine attack on the way. From Liverpool
we proceeded by train to London where we were
informed that the channel was closed to traffic for
a week. I rested the day after our arrival in London,
visiting Westminster Abbey, etc., and intended to
call at Mill Hill the following day. Orders came for
me that night to proceed immediately to Southampton, where I would find a small fast steamer to take
me to Havre. Of course it was rough, and to see the
destroyers racing along on all sides of us made it a
very interesting evening. From Havre I was ordered
to Paris, where I ran into an air raid the first night.
There was an air raid starting when I left London.
After seeing the sights about Paris for a few days I
started for Blois. From Blois I was shipped to Tours
to join my negroes. As there was no Catholic chaplain in that city, I was called to Headquarters, given
38 | in their own words
the second Aviation Field to look after, besides St.
Pierre des Corps, the three Barracks and American
Hospital. This job I held down till a K. C. chaplain
arrived in about a month and took part of the work.
It was not so hard, as I had lots of transportation
either from Headquarters or Aviation Field. All I
had to do was to call up either garage and I had a
Cadillac at my door in ten minutes. You can imagine my disappointment when I was disturbed
from this gentleman’s mode of warfare by orders
th
to join the 310 Infantry, then in the British area,
at once. Fifty pounds was all I was allowed to carry.
There was some hustling for a day or so, getting my
accounts straightened out, and then after leaving
almost everything I had at Our Fathers’ House in
Tours, I started for Calais via Paris. When I landed
in Paris one of those shells from that long distance
gun dropped, not too far away from the station. It
made quite a mess in those crowded streets, but
as I was expecting to see lots of such excitement
in a few days, I did not delay long. The shells were
then dropping on Paris every twenty minutes. From
Calais I went to Bologne to see another big air raid,
and finally found my regiment near St. Pol. From
St. Pol the regiment moved up back of Arras, a
rather quiet front, except for night air raids. Finally
I got orders to prepare (we thought for Italy). After
two days and two nights in freight cars we landed
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
near the Swiss border. After a week’s rest the troops
moved up back of the St. Mihiel Sector and were
stationed behind the Marines near Limey. Of course
it rained all the time. The roads were in a frightful
condition. All one could see from the light of the
cannons was wrecked transports, dead horses and
men falling from exhaustion. We had all kinds of
surprises, wondering whether bridges were going
to blow up before, or after, or while we were crossing them. We had not really got into action. The
whole sky in front of us was just ablaze with rockets
and flares and all kinds of light. We didn’t know
then where that was, but we knew things would be
more plain in a few hours, as we were going right
through that line. The Marines kept ahead of us till
we reached Thiaucourt, where we relieved them
under the big guns of Metz. A few kilos beyond Thiaucourt the Germans made a stand. We lost about
eight hundred men. Here I buried about one hundred and thirty of our boys in sight of the German
lines and under continuous shell fire. I am about to
write to the good mother of one. She knew from his
letters home he was very close to me, serving my
Mass every morning when possible. I taught him
at St. Peter’s (Jersey City) and buried him under
terrific shell fire. After three and one half weeks of
such excitement the regiment was pulled back for a
th
rest, being relieved by the 256 Regiment. The day
before we retired I said Mass in the woods because
it was pouring rain, and German aeroplanes could
not see us. The Germans shelled us so madly when
they saw us retiring that it was impossible to get my
chaplain’s kit, and maybe it is there yet or somewhere in Germany.
I had taken advantage of a very cloudy day-in
fact it was raining-to say Mass for one of our battalions and two detachments of machine gunners
in the woods north of Thiaucourt. On account of
numerous German planes, which were quick to
signal for heavy shelling on any spot when they
observed men gathered together, we were not able
to say Mass, except in crowded dugouts, for over
two weeks.
After Mass and Communion for over two
hundred, I hurried up the line to bring Communion to the men on duty. When I returned the next
day, our men had been shelled out of the woods and
left my chaplain’s kit behind. I inquired everywhere
of our men and of the other division who occupied
the woods some days later, but no trace of the kit
could be found. I was called to the woods at about
twelve o’clock the night of the shelling to attend to
the dead and the wounded, but in confusion forgot
to look up my kit. We moved that week to the
Argonne, and I have never heard anything of
my chaplain’s outfit since. Division Headquarters
then secured another kit for me from the Knights
of Columbus.
Well, we went back for a good rest and to get
replacements to fill up our ranks. This good long
rest lasted just one night in the rain when we started for the Argonne Forests. Here we went through,
for over a month, some of the most desperate fighting of the whole war. We had the celebrated Prussian Guards against us, and they were there to die,
all with machine guns. When our men would drive
them out of their machine gun nests, they would
come around our right flank and set themselves
in our rear. This fact also made the very front line
as safe as anywhere. How I ever came out alive is
due to the prayers of my dear ones and friends. I
certainly never expected to see the U. S. A. again.
There was nothing to do, but wait to see just what
shell or bomb or machine gun was to have the
honor of doing the job.
Finally on the last big drive we broke this line,
and the retreat started that ended in the armistice.
10 Daniel J. Lynch, “Letter from France,” Woodstock Letters, 48, 285-288.
39 | in their own words
Daniel J. Lynch, S.J.
Lieut. Chaplain10
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
the bravest man i ever knew
today is three days before the 14th anniversary of pearl harbor, which reminds me that
some day soon i’ll be staring at a movie screen and reliving another naval tragedy – the
most unforgettable day of my life. There, in the midst of a seaborne holocaust, I will see a
wide grin topped by a helmet with a white cross. That will be someone acting like Joseph Timothy O’Callahan, and he may do it well, but he’ll never match the original.
F
ather O’Callahan was the bravest man I ever
knew. A Jesuit and an instructor in mathematics and philosophy, he was a Lieutenant Commander and Senior Chaplain on the USS
Franklin, a big aircraft carrier that I was commanding on March 19, 1945, about 50 Miles off the coast
of Japan.
Not long after dawn that morning, while we
were launching aircraft, the Franklin was hit with
two heavy bombs by a skilled Japanese dive bomber.
Both bombs penetrated to the hangar deck, killing
everyone inside. The planes on the flight deck were
bounced into the air and came down in a pile, their
churning propellers chopping into gas tanks and
spilling about 17,000 gallons of fuel. The gasoline
vapor went off with a tremendous blast and we were
on fire from stem to stern on three decks.
For four interminable hours blast after blast
rocked the ship. All interior communications were
destroyed, fire mains were cut, all power was lost.
From my position on the bridge, it seemed
that wherever I looked I could see a familiar battle
helmet with a white cross painted on it. My navigator, Commander Stephen Jurika, didn’t overstate
the case when he wrote in his log: “O’Callahan was
everywhere, leading men, officiating at last rites,
manning hoses and doing the work of 10 men.”
40 | in their own words
Thousand-pound bombs kept going off like
firecrackers at a festival. The men would scurry
away, only to meet the padre charging in after more
of the wounded. Time and again they followed him.
There are twin turrets fore and aft of the
Franklin’s bridge – ammunition-handling rooms for
five-inch anti-aircraft guns. In mid-morning the aft
one blew up in the worst blast yet.
I looked at the forward turret. Visible heat
fumes were coming out of the top hatch, indicating
it might be next to blow. I called to a group of men
on deck to take a hose inside and cool it down. They
didn’t understand but O’Callahan did. He recruited
two other officers and the three of them went down
into that oven-hot hole with a small emergency
hose, knowing that it might blow sky-high
any instant.
A few minutes later O’Callahan’s smoke-grimed
face grinned up at me from the hatch as he made
the OK sign with his fingers. Then he and the other
two officers passed out the ammo, still blistering
hot, to a waiting line of men who tossed it overboard. I breathed a sigh of relief. If that turret had
gone like the other one, the ship probably would
have been abandoned and lost.
I recommended Chaplain O’Callahan for
the Congressional Medal of Honor, and it was
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
approved. The President himself presented the
medal, the only similar award to a chaplain since
the Navy’s Medal of Honor was created in 1861.
I am not a Catholic. I have been asked why
I recommended the Congressional Medal for
O’Callahan and only Navy Crosses for the two officers who accompanied him into the jaws of death.
To a sea-going professional the answer is obvious.
The other two men were line officers. It was not
“above and beyond the call of duty” for them to risk
their lives to save the ship. But it was no part of the
chaplain’s duty to help carry that hose into a dark,
hot and explosive turret. He just went.
In the afternoon another Jap plane sprayed us
with bullets. The padre, on deck, didn’t even look
up. “Why didn’t you duck? I shouted. He grinned
and yelled back: “God won’t let me go until He’s
ready.” Maybe that explained everything.
We got a tow late in the day and managed to
outlive the night. By morning we had part of our
power again and managed to limp back to Pearl
Harbor, the worst-damaged Navy ship ever to reach
port. With 432 dead and more than 1,000 wounded,
ours was the greatest casualty list in Navy history.
All the way back Chaplain O’Callahan was the
life of the party. He helped organize a band with
dish pans and tubs and he wrote parodies of
familiar songs to keep the boys in humor. The
Jewish lads aboard, who had no chaplain of their
own faith, got tired of hearing the Irish boast about
their padre.
“He’s our padre, too,” one of them declared.
“To us he’s Rabbi Joe, you jerks.” The story
got around. Years later, I received a note from
O’Callahan signed, “Yours in Christ, Rabbi Joe.”
Now, a decade after the disaster, Columbia
Studios in Hollywood is working on a film, Battle
Stations, based on the Franklin’s travail and on the
heroism of Chaplain O’Callahan, who’ll have a
fictitious name in the movie.
He’s back at Holy Cross College in Worcester,
Massachusetts, where he taught before the war.
Three years of general combat service on carriers
didn’t help his health any. I hear he has suffered a
stroke and is now a semi-invalid although he hopes
to teach again soon. His spirits are still high, I’m
told. They would be. I pray God isn’t ready to let
him go for a long time to come.
Rear Admiral Leslie E. Gehres,
USN (Ret.)11
11 Leslie E. Gehres, “…The Bravest Man I ever Knew,” The American Weekly. (December 1955).
41 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
the american spirit
i can tell the whole story of my comrades during these past three years in a few
simple words. Those words are these – they proved themselves real Americans; Americans
with honesty, courage, Godliness and fine common sense; Americans who never faltered
and who may have feared, but were too proud to admit it. Many of them found God in death;
others found their God with me in the simple service we were allowed to hold in our rude
little prison chapel.
Y
es, we lived a barbaric, cruel and often bestial
existence. But we lived a life which bound each
unto the other and we shared the pain and suffering of imprisonment under our ruthless Japanese
captors with the same community feeling with which
we are now sharing our freedom under the Army officers and men who are almost too kind to be real.
I was one of those few fortunate men who missed
the Death March – I was ill, too ill to walk, and even
the Japanese apparently feared to infringe greatly at
that time on the Church.
But everywhere around me I saw what they did to
our men. First they confiscated everything we had –
our few precious remaining valuables and keepsakes,
what little food we had saved aside, and, yes, even
our medicines.
Not then, nor weeks later, nor months later, did
they ever give us that medicine we needed so badly for
our wounded and our dying.
They did everything they could to starve us, but
they forgot one thing – the American spirit. Our boys
had that from the start to the finish and they absolutely refused to let the Japanese crush that spirit.
Deliberately, in the first days, they did all they
could to confuse us. There were frequent moves,
disquieting reports which they circulated of what our
42 | in their own words
leaders were doing, propaganda about how America
was about to surrender.
It achieved them no good except to create an even
deeper distrust and dislike.
Our death toll at first was staggering. In the early
days at Camp Cabanatuan, second only to the terrible
scenes at Camp O’Donnell for savage administration,
our soldiers were dying at the rate of fifty a day.
Then, in late November of 1942, we were given
our first Red Cross parcels – parcels with food, medicine, cigarettes and even some reading matter which
the enemy troops let pass.
Nothing was received in all the time we were
imprisoned that did so much to lift our morale, to increase our confidence and to cut our death rate. That
medicine meant the difference between life and death
for many scores of our men.
All the officers, chaplains and doctors had to do
manual labor in the fields every day, working from
dawn to dusk.
Our jobs ranged from cleaning latrines to farming and wood chopping. And those who failed to meet
the schedule the Japanese had set were beaten and
sometimes executed.
I’ve seen more than one American beaten to death
because he lacked both the strength and the will to
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
keep up the back-breaking physical labors our captors demanded. Certain memorable highlights stand
out in those three years we were in captivity, but not
many. In time, often in a very short time, the sheer
weight of living becomes so heavy you strive to let
each day pass with as little notice as possible,
except for a thankful prayer that you are still alive.
I could tell of tens and tens of thousands of terrible things we saw and heard, of little events which
we magnified so much at the time, but which seem so
small to us now, of more of that same type of camaraderie I mentioned before.
But fortunately, while the hardships of those years
will always remain, somewhere deep within us, it’s
the brighter things we like to remember.
For example, the wonderful kindness of all the
Filipinos who willingly sacrificed their lives and freedom to bring us gifts of food or medicine.
I cannot find words to praise too highly their
unselfishness, their loyalty and their friendship for
us when we were representatives of what seemed to
everyone but them and us, a great lost cause.
I can give the time right down to the minute
when our captors knew that our cause was not a lost
one. It was 10:30 a.m. on Sept. 21 of last year. We
were working in the fields when that hope flew past
high above us – in the form of at least 150 carrierbased planes.
We should have been beaten to death had we
showed the least outward signs of happiness, but you
can imagine what joyfulness seethed within.
That moment, I think, we all knew better than
ever before that the Americans were on the way back
to us for sure.
It was an unforgettable day in all our lives.
I like to recall Christmas Eve of 1942, also – an
evening which will live in my mind as one of the great
experiences of all my imprisonment.
We secured permission from the prison authorities to hold Christmas services in the fields near
Cabanatuan. All the churches and all denominations
were represented in that picturesque setting and
6,000 American soldiers came to that single service
of belief.
I am sure God looked down on us that night and
today I am equally sure that He answered our prayers.
Of course, Tuesday night, Jan. 30, was our night
of redemption and there’ll never be another quite like
it for any of us.
If all Americans are pouring into this war the
same efforts those 120 Rangers gave, individually and
collectively, to rescue us from almost certain death,
then I know why we are winning this war.
They did an absolutely herculean task with truly
beautiful teamwork.
You just can’t put into words what your heart feels
when freedom – the last thing you have learned to
expect after three years of prison – is suddenly yours.
What perhaps made it most realistic to me was
that two friends – Lieut. John Murphy of Springfield,
Mass., and Lieutenant O’Connell of Boston – were
among the first to recognize me and tell me it was not
a dream, but reality.
Then I knew that even though there was a long
march ahead of us, home lay at the end of the road.
Our Government cannot reward too highly
Colonel Mucci and his Rangers for what they did.
I want to say once again that the morale of
our men the night we left Cabanatuan was the
s
� ame strong, unflinching morale they’d showed
throughout, and I want to say again how proud they
make me feel to be an American.
How do I feel about this new freedom? It’s like
walking in a new and wonderful world.
12 John J. Dugan, “Cabanatuan Prison Camp,” Woodstock Letters, 74, 154-157.
43 | in their own words
Captain John J. Dugan, S.J.,
U. S. Army Chaplain12
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
journey to morocco
sunday, october 25, 1942 –feast of christ the king. 0530 – General quarters. Mass on boat
deck aft at 0630, half an hour before sunrise. The altar is set against the shield of the #16 and
#18mm AA guns, with crews manning them. Portside aft of boat deck, as I turn around to start
the Mass, the full moon is setting in the west, a bit pale after its long trip, looking as though it
needed a rest. Stray clouds drift along slowly, keeping company with the moon to make sure that
she will not be lonely. They are just a handful who apparently detached themselves from their
brothers and sisters and went on their own. The others have gone to parts unknown.
T
he winds are blowing a bit but nothing of
consequence to disturb me during the Mass.
Men, hundreds of them, stand in the three
he visited my room. He told me their job is to cut
the net silently for passage up of a destroyer;
they have rubber boats with paddles on board. Hope
to take charge of the net tenders without resorting
to bloodshed.
Why did he sign up for this volunteer work?
“I told my wife that I would give everything I’ve got;
this was a chance to give. Will be doing our bit to
bring the war to a close in a hurry.
I’d hate to think that my two little girls would
have to live in a world ruled by Hitler and his gang.
That’s why I signed up.”
Calmly he spoke of his ambitions and ideals,
the long preparations made for this raid, how he
used to read about such things in books as a boy,
without ever dreaming that he would take part in
one some day.
monday, october 26, 1942.
Today, our fourth day at sea, is fairly rough for
landlubbers. Yet, Mr. Kreutzer, 2nd Division Officer,
asserts that this amounts to nothing. He was crossing the Pacific once, when his freighter tried to
climb a wall of water three times and slid back three
times. Yet it is rough enough for us strangers to
44 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
the sea. Last night in my bunk, I smacked my head
against the portside bulkhead as the ship rolled
way over.
Out on deck after celebrating Mass with a dozen
men receiving Holy Communion, as far as the eye
can see, white horses are on the rampage. One of
the ships behind is really pitching. Her keel is visible ten feet below the waterline as she rises up on
the huge waves.
1200 – A new convoy of four ships join us,
the battlewagon Massachusetts, two heavy cruisers, and a tanker. They flank our starboard side of
the convoy, sliding along slowly, their horsepower
cut down to keep company with us fellows who are
making only 15 knots.
Lieut. Robbins of the Army stops me on the
way out from the wardroom. Wonders if it would
be possible for me to mail a message to his wife
after his outfit leaves the ship. “Just in case I am
ploughed under,” he says, “I would like her to have
a last word, from me.” He speaks quietly of his little
girl four months old whom he hopes that he will
see again. He will write a letter to her also. But his
problem, “What if I write, yet nothing happens and
I manage to be one of the survivors of the initial
attack?” He remarks that he will wrestle with the
problem for a while, then let me know his decision.
He is a young fellow, well-educated, who speaks in
soft tones; yet through those tones runs the quiet
determination that must make him a good officer
for his men. I don’t like to think of him lying, a
crumpled piece of humanity, on the French Morocco shore. He, like all the others aboard our ship,
has so much to live for. May God bring them back
safely to their own some day.
2000 – I go looking for Chaplain Tepper, a
Jewish Rabbi, to obtain one of the harmonicas that
he brought aboard. One of his soldiers wants to
make the night loud with music. Before leaving he
presented me with one of the pocketknives that
45 | in their own words
will be given as tokens of friendship to the native
Moroccans. Brightly colored blankets and cloth are
also among the goodwill offerings that make up a
part of our strange cargo.
2200 – I go to the chart room directly behind
the bridge and discover what our course has been.
First we sailed directly south until we were north
of Bermuda, east of Charleston, SC, then we sailed
directly east, then north, then east again until at
this hour we are about 800 miles directly east of
Baltimore. We delayed to allow the convoys departing after us an opportunity to catch up.
2230 – Discussion in the passageway with
Lieut. Gilchrist and Dr. Walker. They tell me this
will be the largest number of ships ever to sail
together in history. We have now picked up three
subs that are riding straight ahead of us on the
surface. When we start landing operations they
will help to form part of the protecting screen
with orders to shoot anything in sight that heaves.
Also learn from them that the password is
“Bordeaux,” for our friends ashore. They speak the
word, then show the inside of their hats on which
the same word must be written. Practically all of
our fifth column groundwork in Northern Africa
has been done by Free French sympathizers.
One hour before “H” hour all the governors
of Northern Africa with the exception of Spanish
Morocco will be handed a letter informing them
of the turn of events. They are expected to take
the correct decision.
tuesday, october 27, 1942 – 5th day at sea.
Mass at end of General Quarters as usual in
the library.
0730 – At breakfast we learn that the new
convoy has arrived. Promptly we stow the rest
of the toast down the hatch, then make for the
flying bridge. Then a sight! As far as the eye can
see, ships of all sorts, shapes and sizes. Aircraft
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
“� hat if I write, yet nothing happens and I manage to be one of the survivors of
W
the initial attack?” He remarks that he will wrestle with the problem for a while,
then let me know his decision. He is a young fellow, well-educated, who speaks in
soft tones; yet through those tones runs the quiet determination that must make
him a good officer for his men.
carriers, battlewagons – three more of them; 25
more transports, innumerable destroyers and SPs,
heavy cruisers, all rolling in the heavy sea. It is an
impressive, awe-inspiring sight, one that never does
tire the eyes. Suddenly, the formations are shifting.
We slacken our speed, they cross our bow at a slight
angle; we pick up speed and move out to their portside. Our two middle lanes of ships move into the
middle of their lineup and our starboard line shoots
far out to form the starboard column of the entire
convoy. Again, the sight is most impressive. As
far as the eye can see, in every direction, ships are
ploughing ahead while our watchdogs now steam
alongside of us; then turn back. Then they shoot in
between us to nail any sub foolish enough to try to
do damage within the columns.
0815 – Quarters Commander Irwin informs
us that we must all be inoculated against typhus
now for those germs have no respect for gold braid.
He tells us that November 7 is the “H” day; that
in this convoy he counted 49 ships and then gave up.
“Business is meant on this trip and we must do our
part; we will do it, so let no officer consider it beneath
his dignity to grab a line that needs attention when
we are engaged in the unloading operations.”
To the soldiers a letter from General George
Patton is read in which the reasons for this expedition are outlined. At the close of the letter he writes:
“The eyes of the world are watching you, the heart of
America beats for you, God’s blessing is with you.”
friday, october 30, 1942 – 8 day at sea.
th
Today a fairly smooth sea running after the
46 | in their own words
heavy weather of the last two days. Taking advantage of the change, three planes from the four carriers astern of us put off and go long range scouting
overhead. Before long their reports come back to
our ship indirectly – four German submarines 25
miles directly ahead. Immediately, we strike off to
starboard on a new course to avoid those who would
at least try to detain us, if not permanently detach
us and as many as possible from our convoy.
1030 – I continue instructions in the faith with
Washington Mess Attendant. My question is “Who
is God?” He answers: “God is a being who is infinitely perfect,” and I ask him: “What do you mean
by infinitely perfect?” And he replies” “Nothing
no better.”
The one carrier that has been with us since the
second day of the trip has her flattop jammed with
Army planes. They will land after the capture of the
airport at Port Lyautey before they start winging
their way east to battle the German Luftwaffe.
Spend most of this day laying the keel for Sunday’s sermon when the men will be at Mass probably
for the last time for “H” hour is 2400, midnight Saturday. It is hoped that all good Frenchmen and native
Moroccans will be sleeping the sleep of the just.
Before retiring I step out on the flying bridge. A
destroyer is only 50 yards off our port beam, hugging
close to keep off those four subs sighted earlier.
saturday, october 31, 1942 – 9th day at sea.
I go topside after breakfast. Far off on the horizon the tankers are feeding their black gold to the
cruisers and destroyers. We have slowed down to
�Sunday, November 1, 1942 – Feast of All
Saints and 23rd Sunday after Pentecost.
0650 – Mass at the end of General Quarters;
about 350 in attendance, 125 Communions, a most
edifying sight. Very windy. God is pleased with
our primitive surroundings. Overhead is the blue
canopy of the sky. We have no walls broken by
stained glass windows, just sterns and bows; we
boast no marble inlaid floor, just a wooden deck; no
fluted columns soaring aloft and carrying on their
shoulders tons of masonry and steel; only a strong
king post adorned with cables and pulleys and lines
that are whistling in the wind.
0900 – General Service. About 200 there,
including Major Dilley. I speak of Jesus Christ and
loyalty to Him, the need for a man to examine the
foundations of his life at this crucial time.
0330 – In the afternoon, Benediction on the
boat deck aft; the first with my Benediction kit.
Rosary; full-throated response by Catholic men
most inspiring. Altar is placed against the side
of one of the invasion boats. To the left is an AA
station; men manning it over the side. Starboard
are ships of our convoy, all steaming south away
from the western sun that is slanting its rays on us.
Three hymns: Mother Dear, Oh Pray for Me; Holy
God We Praise Thy Name; Tantum Ergo. Unforgettable – men remark it later!
Jack Bennett, Notre Dame boy, 15006 Fenway
Avenue, Lakewood, Ohio serves my Mass. He is
one of the soldiers aboard ship. He says that he gets
more of a thrill out of serving my Mass on the boat
deck aft, flush against the side of an invasion boat
or up against an AA gun mount shield than he did
the times he served in Cathedrals.
friday, november 6, 1942.
Ship vibrates violently; four depth charges
dropped by destroyer ahead of us. Later tremendous
oil slick floats by our starboard side.
47 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
“Wallace Beery” Johnson, member of Naval
Commando Net Party, weight 225, infectious
smile, gentle as a kitten, pounds out a good tune
on the piano, his favorite – Indian Love Call by
Victor Herbert.
saturday, november 7, 1942.
Mass at dawn; about 50 received. Our planes are
flying in formation over us. THE DAY! Men give
me letters to mail “just in case they are killed;”
give me money to hold for them or to send home.
0900 – Soldier on deck singing as he makes his
way aft – “Give My Regards to Old Broadway.”
0330 – Benediction and Rosary; 300 present.
saturday night, november 7, 1942.
2200 – Jagged lightning behind what appear
to be hills in the distance.
2400 Midnight – Patrol Boat – if it fires,
“Blast her out of the water.” We also passed a Portuguese ship last night brightly illuminated. She did
not see us; if she had, she would have been sunk
after her passengers were taken off. I give out
Viaticum to the Catholic men in the library after
hearing confessions.
0045 – Topside, inky blackness; can’t even
see my hand in front of me. Two clusters of light
ashore; boats going over the side.
I stand by silently and bless the men as they
start their battle operation. The President speaks
four hours before we land.
0230 – Mass in library with Jack Burke present.
0315 – Topside. Cmdr. Irwin is directing traffic
on the bridge.
0330 – Tea and toast.
0500 – Five French ships, merchant-men, pass
right ahead of us, blue, red, green; Foudrayante Dohremy unmistakably painted on the sides.
0545 – Lieut. Starkweather sends up red cluster
that shows the net has been broken and that the
48 | in their own words
destroyer U. S. S. Dallas can go up the river to the fort
and then on to the airport.
0605 – Tremendous barrage of red hot steel laid
down on the beach. Broken arc of red dashes against
the black velvet of the night sky.
Dawn. A cloudy day. Lieut. Haile returns to the
ship and remarks that the first three waves got ashore
without difficulty. Commando Net Party returns to
ship; net not broken. Searchlight picked them up –
crossfire of machine guns nailed party down helplessly.
0740 – Shore batteries open fire on us alone; we
are the biggest of eight ships with all invasion boats
clustered around us like a hen with chicks – eight
near misses. Wheeeeeeeeee – then tremendous
geysers; one shell right over the forecastle. We could
follow the course of the shells coming from the fort
on the crest of the hill.
0800 – “Enemy Bombers Overhead!” from Executive Officer.
0805 – U. S. S. Pennsylvania AA guns fire – two
puffs – plane aflame, plunges into ocean, disintegrates.
0815 – U. S. S. Savannah and U. S. S. Texas pour
tons of steel into the fort. Ammunition dump ashore
a pillar of smoke.
0945 – Three casualties; two serious – Lieut.
McCrackin and Kolfenbach, a Catholic to whom I
administer the Last Sacraments when he was dying
after being on the operating table for two hours. Four
bullets drilled him; strafed by planes as his boat hit
for the beach. “All hands to General Quarters; enemy
submarine sighted off starboard beam.”
1230 – In sick bay. Depth charges rocking ship
during operations on wounded. We maneuver wildly
to escape subs.
1330 – We have command of the air with our
planes cruising in formation over us. Topside, heavy
firing shoreward and seaward. Radio man tells me
last report. “Co. F reports that it is completely
surrounded by the enemy.”
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
sick bay cases:
1630 – Six more casualties; three ambulatory.
Lieut. Starkweather of Net Party reports that
“we were spotted immediately and caught in searchlights, withering crossfire of machine guns, both
jetties, and then we had to run for it as the fort laid
it on us also.”
Young sailors who wouldn’t wear life jackets
once now all wear them; wouldn’t wear helmets
either. “Enemy bombers overhead” cured them.
Strange, even at that announcement, how one could
be so cool, stand watching them, and go to bed at
2015 and sleep through a quiet night.
monday, november 9, 1942.
Arose at 0700. Mass attended by Commando
Party in gratitude for their safe return. Day is a bit
cloudy; “rainy sunshine.” We move closer, within
four miles of beach. Tremendous surf crashing
on the jetties, ship rolls on the swell. Fifteen more
wounded. We move within one mile of the beach.
Picturesque summer colony of light brown cottages
with red-tiled roofs. On this beach our men landed
yesterday morning.
Four men dumped out of boat as she was being
hoisted in; dangerous but nobody is injured, fortunately. One man wounded in arm; was ducked once
on beach, then again as he was being lifted into
the ship.
Twenty-three American bombers fly over us.
Last night two destroyers pour hot metal over the
hills at some objective which we cannot see; arc
of red hot dashes for miles.
Boat #5 spills being lifted up with one wounded
man who gets ducked. Inboard guy loose. Five
dumped when Penn tankers hit sandbar, then
surf upended, nosed her over with men in tank.
Report on radio: “Fierce fighting north of Casa
Blanca.” “That’s us,” says Perkins, E. M. 1/c.
49 | in their own words
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
Machine gunned by plane before
hitting beach.
Machine gunned on shore.
Shrapnel cases.
Concussion – Jack Bennett.
Man blinded in whose face gun exploded.
Crushed by boats against side of ship.
Crushed by boat broached on the beach.
U. S. S. Penn: Seven drowned in tank in
boat nosed over by surf- heavy swell.
One man about 26 was quietly sobbing to himself. “If I can help you, I’d be glad of the privilege.
What’s the trouble?” “Nothing, sir.” After a while, he
said that he went to pieces under the gunfire, machine
gun plane strafing and coast artillery and men crumbling on every side of him.
1000 – Commando Net Party tries again.
I give Catholics Viaticum; six of them.
1015 – They shove – portside aft – pitch dark
down the landing net. Just before they go, “Kneel
down, men.” Benedictio Dei, etc. “May the blessing of Almighty God, Father, Son and Holy Ghost
descend upon you and remain forever. May He
be with you in your mission and bring you
back safely.”
tuesday, november 10, 1942.
There was a knock on my door at 0400. Three
men of the Party, Chief and two others. “Well,
Padre, we made it.” Congratulations and then the
story. Ran out of fuel first, came back at midnight
to the ship, then started in again, black as coal.
Tremendous surf. Got by the jetties, being carried
down the river. No Colonel Henny on the dock of
the fish cannery as expected. Suddenly swept onto
the net; rocket guns cut steel cables one inch thick –
one cut, current forced most of cable out; then cut
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
the other and both of the two dories at either end
of them swept out to sea and they swept out after
them, raked by machine gun fire from nests south
of the fort and by 75mm from near the fort; shell
about 18 feet long and eight inches in diameter.
Green, the bowhook; Southern youngster. “Did you
ever operate a machine gun before?” “No, sir, but
ah sure operated this one!” (Quiet, soft-spoken, yet
to shave.) Courage and bravery of these boys under
fire – don’t worry about American youth, one and all
of them. Surf 30 feet high on way out. Boat about 30
feet long pointed bow ride up to the crest and then
drop as if going over a cliff. Lieut. Starkweather lifted up bodily, flung nose first on the deck – sprained
ankle, smashed fingers. River Oued Sebou. “Would
rather face hell of machine gun fire than that surf
again.” Afraid – all of them grown men but got used
to it after a while.
0700 – Destroyer Dallas goes up the river
48 hours late with 80 Rangers to take the airfield.
1030 – Seven casualties brought alongside; four
brought aboard when General Quarters was sounded. First Aid station was set upon the beach, then
carried out, ferried to us on ship in tank lighter.
Three left behind in lighter as we got underway on
sub alarm.
I stayed with a Lutheran who remarked: “I sure
would appreciate a prayer.” He had been wounded
by shrapnel in the arm badly, in the forehead, on
the left eyebrow, left hip, left leg in front and right
calf. “Sweet Jesus, mercy. I offer up this suffering
for you in union with your sufferings on Calvary for
my sins, for my buddies wounded and lying ashore
without protection or attention.”
1345 – Just met Lieut. Gilchrist outside my
door. He was in the tank lighter that capsized
yesterday 300 yards from shore, in 30 feet of water,
nosed over by 30 feet of surf. Four soldiers in tank
trapped and drowned, sunk not like a stone but like
what she was – a tank.
50 | in their own words
1350 – End of General Quarters.
1430 – Dive bombers, three of them, circled
over target on hill, then leveled off, came in and
blasted; then Texas on north and Cruiser on south
poured in their salvos of shellfire.
1500 – Tug pulls alongside with two Frenchmen; name of tug – Moumein. Two family men
said that Germans took them to Dakar. They
jumped off the ship and swam ashore. French think
they are fighting the English. Took both of them to
wardroom for coffee. They asked for milk for the
children. Loaded them with food and their tug with
supplies for men ashore.
Situation ashore: Airport taken today at 1200.
Our P 40s land; five nose over. A Major, one of
our patients, was the only one seriously hurt.
This afternoon casualties started to flow back to
us; lose first man, Huffstutler, from a bullet wound
in stomach.
A Protestant carried over his heart a copy of
the Gospel according to Mark, small copy – bullet
cut through it and picture of his girl and left only
a black and blue bruise. “Supply your own
explanation, Father.”
1800 – Dinner in wardroom, radio turned on.
Englishman broadcasting from Berlin remarked
that Media Beach had been captured. First mention
of us at all by any commentator. Oran and Tangiers
fell last night, Monday.
2000 – Executive Officer informs me that the
Captain desires burial of soldier who died this
evening to be done ashore tomorrow morning.
wednesday, november 11, 1942.
0900 – I go ashore in support boat with body
of Huffstutler. Two machine guns on either side
and cases for 48 rockets, 4 lbs of TNT, racks six on
either side with four slots on each.
We hug the south jetty on the northern side.
Swirling current and surf about ten feet high.
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See tragic reminders of inexperience of coxswains
with this shore; overturned lighters near the rocks.
River runs parallel with ocean after a sharp turn.
We hit Brown Beach and as I step ashore on
African soil for the first time I raise my hand in
blessing. The entrance to the fort is just off the
narrow catwalk. Off to the left is the house where
temporary headquarter have been set up. I inform
the doctor present of my mission and am directed
to Blue Beach where a cemetery is being built. On
the way up I see the roadway lined with bodies of
Americans and Moroccans. Directly overhead are
the frowning walls of the old sandstone Moroccan
fortress that our men took by storm yesterday. After
a mile and a half ride in an army jeep I met Dr.
Cassedy, our young doctor, who went ashore with
the medical detachment Sunday morning. He is
happy to see me and all his corpsmen sing out a
“Hello, Father!” They are working like slaves taking care of the American, French and Moroccan
wounded. A hospital has been improvised of a large
summer residence. Twenty beds have been set up
and there the wounded are being attended to. I give
the Last Rites to two badly hit Frenchmen who
will die.
Mehdia Plage itself is a picturesque little summer resort of 154 houses by actual count. French
love of color in evidence – buff, cream-colored
walls, blue blinds, red and green tiled roofs.
I am told that Army Chaplain Tepper, the
Jewish Rabbi, for whom I am searching is up at
the cemetery just over the brow of the hill behind
the town. On the way up I see three women and a
cluster of half a dozen children about four and five
years old. I tell Conway the bugler and the soldier
accompanying me to wait for a minute while I go
down and identify myself as a Catholic priest
and give them some medals of Our Lady and the
Little Flower. The eyes of the mothers light up at
the mention of St. Therese de Lisieux.
51 | in their own words
Pass gabled house – seven gables and coneshaped roof, along a sand road, down, then up a
slight incline, a turn to the left through the short
cedars, where an American flag identifies the location of seven American bodies. There is a sailor
from the Anthony Cooper who is awaiting burial.
He was killed when his tank lighter capsized and
his head struck the side.
Chaplain Tepper is now down at the fort I am
told, so I start down for the Mehdia Plage again and
receive a ride up to the fort there and meet Tepper
who is directing the collecting of the bodies. The
fort was a formidable military installation, a steep
precipice on one side and three slopes leading up
to it on the other side, pitted with foxholes and
trenches. Flanking its approaches are large concrete
square houses with half a dozen compartments.
These presented an obstacle to assaulters that was
costly, as the corpses stiff, cold, and frozen in the
grotesque positions of their death agony testified.
What a hideous, repulsive countenance war has.
It tears the heart to see the tragedy of young faces
upturned to the sky, staring with glazed eyes meaningless at the sun.
When half a dozen bodies had been collected
in addition to my two boys – sailor and soldier, I
started the service at about one o’clock just outside
the east end of the fort by a Moslem cemetery.
Along the south wall were lined the bodies. Along
the east wall the graves were being dug by 50 odd
Arab prisoners. They stopped, flanked me on the
right, with 50 of our soldiers on my left, the bugler
on my rear.
I read our prayers over them after the soldiers
and Arabs and a few French have snapped to attention when the order was given them, “May the
Angels lead thee into Paradise, may the Martyrs
receive thee at thy coming, etc.” Never shall I forget
the circumstances under which I conducted that funeral service. Overhead the blue sky was cloudless,
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
a gentle Moroccan breeze stirred the air of a day
warm with sunshine. At the foot of the hill, swinging idly at anchor, were our eight ships, Commando
and cargo, while the protecting screen of
destroyers and patrol craft and the battlewagon
Texas kept away the marauders of the sea. Straight
ahead stretched away the broad reaches of the
Atlantic. Over the edge of its horizon was country,
home, dear ones, for all of which these boys from
New York and Michigan and Texas had died that
the foul breath of Hitlerism might never come close
enough to blight those near and dear to them.
Here these boys lie on the crest of this hill on
which they gave their last measure of devotion. The
bugler sounds taps and we have paid them our last
respects. “Eternal rest grant unto to them, O Lord,
and may perpetual light shine upon them. May
their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed
rest in peace. Amen.”
The simple but impressive ceremony is over
and the Arabs go back to their task of digging the
graves. A Catholic boy who comes up to me regrets
that there was no Catholic priest aboard his ship on
the way over. I hear his confession then and there
on the hill.
I wander around the hill and the fort to give my
blessing to men whose bodies have not yet been
brought in, twelve in all. A young officer, Lieut.
Sharf, is one who ate in our wardroom; a splendid
young Jewish boy who wondered when he left the
ship at midnight Saturday if he would see his wife
by her next birthday in May. He lay where he fell,
200 yards from the east wall of the fort, dying as
he led his men in charge. Inside one of the small
rooms in the glorified pillbox are two Catholic boys
who managed to get in alive but will be brought out
differently. They are lying in their own dry caked
blood, their heads horribly gashed, brain of one of
them completely exposed.
Off to the west are two long trenches protecting the line of six 5” guns that lobbed shells at us
52 | in their own words
Sunday morning. One had been blasted by a direct
hit. At the base of the other lay a boy by the name of
Hastings from New York City. His mother, mercifully, will never know how he looked in death. To
one and all of them I give my blessing. The last has
a small funeral group as three sailors join me in
saying prayers over a boy from Indiana. At the lighthouse one of the Lieutenants whom we carried over
the ocean informs me that he will be grateful if I
would explain to the Arab family in the square white
house next to the lighthouse that they may stay if
they wish. I tell them, “S’il vous plait, restez ici.”
The man of the family is grateful for the information and stops carting out their pitifully few possessions. Their mule that had given them, I suppose,
patient dogged service, is dead alongside their door.
Returning down to Brown Beach we see more
evidence of the murderous efficiency of the dive
bombing that finally crushed all resistance.
I speak with French boys 16 and 17 years old.
They say that they did not know that they were
fighting the Americans; they thought they were
English – for whom they have apparently only a
bitter hatred and would fight to the year 2000
against them.
1600 – We return to Brown Beach where the
prisoners are industriously unloading our boats of
their supplies. A squadron of deadly tanks roar out
of the temporary garage on its way to a rendezvous
somewhere.
Chaplain Tepper in charge of the personal
effects of the dead boys gives me something that
touches me deeply – a copy of Joyce Kilmer’s
“Prayer of a Soldier in France,” that I had mimeographed and gave out at the last Sunday Mass
aboard ship. Yes, this day will be among one of
the unforgettable!
Upon returning to the ship I learned that the
Armistice had been signed at 1 p.m. this morning.
Thank God this needless bloodshed is over, in at
least one section of a bloodstained world in which
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Germans are killing Russians and English, Italians
and Americans, French.
Climb up the side of the ship by Jacob’s ladder
hand over hand up 50 feet of landing net. Pitch
dark ship rolling in the long swells swings us out
away from the side and then in to it.
thursday, november 12, 1942.
Unloading of ship continues. I visit the wounded
in their staterooms; we have 65 aboard.
friday, november 13, 1942.
I go ashore in the afternoon to visit the
American wounded in the French hospital in Port
Lyautey. I step ashore at Brown Beach, arrange
for transfer of all wounded – 60 day convalescent
cases, beg a ride in an Army jeep to the town over
the crest of a hill. The town stands out dazzling
white in its African colonial setting against the
white green of the surrounding hills. At its entrance
soldier guards challenge us. I identify myself and
my mission to the two soldiers who recognize me
as off the Clymer; recently they were two of the
passengers. Off down the long paved highway
flanked with quaint houses of varying design – some
modernistic, square-boxed, cream-colored walls, blue
blinds, yellow roofs. I guess that they are, or rather
most of the buildings are white to lessen the heat of
the Moroccan sun. In the hospital I greet two of our
boys badly wounded; one will die, the other will live
minus his left forearm. I give out cigarettes – worth
their weight in gold, chocolate bars, and apples;
people have had a lean time these last few years.
On the way back to Brown Beach in the jeep,
I espy Major Dilley of the Army. We have a happy
reunion for a few minutes. When we last heard of
him, he was shying away from shrapnel thrown
by a French shell. It was good to see him safe and
sound after so many wounded. He informed me
that 74 Americans were killed, about 700 French-
53 | in their own words
men and Moroccans. Their firepower could not
match our rifles, more rounds, grenades, machine
guns, artillery, etc.
saturday, november 14, 1942.
Sperry of the Commando Party presents me with
a beautiful picture of the fort. I shall always treasure this tangible evidence of their thoughtfulness.
It will also help to freeze in my memory the spot
where I counted 58 crosses last evening.
Lieut. Mark Starkweather, 3174 165th Street,
Cleveland, Ohio (his permanent address) finds that
he has a broken heel as another souvenir of his trip
up the river to break the net.
sunday, november 15, 1942.
Although we were supposed to start out for
sea yesterday afternoon, we didn’t pull up the
hook until 0630 this morning.
0715 – Mass. End of General Quarters.
“Where are we going?” is the question on
everybody’s lips. Casa Blanca is the answer to the
question; again, only a guess but a good one for
our ship has only one-third of her cargo unloaded
and it would seem the height or the depth of
inefficiency for us to carry back again all this
most important material.
1210 – We sight the Electra sinking. She was
one of our group which, for some strange reason,
ventured out alone last night and caught it early
this morning. At two o’clock we make out on the
shoreline with which we have been running parallel all the way, a beautiful town – Casa Blanca, with
the hills rising directly behind it. Most modern in
design; apartment houses, corner windows, ten
stories high, cream and buff colored buildings.
As we come in behind the breakwater we see
evidence of the naval struggle that took place last
Sunday, melancholy reminders of what might have
been if we were only friends from the beginning.
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Dr. Walker mentions that four of our transports
were sunk just off this breakwater while unloading
Wednesday after the Armistice had been signed.
About one hour ago just outside the harbor the
sea was littered with our life rafts and sea rations;
tangible evidence of something that was hit.
Tied up alongside of us and the French freighter on the south side is a torpedoed destroyer that
shipped the tin fish just above her waterline. Just
the other side of the little railroad, off our starboard,
is a French destroyer and a battleship burned at the
water’s edge.
Sermon today at Mass. Introduction – eventful week, recollections of things seen and heard,
impressed indelibly on the memory. Each man has
his own recollections. Mine: Saturday
Mass – Benediction, Viaticum – stories –
St. Mark’s Gospel copy shot – Big One – Funeral
Service – Setting. One thing we all share is our
obligation of gratitude to God and remembrance
of the souls in Purgatory.
1900 – Just back from the U. S. S. Hambleton,
destroyer tied up alongside of us. It was a torpedo
that wrecked one of her engine rooms, one fire
room, and the electrician’s room, killing eighteen
and wounding six.
The four ships sunk, Adam, the fireman, tells
me were Rutledge, Scott, Hughes, and Bliss – all
transports. Tanker Winooski that came across the
ocean with us also caught two torpedoes. Scuttlebutt has us unloaded by tomorrow night and then
setting out for home once again.
radio press release.
Churchill announced yesterday that subs hunting in packs off the N. W. Africa coast had paid a
heavy price for their foolhardiness; thirteen were
sunk in the last three days, five yesterday.
Monday, November 16, 1942.
Casa Blanca is indescribably beautiful
54 | in their own words
in the morning sunrise. Lieut. Ellery of the
U. S.S. Hambleton, moored on our portside for
steam and electrical facilities, inquires if I am a
Catholic priest. We make arrangements for Confessions at 1600. I hear them and then I go into the
machinist’s shop to bless the bodies of the three
men taken out of the gaping hole in her portside
that was the engine room until a torpedo hit her
three nights ago at Fedela, where the tanker, the
Winooski, also caught it along with the Rutledge,
the Hughes, the Scott, and the Bliss.
2000 – A 150 English soldiers and merchant
marines come aboard. They were torpedoed on
September 12; lost 2000, 1400 of them Italian
prisoners, when their ship, the Laconia, was
torpedoed. Since then they have been in a prisoners’ camp. Remarks: ”It was music to our ears to
hear the noise of your guns.” “I think that this meal
is all a dream after the stuff they have been giving
us.” “Sir, I have been in the desert for two and a
half years but I never did see such beautiful dive
bombing as on last Sunday morning.” “One youngster, Paddy Kenny from Liverpool, is only fifteen
years old; shipped in the merchant marine.”
“We all thank God that we are here this evening.”
Tuesday, November 17, 1942.
1300 – We carefully nose out of our pocket
in Casa Blanca Harbor as #23 on the list of ships
that have been shoving off all morning. Goodbye
to Casa Blanca without seeing her obvious beauty
at close range; too dangerous to venture ashore.
Hence no leave granted anyone.
Just before we leave the Commander calls me
to pacify Raymond Colle, a French boy of 18 who
is sick with anxiety about what the French will do
to him if he is put ashore. He was a member of the
Army that swung over to General de Gaulle. Now
those who did that are being shot as deserters as
quickly as they are apprehended. Outfitting him in
an American coverall and soldier’s jaunty cap and
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putting him under the special protection of Lieut.
Brooks quiets him. He will proceed to Port Lyautey
where he will join up with the de Gaullists there.
I meet Major Creedon, one of our guests, and
find that we have a common friend in Fr. Webb of
Woodstock, England fame.
Some English were saved after their ship, the
Laconia, was torpedoed. They would sail by day;
then at night the sub would insist on towing them
back to the spot they had left in order to be picked
up by the French cruiser which the sub had contacted. Men aboard her who hailed the Limeys spoke
perfect English. On one occasion they had to put
four Italians over the side. “It was a case of either
them or us.” Sub apparently saw the operation,
came alongside, challenged them about it, admission; the German remarks; “Good work, after all,
they were only Italians.”
Next an Italian sub contacted them and asked
if they had any Italians aboard their ship when she
was hit. “Yes; they are aft about five miles.” “Thank
you; do you need anything?” “Could use some
water.” Gave them six bottles of water and same
amount of very good wine. The irony of this gesture!
The Laconia lost 1800 souls when she went
down in about twenty minutes even though she was
about 18,000 gross tons.
Wednesday, November 18, 1942.
When daybreak comes we are well on our way
out to sea with land no longer visible. Our small
convoy of eight ships finds its number increased
in the afternoon when three huge Army transports
loom up on the horizon, headed directly for us.
They are former Grace Liners, Uruguay, Argentina
and Brazil; each about 25,000 tons and used exclusively for transporting troops, unlike ourselves who
are combat ships.
55 | in their own words
Thursday and Friday,
November 19 and 20, 1942.
Sea is a bit choppy.
Saturday, November 21, 1942.
Sea really begins to kick up after fuelling of destroyers, one on either side of tanker. During this
evolution we slow down to about five knots per hour.
Sunday, November 22, 1942.
0650 – Mass in Junior Officers’ Wardroom;
crowded with about 70 present.
1000 – General Service in NCO Mess. Largest
attendance since I came on the ship. We are growing. Two the first Sunday total number of non-Catholics, then five, now eighty. I gave them a Catholic
sermon without the word “Catholic.”
1530 – Rosary and Benediction. I am sure Our
Lady is pleased with the mixture of Scotch, Irish,
Cockney and Yankee dialects making answer to the
first part of her Hail Mary.
Ocean really boisterous, in fact boiling today,
whipped by a 20 mile wind that we push up to 35
by our speed. Shrouds are constantly moaning;
everything is securely lashed both inside and on the
weather decks.
Sea is alive with white caps and waves that rise
to a crest of 30 odd feet. Foam lashed off the tops
by the wind forming rainbows on every side of us.
Suddenly a three-decker rainbow colors the sky in
the west where we could see a rain squall a short
while ago.
Ships on every side rolling and pitching
violently. Chenago, aircraft carrier, taking water
on the nose of her flight deck; tanker shipping
water regularly. We, I imagine, are like the ship in
front of us. When her bow plunges down, her stern
rises high and the propeller, apparently angry at being lifted out of her element, lashes out blindly for
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the sea that wouldn’t stay altogether with her and
white spray is thrown five feet on all sides.
The piece-de-resistance is furnished by the
Chaplain at dinner. We had been sliding a little bit
in our chairs which were not lashed to the deck.
Whenever we felt a move coming, we held onto the
table until the roll stopped, but for this one there
was no warning. Dr. Harris asked the Chaplain for
the bread. The Chaplain had just finished putting
a piece of white turkey in his mouth. With the
other hand he picked up the dish of bread to pass
it to Dr. Walker who had requested it. Then, the
roll. We slid to the portside, three feet, myself and
the tailman, then a long ride of fifteen feet to the
starboard. All had grabbed something by this time
except the Chaplain. I set sail again for the portside,
holding out a loaded dish of bread in one hand
trying to make a sale, and armed with a fork in the
other. “Look at the Chaplain,” I heard as I went
sailing by the customers! Then my ride was over.
Thursday, November 26, 1941 –
Thanksgiving Day, U. S. S. George Clymer.
Thanksgiving at sea. Catholic Mass at 0700.
Standing room only. Congregation – Yanks,
English, Irish, Scotch.
1000 – General Service. Congregation the
same; standing room only.
Dinner. Rough sea like a street on a windy day
when the snow is falling, streaks of snow everywhere, not even a blanket. Streaks of foam; combers breaking all over the face of the ocean. Spray
whipped off the crests lashes me in the face as I
look over the starboard side. Forty winks. Visit to
the wounded. Instructions to two potential converts.
Sermon” “Today, men, is Thanksgiving Day.
This morning we are gathered together here to take
part in a service of gratitude to Almighty God for
the blessings He has bestowed upon us.
“Although at first sight it may seem that out
here on the Atlantic, 1100 miles from home, our
56 | in their own words
little service is slight and inconsequential but that
is not the case. It would be if we were alone but we
are not. By prayer, the strongest of bonds, we are
united to countless other services being held all
over the globe, at home and abroad.
“At home in our own country, the memory of
Thanksgiving is being renewed in every section.
The day has been consecrated to prayer by our
President. So in the majestic cathedrals and modest churches back home, our mothers and fathers,
brothers and sisters, wives and sweethearts and
friends are raising their voices in song and prayers
of Thanksgiving. Perhaps they are worrying,
wondering how we are faring, little dreaming that
their fervent prayers have stood us in good stead.
“Abroad, wherever American soldiers are stationed, on ships of our Navy at sea, divine services
are being held. For the first time in history, Thanksgiving ceremonies are being conducted in Westminster Abbey with an American Chaplain presiding. Aboard ship, we too render homage to God and
join with all those services everywhere. Our prayers
do not ascend to the white throne of God as single,
isolated fragments but as part of a mighty host of
prayer, welling up from hundreds of thousands of
hearts all over the world in Thanksgiving.
“As one of the Officers remarked this morning,
‘We indeed have much to be thankful for.’ The personal blessings that God has conferred upon us, we
alone know their number. What they are is a sacred
secret between us and our Creator, but we do know
that deep down in the sanctuary of our hearts where
we walk alone with God, where no man treads without intruding, that the protecting arm of God was
not foreshortened. One and all of us can look back
upon moments when we were intimately aware that
God was with us, moments either of the remote or
of the recent past – as recently as two months ago
or two weeks ago.
“Some among you now listening to the sound
of my voice looked death in the face for six harrow-
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ing days and five nights in small lifeboats on sharkinfested waters. Death stared at you and passed you
by – for others. Others among us apparently had a
rendezvous with their last hour when landing upon
Mehdia Beach and after landing upon it. Yet death
stared at them, too, and passed them by – for others.
“Those of us left aboard ship know that we were
enveloped by God’s protection. It was there for all
to see it. Shells whined aft of us, over us, and off
our foc’stle. They fell all around us from coastal
guns. Yet not one hit its target.
“Now go back, for a moment, to that historic
day when we steamed out of Hampton Roads on
our way at last to open up the much-heralded
second front. If any man had ventured to predict
that we would return home with our ship intact,
except for the loss of a few boats, and more wonderful by far, with our crew unharmed, he would have
been labeled ”crazy” for ignoring the percentages
of modern warfare. Yet here we are – ship and
personnel intact.
“The same cannot be said of other ships and
their personnel. If I may be pardoned for injecting
a personal note, I buried sailors from other ships.
I have conducted funerals before as an ordained
ambassador of God but never shall I forget the
service on the top of the hill next to Fort Mehdia.
The Armistice had been signed a few hours before.
A number of bodies were hastily collected. I faced
them, the long row of them. Beyond them I could
see our ship and her sisters peacefully swinging at
anchor out on the broad Atlantic. The time was one
o’clock. The day was beautiful with a clear, blue
sky overhead and warm with Moroccan sunshine.
On my right, 50 Arab prisoners of war who had
been digging the graves. On my left, our own
57 | in their own words
American boys – comrades of the fallen. The
age-old prayers for the dead, always moving in
their simplicity began:
May the Angels receive you into Paradise;
May the Martyrs take thee at thy coming;
May thou, with the once poor Lazarus,
have rest everlasting.
I am the Resurrection and the Life.
He who believeth in me, even though
He be dead, shall live, And everyone who liveth
and believeth in me, Shall not die forever.
Eternal rest grant to them, O Lord,
And may perpetual light shine upon them.
May their souls and the souls of all the
faithful departed, Through the mercy of God,
rest in peace. Amen.
“Taps were sounded and when the last note
had died away, the final blessing was given to our
heroic dead. They lie buried on the crest of that hill
looking out over the broad reaches of the restless
Atlantic, toward country, home, friends, and those
near and dear to them for whom they gave the last
full measure of devotion. God, we may be sure, is
mindful of their sacrifice. He is mindful, too, of
the honored dead of our allies, soldiers, sailors, and
members of the merchant marine. We pause to pay
them all our meed of tribute and remember them in
our prayers where prayers count most, at God’s altar.
“In the words of Scripture, ‘They had girded
themselves, they were valiant men, they were ready
against the morning – they had fought the good fight,
they had finished their course, they kept the faith.’
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
“What of us? We must make certain that we,
too, have girded ourselves with the double bond of
loyalty to God and to country that we may be valiant
men in the discharge of our duty to both, that we
may be ready against the morning when the white
tremendous daybreak of eternity dawns for us. We
must also bend every effort to fight the good fight,
to finish our course, to keep the faith. Then, and
only then, are we making the best possible return
to Almighty God for the blessings and favors that
He has showered upon us. He will know that our
thanksgiving is not an empty, hollow phrase, but
a sincere, honest expression of gratitude that rises
straight from hearts of men whose lives are a living
confirmation of what they profess with their lips.”
Monday, November 30, 1942
HOME, NORFOLK, VA.!!! Minus four ships
that went East with us – they are now filed in Davy
Jones’s locker. Thank you, Lord, for bringing us
safely back again. We, indeed, have much to thank
you for! Thank you, Lord, again, for a safe 7000
mile round trip.
John P. Foley, S.J.
13
Lieutenant Commander, USN
13 John P. Foley, World War II typescript diary, 1942 – 1945. Archives of the Society of Jesus of New England,
College of the Holy Cross, Worcester, MA.
58 | in their own words
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In Their Own Words
battlefield promotion
The story of a signal honor bestowed by General MacArthur upon Father Thomas
Shanahan, S.J., was related recently to the Most Rev. John F. O’Hara, C.S.C., Military Delegate
for the Army and Navy Vicariate, by a chaplain who had just arrived from Australia.
F
ather Shanahan, a native of Waterbury and
a member of the class of 1918 at Holy Cross
College, originally reported wounded in the
bombing of Manila, actually went as chaplain of
the ship “Mactan” bearing the wounded from the
Philippines to Australia. On the eve of the fall of
Manila, General Douglas MacArthur, Commanderin-Chief of the American and Filipino forces in the
Philippines, was very anxious to evacuate all the
men wounded during the course of the war up until
that date. Despite great difficulties this was finally
accomplished. The interisland steamship “Mactan”
was converted into a Red Cross ship. A number
of doctors and nurses were assembled and the
wounded transferred late on the eve of New Year’s
Day. At the last moment it was discovered that no
chaplain had been appointed.
This part of the story has been supplied by the
four Filipino nurses who are at present in New
York, having come all the way with the wounded
men from Australia. They were among the nurses
sent to the “Mactan” to take care of the wounded in
the course of the voyage to Australia. When it was
discovered that no chaplain had been obtained, it
seems that Father Shanahan’s name was suggested
by everyone who was consulted. According to the
nurses, he had been very active during the bombing of Manila, especially in the port area where the
14 “MacArthur Honors Jesuit,” Woodstock Letters, 71, 91–93.
59 | in their own words
bombing was most intense, and his name was well
known to the military personnel especially of the
Medical Corps. He was accordingly asked to
accompany the “Mactan” as chaplain. He actually
had about five minutes’ preparation for the journey,
just long enough to call Father Hurley, his superior,
and obtain his permission to leave.
When the trip was over and the wounded had
been taken care of in Australia, Father Shanahan consulted the Jesuit Vice-Provincial in Melbourne with
regard to his future duties. It was agreed between
them that Father Shanahan should make application to become a regular army chaplain. This he did.
The regulation papers were made out. When General
MacArthur arrived in Australia he found a great deal
of desk work awaiting him. Some new commissions
had been held up pending his approval. In going
through them he found the regular form made out
but waiting his signature, commissioning Father
Shanahan as first lieutenant in the army of the United
States. General MacArthur read the name and then
inquired, “Isn’t this the Father Shanahan who was
chaplain of the ‘Mactan’?” On being assured that he
was the same man, General MacArthur crossed out
the words “First Lieutenant” on the commission and
said, “Make Father Shanahan a captain.”
The Catholic News, December 5, 1942
14
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
darwin’s dead
During the Second World War, the Japanese flew 64 raids on Darwin and 33 raids on
other targets in Northern Australia. From the first raid on 19 February 1942 until the last
on 12 November 1943, Australia and its allies lost about 900 people.
T
he Courier-Mail of Brisbane, Australia,
reproduced a poem of tribute to Darwin’s
dead, written by Father Anthony G. Carroll,
S.J., U. S. Army chaplain, and read by him at a
memorial service to
fallen men at an advanced Allied base. Father
Carroll served as a professor of chemistry at
Boston College, Chestnut Hill, Mass., prior to
entering the service.
poem in memory of darwin’s dead
On Darwin’s shore our bodies lie,
And o’er our graves the soft winds sigh,
And whisper through the star-filled night,
The story of the silver blight
That struck us from a wing-blacked sky.
Know ye who guard the slopes nearby –
Know ye who overhead still fly –
Till victory, with you we fight,
And not till then, will bid good-bye
On Darwin’s shore.
But death will never break the tie
That binds us all – we did not die
To idly gaze from some great height
On Darwin’s shore.
Adapted from The Catholic News,
15
August 1, 1942
15 Anthony G. Carroll, “Poem in Memory of Darwin’s Dead,” Woodstock Letters, 71, 345.
60 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
worship in wartime
in 1944 I was a military chaplain at Finschhafen, New Guinea, where a teeming Army
base stretched for some 15 miles along the coast. On both sides of the single road, built
out of coral by Army engineers, were acres of tents, mess halls, headquarters, shops, offices
and a hospital. Every time a six-by-six truck rolled by during the dry season, it churned clouds
of white dust into food and bedding. The 33rd Division was bivouacked there, waiting for the
word to move on Biak, Halmahera and the Philippines. There was also a Navy base for
PT boats and a landing strip for the Air Corps.
S
ometimes we saw native gangs working under the surveillance of Australians. Once in a
while, a native family would come out of the
jungle: Daddy striding ahead with his spear and his
“Marys” strung out behind him, carrying the children and household luggage. But the base itself was
largely populated by Army service troops: ordnance,
signal, quartermaster.
Under tropical sun or in the deep mud of the
rainy season, they struggled to empty huge crates
of equipment from the States: generators, refrigerators, switchboards, artillery, ammunition, food,
trucks, ambulances, jeeps, weapons carriers,
motorized field kitchens, ducks, tanks and bulldozers. These were assembled for shipment to the
combat areas where Gen. Douglas MacArthur’s
armies were successfully carrying out their islandhopping strategies.
At the height of its activities, there were upwards of a hundred thousand men on the base.
Almost all of them would have given anything to be
out of the Army and back home where they would
be free to pick up the pieces of an education or a
career, free to walk downtown without a pass or
drive a car without a trip-ticket, free to take the girl
61 | in their own words
to whom they wrote poignant letters out for
an evening and free to do as they pleased rather
than what the sergeant ordered. Of course, they
also wanted to be out of New Guinea – away forever
from palm trees and jungle rot and pestilential
insects, from ceaseless, enervating heat and
cascading downpours of rain.
Under such conditions, it was up to the chaplain to be more than a jovial, back-slapping morale
officer. Somehow he had to counsel and exemplify
patience and fortitude. He had to inject meaning
into this baffling enigma called war. So when I set
about building a chapel, I gave thought to its symbolism. I knew that as much as anything I might
say within it, the chapel’s shape, size and furnishings could be counted on to create an attitude.
The building, therefore, was fan-shaped so that
the men sat in a half-circle with their attention focused on the altar. No posts blocked their vision or
impeded their awareness of one another as mutual
witnesses to their faith and collaborating worshipers of their common Father. An altar table made
from New Guinea mahogany was supported by two
brass 90-millimeter shell cases that rested in turn
on a 500 pound block also of local mahogany. Both
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
the Army and New Guinea were thereby
symbolized by this table of sacrifice.
Candlesticks, shaped out of brass shimstock,
bore the emblem of the Ordnance Department to
which the men of this outfit belonged. The missal stand was made of heavy-gauge brass wire with
a hammer and a wrench, typical Ordnance tools,
worked into its back and crossed so as to become
the Chi-Rho symbol. The holy water stoup, fashioned from a shell case, had a sprinkler with a
handle of New Guinea mahogany and a head of
Army brass.
The thurible was a triumph of resourceful
ingenuity – a perforated jeep cylinder swinging
from bicycle chains. When the Ordnance men, who
worked on engines and called themselves greasemonkeys, saw and smelled the fragrant smoke
rising in worship from this commonplace item of
their everyday lives, they began to understand that
the Mass was not a spectacle they watched, but an
action in which they could have a part.
The tabernacle, measuring 16 by 16 inches,
suggested the troops’ pyramidal tents, which were
16 by 16 feet. It was covered with a veil resembling
a tent-fly so that they might remember that
“the Word became flesh and pitched His tent
among us.”
Looking down on this sanctuary and these
worshipers was the crucified Christ, carved from
rosewood by a non-professional but talented
corporal. The figure on the cross was robed and
crowned – a reminder that Good Friday was followed by Easter, and so the disciples of Christ may
confidently look forward to rest after labor, joy
after sorrow. Since the canopy was lined with red
silk taken from salvage parachutes, the sanctuary, illuminated by “sealed-beam” jeep headlights,
was suffused in red---the color of blood, of life, of
devoted love.
The liturgy was still in Latin in those days, so
I introduced an English “Dialogue Mass,” but it
62 | in their own words
turned out to be a clumsy and unsatisfying arrangement. When I greeted the congregation with
“Dominus vobiscum,” the leader shouted, “The
Lord be with you,” and the congregation’s response
was directed to him, not to me. But it would have
been precipitous at that time, when liturgical considerations were chiefly rubrical and rubrics had
almost the authority of the Ten Commandments,
to celebrate facing the people. It would have gotten
me a reputation as an extremist, even a faddist, and
in the climate of that era it might have the led the
congregation to think that the external conduct
of worship is more important than the interior
dispositions one brings to it.
We had only a few weeks in which to enjoy our
chapel before the battalion was alerted for movement. However, the C.O. ordered that the altar and
its appurtenances be crated and taken with us. Then,
although we were service troops that had never
expected to see combat, we hit the Philippine beach
at Lingayen where we dug foxholes and huddled
under enemy artillery fire. Some days later, when a
Regimental Combat Team had pushed the Japanese
back to Baguio and the area had been secured, we
retrieved our gear.
But we moved so often in the following months
that it was impossible to give the altar even a
temporary home. When the peace treaty was at last
signed aboard the Missouri, Cardinal Francis J.
Spellman, the Military Vicar, came to Manila, and
with 6,500 troops participating, he offered a Mass
of thanksgiving on our altar set up in Rizal Stadium. Then the altar was crated once again and made
the long journey through the Panama Canal to New
York and then to Boston College. For a while, it
served as a small chapel, but the mounting enrollments prompted by the “G.I. Bill” called for alterations that displaced the chapel.
Nowadays, the altar is the permanent centerpiece of the World War II display in the U.S. Army
Chaplains’ Museum at Fort Monmouth in New
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
Jersey, an hour’s drive from New York City. This
aging chaplain would like to think that the men
who labored devotedly to build and adorn that altar
go on occasion to the museum to see it. Where are
they now, he wonders: Bill Graham, Tip Maher,
Bob Hauser, Clarence Staudenmayer, Bob Carracher, Steve Brennan, Chris Spicuzza, Len Stack,
Tom Jones, Johnny Mangiaracina, Sammy Shapiro,
Jimmy Scannell, Leo Spinelli, Tony Galluci, Ben
Gorski…? Wherever they are, whatever altars they
gather about now, may the memory of those days
and of their dedicated efforts to provide a worthy
setting for their encounters with the Most High
sustain and comfort them.
But what happened to the New Guinea chapel
itself? The last thing I saw on that morning after
Christmas in 1944, when we left the area in a
frantic rush for the ship taking us to the Luzon
invasion, was the steep pitch of the chapel roof.
In the years that followed, I wondered if it were
still standing. Could it possibly have survived the
termites and the typhoons of more than 40 tropical
years? Perhaps after we left, the Aussies made it
into a pub. Maybe the native people used it for their
sing-sings. Or perhaps, it simply collapsed one
night when the high winds blew.
One day this spring, I looked down from an Air
Niugini 727 on the gray-green hills around New
Guinea’s Port Moresby and felt again the twinge of
distaste mixed with apprehension that this island
had always inspired in me. I had never been able to
banish the feeling that there was something sinister
in that atmosphere, something invisibly malevolent
toward those who were not children of the jungle.
I remembered, too, the miseries of the
Salamaua campaign and thought I could pick out
the thread of the Kokoda Trail along the Owen
Stanley Range, one of the highest mountain ranges
in the world. In 1942, the Japanese, having landed
at Buna on the east coast, swarmed up that trail and
down the other side until they almost reached Port
63 | in their own words
Moresby from which they would have had a clear
shot at Australia. But the 32nd American Division,
a work-horse division from Wisconsin, and the 7th
Australian Division had landed and attacked the
Japanese head-on. They pushed them up, up, up,
over the top again, and down, down, down back
into Buna.
According to legend, Gen. Robert L. Eichelberger, commanding the 32nd, then wired to General
MacArthur: “I can spit in Buna, but I can’t take it.”
MacArthur is said to have wired back: “You will take
it, or leave your body.” He took it, of course, but the
price was enormous: thousands dead or wounded.
The survivors endured malaria, dengue fever, scrub
typhus, dysentery, psychological exhaustion and
cold---they had left Port Moresby in tropical uniforms but needed winter clothing at the summit
of the range. From a purely military standpoint, it
was one of the finest exploits of the war. We should
never have heard the end of it if it had been done
by the Marines. But the human cost overpowers the
imagination. I remember Pope Paul VI pleading before the United Nations General Assembly in 1965:
“Jamais plus la guérre, jamais encore!” (“No more
war! War never again!”)
As the plane came in for the Finschhafen
landing, I peered intently at the empty harbor and
the silent landscape. I was looking for something,
anything, familiar. They had told me that because
Finschhafen was a malarial area, it had not been
developed as Moresby, Lae and other provincial
centers had been. So, I had guessed, the place
would look pretty much as it did when I last saw it.
When we set out from the Lutheran Mission
Hospital, however, I could recognize only one feature---that single road along the coast, built of coral
by our engineers and now somewhat macadamized.
Dr. Hershey, the American volunteer physician at
the hospital, had generously loaned us his car. I had
to drive on the left and use a stick-shift instead of
the automatic transmission that has become more
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
familiar in recent years. But it didn’t matter;
we met almost no traffic.
We dipped into the hollow where Base
Headquarters had been, but saw only thick underbrush and mature palm trees. Then we reached the
level stretch where I was sure the 900 men of the
Ninth Ordnance Battalion had had their tents and
shops. This must be the place. This was where I
would find my chapel. But there was nothing, not
even a bit of old metal rusting away under the gently waving fronds of jungle vegetation. I suppose
the native people had carried away whatever they
could use after we left, and anything else simply
disintegrated.
We stopped to explore a bit as best we could under the fierce midday sun---how had we ever done
such heavy work in such a climate?---but I could not
identify with certainty even the chapel site. I asked
questions at a general store near what had once
been the Navy Base and also at the Lutheran minor
seminary but only got a wondering and regretful
shaking of heads.
We drove on, but I knew we had gone too far
when we reached Scarlet Beach. (The Japanese had
attempted a landing there and had been repulsed
with so much bloodshed that the place was given
this grisly name. That is what it is still called,
though the natives probably don’t know why.)
We went back to search again, scanning every
foot of the way. Nothing. If I had heard the kookaburra bird cawing its raucous laugh, I would have
thought the triumphant jungle was mocking me.
With sympathetic perception, my traveling companion and Boston College colleague, George Lawlor,
S.J., sensed my disappointment. In a quiet, let’sbe-reasonable tone, he said: “You fellows came out
here to establish peace, didn’t you?”
“I suppose we did,” I answered.
“Well,” he said, “Look around you.”
The breeze soughed softly through the palm
trees, and I broke into a slow grin. It was true. The
Japanese were gone. We Americans had gone. The
Australians had gone. The country belonged, as it
should, to the people of New Guinea. Mission accomplished. So if my chapel had vanished, it didn’t
matter. I took a last look at the serene and silent
bush, said a quick prayer for all the comrades, living and dead, of those days and drove back to the
hospital. Dr, Hershey, with rare delicacy and kindness, thanked me for what we had done, more than
40 years earlier, for New Guinea.
William J. Leonard, S.J. 16
16 William J. Leonard, “Worship in Wartime,” America, (August 8, 1987). Reprinted with permission of America Press, Inc.
c 1987.
64 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
a parable of redemption
i don’t remember that i thought of world war ii, while we were fighting it, as just
another episode in the history of salvation. the convulsion it brought into all our
lives was too gigantic. And if we had been able to grasp the full dimensions of the horror at
that time – in particular the demonic things associated with names like Dachau and Auschwitz,
Bataan and Lubyanka Prison – it would have seemed such a sickening concentration of misery
that we could not have endured it.
I
t was not a pretty time to be alive. We had
known the bread lines of the depression, and
as the thirties drew to a close we heard Mussolini ranting in the Piazza Venezia in Rome and
saw the stormtroopers goosestepping into Prague
and Vienna. The lights went out, then, all over the
world; it was the scorched earth of the Ukraine and
the Nine Hundred Days of Leningrad; it was disaster at Dunkirk and death raining from the skies
over London; it was, finally, Pearl Harbor, Anzio,
and Omaha Beach.
This convulsion, they said, was the birth pangs
of a new order, the kind of thing that happens
about every five hundred years. But this was too
cataclysmic – no new order could be worth that
much wretchedness. One claps his hand to his
mouth and falls silent in the presence of an evil
so hideous, so enormous.
My office [86th Infantry Division, Camp Livingston, Alexandria, La., in 1944] was in the rear
of the chapel building, quite adequate except there
were no screens in the windows, and after dark all
the bugs in Louisiana came in to see me, including
some revolting specimens at which I used to stare
in disbelief. Almost always I had a stream of men
with problems. It had been decided, for instance,
65 | in their own words
that the Air Corps and the Army Special Training
Program (ASTP) were overloaded, and many hundreds of men in these relatively pleasant outfits had
been assigned to the infantry.
A more disgruntled and resentful crowd I had
never seen. Some of them were in their middle and
late thirties; they found that long hikes and crawling on their bellies gave them anguish in areas
they had never been conscious of before. Some
were kids who had enlisted in the ASTP believing
that they would be sent to medical school or graduate studies. Some had highly specialized skills for
which, with reason, they foresaw no use in a rifle
company. Very occasionally I was able to help by
arranging a transfer to the medics or the signal
battalion, but for the most part all I could do was
provide a sympathetic ear; they were infantry, and
that was that.
There was one exception. A colonel sent for me
one morning to tell me about a lad who refused to
fire a rifle or throw a grenade.
“He says he’s a pacifist,” the colonel snapped.
“I want you to set him straight, and if you don’t
succeed, I’ll court-martial him and send him to
Leavenworth.”
“Maybe he’s sincere,” I offered.
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
“I don’t believe it. He enlisted in the army,
didn’t he? He thought he’d get a free ride through
medical school, and now that bubble has burst, so
he’s taking the easy way out. You think I’m hard,
don’t you? Look, Father, I was at Pearl Harbor the
day the Japanese hit us. I want to pay off those beggars, and I have no illusions about them. They’ve
been tough and they will be tough. If we’re going to
survive, we have to be tough, and that boy will have
to do his part. Knock some sense into his head.”
I saluted and went out with a real worry. I
respected the colonel as a man and an officer and
understood his attitude, but the thing wasn’t that
simple. When the boy in question reported at my
office my anxiety grew. He was a blocky, muscular
fellow, no sissy. He spoke slowly and softly and
without emotion.
“I don’t think it’s right to kill,” he said
“Then why did you enlist?” I asked.
“They told me I would go to medical school.”
“Are you afraid of combat?”
“No, I’m quite willing to go as a medic.”
I gave him all the classic arguments for the
legitimacy of a just war. I reminded him that we
were being attacked. I pictured as vividly as I could
the consequences of the Axis victory over us. I
quoted all the theologians I knew. After our talk,
feeling that there must be other considerations I
had overlooked, I wrote for help to a theologian at
home. The theologian’s answer, alas, was an appeal to paternalism that even in those days sounded
very hollow to me. By what right, I was to ask the
soldier, did he oppose his immature opinion to the
considered judgment of his country’s leaders? I
never asked the question. I was afraid it might be
the same question that was being put to young men
in Germany about that time.
We talked, however, far into the night on several occasions, and I found that I could not shake
him. A very small thing finally convinced me of
his sincerity. We were sitting in my office, very
66 | in their own words
late, and my lights must have been almost the only
ones burning in the whole camp. The walls and
the ceiling were crawling with insects, and I had
been killing the most annoying of them. Then one
particularly nauseous centipede landed on his arm
and started for his face. Very gently he brushed the
repulsive thing away and went on talking.
Next morning I reported to the colonel that I
was thoroughly convinced of the boy’s sincerity and
recommended that he be transferred to the medical
battalion. The colonel glared at me, told me I had
greatly disappointed him, and said he would make
sure that the lad got twenty years in Leavenworth.
But long afterward, when I met the division again
in the Philippines, the young soldier was with
the medics.
It was after 6 P.M. when we were dropped at an
Ordnance company in San Fernando [in the Philippines with General MacArthur’s forces at the end
of the Luzon campaign, 1945] where we not only
got a temporary repair job done on the jeep but also
wrangled a square meal and a much-needed bath.
Alas, the jeep stalled twice more before we reached
the outskirts of Manila, and then, because of rumors
that Rizal Avenue had been mined, Fr. Ortiz took us
through side streets to the gates of the University
of Santo Tomas. During the Japanese occupation,
American and European civilians had been interned
either here or at another camp at Los Banos about
30 miles south, still in enemy hands. It was now
dark, and the MPs didn’t even want even to hear of
letting us in, but Fr. Ortiz’s golden leaves came in
handy, and we pushed the jeep through the gates.
The ex-prisoners were enjoying their first movie in
three years, and it would have been difficult to pick
out any individual in the crowd, so we walked on
and suddenly ran into Archbishop O’Doherty, the
archbishop of Manila, with whom we had a long
conversation. He told us of all the maneuvering
and chicanery he had to use to avoid being forced
into a public approval of the Japanese regime, and
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
of his many narrow escapes from imprisonment in
Santiago. At last I said, ”Your Excellency, where are
the Jesuits?”
“Father,” he replied, “over behind that building,
which used to be a girls’ dormitory, you’ll find a
big chicken coop. That’s where all the priests
are living.”
Well, in that shanty we found Fr. Hurley, the
superior, Fr. Vincent Kennally, later bishop of the
Caroline Islands, Frs. John and Vincent McFadden,
Fr. Anthony Keane, Br. Abrams, and a number of
Columbans, Oblates and Maryknollers. It was a
wonderful reunion, particularly since Fr. Dugan
had told us horrible stories he had heard by grapevine about atrocities involving Fr. Hurley and Fr.
Keane. It was glorious to find that the stories were
simply not true. There were plenty of horrors without those.
In the middle of the excitement [the liberation
of Manila] a priest came up to me with his hand
extended. “Hello, Bill.”
I was embarrassed. “Er-hello, Father,” I said
uncertainly.
“Don’t know me, eh?”
I looked again, but nothing registered.
“I’m sorry.”
“Buck Ewing!” he said.
I was staggered. The last time I had seen the
67 | in their own words
it not been for the loyal devotion of the Filipinos in
the city, who threw bundles of food over the walls to
the prisoners, there would have been few survivors
in Santo Tomas.
The erstwhile prisoners told us how respectful
the men of the First Cavalry had been when they
first came into the camp, and I thought I knew why.
I myself felt a sense of awe in the presence of these
Americans who had undergone so much. Somehow
the word internees (a clumsy word in any case) had
always held for me an exclusively masculine connotation; I was shocked when I saw women and girls
among them. And the babies! Some of them had
been born inside the wretched compound; others
were so young when they went in that they never
knew anything else.
Fr. Ewing told us of a conversation he had
overheard between a little boy and his father.
“Daddy, when we get out I’ll stand in the
breakfast line and get your food for you.”
“But there won’t be any breakfast line
outside, son.”
“No breakfast line? Well, how can we eat?”
All this time I was looking expectantly about,
and finally I asked, “Where is Fr. Doucette?”
Fr. Doucette was a New Englander like myself;
his family and mine had been friends for years.
They told me he was living in another building,
and Brother Abrams volunteered to get him.
“Don’t tell him who it is,” I said.
Meanwhile we went out to push the jeep a
little closer to the shanty, and while we were at
it, Fr. Doucette arrived. He peered at me in the
darkness, and I had to tell him who I was. It was
a most delightful meeting for us both. I gave him
all the news I had from his family and from the
province, and he spoke of his confinement in
Santiago Prison.
Because he had directed the observatory at our
college, the Ateneo de Manila, the Japanese were
convinced that he was working secretly with the
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
American navy and had imprisoned him. Though
he showed no bad effects, I suspected that he had
had more to put up with than he told us about.
The great loss for him, he said in his self-effacing
manner, was the observatory; he had managed to
remove and hide the lens of the telescope, but
everything else was gone.
Back at the university, Bill and I went on listening to stories. We heard how the prisoners, first
confined in 1942, had set up a government for
themselves, and how they had built on the campus the shanties and the lean-tos, the only shelter
they were permitted to have. Months wore on and
turned into years. Hopes that flamed high at first
began to burn low. But in September 1944, the
first American planes appeared over the city; the
prisoners ran out of their huts and cheered and
hugged one another until the Japanese threatened
to shoot them. But October passed, and November, and December, bringing no further raids, and
hope waned once more. Then came that wonderful
night in early February when the prisoners heard a
column of tanks in the street outside. They thought
nothing of it since the Japanese often moved their
armor from place to place. But suddenly the leading
tank swung in and butted its snub nose against the
campus gates, and they screamed, “Americans!”
The First Cavalry had sent in a spearhead of
only 300 men, but they took the gate and swarmed
in. The prisoners rushed on them, heedless of
Japanese snipers in upper stories of the buildings,
flinging their arms about them until the soldiers
themselves urged them to go back for safety’s sake.
It is probably farfetched and I shall be accused
of preaching when I say it, but when I think of the
Redemption, especially the Resurrection of Christ,
or of his coming again at the end of time to “wipe
away all tears from our eyes,” as the Book of Revelation says, it’s actually this story that returns to my
mind. The long waiting at Santo Tomas---longer
because no one could say when it would end---the
perplexity, the hunger, the need to bolster others’
courage at the same time your own is languishing,
and then the swift, incredible release, the mad joy,
the freedom, the friends, the food, the going home--it seems to me the best parable in my experience
for what will happen when Our Lord returns to
claim his own.
William J. Leonard, S.J. 17
17 William J. Leonard, “A Parable of Redemption,” Company, (Winter, 1989), 10-13. Reprinted with permission of Company,
c 1989.
68 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
pastoral ministry
Fassberg, Germany 18 April 1949. Things have been the busiest ever. To start with we have about
3,000 men on this post, and occasionally due to illness of another Catholic Chaplain in Celle,
25 miles away, I have to cover both posts in cases of crash. Sundays we have three Masses: at 0900,
1100 and 1600 hours. Mondays and Thursdays I teach in the local British school, where I have a
catechism class of about six children, ranging in age from five to seven, mostly of Irish origin.
E
very evening we have Mass at 5:30 p.m. and
there is the usual number of converts to care
for. Now they have found out I can give priests’
retreats, so for the past three months I have been
flying once a month to some part of Europe to give
a Day of Recollection. The last one was in Frankfurt,
where Bishop Muentsch, the Papal Delegate, attended
and made some flattering remarks. So it seems I
may be called on regularly for this type of work also.
Then we have taken on the local orphanage at Celle,
where there are a minimum of 50 and a maximum
of 96 children, all victims of the war and the shifting of population. I have a “Big Brother” project in
operation whereby one GI takes on the responsibility
of one child (or more if he sees fit) and acts as a Big
Brother. Fortunately, I have the assistance of some
adults in Celle who speak English and do my interpreting for me. Gradually the lot of these children is
being changed due to American generosity. They now
have a second suit of clothes; their quarters have been
DDT’d and their flour sacks have been replaced by
regular white sheets. They still need more shoes and
underwear; but these have been promised.
Our latest project is a pilgrimage to Rome on
the 25th of April, when 44 of our lads will go to see
the Holy Father and see Rome for 3 days. On the 17th
of June I hope to lead a group to Lourdes to visit the
Grotto. The trip to Rome will go in two sections of 22
each, plus a five man crew for the C-47…..Here the atmosphere is strictly pagan. The nearest Catholic priest
who speaks English is either at Hamburg or Bremen
– a good three hours by jeep. I try to make it every two
weeks but the punishment to my aching back is starting to be just too much….
And now I must hurry off to start the 5:30 p.m.
Mass. Since the mission, the attendance has picked
up somewhat. Maybe when we have dependents a
little nearer, it will go up still further. By the way, one
of my parishoners is the film actress, Constance Bennett, a Catholic-of-sorts, who attends Mass regularly
on Sundays, and every so often brings her husband,
Colonel Coulter, the Commanding Officer of the post,
with her. She is now planning to bring their children
(two of his and two of hers by former marriages) on
the post. That will complicate things somewhat, since
I am now writing to someone out near Hollywood for
an opinion on the status of her present marriage. If
I did not have so many marriage cases to handle, my
life would be fairly serene. And most of these are
in the textbooks only in the barest outlines, without
the complications.
Time is up…
Thomas P. Fay, S.J.
18
Captain, U. S. Army
18 Letter from Thomas P. Fay, S.J. to Fr. Provincial, April 18, 1949. Military Chaplains (WWII) Files.
Archives of the Society of Jesus of New England, College of the Holy Cross, Worcester, MA. Used with permission.
69 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
the “padre” reports
During these days of emergency the wheels of our government are moving rapidly
along the highway of National Defense. The countless natural resources of the country, the
many plants of industry, even the thoughts and the everyday lives of our people are being tuned
to the vital work of preparedness. Our manner of national life, it is reported, is seriously threatened by death-dealing forces. That democracy, as we know it, may survive depends solely on the
completeness and thoroughness of our preparation.
I
t is not surprising, then, to learn that the
strength of our armed forces has more than
doubled within the past twelve months. Each
unit and organization of the army and navy has
been authorized to increase the number of its
personnel to wartime strength. Accordingly, the
Auxiliary Bishop of the Military Ordinariate of the
Catholic Church in the United States, Most Reverend John F. O’Hara, C.S.C., has appealed to the
secular clergy and to religious orders and congregations for two hundred and seventy-five priests to
serve the armed forces as Chaplains.
To one who is familiar with the history of the
Society of Jesus the generous response given by
the Superiors of the Society to the call of Bishop
O‘Hara was expected. Saint Ignatius in his day
witnessed the beginning of a tremendous disaster.
He saw the life of the Church of Christ threatened
as the reformers led millions of souls away from
God and revealed religion. To win these souls back
to God, Ignatius founded the Society of Jesus. Four
hundred years later, the Society of Jesus of New
England has placed four of her sons on active duty
with the armed forces. Six other Jesuit priests of the
New England province who have Commissions in
70 | in their own words
the Reserve Corps are waiting for the call to duty
from the Chief of Chaplains.
The Priest in the Army
It is the purpose of these pages to give our
friendly readers a brief picture of the work of the
priest in the army. The words, “Army Chaplain,”
have little or no meaning to many people. For most
people who look upon the priest as a man of peace
fail to recognize for him a proper place among
those who carry on the work of wars and battles.
It is in the Army Regulations that we find the
following summary of the definite duties of the
Chaplain: namely,
a. to provide opportunity for public religious
worship;
b. to supply spiritual ministration, moral
counsel and guidance to all under military
jurisdiction;
c. to be the exponent of the benefits of religion
as an aid to right thinking and acting;
d. to foster the building of personal character
and contentment by example and instruction.
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
The chaplain is an officer on the staff of the
Commanding Officer and it is his duty to advise
the Commanding Officer in matters pertaining to
public religious observances and with respect to the
morality and morale of the command. “In the performance of his duties the chaplain is accountable
solely to the commanding officer. Ultimate responsibility for matters of a religious and moral nature
within a command devolves upon the commanding
officer as completely as do strict military matters.”
(Army Regulations). The chaplain, whatever may
be his rank, is addressed as “chaplain.” Yet due to
a custom of long standing, the Catholic chaplain is
addressed as “padre,” and the non-Catholic chaplain as “chaplain.” The initial grade of the chaplain
is that of First Lieutenant with the pay and allowances of that grade. The chaplain may be promoted
as high as the grade of Lieutenant Colonel. The
Chief of Chaplains alone attains the rank of full
Colonel which he retains only during his four-year
tenure of office.
Such is the clear and concise statement of the
work of the chaplain in the army. To the priest it
is not a new message or commission; it is but the
continuance of the work for which he was ordained.
The priest of the Catholic Church labors for the
salvation of souls, and while in the service of the
armed forces the circumstances of his work may
vary, the labor remains unchanged.
The “Padre” Reports for Duty
On the third day of last June, the writer of these
pages, a Jesuit of the New England province, reported for a tour of active duty with the Regular Army at
Fort Riley, Kansas. Rich in its traditions which date
back to days of the War between the States, Fort Riley is the largest Cavalry school in the whole world.
Furthermore, it has been blessed many times by the
labors of not a few exemplary and zealous priests.
Recalling to mind this history of Fort Riley, the
newly arrived “padre” made an honest effort to give
71 | in their own words
little thought to the temperature of the warm summer day and lost no time in making acquaintance
with his new surroundings. The work involved in
the obtaining and the arranging and the settlingdown in the living quarters brought forth a few
prayers of sympathy for the ‘Father Minister’ of
other days. Soon after arrival the chapel was visited
and it was found to be a beautiful edifice worthy in
every respect to be the Dwelling of the King of all
kings. Under the title and patronage of Saint Mary,
it was dedicated in the year 1938. It occupies a site
on the reservation where for many years former
chaplains and visiting priests from St. Mary’s
College had offered the Sacrifice of the Mass.
The “Padre” at Work
Among the first duties of the chaplain during
his first days on an Army Post is the work of numbering the members of his flock. If he is to attain
any evident results of his work, he must learn the
names of those who are Catholic. Although the total
strength of the personnel at the Fort was almost
four thousand, only about six hundred were Catholic. Two Masses were celebrated on the following
Sunday, and the six hundred had dwindled to about
two hundred. This small number convinced the
chaplain that he should make every effort to emphasize as often as possible the attendance at Holy
Mass on Sundays and holydays of obligation. The
fulfillment of the obligation of attending Mass has
ever been considered a sign of a practical Catholic.
The hearing of Holy Mass is one of the chief means
of obtaining the grace of God. Since we need God’s
grace for the performance of good works, it is not
surprising to discover that the Catholic who fails to
fulfill the obligation of hearing Mass, fails also in
the fulfillment of many other obligations. Excuses
offered will be legion, but seldom has any soldier a
reason for his failure to attend the Sacrifice of the
Mass on Sunday. Only amid the most extraordinary
circumstances would any commanding officer deny
�protect the health of the soldier. The words of the
chaplain should be the natural supplement of the
army regulations, for he offers the true motives for
the complete and proper solution of this question,
namely, the teaching of revealed religion which
alone explains the supernatural life of man.
Personal Interviews
Because of its most tangible results a very
comforting work is the personal interview between
the chaplain and the soldier. It is during the time
of this interview that the soldier realizes, usually
for the first time in his life, that he is talking to one
who has vowed to take a personal interest in him
and in his welfare. Oftentimes the raw recruit soon
forgets the shadows of an unfortunate background;
to the chaplain he reveals his story, his thoughts,
his aims and ambitions, for in the priest the soul of
youth recognizes the highest and most noble things
of life. The chaplain in the person of Christ stands
on the same level as the young man, but before the
interview is over, another soul is lifted up to Christ.
The explanation of all this is found in the
proper interpretation of the circumstances which
surround the young man. Accustomed to a regimental form of existence, he feels that he has been
herded and like members of a herd, he feels that he
must act and perhaps even think only as the herd
acts or thinks. He is very likely to lose his sense of
individuality. At times he may look upon himself
as a mere cog in a huge machine. In the personal
interview the chaplain has the golden opportunity
of assuring the young man that he is an individual,
that he has his own life to live, and for that reason
he must be held responsible for his thoughts and
actions. It is the opinion of the writer of these pages
that the personal interview offers the chaplain one
of the greatest natural means of accomplishing
good for the youthful soldier.
72 | in their own words
VSI
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Catholic News
On a large Post such as Fort Riley it is possible to have a personal interview with only a small
percentage of the men. Nevertheless, the personal
contact is made through the weekly letter which the
chaplain sends to every Catholic soldier. More than
six hundred copies are mimeographed each week
and sent to the individual each Friday morning. The
letter is called Catholic News of the Week, and in it
are found the explanation of a timely truth of our
faith, the program of Catholic activities for the coming week, and any items of news which may help
and encourage the soldier to lead a life in accordance with the teachings of his faith. The Catholic
News of the Week has been received with enthusiasm by the enlisted men, and it is the sincere desire
of the chaplain that it will accomplish the purpose
of its existence.
Military Field Mass
Sunday, September the eighth, is a day which
will live long in the memory of Catholics and
non-Catholics at Fort Riley. The President of the
United States had proclaimed the day to be a Day
of National Prayer. Our observance consisted in
the celebration of a Military Field Mass in the Post
Stadium. The chaplain celebrated the Mass, and the
sermon was preached by the Most Reverend Francis
A. Thill, D.D., Bishop of Concordia. After the Mass
the Bishop was the celebrant for Benediction of the
Most Blessed Sacrament. A choir of nearly thirty
Jesuit scholastics from St. Mary’s College sang
hymns for the Mass and at Benediction. A lasting
impression was made on the minds of all who
attended the beautiful ceremony.
Among the Catholic organizations on the Post
we have a Holy Name Society. The men of this
Society receive Holy Communion as a group on the
second Sunday of each month, and attend the meeting of the Society on the second and fourth Monday
of each month. The members of the Holy Name
Society are almost indispensable for the chaplain,
for the success of any enterprise undertaken by the
chaplain is due to the willingness and readiness of
these men to cooperate with their chaplain. It was
possible to have a High Mass on Christmas Eve
because of the earnest efforts of the members of
another organization, St. Mary’s choir. Because of
their enthusiasm and success with the High Mass
of Christmas, it has been decided to have a High
Mass each Sunday in the future. The High Mass
has always been considered as the parish Mass of
any congregation, and at the present time at Fort
Riley we have a parish which has already outgrown
the accommodations of our chapel.
In the expression of these few rambling
thoughts the writer has endeavored to present a
picture of the position and the work of the chaplain
in the Army. If interest has been aroused, it will be
a reward to the writer to feel confident that prayers
will bring the blessing of Heaven not only upon our
chaplains and their work, but also upon the youth
of our country who stand ready to make the supreme sacrifice.
19 John J. Dugan, “The Padre Reports,” The Jesuit Bulletin. (February, 1941).
73 | in their own words
John J. Dugan, S.J. 19
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
veterans day remembrance remarks
This address by Robert L. Keane, S.J., a recently retired Jesuit Navy Chaplain, is included
here since it speaks to the suitability of Jesuit priests for service as military chaplains for reasons as valid today as they were in World War II.
L
adies and Gentlemen, good morning! And,
thank you for your kind invitation to celebrate
this Veterans Day with you! I confess that
I am somewhat surprised and humbled to find
myself as a guest speaker at my Alma Mater. I am
also awed by being in the shadow of this venerable
library where, as an undergraduate, I spent so many
hours sleeping in the over-heated book stacks!
Nonetheless, it is both a privilege and a pleasure
for me to join you today to acknowledge the generations of women and men who have served in the
Armed Forces of our nation, many of them graduates of Boston College. Their dedication, courage
and selflessness deserve our profound respect and
our lasting gratitude.
I have been asked to speak to you this morning
about Catholic military chaplains and, in particular,
about the suitability of Jesuit priests for this very
unique ministry. I do so from the perspective of
Navy chaplains who minister primarily to Sailors
and Marines. However, I trust that my Jesuit brothers currently serving as Army and the Air Force
chaplains would concur with my observations. For
the record, let me say that I address you today not
as an official representative of the Department of
the Navy, or of the Archdiocese for the Military
Services, USA. I am but a retired Navy Chaplain
who is honored to have been a member of both
organizations for more than two decades. Hence,
I, alone, am responsible for these remarks.
74 | in their own words
Military chaplaincy is nothing new to the
Society of Jesus. Our founder, Saint Ignatius
Loyola, himself a soldier, was undoubtedly on the
receiving end of the priestly ministry of dedicated
chaplains. His successor as Superior General of
the Society of Jesus, Diego Laynez, once served
as a chaplain to Spanish naval forces in a raid on
Tripoli in 1550. Closer to home in both time and
space, Father John McElroy, the revered founder of
Boston College, served for ten months as a chaplain
to American Army personnel in 1846-1847 during
the Mexican American War. He did so, I might add,
at the age of 64!
At the close of World War II, 246 American
Jesuit priests were serving as military chaplains.
Fifty-four were members of the New England Province, and 18 of them came from the ranks of the
Boston College faculty. One chaplain, Fr. Daniel J.
Lynch, holds the distinction of being the only Jesuit
to have served in both World Wars! Another former
faculty member, Fr. Joseph Timothy O’Callahan, is
the first Navy Chaplain to be awarded the Medal of
Honor for his heroic actions aboard USS FRANKLIN in the Western Pacific. Over all, from 1918 to
the present, 67 New England Province Jesuits have
served our nation as military chaplains. Today only
one New England Province Jesuit remains on active
duty: Father John Monahan, who is at the Coast
Guard Air Station at Kodiak, Alaska.
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
I began my own active duty service in the Navy
at an age by which many others had already retired
– though I was not as old as Fr. McElroy! In the
late 1980’s you would have found me as a college
chaplain and an instructor in the modern language
department at that other educational institution in
Worcester whose name we do not mention on the
Heights. Shortly after the school year began my
supervisor asked me to reach out to the Midshipmen of the Navy ROTC Unit on campus. Many
months later an unexpected conversation with the
Commanding Officer set in motion a sequence of
events that I had never foreseen. Acquiescing to his
request that I at least think about becoming a Navy
chaplain, I researched the issue thoroughly, as any
good Jesuit would do. And I consulted with several
priest-chaplains with whom I was acquainted. They
spoke very enthusiastically about their ministry and
stressed the desperate shortage of Catholic priests
in the military. At that time, my Jesuit Community
had fifty-one priests. I reasoned that they would
likely not miss one. So, I decided to volunteer for
the naval service.
My first challenge was to convince my Jesuit superior that this plan was a really good idea. Church
authorities are notoriously reluctant to allow priests
to go off to serve in the military. They fear we won’t
ever return to our dioceses or religious communities. Suspecting that I would be fighting an up-hill
battle, I mounted a deliberate, phased campaign
aimed at persuading Father Bob Manning, my
Jesuit Provincial, to grant me permission to become
a Navy chaplain. In our initial meeting in his office
we had a cordial conversation, which he concluded
in a very non-committal fashion. He simply suggested that we both pray more about the matter.
While driving home, I reflected on our visit and,
specifically, his response to my request. Though
not lacking an appreciation for the importance of
prayer, I quickly came to the conclusion that the
75 | in their own words
Holy Spirit might benefit from a little assistance
from yours truly.
So, several weeks later I took a five by seven
index card and wrote: “Dear Bob, Reason Number
One why you ought to let me join the Navy.” I
stated my case very simply, mailed it, and waited
for his response. The Provincial replied exactly as I
expected—on the back of the very same index card.
The next month I followed up with Reason Number
Two, and a month later, Reason Number Three.
I seem to recall that we reached Reason Number
Eight or Nine before he finally capitulated—slain
by the Spirit, if not my persistence. Although
Fr. Manning has long since gone home to God,
I can well imagine that he is still enjoying a good
laugh over my unusual, if not persuasive, tactics.
I now look back on my twenty-three years,
two months and sixteen days of naval service and
wonder where the time went. Those years were
filled with marvelous opportunities for priestly
ministry, and with countless situations in which
peoples’ lives were enriched by the practice of their
Catholic faith. I sailed all around the world, landed
on six continents, and visited many of the holiest
shrines and religious sites so important to
our Faith.
Many times I have been asked: “What was your
favorite duty station?” Truthfully, I never know
precisely how to respond to that question. In God’s
good providence every one of my tours of duty was
richly rewarding and exceedingly enjoyable—but
not for the reasons I have just listed. The primary
source of my satisfaction was always the people: the
service men and women, and their families, with
whom I served and to whom I was sent to minister
as a priest and a chaplain.
I cannot find the words to describe adequately
how extraordinary are these young men and women
who volunteer to serve our nation. They repeatedly
endure cramped quarters, long deployments, physi-
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
cal rigors, long separations from their families,
uncertainty, fatigue, constant change, economic
hardship and real danger in order to honor their
enlistment or commissioning oaths. I stand in awe
of their courage and dedication. Their ingenuity,
creativity, and initiative humble me. Their selfless
commitment to each other and to their mission is
nothing less than inspiring. It is patriots such as
these whom our nation honors today. We owe them
our profound gratitude and unrelenting admiration
and respect.
The exercise of priestly ministry in the Armed
Services is intensely personal. As chaplains, we
witness marriages, baptize babies, hear confessions,
anoint the sick and dying, and share grief and suffering in moments of disappointment, confusion,
sickness and death. Names and faces are forever
embedded in our memories. For example, my very
first military funeral was that of CPL Robert J.
Murphy, USMC who died in a training accident at
Fort Ord in California. Mid-career, I was called to
the Pentagon war zone on the evening of 9-11. Two
days later I was ordered to the White House where I
joined a team of psychologists and clergy providing
counseling to the household staff and to workers in
the Executive Office Building. In the weeks that followed 9-11, I conducted seven funerals or memorial
services for Naval Academy graduates, including
one for my former shipmate, CDR Pat Dunn,
with whom I served in the Sixth Fleet. Shortly
after arriving at my final duty station at Quantico,
Virginia I laid my own nephew to rest in Section
60 of Arlington National Cemetery.
Unlike civilian pastors who are accustomed to
greeting their flock at the doors of the church, we
chaplains go out and forward with our units: we
train with them, deploy with them, get cold, wet,
tired and dirty with them. The camaraderie that
arises from those experiences builds a bond and a
trust which eventually open all sorts of doors for
76 | in their own words
pastoral ministry. To paraphrase Pope Francis,
when chaplains return to garrison after a field exercise, we definitely smell like the sheep of our flock!
Many people have seemed surprised to see or
hear of a Jesuit in uniform. I usually explain to
them that a Jesuit in the military chaplaincy is actually perfectly consistent with our history and our
spirituality. As you know, our founder, Ignatius of
Loyola, was himself a soldier. In founding the Society of Jesus he borrowed from his own life’s experiences in order to better orchestrate the ministries of
his early companions. Hence, military service and
religious life within the Society of Jesus have much
in common, and not by coincidence.
So, with this in mind, please allow me now to
share with you six reasons why I believe Jesuits are
especially well-suited to serve as military chaplains
(1) First, Ignatius states that it is according to
our Jesuit vocation to travel to the farthest corners
of the earth where there is hope of greater service
to God and of help to souls. Consequently, from the
very earliest days of our novitiate training, we Jesuits are expected to be available to serve wherever we
are needed and sent. Though many of us labor in
venerable institutions such as Boston College, Ignatius did not want us to be tied down by these commitments, but rather to be highly mobile and ready
to go at a moment’s notice wherever the need was
determined to be greater. Thus, the entire world
is our mission field. So, crisscrossing the globe as
I have done for twenty-three years would probably
not surprise Ignatius in the least. In fact, I hope it
would please him immensely.
(2) Second, Jesuits are missionaries. We go to
unfamiliar places to share the message of Jesus
Christ both in word and in deed. Throughout history we have adapted our forms of ministry in order
to better meet the needs of people, sometimes with
great success, and at other times to the chagrin of
those watching our innovations. In my first letter to
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
Fr. Manning I described to him how I had come to
identify strongly with the sixteenth-century Italian,
Jesuit missionaries who were admitted to the imperial court of China. I, like they, had to learn to speak
a new language (called acronyms), to wear different
clothing (called uniforms), to adapt to unfamiliar
social customs (called military protocol), and to live
among people whose priorities and experiences
were often very different from my own.
When I first joined the Navy the culture shock
which I experienced was disorienting, to say the
least. The only knowledge I had of military life
came from old John Wayne movies and from a few
history books I had read along the way. Like many
Word War II veterans, my own father, who was
injured in the Battle of the Bulge, never ever spoke
of his wartime experiences. Hence, it came as no
surprise to me that I had much to learn at my first
duty station from my teachers: the United States
Marines. One of their favorite expressions is
“Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome!”— an expression that I found very practical, and “motivating”,
as Marines like to say.
I recall early in this tour of duty going once
again to consult with the Battalion Executive Officer
about some matter of importance. As usual, the
X.O. was harried and busy. Despite the fact that his
desk faced the doorway, he never looked up from
the thick stack of papers before him. Recognizing
my voice, he simply barked: “Yes, chaplain, what
is it?” I thought to myself in a moment of frustration: “What do I have to do to get this man’s attention?” To this day I don’t know what possessed me,
but spontaneously I knelt down in front of his desk
and kept talking. The X.O. soon recognized that my
voice was no longer coming from high above him
but rather was at his eye level. Completely startled,
he looked up in almost total disbelief, speechless. At
that very moment, I thought: “Ah, ha, I’ve got him!”
From then on, every time I went to see the X.O.
he instantly gave me every bit of his undivided at-
77 | in their own words
tention. You see, the real issue was not that I was so
important or the matter at hand so urgent. Rather,
it was that he knew that every person who passed
by his open door would want to know why the X.O.
had the battalion chaplain down on his knees!
Learning new tricks and adapting to unfamiliar
surroundings are behaviors not unknown to Jesuit
missionaries.
(3) Third, Jesuits are called to labor for the
good of souls in an ecumenical environment. The
Navy introduced me to a world far apart from the
Boston, Irish Catholic cocoon in which I grew up.
There I occasionally encountered harsh stereotypes
or ill-informed misconceptions about the Catholic
Church. Once I was caught completely off guard
while speaking with a younger chaplain who had
never in his life ever met or spoken with a Catholic
priest. I was an entirely new challenge for him, and
he for me. Over the years I have learned to appreciate more and more the world-wide, historical and
theological perspectives which we Jesuits develop
due to our extensive education and training.
This provides a tremendously useful resource in
demystifying the Church in the eyes of others.
The Navy Chaplain Corps’ motto, “Cooperation
Without Compromise”, speaks well to the manner
in which military chaplains work closely together
on a daily basis while never sacrificing their own
religious identities.
(4) Fourth, Ignatius expected his followers to go
wherever the need was determined to be the greatest. Currently, the Department of Defense has a
total of 234 active duty priests serving approximately 1.8 million Catholics, that is, military personnel,
family members, and American diplomatic and federal employees laboring overseas in 134 countries.
Military priests deploy with their units, as well as
serve personnel at 220 military installations in 29
countries. Today approximately 25% of all military
members identify themselves as Catholic, and yet
only 8% of all military chaplains are Catholic. So,
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
given these statistics, I think it is safe to say that the
need for priestly ministry among our military services is very great indeed. A soldier himself, Ignatius
would certainly be sympathetic to Jesuits stepping
forward to assist with this need.
I want to mention in passing that the Archdiocese for the Military Services is also responsible for
providing pastoral ministry to the Catholic patients
of 153 Veterans Affairs Medical Centers throughout
the country. A number of “civilian” Jesuits have
served faithfully at these centers as chaplains to
our veterans. God bless them for their dedication
and service!
(5) Fifth, Jesuits are, by vocation, evangelizers and teachers. Within the military community
there are many, appropriate venues in which we
chaplains can speak the Good News. We do so in a
comparatively subdued manner, but our presence
as chaplains affords us the opportunity to share the
Catholic faith with any who ask. This is particularly
important in light of some of the alarming statistics
of our times. The Pew Research Center’s Forum
on Religion and Public Life issued a study not too
long ago that indicates that approximately one-third
of all Americans under the age of twenty-five claim
no specific religious affiliation or identity of any
sort. And 88% of them say that they are not actively
seeking an affiliation. They are colloquially referred
to as “Nones”—spelled “n-o-n-e-s”—since they have
no religious preference—none at all. 74% of these
“Nones” were initially raised in some faith tradition
which they subsequently abandoned. More to the
point, among our young, military service members
these “Nones” comprise the single, fastest-growing
religious profile on record. Jesuits have a long history of going to the “unchurched”, living among
them, and sharing the faith with any spiritual
pilgrims whom they meet. This, too, seems to
be another good reason to have Jesuit military
chaplains!
78 | in their own words
(6) Finally, the ministry of priests in the military is dedicated to sustaining the spiritual lives of
all Catholics. However, our presence is especially
helpful to those individuals who are discerning a
call to religious life or to the priesthood. Military
personnel are generous people who have a mind-set
of service. Hence, transitioning from the Armed
Services to a life of dedicated service within the
church is not all that dramatic or even uncommon.
One of my former shipmates is now a cloistered
nun in Colorado. Six men with whom I once served
are either currently preparing for ordination to the
priesthood or are already serving in various dioceses or religious orders throughout the United States.
One of them even became a Jesuit! Just last month,
at that other college whose name I did not mention
earlier, I ceremonially commissioned a Jesuit scholastic (or seminarian) as a Navy Chaplain Candidate. He is presently a student here at the School
of Theology and Ministry and he hopes to serve
on active duty once he has completed his Jesuit
training. That will be about seven years from now –
we Jesuits are notoriously slow students!
It is a commonly-accepted statistic that approximately ten percent of priests in the United States
have previously served in the Armed Forces. So, we
know that there are priestly vocations in the ranks.
There definitely are individuals who are considering separating from the military in order to serve
the Church in the priesthood or in religious life.
Having priests in uniform to direct, counsel and
advise these potential vocations is critical to their
spiritual well-being. Meeting that need is certainly
something that we Jesuits can do well, along with
the many other, fine diocesan and religious order
priests who are currently serving as chaplains.
So, in closing, let me say that I firmly believe
that the military chaplaincy offers a very suitable
venue in which Jesuit priests can and should be
present. As a Church, we have an obligation to
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
provide pastoral care and sacramental ministry to
those in uniform. As Jesuits, we have a spirituality
and a perspective on ministry which prepare us well
to serve in these extraordinary circumstances. I was
very pleased and proud to have served as a Navy
chaplain. And, although that ministry required me
to live alone for twenty-three years, I always felt very
much a part of my Jesuit community, no matter
where in the world I happened to be. Thanks to
my Jesuit superiors who consistently and enthusiastically reaffirmed this assignment, I was richly
blessed in ways that I could never have imagined.
I am very grateful to our Jesuit Provincials who
are mindful of the spiritual needs of our men and
women in uniform. Despite the increasing shortages of manpower in our own institutions and apostolates, they have generously provided Jesuit priests
who supply pastoral care for those in the military.
Currently we have two Jesuits on active duty in the
Navy, one in the Air Force, and one in the Army.
There are also two Jesuits serving in the Air Force
Reserve, one each in the Army Reserve or National
Guard, and one in the Navy Reserve. The latter is
Bishop Michael Barber, who is the new Ordinary of
the Diocese of Oakland, CA. Yes, a Jesuit, Bishop,
Navy Chaplain!
In appreciation of the ministry of these Jesuit
priests, I leave with you with these words of Fleet
Admiral Chester W. Nimitz:
“By his patient, sympathetic labors with men
day in, day out, and through many a night, every
Chaplain I know contributed immeasurably to the
moral courage of our fighting men. None of this
effort appears in the statistics. Most of it was necessarily secret between pastor and his confidant. It is
for that toil in the cause both of God and country
that I honor the Chaplain most.”
Ladies and gentlemen, please pray for the
234 priests who are currently on active duty in the
Armed Services. They labor every day in the face of
tremendous challenges and ever-increasing, urgent
pastoral concerns.
Please pray also for our Wounded Warriors who
struggle each day with the burdens of frail health
and physical challenges and limitations. They have
sacrificed much of themselves for our nation. In
every way possible we need to support them, and
their families and friends who provide them with
assistance on a daily basis.
Today our nation pauses to remember all who
have served in the Armed Forces of the United
States. These veterans – you veterans – have earned
our admiration and profound gratitude for your
singular selflessness and devotion to duty. We
can never thank you enough, but may our words
and our presence here this morning stand in
testimony of our appreciation for your generous
and courageous service.
Thank you, and God bless you all!
Robert L. Keane, S.J., 201320
20 Robert L. Keane, S.J., “Veterans Day Remembrance Remarks,” Thirteenth Annual Veterans Remembrance Ceremony,
Boston College, November 11, 2013.
79 | in their own words
�to love and serve
Afterword
During World War II between December 1941 and 1945 some 16 million Americans served
in the Armed Forces. Of these 416,000 gave their lives as the United States waged war in
the European and Pacific theaters. More than 8,000 Chaplains of all denominations served
side by side with the men and women in this deadliest military conflict in history.
“�
T
hey held religious services for soldiers
and sailors and preached to them.
They counseled and advised those
who sought help. They were everywhere they
deemed their presence to be necessary – in battle, that meant with the combat troops, and there
the chaplain often acted above and beyond the call
of duty. Under hostile fire, they risked their lives.
(Seventy Catholic Chaplains died in World War
II.) They sought the wounded, the dying, and the
dead who lay exposed and helpless. They succored
them, rescued them, brought them back to medical aid stations, and prayed over them. They buried
21
bodies and wrote to the families of the deceased.”
“In combat, every chaplain experienced the same
terrors – the threat of sudden annihilation or severe
injury, the death of one’s closest companions – the
same crushing burden of labor, and hardships of
weather and terrain. At the same time, chaplains
who remained in the United States during all of
the war (many of whom resented having to stay at
home while ‘the boys’ were suffering overseas) suf22
fered boredom and frustration.”
Although but a small percentage of the total number of Chaplains, the records of military
service, the citations and awards, and the inspiring
stories of New England Province Jesuits recounted
here capture the shared experience of the whole and
remind us that we must not forget with the passage
of time the sacrifices they, together with millions of
their fellow Americans, so generously made to keep
our Nation free.
21 Donald F. Crosby, Battlefield Chaplains. (Lawrence, KS, University of Kansas Press, 1994), xi-xii.
22 Ibid., xxiv.
80 | afterword
�to love and serve love and serve
appendices | to
Appendices
n
New England Province Military Chaplains, 1918–2014
n
New England Province Military Chaplains, Number by Year, 1942–2014
n
New England Province Military Chaplains, Post World War II
81 | appendices
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, 1918 – 2014
STATUS
AS OF
NAME
RANK
BRANCH
YEARS
AWARDS
Barry, John L.
Major
Army
1945–1946
1951–1970
Bronze Star, Purple Heart
Bonn, John L.
Lieutenant
Navy
1943–1946
Boylan, Bernard R.
Lieutenant
Navy
1943–1946
Brennan, Thomas A.
Captain
Army
1945–1946
Brock, Laurence M.
Lieutenant
Colonel
Army
1941–1946
Burke, William J.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1975–1984
Died
1989
Carroll, Anthony G.
Major
Army
1940–1946
Left SJ
1950
Clancy, John L.
Major
Army
1937–1946
Died
1984
Cleary, Hebert J.
Lieutenant
Navy
1970
Living
Coleman, Jeremiah F.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
1951–1952
Died
1961
Connors, J. Bryan
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
1970
Curran, Joseph P.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Left SJ
1959
DeStefano, Neal J.
Lieutenant
Commander
Marines
1987–1997
Left SJ
1998
Devlin, John F.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
1981
82 | appendices
2014
Died
1987
Died
1975
Navy and
Marine Corps Medal
Died
1978
Died
1967
Legion of Merit
Died
1989
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, 1918 – 2014 (cont)
STATUS
AS OF
NAME
RANK
BRANCH
YEARS
AWARDS
Dolan, James J.
Major
Army
1940–1946
Bronze Star
Doody, Michael J.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1988
Duffy, William J.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
1998
Dugan, John J.
Major
Army
1936–1946
1948–1953
Dunn, Raymond V.
Lieutenant
Navy
1966
Left SJ
2001
Farrelly, Peter T.
First
Lieutenant
Army
1957–1977
Died
1999
Fay, Thomas A.
Lieutenant
Commander
Merchant
Marine
1942–1945
Died
1969
Fay, Thomas P.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
1948–1949
Finnegan, Bernard J.
Commander
Navy
1945–1946
1950–1957
Died
1979
Foley, John P.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1995
Gallagher, Frederick A.
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1964
Geary, James F.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
1980
Hennessey, Thomas P.
Lieutenant
Colonel
Army
1943–1948
1951–1968
Howard, Edward F.
Captain
Army
1969–1971
83 | appendices
Bronze Star, Army
Commendation Ribbon
Benemerenti Medal
Bronze Star
2014
Died
1952
Died
1964
Died
1988
Died
1978
Living
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, 1918 – 2014 (cont)
RANK
BRANCH
YEARS
Hurld, John L.
Captain
Army
1952–1970
Died
1970
Huss, Harry L.
Captain
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1976
Keane, Robert L.
Captain
Navy
1990–2012
Kelleher, John J.
Majot
Army
1944–1964
Died
1964
Kenealy, William J.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1943–1946
Died
1974
Kennedy, Walter E.
Major
Army
1944–1946
Died
1966
King, George A.
Major
Army
1942–1946
Died
1965
Leonard, William J.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
2000
Long, John J.
Lieutenant
Colonel
Army
1942–1946
1947–1956
Died
1964
Lynch, Daniel J.
Brigadier
General
Army
1918–1919
1941–1942
Lyons, John F.
Captain
Army
1944–1947
Left SJ
1952
MacDonald, Francis J.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1979
MacLeod, Harry C.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Left SJ
1951
McCauley, Leo P.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1943–1946
Died
1993
84 | appendices
AWARDS
STATUS
AS OF
NAME
Navy Commendation
Medal (4), Meritorious
Service Medal (3)
Purple Heart
2014
Living
Died
1952
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, 1918 – 2014 (cont)
RANK
BRANCH
YEARS
McLaughlin, James D.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1943–1946
Died
1977
Mellett, Robert C.
Captain
Navy
1963–1987
Died
1990
Monahan, John C.
Lieutenant
Navy
2006–
Active
Morgan, Carl H.
Captain
Army
1945–1954
Left SJ
1954
Murphy, Francis J.
Captain
Army
1945–1948
Died
1995
Murphy, George M.
Major
Army
1938–1946
Murphy, Paul J.
Lieutenant
Navy
1944–1946
Died
1990
Maritime
Service
1945
Died
1987
O’Brien, Vincent deP.
AWARDS
STATUS
AS OF
NAME
Army Commendation
Medal
Medal of Honor,
Purple Heart
2014
Died
1971
Died
1964
O’Callahan, Joseph T.
Commander
Navy
1940–1946
O’Connor, Daniel F.X.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1958
O’Keefe, Leo P.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
1991
Passero, Ernest F.
Commander
Navy
1974–1992
Reardon, Charles J.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
85 | appendices
Navy Commendation
Medal (2), Navy and
Marine Overseas Ribbon
Living
Died
1991
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, 1918 – 2014 (cont)
RANK
BRANCH
YEARS
Roddy, Charles M.
Captain
Army
1943–1946
Died
1967
Rooney, Richard L.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
1977
Ryan, Daniel F.
Captain
Army
1943–1946
Died
1970
St. John, John D.
Colonel
Army
Air Force
1942–1946
1949–1965
Shanahan, Joseph P.
Lieutenant
Navy
1944–1946
Shanahan, Thomas A.
Lieutenant
Colonel
Army
1942–1946
Shea, Richard G.
Captain
Major
Army
Air Force
1942–1946
1951–1956
Sheridan, Robert E.
Major
Army
1942–1946
Smith, Lawrence C.
Lieutenant
Commander
Marines
1989–2003
Living
Stinson, William M.
First Lieutenant
Army
1918–1919
Died
1935
Stockman, Harold V.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1943–1948
Died
1962
Sullivan, Francis V.
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1972
Travers, David O.
Commander
Navy
1977–1996
Living
86 | appendices
AWARDS
STATUS
AS OF
NAME
Bronze Star
Air Force
Commendation
Medal (2)
2014
Died
1992
Left SJ
1950
Bronze Str
Died
1963
Died
1984
Army Commendation
Medal
Died
1978
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, number by year
YEAR
NUMBER
YEAR
NUMBER
1942
8
1957
6
1943
21
1958
6
1944
32
1959
6
1945
49
1960
7
1946
54
1961
6
1947
7
1962
7
1948
6
1963
7
1949
6
1964
7
1950
6
1965
6
1951
10
1966
5
1952
11
1967
5
1953
9
1968
5
1954
9
1969
5
1955
8
1970
3
1956
6
1971
2
87 | appendices
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, number by year (cont)
YEAR
NUMBER
YEAR
NUMBER
1972
2
1987
3
1973
3
1988
4
1974
3
1989
5
1975
4
1990
5
1976
5
1991
5
1977
4
1992
4
1978
3
1993
4
1979
4
1994
3
1980
4
1995
4
1981
4
1996
3
1982
4
1997
2
1983
4
1998
2
1984
3
1999
2
1985
3
2000
1
1986
4
2001
1
88 | appendices
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, number by year (cont)
YEAR
NUMBER
YEAR
NUMBER
2002
1
2009
2
2003
1
2010
2
2004
1
2011
2
2005
2
2012
1
2006
2
2013
1
2007
2
2014
1
2008
2
89 | appendices
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, post world war II
CHAPLAIN
NUMBER OF
YEARS SERVED
John J. Kelleher, S.J. (Army)*
1944–1964
John D. St. John, S.J. (Air Force)*
1949–1965
Bernard J. Finnegan, S.J. (Navy)*
1950–1957, 1961, 1965
John L. Barry, S.J. (Army)*
1951–1970
Thomas P. Hennessey, S.J. (Army)*
1951–1968
John L. Hurld, S.J. (Army)
1952–1970
Peter T. Farrelly, S.J. (Army)
1957–1977
Robert C. Mellett, S.J. (Navy)
1963–1987
Raymond V. Dunn, S.J. (Navy)
1966
Edward F. Howard, S.J. (Army)
1969–1971
Herbert J. Cleary, S.J. (Navy)
1970
Ernest F. Passero, S.J. (Navy)
1974–1992
William J. Burke, S.J. (Navy)
1975–1984
David O. Travers, S.J. (Navy)
1977–1996
Neal J. DeStefano, S.J. (Marines)
1987–1997
Lawrence C. Smith, S.J. (Marines)
1989–2000
Robert L. Keane, S.J. (Navy)
1989–2012
John C. Monahan, S.J. (Navy)
* Also served in World War II
90 | appendices
2006–
�to love and serve
Photo Gallery
new england jesuit chaplains – world war II,
Weston College, August 21, 1946
Photo:
Archives of the Society of Jesus of New England, College of the Holy Cross, Worcester, MA
Top Row:
ARMY: John F. Devlin (Captain), Walter E. Kennedy (Captain), Anthony G. Carroll (Major), Harry L. Huss (Major),
Charles J. Reardon (Captain), Thomas A. Brennan (Captain), William J. Duffy (Captain), John J. Long (Lt. Col.)
rd
3 Row:
nd
ARMY: George A. King (Major), Robert E. Sheridan (Captain), Daniel R. Ryan (Captain), Thomas P. Fay (Captain),
Thomas A. Shanahan (Lt. Col.) , John L. Clancy (Major), Leo P. O’Keefe (Captain), John L. Barry (Captain), J. Bryan
Connors (Captain), Thomas P. Hennessey (Captain)
2 Row:
NAVY: Frederick A. Gallagher (Captain), Francis J. MacDonald (Lt. Cmdr.), Joseph P. Shanahan (Lieut.), Leo P. McCauley (Lt. Cmdr.), Daniel F.X. O’Connor (Lt. Cmdr.), William J. Kenealy (Lt. Comdr.), Bernard R. Boylan (Lieut.),
Bernard J. Finnegan (Lieut.), Paul J. Murphy (Lieut.), John P. Foley (Lt. Comdr.), James D. McLaughlin (Lt. Comdr.),
Vincent de Paul O’Brien (Lieut.), John L. Bonn (Lieut.), Michael J. Doody (Lt. Comdr.), Francis V. Sullivan (Cmdr.)
front Row:
ARMY: John J. Dugan (Lt. Col.), Richard G. Shea (Captain), Laurence M. Brock (Major), Francis J.Murphy (Captain),
Daniel J. Lynch(Colonel), Fr. Provincial John J. McEleney, James J. Dolan (Major), James F. Geary (Captain), Jeremiah
F. Coleman (Captain), Carl H. Morgan (Captain), William J. Leonard (Captain)
absent:
Joseph P. Curran (Captain), Thomas A. Fay (Lt. Cmdr.), John J. Kelleher (Lt. Col.), John F. Lyons (Captain), Harry C.
MacLeod (Lt. Cmdr.), George M. Murphy (Major), Joseph T. O’Callahan (Cmdr.), Charles M. Roddy (Captain), Richard L. Rooney (Captain), John D. St. John (Colonel), Harold V. Stockman (Lt. Cmdr.)
91 | photo gallery
�photo gallery | to love and serve
boston college chaplains – world war II
Photo:
Archives of the Society of Jesus of New England, College of the Holy Cross, Worcester, MA
seated:
Francis V. Sullivan (Cmdr.), William J. Leonard (Captain), Leo P. McCauley (Lt. Cmdr.), Richard G. Shea (Captain),
William J. Kenealy (Lt. Cmdr.), Daniel J. Lynch (Brig. Gen.), Vincent de P. O’Brien (Lieut.),George A. King (Major)
standing:
Daniel F.X. O’Connor (Lt. Cmdr.), James D. McLaughlin (Lt Cmdr.), Francis J. MacDonald (Lt. Cmdr.), James F.
Geary (Captain), Anthony G. Carroll (Major), Carl H. Morgan (Captain), John L. Bonn (Lieut.), John P. Foley (Cmdr.),
Joseph P. Shanahan (Lieut.)
92 | photo gallery
�photo gallery | to love and serve
holy cross college chaplains – world war II
Photo:
Archives of the Society of Jesus of New England, College of the Holy Cross, Worcester, MA
front row: Frederick A. Gallagher (Cmdr.), John F. Devlin (Captain), Joseph T. O’Callahan
(Cmdr.), J. Bryan Connors (Captain),
Michael J. Doody (Lt. Cmdr.)
back row:
John L. Clancy (Major), Paul J. Murphy (Lieut.), Thomas A. Shanahan (Lt. Col.), Bernard J. Finnegan (Cmdr.),
Charles J. Reardon (Captain)
93 | photo gallery
�
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Joseph P. Duffy Collection of Digital Works
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<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85021043.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Catholic Church</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh87004995.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Jesuits--History--20th century</a>
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<a href="https://lccn.loc.gov/n87831774" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Duffy, Joseph P.</a>
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Jesuit Archives & Research Center, St. Louis, Missouri
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Jesuit Archives & Research Center
Duffy, Joseph P.
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PDF
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eng
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JA-Duffy
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Northeast Province Archive
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Northeast Province of the Society of Jesus
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This collection contains publications edited by Joseph P. Duffy, S.J. regarding histories of New England Province Jesuits.
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2016-09-06
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1939-1945, 1968
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2016
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2020-07-21
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To Love and Serve: World War II Chaplains of the New England Province of Jesuits
Subject
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<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85148273.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">World War, 1939-1945</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85148357.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">World War, 1939-1945--Chaplains</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85021043.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Catholic Church</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh87004995.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Jesuits--History--20th century</a>
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<a href="https://lccn.loc.gov/n87831774" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Duffy, Joseph P.</a>
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Jesuit Archives & Research Center
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Jesuit Archives & Research Center
Joseph P. Duffy
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Joseph P. Duffy
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JA-Duffy
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PDF
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eng
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JA-Duffy-002
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This publication contains biographical narratives, data, and oral histories of New England Province Jesuits who served as Chaplains in the United States military during the Second World War.
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Joseph P. Duffy
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Joseph P. Duffy
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2020-07-21
Biography
Catholic Church
Chaplains
Jesuits
Socity of Jesus
United States Army
United States Military
World War II
-
https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/26015/archive/files/c13c5e57a0ed3343323b8f7bb4030a65.pdf?Expires=1712793600&Signature=QOd7pP4Bppe8e6X7hYuTvARn5BpQx8PFHU4XElkRf9uMn%7EBtnNfAM0a-EHyAj350zHkUvWWRwvl%7Evmlhp2HTqZ6aikotHEB%7E0bVJpNUrPt7FNAekLUuWKkM19lSsmsuHNiv-IHKyM4Y4QJ2kVCTq0482uusY%7EMnXx2v6aGMMRj7JMVx3c5sRQe8oTO5WwMjBMHWW48snfC3X3NfSD79aTbJtW5ByotqEPDcukZjaYTEYBI1Z%7EKHIuvZMg735PjTRtsq7x2busMzbS1Kk15jb0B52nNTWQGHnXn1tRWvQDmk3g9D-QXBJuZMsMOwgumvFTzYc6TO-49ylV7EqO9CAmg__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM
91bac7ec8417dfd838b5f17b780dab39
PDF Text
Text
�COVER
Sunday, February 7, 1943. Fr. John Foley beside a dugout at
the edge of Henderson Field’s “Fighter 2” runway on Guadalcanal. The residents of the dugout, whom Foley refers
to on the back of this photo as “The guys at the end of the
runway,” are “John Kerr, son of Mrs. Mary Kerr” of Newton,
Massachusetts, and “William Walters, son of Bessie Walters”
of Medford, Massachusetts. Foley doesn’t note which is
Photo credit: Foley family.
which. He frequently recorded domestic contact information for servicemen he met so he could write and report that
they were well. He wrote many condolence letters as well.
[See page 83.] When Catholic men had received Holy Communion prior to their deaths, he took particular care to tell
this to the survivors.
�for god and country
Table of Contents
introduction
3
A Man for All Seasons
chapter 5
63 South Pacific Task Force
chapter 6
chapter 1
5 Chaplains’ School
chapter 2
18 Anchors Aweigh
chapter 7
218 Destination: Tokyo
chapter 3
233
Photographs
238
Acknowledgements
31
208
USS Vella Gulf, Aircraft Carrier
Journey to Morocco
chapter 4
46 What a trip !!!
2 | table of contents
�for god and country
Introduction
a man for all seasons.
Rev. John P. Foley, S.J. was born on June 6, 1904 in
Motherwell, Scotland, of Irish parents who emigrated to the United States when he
was six weeks old. He grew up in Somerville, Massachusetts, just outside of Boston. And
after graduating from Boston College High School at the age of nineteen, he entered
the Society of Jesus, commonly known as the Jesuits, on August 14, 1923, to begin a
thirteen year course of study and spiritual formation that led to his ordination to
the priesthood in 1936. As part of his training he studied at Heythrop College, in England, where he earned a bachelor’s degree in classical studies. He was later awarded a
Master’s degree in Classics at Boston College.
Along the way he gave
evidence of gifts of capable
leadership that led to his appointment in 1939 as Dean
of Admissions and Assistant
Dean of Freshmen and Sophomores at Boston College. On
December 8, 1941, a day after
the Japanese attack on Pearl
Harbor, Fr. Foley volunteered for service as a
Chaplain in the United States military. One of his
favorite quotes from Horace: “Cras ingens iterabimus
aequor” came to life. “Tomorrow we set out on the
enormous ocean.”
He was commissioned as a Lieutenant (j.g.) in the
Navy on February 22, 1942; promoted to Lieutenant
on March 1, 1942 and to Lieutenant Commander on
October 3, 1945. From the day he began his assignment to Chaplain’s School in Norfolk, Virginia, on
April 15, 1942, until he was discharged on October
7, 1945, he kept a diary of his experiences as a Navy
Chaplain assigned to warships, first on the USS
George Clymer, an attack ship and troop carrier, and
then on the USS Vella Gulf, an aircraft carrier. He
3 | introduction
seems to have kept the diary for the benefit of family and particularly his mother, who was widowed
when Foley, the oldest of eight children, was a teenager, and for his sister Catherine, to whom he was
particularly close. The diary includes details that
would have been of particular interest to members
of his family, particularly his visits with his brother
Edward, 12 years his junior, who was also serving
in the South Pacific, and his practice of making the
Stations Of the Cross in memory of his father at
each church he visited, whether in Wellington,
New Zealand, or at a mission station on one of the
Solomon Islands.
But his central focus, as captured in the diary,
was the war he witnessed. A keen observer whose
Roman collar allowed him access to places, on board
and on land, normally closed to men of his rank,
Fr. Foley took careful notes of the horrors and heroism, and the young men he served, comforted and
buried—and they were of all faiths; the Navy could
only staff one chaplain on a ship that might be carrying 3,000 men. He also wrote about the nature of
war propaganda, the difficulty of holding religious
services under dangerous and distracting condi-
�for god and country
Introduction (continued)
tions, and the people he met over the course of three
years at sea. And his humor, his personal warmth
and generosity, his intellectual curiosity, his love of
the natural world, his keen appreciation for human character, wherever he found it, as well as his
priestly example, high principles, and his affection
for and devotion to the young men—though not a
great deal younger than him—for whom he served
as minister, surrogate father, and counselor, come
across clearly. Although after his return to civilian
life he could never read enough about World War II
and adorned his room at St. Mary’s Hall with photographs from the war, he rarely spoke about his years
in the Navy unless he was questioned. As one of his
fellow Jesuits said, “He was too much of a gentleman to dominate a conversation with endless tales
of his experiences, and indeed it is very difficult to
share such experiences with people who have never
had them.”
Fr. Foley returned to Boston College after the
war and resumed for the next five years his position
as Dean of Admissions and Assistant Dean of Freshmen and Sophomores. During that time he had
4 | introduction
his secretaries type up his war journals, and a copy
found its way to the archives of the New England
Jesuit Province. In 1951 he was selected to serve as
principal of Boston College High School and in
1955 as Rector at Cheverus High School in Portland,
Maine, and then in 1961 as as the first Rector at
Xavier High School in Concord, Massachusetts.
In 1968, at 64 years of age, Fr. Foley began a new
career that lasted 27 years, giving the Spiritual
Exercises of St. Ignatius, mostly to women religious
in the United States, Canada, England, Ireland,
Scotland, Italy and Malta.
In 1994 Fr. Foley received a diagnosis of terminal cancer. He maintained a cheerful spirit and a
genuine interest in others as he prepared to “set out
on the enormous ocean” that leads to the shores of
eternal life with the good Lord he served so long and
so well. “Home is the sailor, home from the sea.”
John. P. Foley, SJ, died on October 21, 1995, at age
91, and is interred at the Jesuit cemetery in Weston,
Massachusetts.
�chapter 1 | for god and country
Chaplains’ School
Wednesday, April 15, 1942
Bade farewell to family, several of whom saw
me off on the midnight train out of [Boston’s]
South Station for Philadelphia.1
Thursday, April 16, 1942
7:30 a.m. – Arrived in Philadelphia. After
struggling into my clothes in the Pullman upper
berth, I discovered that my new life as a Naval
Chaplain with collar and tie was starting inauspiciously. I began the day by losing a collar button.2
8:30 a.m. – Celebrated Mass at St. Joseph’s
Church in Willings Alley, the oldest Church in
Philadelphia. Fr. [Leo H.] O’Hare, S.J. was a
princely host. Called home.3
11:10 a.m. – Took the train for Norfolk, Virginia via
Delaware, splitting the State down the middle with a
ride to the tip of Cape St. Charles (Chesapeake Bay).
No sooner was I settled in my seat than a man of
about 42, with a splendid physique, maneuvered
down the aisle with a pronounced list to starboard.
He spotted the Chaplain’s cross and greeted me
like a long-lost friend, a soldier in World War I.
“Hi, Chaplain!”
His life history followed. The conductor came along,
to whom the drunk said, “Hey look at that rank,”
pointing to my gold braid, Lieut. j.g. “I’d shoot the
Gospel for a rank like that.” Then he wandered off
down the aisle, war-whooping “Deep in the Heart
of Texas.” Then back to me, now writing, with the
conductor. “Look at that, writing about me. He’ll
use me in a sermon. This is what he’ll say: ‘My
dear brethren, once I was riding on a train down to
Norfolk, Virginia from Philly and on that rain was
a man who was a drunkard. He had been dissipating for three days.’” Then he sailed off down the
aisle again, singing his song, “Deep in the Heart of
1 Born in Scotland, Foley was raised in the Boston metropolitan area, the oldest of eight children of Irish immigrant parents, Francis and
Catherine. Francis died when Foley was a young man. Diary keeping, it should be noted, was a practice forbidden to American officers
and enlisted men for fear the documents would fall into enemy hands and provide useful intelligence. Foley’s diary, which he wrote for his
family in the event he did not return, seems particularly problematic, with notes on ship movements, “scuttlebutt,” personnel, morale, and
military installations that could well have been of some interest to German or Japanese military intelligence. Shortly after Foley enlisted,
Navy Secretary Frank Knox issued a general communique that began: “The keeping of personal diaries by personnel of the Navy is hereby
prohibited for the duration of the war. Personnel having diaries in their possession are directed to destroy them immediately.” Foley makes
no reference to this order in his diary, and writes about openly making entries in a notebook as he went about his duties aboard ship.
2 Originally assigned to the Army, Foley convinced his Jesuit superiors to see to it that he was appointed to the Navy. In a March 3, 1995
interview with Steve O’Brien, then a history doctoral candidate at Boston College, Foley notes “having learned to swim in salt water at
eight years old and liking the ocean and living next door to it and having taken a voyage [to England, for his Jesuit studies] . . . I had salt in my
veins. It had to be the Navy.” O’Brien’s thesis, based on Foley’s diary, was published as Blackrobe in Blue: The Naval Chaplaincy of John P.
Foley, S.J. 1942 –1946 (iuniverse 2002).
3 Founded in 1733 by Joseph Greaton, an English Jesuit, Old St. Joseph’s, as it’s referred to, is the oldest Catholic Church in Philadelphia.
A wall plaque in the church pays tribute to William Penn (1644–1718), who founded the colony of Pennsylvania in 1687. Penn died in 1718. In
1701, as the colony’s “first proprietor,” granted religious toleration. The plaque reads “When in 1733 / St. Joseph’s Roman Catholic Church
/ was founded and / Dedicated to the Guardian of the Holy Family / it was the only place / in the entire English speaking world / where
public celebration of / the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass / was permitted by law.”
5 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
�Texas.” Another song of his was “Hey, Screwball,
chapter
1 | for god and country
Screwbowski.”
4:30 p.m. – Boarded a ship with the melodious name
of Virginia Lee at Cape Charles, Delaware, for a 2½
hour sail down Chesapeake Bay, touching in for a
few minutes at Old Point Comfort, Virginia.
7:30 p.m. – Landed at Norfolk and put up at Hotel
Monticello for $3.00 a night. No facilities of any
kind; just a room — and what a room!4 I called the
nearest pastor, Fr. Blackburn of St. Mary’s Church,
who graciously granted me permission to celebrate
Mass there in the morning. At 8:20 p.m. I checked
in at N.O.B. [Naval Operating Base] to the Duty
Staff Officer.5
Friday, April 17, 1942
8:00 a.m. – Celebrated Mass at St. Mary’s.6
and lasts six weeks, followed by two weeks of field
work. Classes are held in the Chaplains’ Building.
A story told by the lecturer, P. Robinson: “Admiral
Pratt states that all men eventually reach the metallic age – get silver in their hair, gold in their teeth
and lead in their stern.”
Went for lunch in the Officers’ Mess and purchased
a $5.00 book of food tickets. All colored help.8
A young naval aviator, a 1940 Harvard graduate, was
killed today. Also today, a German sub surfaced two
miles off Norfolk, either by accident or design. Our
shore guns pounded it to pieces. Twenty-nine were
dead from concussions; five Germans survived.
They were attended by Fr. [Wilbur] Wheeler who
remarked, “Just boys.”
Saturday, April 18, 1942
Again celebrated Mass at St. Mary’s.
9:00 a.m. – Off to the Naval Base where I
reported to Commander [Captain Clinton. A.]
Neyman and Lt. [John F.] Robinson.7 Our
Chaplains’ School begins on Monday, April 20,
Mrs. Hagan, 524 Warren Crescent, called up
Mrs. Cecilia A. Taylor, 4107 Gosnold Avenue, sister
of Fr. Tom Delihant, S.J., Park Avenue, New York
4 The six-story, twin-towered Monticello Hotel opened in 1898 and was for many years said to be the most elegant hotel in the South.
It closed in 1970.
5 The Norfolk Naval Operating Base, to which Foley was assigned, was the headquarters of the Atlantic Fleet during World War II.
6 Unless noting an early morning call to battle stations, nearly every entry in Foley’s diary begins with a reference to celebrating Mass.
7 Neyman, a Joliet, Illinois, native who had just founded the Navy chaplain’s “indoctrination” school at the service’s request, was a Northern
Baptist. Robinson was a diocesan priest from New York City. Assigned to the Marines, he would die of injuries received in an airplane accident in Virginia on February 23, 1945, one of 24 Navy chaplains who were killed during the war. It’s recorded that a scribbled note was found
tucked into his belt: “Dear Mom and Pop, I have had time to say my prayers.” Foley graduated in Class E, the school’s fifth class. Among the
14 trainees were six Catholics, three Baptists, two Episcopalians, and one Lutheran, Presbyterian, and Congregationalist. In addition to learning practical military matters and attending classes in physical fitness (not a favorite pastime for Foley), prospective Navy chaplains learned
how to conduct a burial at sea or “rig” a church service on a ship deck. Moreover, they were taught to minister to all on board—few ships
carried more than one chaplain—and to organize “general” religious services for men of varied denominations and faiths. Protestant and
Jewish chaplains, for example, learned how to lead the rosary and recite Catholic prayers for the dying. Chaplains also received introductions
to a range of theologies and were ordered to respect theological differences and avoid religion-based quarrels, a practice the Army and Navy
carefully referred to as “cooperation without compromise.” Foley records no quarrels among chaplains in his diary. He himself appears to
have been easy in his relationships with other chaplains (see entry under May 25, 1942), and generous in his ministry, offering counseling,
comfort, and prayer where it was requested or needed.
8 In 1942, Norfolk, like many southern cities, operated under Jim Crow law. Segregated schools, restaurants, rest rooms, and residential
neighborhoods were the rule. The Armed Forces were segregated as well. They were not formally freed of discrimination “on the basis of
race, color, religion or national origin” until July 1948, under an executive order signed by President Harry Truman.
6 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
�City, a lovely and loveable grandmother who lives
chapter
| for
god
and
country
alone. She1 gave
me the
best
upstairs
room in her
9
eight-room house.
Sunday, April 19, 1942
11:30 a.m. – Celebrated Mass at St. Mary’s Church
in Norfolk. In the small cemetery between the rectory and the Church, there is the following striking
epitaph on three sides of a tombstone: “In memory
of Heloise Lepage, wife of Wm. S. Camp, who died
December 4, 1842, aged 25 years. Devoted in her
conjugal attachment with ardent affection, kind,
gentle and dutiful, she was all that could be desired–
the cherished object of parental fondness and the
joy and delight of numerous relatives and friends.
Her sudden and untimely end filled many fond
hearts with keen anguish, mingled with high and
holy hope, that her rare virtues had commended her
to the favor of heaven.”
Monday, April 20, 1942
First day of Chaplains’ School. The day began with
a lecture by Chaplain Neyman and ended with drill
and a physical in Drill Hall. Almost had a blackout
after one anti-tetanus inoculation.
Tuesday, April 21, 1942
Second day of Chaplains’ School. There were
two lectures; one on pay and the second on
naval etiquette.
5:00 p.m. – While I was standing near the Marine
sentry at the entrance to the Base, a colored man
came running along, showing his pass for exit. The
Marine said, “See those railroad tracks? Go back to
them and walk out. Nobody runs out of here.”
The Negro turned without a word and meekly did
as he was told. Then, as soon as outside the gate,
he bolted again; he wanted to catch a car for home.
The color line is rigid here; streetcars, trains, pay
stations, toilets.
The Naval Base is just boiling with activity. Ten
thousand rookies are cleared through each seven
weeks: a) Air Station; b) Naval Operating Base;
c) Training Station.
The teachers in the Chaplains’ School were
Commander Neyman, an Episcopalian; Commander
[Stanton W.] Salisbury, a Presbyterian; and Lieutenant Robinson, a Catholic. Salisbury to Robinson,
“Converted a boy to the true Church today.” “What
Church?” “Yours, of course.”10
There are 125 priests in our class “E”, and, God save
the mark, [James W.] Kelly from Memphis, Tennessee, a hard-shelled Baptist!
Wednesday, April 22, 1942
Happy surprise today. Bernard Nice, a freshman at
Boston College two years ago, who left at the end of
that year because of financial difficulties, called at
Chaplains’ School about eleven o’clock. He was the
first Boston College man I met.11
There were two lectures this afternoon. The first by
Fr. Hughes, Chaplain on the USS Enterprise.12 Aircraft blasted Marshall Island [on February 21, 1942],
which was under attack for 13 hours. One bomber
fouled up going off the flight deck and was left to its
9 Foley sometimes recorded full home addresses in his diary, likely so he could later write to people he met. As the chaplain for nearly two
years on a ship, the USS George Clymer, that carried infantrymen and marines to beach landings in Northern Africa and the South Pacific,
he sometimes wrote to parents or wives to let them know that their sons or husbands had died with courage and, in the case of Catholics,
that they had received Communion prior to their deaths. For an example of such a letter, see entry for May 5, 1943.
10 Like Foley, Salisbury would serve in the Pacific Theater during the war; in 1949 he would be named a vice admiral and head of the Navy
chaplaincy.
11 Nice, a submarine spotter, would not return to Boston College but served in the Navy until he retired. He became a high school teacher
and died in 1969 in St. Paul, Minnesota.
12 The aircraft carrier USS Enterprise would survive the Pearl Harbor attack and receive 20 battle stars for service in the Pacific Theater.
Decommissioned in 1947, she remains the most decorated ship in Navy history.
7 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
�fate. The second lecture was by Chaplain Salisbury
chapter
| for
god on
and
who was at1 Pearl
Harbor
thecountry
Island of Oahu on
December 7. “Why caught with pants down?” The
aircraft carrier, USS Enterprise, [was] reported off
shore. It was usual for the line of planes to come in
first from our carriers. So when the line came in,
even though they were Japs, they were allowed to
come in scot free!
Thursday, April 23, 1942
An officer informed us today that German subs
can be heard signaling to each other off shore. In
the afternoon we made a tour of inspection of the
Wyoming and Arkansas, worlds in themselves
with sick bay, wardrobe room, bakery, kitchen, soda
fountain. Both of these ships were located in the
Portsmouth, Virginia, Navy Yard across Chesapeake
Bay, a place humming with activity with ships
being reconditioned, guns remounted, whole signal
systems overhauled and getting scraped from stem
to stern. Heard one sailor say to another as we
passed by, “There are the ‘Come to Jesus boys’.”
Friday, April 24, 1942
Chaplain Salisbury told us today that Retired
Admiral Taussig had a run-in with a young
Assistant Secretary of the Navy during World
War I. They crossed swords and the Assistant
came off second best. Later that Assistant became
President. Taussig prophesied that war with Japan
was inevitable. President Roosevelt cashiered this
brilliant tactician.13
There have been reports lately of bombing of Tokyo.
[The bombing took place on April 18.] Chaplain
Salisbury told us that move was the direct personal
inspiration of the President, although other Navy
heads opposed it. Hence the Army did the job off the
Navy carrier, USS Hornet.
Saturday, April 25, 1942
On a streetcar in Norfolk I said “Hello” to a sailor
from Louisiana. “Chaplain, Sir?” “That’s right.”
“Are you Catholic or non-Catholic?” “Guess.” “Well,
you’re from the North; not many Catholics there.
Priests are either Polish or Italian, so I guess you’re
non-Catholic.”
Sunday, April 26, 1942
Third Sunday after Easter. I drove out by car to the
Naval Air Station for two Masses at 7:30 and 8:45.
The chapels were packed (125) for both Masses. It
gave me a thrill to hear the prayers at Mass and
at the end of Mass being said by the strong, vibrant
voices of the young men who are defending the
things that we value most. After Mass, Bill Martin,
a Boston College freshman last year, came in and
introduced himself. He is now an instructor in radio
mathematics. During Mass all kinds of planes–fourmotored bombers, scouts, flight training – were taking off and landing regularly. Noise from them and
from washing machines gave sharp competition for
attention to what the celebrant preached on.
Three men lost in crashes at our Station today.
After lunch today in Hotel Monticello, Fr. Fred
Gallagher and I drove through the Negro section
of Norfolk. You have seen the last word in clothing
when you have seen a Negro or Negress walking
along Church Street in his or her Sunday best on a
sunny Sunday afternoon. They are animated rainbows. Women — weirdest combinations of red and
green and yellow and blue; young bucks — pancake
hats, trousers tight at the ankles, bags at the knees.
Monday April 27, 1942
Went back to the Naval Air Station. On the outskirts
of the baseball field, I saw naval air barracks beyond
right field; a field hangar beyond center; and beyond
left, a landing field for 20 four-motored bombers.
Tuesday, April 28, 1942
Attended regular morning classes. Later, with
Fr. [Frederick A.] Gallagher, visited the USS Alcoa,
a repair ship, and a destroyer, USS Herbert.
13 Rear Admiral Joseph Tausig was retired in 1941 on account of his age. He did in fact predict the war with Japan. He was reappointed to
the Navy in 1943, serving in an administrative capacity, and died in 1947.
8 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
�Men moved out today on the USS Indiana. Depth
chapter
| destroyer
for godmay
andbe
country
charges on1 the
set at any depth
from 50 to 350 feet. A sailor told us that they cruised
from Norfolk down to Kittery Point, spending five
days out and two days in.
Wednesday, April 29, 1942
Met two English sailors looking into a jewelry store
window. One boy, from London, had not seen [England] for two years. The other, Donnelly, a Catholic,
was from Liverpool. He remarked that every church
in his home city was “bombed down.”
Thursday, April 30, 1942
Regular lectures this morning. This afternoon ten
of us took a trip in a Douglas Transport, (first in the
formation), to Elizabeth City, North Carolina.14 As
we headed for the stairway leading into the plane,
Rev. Kelly, the Baptist from Memphis, remarked to
me, “Wall ah can appreciate now the celibacy of
the clergy. You don’t have to worry about your wife
and child.”
After we got inside the plane, an enlisted man instructed us to tie safety belts around us while taking
off and landing. Meanwhile, two pilots were tuning
up the engines. In a jiffy they were roaring out their
deep tones; yet, strangely enough, we could enjoy
conversation by lifting the voice volume slightly.
The cabin of the plane was quite bare. It had
aluminum seats running down each side with a
safety belt and a parachute in each. We first tested
the former and then donned the chutes.
As we looked out the cabin windows, we could see
the propellers spinning their thousand-odd revolutions a minute and the enlisted man piloting the
cockpit men out onto the main take-off lane of
the airport. A PBY [Patrol Bomber] was taking off
just ahead of us on its 20 to 30 hour tour of duty.
Gracefully, it soared up, and almost immediately we
swung onto the main stem, turned around and the
pilots gave her the gun. We ran down for a mile and
then gradually and slowly our big ship, a giant silver
swallow in the afternoon sun, swung up and out
over Elizabeth River. The Naval Operating Base was
laid out in perfect pattern on our left. Down over
the river we flew at 175 per hour, and took in the
constantly changing panorama underneath us. Here
a new housing development was all spruced up —
fresh blue, green and red roofs; there a farm of oil
tanks tried to merge with the background, their tops
painted grass green. Off to our right, smoke was
belching from three tankers moving out of Hampton Roads for a life or death trip down the coast for
another load of black, liquid gold.
All the time, our pilots were talking with the Operations Tower. After two miles down stream, communications were broken and we were on our own.
A young doctor from the Naval Air Station was our
first casualty. He and his dinner parted company.
Soon Rev. Kelly was in difficulty. The chicken salad
started sending messages to the potato chips that we
had had three hours before at the Officers’ Mess.
After a while, I stepped forward into the cockpit.
The two pilots were conversing in a tone slightly
higher than conversation level. The cockpit was
a maze of clocks; I counted 28 of them. The two
pilots, former commercial fliers, were conversing
about trips they had made.
Far below, the panorama was constantly changing;
the horizon in back of us fading as the one ahead
opened out. The channels of the rivers could be
made out very easily. An ensign along with us
remarked that a blimp could spot a sub 90 feet
below the surface.
Within half an hour, we arrived at Elizabeth City
[North Carolina]. We landed gracefully, as easily
14 The plane was likely a C-47 Skytrain, which was used as a personnel transport during the war. Elizabeth City was the site of an important
shipyard, a Naval station, and a Coast Guard station.
9 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
�as on a sofa. Bombers, heading out for a 20 or
chapter
1 | for
andaboard
country
30 hours cruise
withgod
14 men
and hot loads
of live bombs, were taking off alongside of us.
Friday, May 1, 1942
Dinner this evening was in the “Old Southern
Grill” where the following motto framed on the
wall intrigued me:
“A wise old owl sat on an oak.
The more he heard, the less he spoke;
The less he spoke, the more he heard.
Why not be like that wise old bird?”
The scene is Blessed Sacrament Church. Two
stalwart young boys, 22 years old, were making an
evening visit at 7:30. The warm glow of the setting
sun flooded through the amber-stained glass window bathing both boys in gold as they knelt before
their Captain and King. They are strong in faith and
brave in war.
Saturday, May 2, 1942
11:30 – We took off in a Douglas Transport plane for
Cherry Point, North Carolina, on a glorious sundrenched morning. With a roar, our giant silver
plane soared up and we are on our way to our
destination. Thirty-five hundred feet below is a
crazy quilt of farm land, river woods and doll houses. On our left is James River carrying fussy little
tugs on its bosom. The tugs chugging along tried to
make up in braggadocio what they lacked in size as
they warped an aircraft carrier into her berth.
Soon we were sailing through the Alps in the sky.
Some were dark mountains at the base and at the
top crested with snow. Occasionally, a tuft of cotton
would sail by, boastfully, on its own after cutting its
mother’s apron strings. Then a proud craft would
move along majestically, obviously an old-timer.
Far below, white strips of yellow adhesive tape
crisscross the face of the country. Occasionally they
would meet and little black tugs came to a stop at
their juncture. An enlisted man informs Chaplain
Weise and me that the body of water we are passing
over now is Albemarle Sound. Soon we have left that
behind and we are flying over Pamlico River. Now
a haze obscures the ground, a misty reminder of
forest fires that carelessness or sabotage have lighted
in the Carolina woods.
At the end of an hour, we land at Cherry Point,
North Carolina [site of a Marine Corps airfield],
and disembark on a three mile runway, the longest
in the country. This camp is in the pioneer stages.
There are only 1000 men here, a combination of
Army, Navy and Marine Corps. I sleep in the temporary quarters of 22 Naval fliers in an enlisted men’s
barracks while their own is being built. One of them
falls into conversation and speaks of his Commanding Officer, Commander [John] Yoho. “He never
asks us to do anything that he hasn’t done himself.
Not all COs are like that, Chaplain. He is up for
every patrol.” “You like him then?” “Like him? Why
every one of us would fly to death for that man.”
On the way down to mess an hour later, the assignments were up for the next day, Sunday. Dawn Patrol,
Noon and Dusk Patrols. The first name under Dawn
Patrol was Yoho, C O.15
Sunday, May 3, 1942
4:30 a.m. – Both men on either side of me are routed
out of bed by an enlisted man for their dawn patrol.
These men keep the subs under from Cape Lookout
to Cape Hatteras. All are splendid young men, college
grads, e.g., Anderson, Dartmouth; Grace, same.
In the Marine Barracks there is one of the men with
the Bible open on the bed. “Read it every single day,
Sir,” he says. I was drumming up trade at the time,
announcing the time of Mass on the morrow.
In the Officers Wardroom, Commanding Officer
Yoho says, “I want to prepare whichever one of you
gentlemen is the Protestant for a poor attendance
tomorrow. Catholic boys turn out but not the Protestant.” [Methodist Chaplain John W.] Weise says,
“Well, I guess I can take it.”
15 Yoho would die in January 1943 in the crash of a training flight he was piloting.
10 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
�At Mass in the morning there are 105 by actual
chapter
| for godatand
count. Six 1Communions
the country
nine o’clock Mass;
those boys fasted until eleven o’clock for their meal.
Their faith is living.
Took off at 4 o’clock. Although 175 per hour was the only
indication of our speed, our own shadows were racing
across the farms and rivers and the forests below. Like
Charlie McCarthy, it mowed everything down.16
Wednesday, May 6, 1942
10:30 a.m. – Visited the aircraft carrier, USS Charger,
formerly the South American luxury liner, Rio de Plaza, that weighs 15,000 tons with a flight deck, hangar
deck and below deck quarters. With openness and
airiness, it is different than the line’s other ships. On
the flight deck I saw how planes are suddenly stopped
as a little jeep was testing the operating gear.
The plane alights, having let down a hook; across the
deck are half a dozen cables, stretching the width of
the deck and spaced out about ten yards apart. These
cables are released, shoot up, catch the hook of the
plane and suddenly check it. Similar to running into
a clothesline in the dark.
environment. Question by yours truly, “Any room
allowed for the exercise of free will in that analysis?”
His reply, “I don’t know what you mean by free
will.” “You have a choice of two alternatives – to walk
or to ride in a car.” Finally, after another priest, Fr.
[Michael] Doody, and a minister, Mr. [Will-Mathis]
Dunn, peppered him also, he admitted free will in
practice but not in theory.
Saturday, May 9, 1942
Went to Barracks “B” and visited survivors recently
brought in from a torpedoed ship. The ten American sailors were members of a gun crew aboard the
British steamer, Irma, that was sent to the bottom on
Good Friday, 350 miles off the coast of South Africa.
There was one Catholic among them – Thomas Caddigan of 77 Granite Street, Biddeford, Maine. They were
drifting for four hours before they were picked up. A
British Corvette with them at the time of the torpedoing scooted away and returned four hours later to
rescue them. They were bitter about what they called
its desertion.18
Sunday, May 10, 1942
It being Mother’s Day, I sent my mother some flowers and called her on the phone.
Thursday, May 7, 1942
Received a letter today from Fr. John Long, S.J., in
which he stated that he has the [Boston College]
President’s permission to volunteer for Chaplaincy.17
A lecture on Psychiatry was given by Lt. Levine,
28 years old. He reduced human personality to the
resultant of two determining factors – heredity and
At 6:30 I heard confessions for an hour in the Base
Chapel. It was most edifying to see the large number of blue-jackets receiving Communion for their
mothers whether they were at home with their
families or at home in heaven with God, Our Lord
and His Mother.
16 “So help me, I’ll mow you down!” was a phrase “spoken” by the puppet “Charlie McCarthy” on ventriloquist Edgar Bergen’s “The Edgar
Bergen-Charlie McCarthy Show,” a radio staple from 1937 to 1957.
17 Because Jesuits generally held wide-ranging responsibilities in civilian life—Foley held three administrative titles at Boston College—
those who wanted to enter the military chaplaincy sometimes found it difficult to obtain permission from their superiors. John Long,
who had succeeded Foley at Boston College, became an Army chaplain, serving until 1956. He served as a dean at the College of the Holy
Cross and then at Boston College. He died in 1964.
18 A good example of some of the minor errors that crept into Foley’s diary, likely on account of his relying on memory and testimony
rendered from within the general “fog of war.” The ship torpedoed by U-Boat 505 in the Atlantic off the coast of Mali on Good Friday,
April 3, was the West Irma (the Irma was, in fact, a German vessel), and was an American, not British, cargo ship. The ship that rescued
99 American sailors was the HMS Copinsay. U-505 later surrendered to the American Navy and was gifted to the Chicago Museum of
Commerce and Industry, where it remains on exhibit.
11 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
�Wednesday, May 13, 1942
chapter 1 | for god and country
Gasoline rationing went into effect yesterday for our
car. That “our” is not quite accurate. Mr. Hagan, host
of Fathers Gallagher and Doody, has lent them the
use of his two-door Ford for the duration of our stay
in Norfolk. When Fr. Doody appeared for his ration
card yesterday, he was restricted to the three-gallon
ration like everybody else. This morning Chaplain
Kelly informed me that he had secured one of the
cards marked “X” which do not limit the amount of
gas which may be obtained. Last night a regulation
was set up exempting all ministers from the ration.
I passed the word along to Fr. Doody this morning.
Fr. Doody, “Mike” to all his fellow students in the
Chaplains’ School, was a Jesuit Chaplain with an
Irish face – open, expansive, with the corners of his
mouth always turned up in a smile – even a splitsecond before an explosion. Acting on the disturbing information, he drove over to the Base Office
that handed him his limited card yesterday, inquired
about the possibility of getting an unlimited card and
wound up being deprived of his three gallons a week
because his borrowed car was not properly registered.
He came back to the Chaplains’ School, told his tale
of woe and was greeted with gales of laughter instead
of the sympathy he expected. During the afternoon,
he turned the Base Office over on its keel and finally
secured a card entitling him, like all the other Chaplains, to an unlimited supply of gasoline.
This morning I was on my way back to the School
after paying a visit to the Chapel. To return to the
School, one had to pass the Negro detention unit.
Inside were the boots [recent recruits] of two or
three weeks’ experience. Outside the cyclone fence a
gang detail of twelve more colored youngsters, fresh
from the train and bus, dressed in all the colors of
the rainbow, marched by in charge of a Negro boot.
As they passed, one of the boys inside the fence
sang out to them, “Yea, man, you had a good home
and you left it. Oh, what you done!”
Thursday, May 14, 1942
This morning the Chaplains visited the USS Wakefield, formerly the luxury liner, USS Manhattan of
the United States Lines, a 30,000 tonner now converted into a transport. She had just returned from a
five and a half month voyage. They took Canadians
and Englishmen, Suffolk and Wessex men, to Singapore – 4500 of them. As one of the young sailors put
it, “We delivered them safely to the Japs.”19 This ship
was hit by five bombs, direct hits, suffered the loss
of 30 men killed and a smaller number wounded.
She is now taking on stores for another trip.
At noon today I looked up Chester Gladchuk, a B.C.
graduate of 1941, now in the [chief petty officer] division. Both tickled to see each other. Chet is still the
salt of the earth; goes to Mass every morning in the
Catholic Chapel. He likes the life but hopes to get a
transfer to the anti-aircraft battalion.20
Saturday, May 16, 1942
7:30 – All the Protestant Chaplains in groups
D & E of the School attended Mass in the Chapel of
Our Lady of Victory on the Base. At the end of Mass
the Catholic Chaplains filed over to the Protestant
Chapel with their non-Catholic brethren. There the
head of the School, Chaplain Neyman, showed us
how he runs services on Sunday. Prayers, hymns and
a sermon comprise the program. After the service, a
Presbyterian, Chaplain [Paul C.] Edgar remarked to
me that he was as much mystified by that Protestant
service as by the Catholic. He said his was entirely
different. “It is ridiculous when you come to think
of it. There we were, Protestant ministers of every
denomination, each with his own brand of service,
whereas no matter where you go, you priests always
and everywhere have the same Mass.”
19 The disastrous Fall of Singapore to the Japanese, in February 1942, resulted in the surrender of 80,000 British and Commonwealth troops.
20 A Naval lieutenant when he was discharged, Gladchuk had been an All-American football player at Boston College and would spend seven
years playing for the New York Giants in the National Football League. He died in 1967, following a career as an athletics administrator at
the University of Massachusetts, Amherst.
12 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
�Sunday, May 24, 1942
chapter 1 | for god and country
Flew down from Norfolk to Elizabeth City, North
Carolina, to celebrate Mass at the Coast Guard
Station there. Commander Burke, a splendid
Catholic, was in charge. The plane was a Beechcraft
that covered the fifty miles in 22 minutes.
Elizabeth is the taking-off place for England. Our
men fly the big bombers here from the Coast, then
the Limeys take over. There they fill their airships
with, above all things!!, ladies’ silk stockings, cosmetics, onions and lemons. Their wives are tickled to get
all these for this is what they lack in England.
Elizabeth City, with a population of 12,000 people, has
40 Catholics. The arrival of Catholic officers at this
station with their families boosted the number to 100.
Monday, May 25, 1942
Mr. [Kermit S.] Combs, a [Baptist] minister from West
Virginia, a member of our class, expounded his conviction today that since the body is the temple of the
Holy Ghost and liquor is poison, then anybody who
drinks liquor of any kind is polluting the temple of the
Holy Ghost. In the group listening to him were two
other ministers and yours truly. [Benjamin B.] Brown,
an Episcopalian, explained his position that all creatures were created by God either directly or indirectly.
Liquor was one of the creatures, therefore it couldn’t
be evil in itself. Good, sound doctrine. I inquired of
Combs how he could explain the miracle at Cana
when Christ Our Lord changed water into wine at the
wedding breakfast. “Well,” was his answer, “first of all,
I wasn’t there. Secondly, there was only a little liquor
in the work performed by Christ.” Brown popped up
this time, “Then your position is ruined if there was
any alcoholic content to the wine.” Combs answered
that difficulty by saying that in the communion service in his church, all difficulty was avoided by using
grape juice.
Tuesday, May 26, 1942
On a ship, Chaplain Neyman once heard a crowd
of sailors in a working party outside his door swearing their heads off. He was on his way out when he
heard one of the Chief Petty Officers censure the
boys by saying, “G-d ---- it. Haven’t you any respect
for the Chaplain?”
Wednesday, May 27, 1942
Visited the destroyer, USS Benson, built at Fore
River [in Quincy, Massachusetts] three years ago. In
the crews’ quarters one sailor was sleeping directly
over a box of TNT explosives. Twined around his
bedspring was a pair of Our Lady’s Rosary.
At the physical drill today, planes as usual were coming in to alight just about 50 feet over our heads as
we went through the Gene Tunney exercises. The
new men in the “F” group of Chaplains found it a
bit disconcerting. The rest of us who had witnessed
and heard the same for six weeks were not surprised
at their reaction. Theirs was ours at the beginning.21
Thursday, May 28, 1942
As we toured a light cruiser today, there was
evidence on all sides that these sailors have taken
the zipper off their courage.
Read Fr. [William] Maguire’s book, Rig for Church
[Macmillan, 1942], the story of his 25 years in the
Navy. Intensely interesting and most readable. In it he
tells of the sanctity one finds in the Navy. One young
man, a machinist’s mate, came to him to tell him he
wanted to be a Trappist. He had schooled himself to
wake up in the middle of the night to say his Rosary.
He is in the Trappist monastery today in Kentucky.22
�Friday, May 29, 1942
The three ingredients of success according to
Chaplain Salisbury, a good Presbyterian:
21 Tunney, the retired heavyweight boxing champion, had been commissioned a Navy captain and charged with developing physical fitness
programs within the service.
22 Captain Maguire, who was awarded the Navy Cross for his work rescuing sailors during World War I, was the senior chaplain for the Pacific
Theater during World War II. He is best known for his book, The Captain Wears A Cross, in which he describes his experiences during the
Japanese raid on Pearl Harbor.
13 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
�i) Grace – God will give you that in abundance;
chapter
1 | – that
for Igod
ii) Knowledge
haveand
donecountry
my best;
iii) Common sense – “If you haven’t this, then
neither God nor man can help you.”
Saturday, May 30, 1942
A street scene. In the evening on Monticello
Avenue in the downtown section of Norfolk,
a blind street singer is playing his guitar and
singing. Sailors strolling along singly and in
pairs are dropping coins into his tin cup.
Sailors are proverbially generous.
Sunday, May 31, 1942
Telephone call at 5:30 from the Base. Chaplain Robinson calling for me to offer Mass on the battleship
North Carolina, anchored two miles out in Hampton
Roads. Took the seven o’clock boat from Pier 2 that
was bringing back the liberty party of Saturday night.
Like going out to a ship anchored off Boston’s Castle
Island.23 Beautiful sunny morning. Hopped up the accommodation ladder, saluted the flag and the Officer
of the Deck. Heard confessions in the library until
0815, then celebrated Mass at 0830 in one of the mess
compartments. About 130 were present. Flags took
the place of stained glass windows and a whitewashed
overhead24 for a beautiful ceiling, but I’m sure that
Our Lord was immensely pleased with the shining
faces of those splendid young men. John J. McLoughlin of 254 Market St., Brighton, Mass., played the
organ while the men sang lustily. An example of zeal:
McLoughlin ran two classes aboard that ship which
had no Catholic Chaplain, one for boys who wished to
learn how to serve Mass and the other for non-Catholics who wished to know something about the Catholic
Church. About ten officers formed the congregation
in the first row. Among them was Bill Kelly, B.C. ’40,
who escorted me around the ship after Mass. A ship
magnificently appointed, with a wardroom of hotel
spaciousness, spick and span from stem to stern, a
superb man-of-war, ready for the best and the worst. I
had to decline an invitation for breakfast and make a
23 A public park beside Boston Harbor.
24 Underside of the deck.
25 “Junior Grade,” equivalent to the rank of first lieutenant in the Army.
14 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
getaway for Mass at noon in the Sacred Heart Church,
Norfolk; made it without trouble. A beautiful church
with a high nave and long transepts.
Today I met Bill O’Brien whom I had as a sophomore at Holy Cross [College]. Now a doctor, he is a
Lieutenant (j.g.).25
Tuesday, June 2, 1942
Yesterday began the field work of the Chaplains’
course. I am assigned to Fr. Robinson’s office.
He is the Catholic attached to the lecturing staff
at the School.
Thursday, June 4, 1942
Learned today that [Congregationalist minister
[Donald A.] Sterling, Kelly and Fr. [Charles J.] Covert
are assigned to the Base here as chaplains. They are
the first men from our class to be notified of their
appointments. Meanwhile, the rest of us are on the
tiptoe of expectation, wondering where our billets
will be. Shall we be assigned to ship or shore duty?
May the Lord deliver me from being an office boy
for some senior chaplain. Close, immediate contact
with the men is what I wish and opportunities to
administer the Sacraments.
Friday, June 5, 1942
Editorial in the Norfolk Ledger-Dispatch on John
Barrymore’s death expressed regret for the amusement that he furnished during the last years of his
life, when he was burlesquing himself. As the editorial put it, “It was tragic to see him sliding down the
banister of his own reputation. Let us think of him
as he was when he was the number one Shakespearean actor of the stage.”
Saturday, June 6, 1942
Thirty-eight years old today. Greetings and remembrances from mother and family and Sister Flavius
did not let me forget the anniversary.
�This afternoon I set out for Portsmouth where
chapter
1 the
| for
god place
and country
I am to take
weekend
of Fr. Creviston,
Catholic Chaplain, who is on leave for his retreat.
Met Chaplain Huske, non-Catholic, who was gracious and hospitable. Billeted in Ward A-2 for the
night. Heard confessions in the Red Cross building in which the recreation hall and the Chaplain’s
office are located from 4 to 5:30. In the evening
attended “Hullabaloo,” a Hollywood-sponsored,
travelling USO show, made up of dancers, acrobats,
jugglers, jokesters and roller-skaters. A good professional show that lasted for an hour and a half.
In the ship’s service store I met Schoonhover,
1 cl. fireman, 14 years in the Navy, a convert. Drank
like a fish for five years until he met “the” girl who
converted him and “Dried me up,” he said.
Sunday, June 7, 1942
Up at 0530; Confessions at 0600 in the Recreation
Hall. Mass at 0630 with 200 present and about 20
Communions. Taxied down to the Navy Yard. Confessions at 0830 in the Yard Chapel; Mass at 0900
with 225 attending. Mrs. Pearson, a charming 55
year-old lady and grandmother three times over,
played hymns such as “Mother Dear, O Pray for Me,”
“Star of the Sea,” etc., on the chimes of the beautiful
Yard Chapel shortly before the 0900 Mass, the bells
reminding the men that Mass was about to begin.
ing the hall. Footlights blinded the preacher when he
turned around to read the Gospel!
1205 – Started for the USS Woolsey. At Pier 4 I
boarded the first destroyer tied up, the Lansdowne
that was about to leave when an ensign hailed me
– a Bill Dunn from Holy Cross ’35, for one year,
then to Annapolis, who wished to be remembered
particularly to Fr. Barrett. He came from Troy, N.Y.
Bill remarked that I had been in the Navy some
time judging from the sermon that I had delivered.
“What do you mean?” “Well, expressions that only
a Navy man would use, e.g., lashed ourselves to our
ideals, everything squared away, etc.”
Left the Lansdowne and went to the Woolsey where
I was greeted by Bill Connelly. We had dinner in the
wardroom; excellent roast duck with all the fixings,
topped off by ice cream. Stayed about two hours. I was
sent across the Elizabeth River in one of the boats of
the ship and so ended another eventful weekend.
Monday, June 8, 1942
At 1100 today I learned that I was assigned to the
USS George Clymer, an attack naval transport. The
news means that I am going to the far off places of
the globe – with American boys. May God always be
with us as we go down to the sea in our ship!26
Tuesday, June 9, 1942
After Mass, Bill Connelly, a B.C. graduate, came into
the sacristy. I had met him two weeks ago on Granby
St., Norfolk. Since then he has been down to Panama, helping to give Wallie Cuenin and 7900 other
Marines a good start to New Zealand. He invited me
to dinner aboard his ship, the USS Woolsey. At the
1000 Mass in the theatre of the Marine barracks,
with 30 in attendance, there was a dim-out throughout with only the low lights of a movie theatre light-
Last Saturday while in the Chaplain’s Office at the Naval Hospital, Portsmouth, a young Marine approached
me to state that his brother had to be back at New
River within two days because his outfit was pulling
out. However, he didn’t have sufficient fare in cash.
Although he had a check for $20, he could not get it
cashed. This boy said he and his brother were identical
twins and had never been separated until now when
he had been detached to the hospital because of an
26 The Clymer, on which Foley would spend 21 months in two theaters of war, was close to 500 feet long and could carry 1,300 troops and
2,300 tons of cargo. Her crew numbered some 600 and she could cruise at better than 18 knots. Her armament comprised eight antiaircraft cannons, four .50 caliber machine guns, and four .50 caliber guns capable of firing at targets on the sea or in the air. During the
war she acquired the nicknames Greasy George and Lucky George, the latter because while frequently in battle zones she was only once
struck by a shell, bomb or torpedo. (A shell damaged her communications antenna.) She served in Korea and Vietnam accruing 13 battle
stars before being decommissioned in October 1967.
15 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
�epileptic fit that he took at New River. I gave him
chapter
| the
foremergency
god andand
country
$5 cash to 1cover
prevent his brother
from being tossed in the brig. My first investment of
cash in the Navy. I didn’t bother to get the boy’s name.
Today I received the $5. and the following letter:
NORFOLK NAVAL HOSPITAL
Dear Sir:
Grace be to you and peace from God our Father
and from the Lord Jesus Christ.
Sincerely,
(signed) Pvt. Harold R. Hartin
the sentry advanced ominously, I found my voice
and cried out “Officers.” “Advance and give the
countersign.” Being ignorant of that, we simply sat
and waited until he came abreast of us, with the
pistol still pointed up in the air, fortunately. He
smiled when we told him we were a couple of
priests who had lost their bearings. He set us on
our course again.
Sunday, June 14, 1942
Celebrated Mass at Oceana, Virginia. One hundred
at Mass with five Communions.
Wednesday, June 10, 1942
Monday, June 15, 1942
In Norfolk (population about 200,000) there are
217 churches by actual count in the telephone
directory. 6 Catholic; 7 Jewish; 204 Protestant
(45 Baptist; 20 Methodist; 14 Presbyterian;
10 Episcopal; and the rest, assorted varieties).
Detached at 1200.
5:15 – Sailed up Chesapeake Bay with Fred Gallagher,
Washington bound.
Tuesday, June 16, 1942
Dinner Grace (á la Navy): “Dear Lord, bless this our
food and meat / And please hurry up and give us
something to eat.”
Took the Colonial out of Washington for Boston;
arrived at 8:15 p.m. On leave until June 25th
when I pick up the George Clymer at Charleston,
South Carolina.
Friday, June 12, 1942
Wednesday, June 24, 1942
Graduation of our Chaplains Class
Speakers: Paul Edgar, Fred Gallagher,
Captain Mack, Chaplain Neyman.
Graduates: Paul Edgar, Fred Gallagher,
Ben Brown, Bill Lumpkin, Glyn Jones,
Ansgar Sovik, Donald Sterling, James Kelly,
Fred Gehring, Henry (Cy) Rotrige, Charles (Chuck)
Covert and John P. Foley.
Took the Colonial out of South Station after
celebrating Mass at St. Clement’s Church with
family in attendance. Goodbye to all. When shall
we be together again?27
Dinner in the Officers’ Mess. Mrs. Hagan and
Mrs. Taylor were guests.
Saturday, June 13, 1942
When leaving the base, Fred Gallagher lost his way.
Suddenly, we found ourselves riding down one of
the vital roads of the airport. Quick as a flash three
guards stepped out upon us, one with his pistol
cocked, and challenged us: “Who goes there?” Both
of us were so petrified that we could say nothing. As
On the Colonial I had dinner with Dr. Bowen, a former
B.C. professor. Arrived in Washington at 7:30 p.m., one
hour late. Then caught the train for North Charleston
at 8:15 p.m.; dumped out from the Miami Special
at 5:30 a.m. in North Charleston, nine miles from
Charleston. Said Mass in Sacred Heart Church. The
Pastor, Fr. Wolfe was a most gracious host. Went
to the Navy Yard and met Chaplain Sitler. The ship
was moored to the dock when I boarded her at about
4:00 P.M. Stepped aboard with my heart beating
fast, for “my” ship was in.
USS George Clymer. Principal dimensions: Length
–489 feet; Height –70 feet; Tonnage –16,730 (full
27 St. Clement’s was the Foley family’s parish church, in Medford, Massachusetts,
16 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
�load displacement), –233. The ship was originally
chapter
1 Planet
| forofgod
and country
the African
the American
South African
Line, built by the Ingalls Shipbuilding Co. of Birmingham, Alabama, at their Pascagoula, Mississippi Yard. She is one of triplets; the others being
the African Comet and the African Meteor. Now as
the USS George Clymer, she has 33 officers and 314
men, with 400 more expected. She came up from
her birthplace without an escort, was chased by
three subs, but her speed enabled her to outdistance
them. Lt. Crawford on duty one night of a full moon
thought it would never set. Lt. MacRae said that
17 | chapter i: chaplains’ school
during the five-day trip up the officers had only five
hours sleep. He, as Communications Officer, identifies himself to the other ships of ours that were met.
He said that there are special signals which change
within three hours. Before a ship signals, she has
her guns trained on you!
What kind of a ship is she now? An attack naval
transport, a member of the Amphibious Combat
Force, with 32 landing boats and accommodations
for 2000 troops. Captain A. T. Moen, Commanding
Officer; Commander M.C. Erwin, Executive Officer.
�chapter 211 | | for
forgod
godand
andcountry
country
Anchors Aweigh
Sunday, June 28, 1942
For the first time – Mass at 0900. Attendance: 20;
Communions – 3; Confessions – 10. Plan of the Day
reads: 0830 – Chaplain Foley will hold Confessions
in Troop Commander’s Stateroom. Church Call.
Divine services on board. Protestant services will be
held in the Yard as noted below. Men desiring to attend will be permitted to do so.
Young enlisted man cried yesterday when told that
I was a Catholic priest. He said that he had been
praying since he heard that a Chaplain was coming
aboard and that he would be Catholic.
Charleston, a Southern city, that is damp, with soggy
tropical heat. Intermittently the clouds spill out their
loads without warning. One street will be drenched;
the next will be as dry as a match. Fr. Wolfe took me
all around the city. I saw old slave trading posts, an
old French Huguenot church de-christianized with
no altar and only a cold pulpit in its place. Today no
congregation; just a museum for tourists to visit and
pay their respects.
A sailor beside me in a drugstore said, “Sometimes
as you walk along the streets in a strange city and
see the nice homes, warm lights on, you feel like
walking up, ringing the doorbell and asking if they
would mind if you came in and sat down on a sofa
for a little while.”
I buy the Atlanta Journal at the hotel stand. Its
byline: “Covers Dixie like the dew.”
Monday, June 29, 1942
The HMS Ilex is tied up in dry-dock just behind us.
18 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
Philipps, an English able-bodied seaman on guard
duty, said her back was broken by dive bombers in
the Mediterranean. He had just received word that
his mother was going blind.
2130 – Down in the engine room, I met one of the
men on duty at the generator with the temperature
105. He says two Rosaries every time he stands his
four-hour watch.
Tuesday, June 30, 1942
0900 – Off to the city jail to handle the case of
Sayvitch, A. S., in prison for appropriation of a car
without permission and for careless and reckless
driving. Arrived at the dingy Charleston City Jail and
identified myself. The boy, who had been drinking,
was brought out. The owner of the car parked it;
then five minutes later it was missing. Sayvitch’s
story, “A stranger in beer parlor offered to lend him
his car for $10.; he beat him down to $5. First thing
he knew an officer forced him over to the side of
the road.” The owner, officer and self went over to
the Magistrate’s Court. Judge Matthews presiding.
The square room was coming apart at the seams. A
white and colored line of flotsam and jetsam queued
up outside it. Judge was trying a case of a colored
man accused of molesting people in a house with a
knife at midnight. Judge: “Understand me distinctly.
If you so much as set foot inside that house again,
I’ll send you under the bridge. You will go under the
bridge. Do you hear?”
They took us into a small anteroom. In the meantime the owner has been persuaded not to press
charges of misappropriation. Judge informed the
boy of the seriousness of the offense and told him
�that the next time “the church would be closed and
chapter
for
god have
and gone
country
the parson11and| the
sexton
home.”
Back to the police station where the charge of careless and reckless driving was filed. The boy was
held in bond of $5 on this and told to forget about
appearance in court on the morrow. “You’re a lucky
boy,” said the officer in charge of the court. “Marine
in here the other day for the same offense was held
in bail of $5000.”
Thursday, July 2, 1942
Appointed as Mess Caterer. That means that I am in
charge of the mess for the Officers and of the keeping of the Officers’ rooms and Troop Officers’ mess
and staterooms.
One of the boys remarked that it was a good
addition to have a priest on board on our ship for
she was a suicide scow, i.e., red-hot invasion ship.
Saturday, July 4, 1942
Vignettes of Charleston.
– Gas station with black hoods over tops of its
two pumps and the following sign:
RATIONITIS – NO GAS
– Most of the houses look as though they have been
running away from paint for years. Simply put a
house up and let the elements beat the outside
boards into a dull, dirty brown. Negro hovels are
just that. God never intended either man or beast
to live in what they dwell. Slats thrown together
on the worst sites, next to railroads or gas tanks,
on the swampiest land. All huts built on stilts.
Constant daily rains soon make what passes
for yards or streets between hovels a quagmire.
Youngsters, coal black, splashing around in the
mud present a pitiful sight.
– Crepe myrtle bushes and palmettos fringe the
streets. All growth a lush, tropical green. No
matter how fair the day in the morning, somewhere along the line, clouds come along in
19 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
massed array, thunderheads among them on the
growl, and spill their cargo and mutter away with
their unspent fury.
– Number of Catholics on board: 60 enlisted men;
5 officers.
– Navy man’s life described in three “Ss”: sea, ship
and sky.
– Charleston Negro dialect: “draft questionnary”
and “that is a worryation to me.”
Captain Moen called for a conference of all Officers
and censured those guilty among the Department
Heads for breach of confidence. He had informed
them the previous day that we would be sailing shortly. Within two hours it was brought back to him. “I’ll
be damned if I will stand for that. I tell you that if that
happens again, I’ll have a general court martial on
that officer.” Wound up his talk by saying that “Ours
not to reason why but ours to do or die.”
Had dinner with Fr. Bob Sheridan, S.J., B.C. High,
at the Overseas Depot and Replacement Center.
Negro soldier is pushed to the back of the bus from
his seat up forward. “Good enough to stop a bullet but not to ride up front in a bus,” I inform the
driver, who didn’t like my observation one bit.
Sunday, July 5, 1942
Mass in Troop Officers’ Mess. Sunday was a regular
work day.
Saturday, July 11, 1942
An incident that gives rise to race riots. On bus
returning to the Navy Yard from the city were two
white men, about 25 years old, sitting in a seat behind me. A Negro, who had taken too much, tried to
sit down beside me. No objections from this quarter.
Two white men: “Push him off, Captain! Hey, nigger, don’t you know where you belong? Get down
in the back of this bus.” Opposite were sitting two
young bucks about 22. In the back of them, half a
dozen more bucks. As the two white men got off at
their stop, I looked at them going out through the
�rear door. The second of the two punched one of the
chapter
11 | infor
and
Negroes sitting
thegod
seat by
thecountry
exit, in the back.
Then they were off through the door. At the next
stop six of the Negroes jumped off, and bolted back
for the white men. I doubt whether either one of
them could recognize his face the next morning.
Sunday, July 12, 1942
Thursday, July 16, 1942
Appointed Insurance Agent aboard ship, also. The
jobs are multiplying like rabbits.28
Sunday, July 19, 1942
Confessions at 0830; Mass in Troop Officers’
Wardroom at 0900. Thirty at Mass with five
Communions.
Mass in the Troop Officers’ Wardroom.
Had Fr. Henry F. Wolfe, Pastor of Sacred Heart
Church, Charleston, and Fr. Lee of Worcester as my
dinner guests aboard ship this evening.
I met Carver, one of our Clymer crew, on the way to
Church. He is a devout non-Catholic. Talking about
swearing and recalling when he had used a vulgar,
indecent or obscene word or phrase. “I’ve been in
the Navy for five and a half months and in all that
time I have never said anything that I wouldn’t have
said before my mother.”
Tuesday, July 14, 1942
USS Clymer undocked this morning about 10:30.
Fussy little tugs came chugging alongside of her
about 9:30, making quite a fuss with their whistles,
as if saying, “We may be small; you may be big,
16,000 tons, but this is a job that requires us to
bring you safely without mishap into that dry dock
over there. Don’t forget that good things come done
up in small packages.” After the lines were pulled
aboard, they pulled us out gradually into midstream.
When we were apparently going too fast, they would
slow us up by putting on full speed, snuggling up
right under our hull and pushing with might and
main. Coasted gradually into dry-dock, which, when
it was drained, revealed hundreds of catfish caught
ashore. Negro women collected them in baskets.
Wednesday, July 15, 1942
On Sunday afternoon took the bus out to
Folley Beach for a swim. The water was glorious;
stayed in it off and on from 1430 until 1945 with
the sun beating down all day. The whole shoreline
is fringed with palms; mile after mile of beach
stretched away with hard sand making an ideal
roadway for the cars that drove up, backed in and
unloaded their passengers. Next morning’s paper
said the official temperature for today was 101!!!
Tuesday, July 21, 1942
First instruction to Norman Middleton, Hospital
Apprentice, who intends to marry Marie Burns of
Philadelphia. Used “Why Six Instructions? Arranging for a Mixed Marriage,” by Bishop Schlarman of
Peoria. (B. Herder Book Co., 15–17 So. Broadway
St. Louis, Mo.)
On Tuesday afternoon knocked off about 1630, went
down to Meeting St., took a bus for the Isle of Palms
where I swam until 1930. Beach of golden sand,
nine miles long, with just a handful of cottages
along isolated sections of it.
Thursday, July 23, 1942
Walk through the oldest section of Charleston. Interest awakened in books by a sign in the front window
of an old, old house, “Books – Old and New – For
Sale.” Entered by the front porch that faces south as
do all Charleston houses, for the prevailing breeze
is from that direction. Lovely old lady rented front
Appointed Education Officer.
28 It was not unusual for chaplains aboard ship to be asked to handle an array of responsibilities no other officer wanted to manage. In addition to Insurance Agent—selling life insurance to soldiers and sailors; some $3 million worth of it, Foley would recall—and Education
Officer and Mess Caterer, Foley would eventually be responsible for managing the ship library and acquiring movies for the entertainment
of sailors and military passengers. He was also privately engaged as a bank by sailors who asked him to hold their savings from salaries.
20 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
�room to a lady of 45 who ran a lending library, but
chapter
11 | out
for
and Miss
country
now was going
of god
business.
Mary Adger,
102 years young, owned the house that was built in
Revolutionary days. When complimented on her
youthful appearance, “You don’t look a day over
65,” she replied, “We don’t grow old in Charleston,
we just dry out from the heat.” Despite her century
age, she was in full possession of her faculties. Her
only concession to age was glasses. Slightly built,
she wore a white dress, flecked with little black
polka dots. She just bubbled with life and energy
that showed themselves in lifting her shoulders only
to let them fall as points of emphasis in her story
required. She remembered the soldiers of General
Sherman kidding her and threatening to take her
back north with them. Though she stresses her
opinion of them and their General with foot stampings, she remarked, “All the same, they were nice
boys.” She was a girl of twenty-two then!
Sunday, July 26, 1942
Mass at 0900 in the Officers’ Mess with about 25 in
attendance and 5 Communions.
Monday, July 27, 1942
Finally underway after being in Charleston since June 24,
1942. No casualties as we pulled away except that Miller, the
station wagon driver, and Loftus, the postman, arrived
after the gangway was hoisted aboard. They caught
us downstream with the ship underway, climbing up
Jacob’s ladder, portside, forward.
Degaussing practice up and down the stream
below the two and a half mile bridge over the
Cooper River; then we anchored in the harbor at the
junction of the Cooper and Ashley Rivers between
which Charleston is situated on a peninsula.29
Gorgeous sunset. Steeples of old Charleston churches were silhouetted against the evening sky like
pencils poised to write but they never did get around
to writing before the night closed in and swallowed
them up.
Tuesday, July 28, 1942
3:00 a.m.–Rose for Mass this morning. 0400–
Breakfast.
1) Charleston now bathed in the soft, radiant light of
the setting moon. The small net tenders bob quietly
on either side of the ship, their riding lights paling
now in the growing dawn. We steer through and
immediately there is a sudden transformation. The
ship is now fully alive; all her faculties at work as we
swing into full speed.
2) The whole world seems at peace but it is not.
3) Harbor tug chugs alongside to pick up some
gear left behind by Navy Yard workmen on an emergency welding job.
4) Blahnik, Bosun 1/c, shouts gruffly at the tug
Captain to keep his boat in one place alongside for at
least three minutes so that the welding machines can
be placed aboard her. Tug skipper retorts something
but it is lost to us as wind carries it away, and in a
few minutes the tug casts off and we are underway.
5) We slow down as we maneuver through the
minefields and bear for the net, the last barrier
between the marauders of the sea and the safety of
the harbor. The gate is open.
6) 0555 – Navy planes on dawn patrol pick us up. As
dawn breaks slowly, we can make out faintly on the
horizon five ships clustered together. Dr. Daniels,
Lt. Commander Crawford and I wonder if we are to
join them for our trip north to what we guess is our
destination, Norfolk. Sun is beginning to streak the
eastern horizon now with fingers of gold as we head
out to sea.
Dr. Daniels hopes that since it is so bright that we
won’t have General Quarters. We concur. Lt. Crawford talks about Hendrik [Willem] van Loon’s books;
his books as gargantuan as his size.30
29 Degaussing—generally accomplished by the dragging of an electric cable along the hull—was a process for weakening a ship’s magnetic
field so it would be less likely to attract magnetized mines. The work had to be done periodically, as the effect wore off.
30 General Quarters is an all personnel call to battle stations. Van Loon (1882–1944) was a prolific, popular and sizeable American historian
and writer of children’s books. He was the author of Our Battle, a retort to Hitler’s Mein Kampf, and was a friend of President Roosevelt.
21 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
�Suddenly, General Quarters comes over the broadchapter
11 | Ifor
andGeneral
country
casting system.
givegod
the ship
Absolution
and I head, as does everybody else, for my battle station; everybody with a tremendous, deliberate speed,
yet no confusion for every man has a definite destination. General Absolution may be administered
when a group of individuals are in danger of death.
In sick bay, my station, are 10 hospital corpsmen,
Dr. Daniels, Dr. Harris, senior medical officer, and
myself. Dr. Harris gives all of us a talk on first aid,
prefacing his lecture, which is informal, with the
observation that as the “Plan of the Day” noted, the
ship is passing through highly dangerous submarine
waters. Forty-seven contacts made this past week. All
of us are ready for action; our life preservers secured
on us. We listen to the doctor as he talks about the
first aid for burns, for hemorrhage, shock, chest
wounds and suffocation. He breaks out human
plasma and suddenly the generosity of blood donors
all over the country comes home vividly alive. At
any moment something may happen that will bring
a man into the sick bay whose life will be saved by
this plasma. The atmosphere is a strange one in the
sick bay. There is no nervousness of any kind but in
the back of everybody’s mind is the thought that “it”
may happen any minute.
0715 – Secure from General Quarters. We have made
the first part of our trip successfully. There has been
no need to use the Holy Oils that I carry with me all
the time and none for Holy Viaticum, the Eucharist
administered to the dying. “What need is there for
us to fear?”, as I asked the men last Sunday. Christ
is with us; that is the one thing that matters; everything else is secondary.
Out on the deck at the end of General Quarters,
25 miles off the coast. High aloft are the lookouts
on the bridge in the crow’s nest. Sun dazzling in its
brightness. Sky a cloudless blue; water, clear blue.
Ship is headed straight for the sun as though her
rendezvous was in it. In the next few minutes she
has turned completely away as the rudder is turned
to zigzag her and prevent the subs from getting
aim on us.
22 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
Up on the flying bridge, Commander Irwin complained about stopping to put the pilot off at the
buoy outside of Charleston Harbor. “Why, just two
days ago a sub was sighted lying in wait there by
that very buoy.”
Suddenly one of our dive bombers comes sweeping over our fo’c’s’le, the men at the guns getting
practice training, following her all the way with
their sights. Off portside half a mile, a slow PBY
circles like a hawk in the clear summer sky around
us, keeping down any subs that may be lurking.
Mr. McRae mentioned yesterday that daytime is
very dangerous for us and night is not. Must ask
him why today. He looked sleepy this morning; had
been waked at 0100 to decode a set of identification
signals after getting to bed at 2330. Their challenge –
FF. Reply – 0. One set of signals for major war
vessels, another set for minor ones, and these
change every four hours.
Hour is still only eight o’clock though it seems the
time since three o’clock has been long enough for
two days.
Wednesday, July 29, 1942
0300 – Up at this hour for Mass. Starting off
the new day with the privilege of offering His
Holy Sacrifice. Quartermaster Kirk called me and
inquired if I wanted the door “cracked” (opened).
Replied: “All the way.”
0415 – Beautiful moonlit morning. Six huge black
shadows are anchored here in the same roadstead
with us, the convoy that we passed yesterday afternoon, all of fifteen hours ago. It is a peaceful sight to
see them all swinging idly at anchor peaceful and silent but the silence is tense, a pregnant one. Though
we are in a protected area, a sub could sneak up and
send a “fish” into us.
On deck below, mess attendants, sleeping topside,
are awakened by man on watch, one of their own
company of twenty. Waker goes around, yelling at
them: “Rise and shine, boys; rise and shine.”
�Door to my stateroom is open when I return and I
chapter
| for
god
countryCrawford,
read some11of my
Office.
Lt.and
Commander
who had been on the midnight watch until 0400,
enters, excuses himself, says that it is none of his
business, but he would like to know why I get up
one hour before the rest of the ship. Four o’clock is
bad enough, but three! Told him that I say my Mass
every morning here in the room, rising about one
hour before the ship, when battle operations prevent
men attending in the Mess Hall.
0445 – Breakfast in a still darkened ship, by the light
of two emergency flashlights.
0530 – We are underway, escorted by two PCs that
race along on port and starboard, about a mile off,
and two minesweepers about two miles ahead of us
fishing the waters for our big ship. Meanwhile we
await the signal for General Quarters, for the ride is
beginning to crimson the east.31
0555 – Two planes roar overhead; dip in salute, challenge us, “FF,” reply “D”, our challenge “RRR,” then
they soar on ahead, flying in circles of about five
miles around us.
So the morning starts. We are flanked with protection on the sea and in the air against whatever
may be on or under the surface. We are travelling
through, as one man on the ship termed it yesterday, with the aptness and incisiveness of a phrase
characteristic of the bluejacket,“Torpedo Junction.”32
Sunrise about 0630 and no General Quarters;
ample protection frees us from the “Man All Battle
Stations” signal. Glorious sunrise; sun comes up
through a cloud formation, craterlike. It promises
to be another ideal day at sea, same as yesterday.
Met Mr. McRae who answered my doubt about what
his code statement meant. “We anchor tonight.”
During the morning we are making 17 knots, faster
than any sub can make under water. But eternal
watchfulness is the price of safety. Lookouts are
posted everywhere; crow’s nest, sky, platform, fore
and aft. Captain and Executive Officer and Officers
on bridge are constantly scanning the waters all
around us with their glasses for the tell-tale white
feather of the sub that wants to send a “fish’ into us.
The morning is one that would delight the heart of
anyone who likes to travel on a ship. Ship is rolling
a bit but not enough to send men to sick bay with
seasickness; only one mess attendant complains of
feeling unwell. Sea is an amethyst blue; white foam
is curling over forward both port and starboard as
we plough ahead. Occasionally a porpoise sticks his
rudder bow and stern up and lookouts identify it.
After reading my Office on the searchlight deck, I
turn to work in the library. Finally have all squared
away and send a billet-doux to all the Officers with
a mimeographed list of all books, fiction and
non-fiction.
Noontime dinner in peace; after dinner, a catnap
and then back to the library after a stroll around the
boat deck.
Finally we have General Quarters again after dinner from 1830 to 2030. When we secure, we discover that we are anchoring for the night inside
Cape Lookout.33 On our starboard the moon, a disk
of beaten gold, is coming up to enhance the quiet
beauty of the night at sea. Meanwhile the ship has
been “darkened” with all lights cut off from outside
vision; battle ports are installed and all hands turn
31 PC was an acronym for Patrol Craft, often referred to as “submarine chasers.”
32 Bluejacket is slang for sailor. Torpedo Junction was a phrase applied by sailors to areas of the ocean that saw high levels of enemy submarine
traffic. An area near the Solomon Islands in the Pacific and east of the Carolinas in the Atlantic were so designated. The phrase was a play on
“Tuxedo Junction,” a song made popular by the Glen Miller Orchestra in 1940. Foley sailed on the Clymer in both Torpedo Junctions.
33 On the North Carolina coast, some 250 miles from Norfolk.
23 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
�to bunks for we have an early rising again tomorrow
chapter
| for
god
country
morning. 11
Thanks
be to
Godand
for His
guidance of us
today. He was with us when we zigged and when we
zagged. “Thank you, Lord.”
Thursday, July 30, 1942
0730 – I start to fall asleep standing up as the
gentle rhythm of the boat rocks; incidentally, I
seem to be a good sailor – no ill effects of any kind.
Lie down for an hour to make up for the early
(0300) rising. Read some Office; work away in the
library, then stroll along the flying deck bridge.34
A day made in heaven; indescribably blue sea, sky
unflecked even by the slightest wisp of a cloud, foam
cresting over endlessly as we plough ahead zigzagging with a purpose.
Remained on General Quarters until 2:30. The rest
of the afternoon passed uneventfully but at night
at 6:30 once more had General Quarters and we
stayed on until 11:00 when we were approaching
Hampton Roads [Virginia]. Turned in while the
rain howled outside.
Friday, July 31, 1942
Anchored; learned that we finally dropped the
hook at 3:00 this morning. Another safe voyage.
Deo gratias.
Sunday, August 2, 1942
Dinner with Fr. Dan O’Connor, S.J., a new Chaplain, and friends at 1526 Ocean View Avenue, Norfolk. Afterwards I took them around the ship.35
Thursday, August 6, 1942
Dinner is served without interruption, then I go
up on the bridge, talking with Dr. Daniels when
the Executive Officer called over and asked us if we
wanted to see the sunken ship about five miles off
the port bow. Just before starting over, I noticed the
PC ahead of us that had been crisscrossing in wide
sweeps suddenly cut across our bow at right angles,
hell bent for leather. I remarked her hectic gyrations
to Dr. Daniels, heard the Captain speak to Navigator
Eden, “Watch that PC.” I had just spotted the hull
of the sunken ship sticking up out of the water five
miles away with her flag still flying when I heard
peep, peep, peep, peep, peep, peep, peep, etc. at one
o’clock. The PC was signaling that she had made
contact. I dashed with controlled speed to my battle
station in the sick bay. I had hardly reached it when
the 5” gun on the stern blasted away. I thought at
the first blast that we had been torpedoed. A second
and a third blast followed in quick succession and
then silence. Learned later that she had contacted
two subs operating together, evidently aiming at
what would have been a prize catch to report to
Adolph on their return from fishing in these waters.
Met Mrs. Taylor again; a happy reunion.
Sunday, August 9, 1942
Chesapeake Bay. Yesterday we pulled up the hook
in Hampton Roads and made one trip up the Bay to
Wolf Trap, the degaussing station. Before pulling it
up, Boat Group tactics for invasion engaged the men.
Today enjoyed good weather in the afternoon
after a squally morning. An unusual sight was a
liner dressed in normal colors of white superstructure, black hull and red trimmings. She made a
lovely picture, cruising along slowly in the setting
afternoon sun that showed her off to excellent advantage. Reason for the normal dress was explained by
the identification on her side. “Portugal,” painted in
letters that could not be missed.36
Monday, August 10, 1942
Anchored off Cove Point on portside. Cove Point
Lighthouse is on a finger of land reaching out from
the Maryland shore. She is a little doll lighthouse
that apparently moved off a birthday card and forgot
34 An open area above the main bridge, with wide-ranging views of the surroundings. Often the highest point on a ship.
35 Like Foley, O’Connor taught at Boston College.
36 Portugal maintained neutrality during World War II.
24 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
�its way home. Dutch is the word for her. Beside
chapter
| for
god and
her is the 11
keeper’s
residence,
itscountry
red roof forming a
beautiful contrast with the white of the lighthouse.
Against the background of trees and thick foliage,
the whole scene is ready to be moved onto the
canvas of an artist, the setting sun lighting up all.
Standardization tests today: speed, forwards, backwards, the work of the compasses, the radio, etc.
Hoisting out of boats at 8:30 in the dark well done,
considering the greenness of the crew.
Tuesday, August 11, 1942
Went 40 miles up the Chesapeake for runs over
a measured mile. Off portside had first sight of
Annapolis, city of Anna. How beautiful she looked
bathed in the radiance of the morning sun! Unlike
buildings at Norfolk, her white and green and red have
not been transformed into war gray and dark green.
Mosquitoes are bad tonight. Men sleeping topside
complain of them. One of them visiting sick bay
said he woke up to hear them arguing whether
to finish draining him there or take him ashore.
Finally settled by one hummer who said, “No, if
we take him ashore, the big shots will get him!”
1800 – First invasion test opposite Cove Point. Out
in the stream with us are three of our sister ships.
We watched them last night; tonight we provide the
show. All invasion boats are hoisted out in amazingly quick time – 27 minutes. As they go over the
side, they cruise out to a predetermined circle until
all are over, then they come back in, one by one,
pick up troops, steam out to a designated new circle
off the starboard bow, then divisions cluster into a
flotilla under the command of Lt. Cmdr. Olsen in
Eureka boat.37 He gives the signal and they start for
the “enemy” shore, cross path of water between them
and us ablaze with the fire of the setting sun. Roar of
fourteen “Invader” motors breaks the quiet summer
peace of Chesapeake. Suddenly all the boats, now two
miles away, turn at a given signal, make for the shore,
let down their ramps, rush back to the ship and then fol-
low the same pattern as the first. So on indefinitely until
the assault troops are all ashore.
Later in the evening I answered Jim Gormley’s letter
informing him about intimate details of our ship:
“You will be glad to know that she has a bow and a
stern. The former is pointed and the latter is streamlined. You will also be interested in learning that she
has a number of decks, above and below the waterline. On these decks we walk. When we do, we wear
regular clothes, not bathing suits. Come the war,
bathing over the side went out. Our ship also cuts
a mean prow. Like other ships, she can cleave the
incredibly blue waters, turning them over and over
into endless waves of milky foam. You must know
also that she can churn a good wake. Seagulls coast
along effortlessly behind her, breasting the air. Occasionally they vary their routine and then resume the
even tenor of their flight. Once in a while they must
veer off their course when the engineers start to feed
their big pipe. Lastly, you must know for your complete satisfaction, that the chaplain is not the only
one on board. There is a skipper and a crew as well
as other staff officers. Now you know all about us,
so if we ever steam by your front porch, you won’t
be excused for failing to give us the 21 gun salute!” I
hope the censor doesn’t strike too much of this out!
Friday, September 8, 1942
Sailor, apparently unbalanced, tried to commit
suicide by hanging himself from the ramp of one of
the invasion boats topside. Fortunately, he is seen in
time and cut down before he strangles himself.
Saturday, September 9, 1942
During an interim in the morning’s business, I sit
me down to pick away at a letter to my big sister.
“A young fellow just left me who was stunned by
some news from home about the serious illness
of his mother who lives in San Francisco. Since
he was a Catholic boy, I could tell him there was
only one thing for him to do; kneel down before
the crucifix and on his Rosary ask for strength
37 A shallow-draft personnel landing craft that was widely deployed in WW II.
25 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
�from Our Lord to bear his cross. Precisely there
chapter
| for god
in their11background
our and
boys country
have a tremendous
advantage over the others, in the motives that
carry them through. Unfortunately, many of these
men from the South come from religiously illiterate families. God means absolutely nothing to
them. I try to steer them around to what they are
lacking, but it is a long voyage most of the time.”
“How is baseball coming along in Boston?
Marvelously, you say. That’s right by the Boston
papers. I pick them up in Norfolk when we go
ashore occasionally. You would never guess
where one Red Sox pitcher of the past wound up.
Pitching for Portsmouth here in the Piedmont
League; by name, ancient Jack Russell. How the
mighty have fallen! Tony Lazzeri manages the
team. Ben Chapman of explosive temperament is
also directing the fortunes of a team in the same
league. The salad days of both are now over
and it is rough going trying to please fans in
the hinterlands.”38
“In the meantime since I wrote to you last what
have we been doing? Running up and down
Chesapeake Bay practicing drills; fire, abandon
ship, gunnery. It is quite an experience to be
aboard ship when the guns are booming by day
but particularly by night. The nights are inky
black but starry. The target is idling at anchor
two miles away with a big canvas about ten
feet square riding on it. Suddenly our powerful
searchlight picks it out of the dark as we are making a starboard run. All the guns on that side are
manned. The orders come clear from the bridge
over the telephone; are repeated by the gunnery
officer. “Five minutes to go.” The men seem
almost indifferent as they stand around with
the refills. “Three minutes to go.” The trainer,
sighter, loader, powderman automatically tense
themselves. “One minute to go.” They are all
poised. “Commence firing.” The roar of thunder
fills every corner of the quiet night. A tremendous burst of orange flame licks out savagely at the
darkness. The hot blast wraps itself around us for
a split second even though we are thirty yards away
on the boat deck. The ship has shivered from stem
to stern but is herself again quickly. Meanwhile
the shell is whistling its way to the target – a silver
streak of destruction. Somebody shouts in admiration, “On the nose!” And there is a murmur of
approval from the crew; no histrionics of any kind,
just a Navy man’s approval of a good job. Again and
again at three second intervals the operation is repeated for half a dozen times until we steam by the
target, cease firing, and turn back for another run
with another gun crew to test its accuracy. Quite
an experience; a test of the caliber of the men.
Between ourselves, two broke under it: a young
Jewish ensign who thought he would have a shore
assignment and a fifteen-year old boy who falsified
his age to enlist. Both are now back in civilian life.”
Sunday, September 10, 1942
Met Lt. Owen Gallagher from Boston as he stepped
into the bus at Portsmouth; a B.C. graduate who
is now an officer aboard the USS Santee, a new
aircraft carrier.39
Tuesday, September 12, 1942
We are out in the stream again. A couple of PT
boats, black, lethal weapons roar by us.
Monday, September 18, 1942
I make a trip to the Norfolk City Jail this Monday
morning to rescue some of my men who had run
afoul of the law. I sit in the courtroom waiting for
their cases to come up. Before they do, five unfortunate women, none older than twenty-three, have their
cases called. The Army calls them camp-followers,
38 Russell was a journeyman pitcher who played for the Red Sox from 1926–1932. Lazzeri was a Hall of Fame infielder who played for the Red
Sox from 1926–1939. Chapman, a pitcher and outfielder who played for the Red Sox from 1937–1938, was noted for intemperate behavior
and brawling.
39 Gallagher (1902–1977) was a 1923 graduate and lawyer. A lieutenant commander in the Navy, he later represented the 8th Suffolk District
in both houses of the Massachusetts legislature.
26 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
�while the sailors label them seagulls. The five of
chapter
| for
godwhere
and country
them pass11
by the
benches
the spectators in
the jammed courtroom are sitting. They are the most
tragic specimens of womanhood I have ever seen.
As they were marched out of their common pen in
the rear of the courtroom, some of them were absolutely crestfallen, keeping their eyes on the floor,
their heads down. Others, apparently caring nothing
for the world’s opinion of them, wore an air of false
bravado but they were poor actresses. Their transparent braggadocio gave them away. All of them had
the stamp on their faces of what they were, women
of easy virtue. I don’t think they were to blame. I am
sure they must be victims of broken homes or of
vicious persons in this big port town. But all of them
confirmed the truth that when a woman loses her
purity, “in the love that blights and sears,” she loses
her dearest possession. Her soul as well as her body
is permanently scarred. She has lost faith in herself.40
When all of those sad creatures have been sent away
for indefinite terms for the protection of themselves as well as of society, the next case is of a girl,
a secretary at our Naval Base. She is obviously of
a different type. She has been caught “in articulo
amoris flagrante delicto.” The judge asks, “Where is
the man in the case?” as the police officer concludes
his evidence. The brave man is nowhere to be seen.
The judge warns the girl in a strict but paternal tone
that, if she appears before him again on a morals
charge, she will have the same sentence as those
who just preceded her. The judge fines her fifteen
dollars. Her sister, from Washington, D.C., is standing near her all the time and is almost beside herself
with grief. She is crying as though her heart would
break as she pays the fine and leads her sister, who
is dry-eyed, out of the courtroom.
My two sailors come up next. The judge listens to
my pleas on their behalf and then releases them into
my custody with a warning to them not to get into
trouble again while our ship is in Norfolk. “If so,
there will be no manifestation of leniency the next
time,” he tells them.
Thursday, September 21, 1942
Four new doctors come aboard; Anderson, Deaton,
Cassidy and Hughes. Cassidy is the only Catholic
among them.
Friday, September 22, 1942
I give out the heavy sweaters, helmets and sox donated by the Red Cross to the crew. This evening we
steam up the Chesapeake which is a moon-lit bay
this night.
Saturday, September 23, 1942
0730 – Word is piped down by the boatswain’s mate:
“TROOP LANDING CONDITION A.” We are
rehearsing for the invasions. All invasion boats,
the entire thirty-two of them, are manned by their
crews, the tank lighters, the Higgins and the Eureka
boats.41 Cargo nets are dropped over the sides of
the ship; the order is given to lower away. Down
the boats swing out of their nest over the side and
“Boats Away.” Meanwhile the light cruiser, USS
Wichita, off our starboard beam sends five seaplanes
aloft, her contribution to our umbrella of planes.
The aircraft carrier, USS Charger, steams by at full
speed, launching her planes from her flight deck
with split second precision. A battlewagon, the USS
Texas, on our port side cruises back and forth, forming part of our protecting screen. The men play their
part as though this was their tenth rehearsal instead
of only the second.
Tuesday, September 29, 1942
Dale Sparr, a storekeeper, starts to talk about the
movie we had last night, which he didn’t like. He is
from Hollywood. Tells me that one night he sat near
[actresses] Kay Francis and Miriam Hopkins in a
restaurant. They were worn-out women, he says. It
40 Foley taught literature, and “love that blights and scars” is from a popular romantic ballad—“The Barrel-Organ”— by the English poet
Alfred Noyes (1880–1958).
41 As with Eureka boats, noted earlier, Higgins boats were shallow-water craft designed to ferry troops from ship to landing beach. Lighters
were barges.
27 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
�was disillusioning to see them. The reality of what
chapter
11 like
| contrasted
for god and
country
they looked
so sadly
and sharply with
the fiction of the movies.
Wednesday, September 30, 1942
Carver, a Methodist, tells me that his one aim in life
is to be as much like Christ as he possibly can be.
again.” Noticed that none of them were as young as
our sailors, most of whom are around 18.
1300 – Six fussy tugs come steaming into sight
ready to shepherd us out into the stream, the
USS Allen, flagship, USS Susan B. Anthony, and
ourselves. Susie escorted out first, then the Allen
and lastly ourselves.
Convoy practice today. Behind us are the USS Penn
and the USS Electra. Signalman by the forward
starboard gun mount fails to make contact with his
flag with the signalman on the Penn, so he yells up
to the bridge to another signalman, “Give that guy a
growl with the light.”
Indian file, the USS Allen, USS Anthony,
USS Penn, USS Algorab sail up Chesapeake Bay
for maneuvers.43 Soldiers are enthusiastic about their
new home. “Chow excellent, quarters clean, etc.”
Thursday, October 1, 1942
Sunday, October 18, 1942
Invasion rehearsal again today. Location is shifted
down Lyndhaven Roads a bit. Beach is on our starboard side. Off our portside, a torpedoed tanker is
bottoms up in the roadstead, tirelessly washed by the
waves. She was being towed in when she gave up
the ghost and rolled over. She is now a melancholy
marker of the effectiveness of the German subs.
Mass at 0430. Crews’ Mass at 0700. Invasion
operations. Soldiers debark over side, down nets
loaded with their gear. One man first casualty; hit by
gas mask as he descended. Strange note to orders
introduced by orange butterfly with black-tipped
wings hovering near me, a reminder of a better and
happier world.
Ensign Mitchell Disney comes aboard, a transfer
from the USS Augusta, just a short distance away.
On her decks was held a meeting of Roosevelt and
Churchill when they signed the Atlantic Charter.42
Another casualty; Tom Delaney, soldier of the 60th Infantry. Ramp of forward tank lighter released without
warning and smashed his head. Nine stitches taken to
close the wound; broken vertebra and fractured rib.
Friday, October 2, 1942
Monday, October 19, 1942
First Friday. Better attendance than at daily Mass
during the week.
Mock invasion of Solomon Islands in Chesapeake
Bay. All troops disembarked without casualty; beach
taken at 1500. Quietness of scene only emphasized
the grim business that was at hand. All tanks, jeeps,
live ammunition taken by the troops.
Friday, October 16, 1942
Loading of troops and equipment that started last
Thursday finally comes to a halt at 12 noon. Soldiers
struggle up the gangplank with their packs, some
weighing over 175 lbs.; preparations are at an end
for a while. Now they can rest while we take them
out to sea or to the Chesapeake.
As he sat on a stanchion, I overheard one soldier say
to another, “I just know that I will never see my wife
Saturday, October 17, 1942
John Burke of Waltham, a B.C. sophomore, is a
member of the troops. He and his friend, Jack Bennett, a junior at Notre Dame, talk over collegiate
days. Both spin their dreams of what the future will
be when they get back home. Both are determined
to return to college to complete their education.
Then Bennett is going on for law, as his father wish-
42 The Augusta was a battleship that on several occasions served as Presidential Flagship, carrying FDR and President Truman.
43 All were battleships but for the John Penn and the Algorab, which, like the Clymer, were battle transport ships.
28 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
�es. As they talk, I wonder what lies ahead of them.
chapter
11 | for
godmy
and
country of youthA picture flashes
through
imagination
ful forms lying inert on a hostile shore. Will these
two splendid specimens of young American manhood, representative of all that is fine and decent,
be among them, their dreams snuffed out by enemy
machine guns? May God bless and protect them and
bring them safely back to their own.
Thursday, October 22, 1942
We put back into Norfolk from Chesapeake Bay. We,
the only ship of the force, fuel at Craney Island, take on
additional stores and ammunition. Also some strange
looking rafts that have paddle equipment with them.
Soldiers stay aboard and crew as well. I went ashore
and returned with two tenor saxes, one slide trombone, a set of drums; the beginning of an orchestra.
1700 – We head back up to the Chesapeake, drop the
hook and are back in our old stamping grounds.
Friday, October 23, 1942
0700 – We heave right up – 35 fathoms of chain –
tremendous power and strength that have held our
huge ship of 18,000 tons so loaded that there is gear
adrift all over the deck. No place below to stow it.
The anchor grinds up as though reluctant to leave
the soft mud of Chesapeake Bay. The hook finally
breaks the water.
0715 – Underway, we are the leader of the seven
other ships, all Indian file. On our starboard eight
lean destroyers, one flanking each ship. Oh, for a
camera to take a picture! On the horizon off our
starboard bow, a big battlewagon. Speculation rife
on whether or not she will be with us. We don our
life belts. When do we take them off?
way at last! Where? Tot sententiae quot homines –
Dakar, Solomon, France, Ireland, Middle East?
One guess is as good as another.44
Destroyers have now broken formation and are
scouting the sea lanes all around us, anxious to
make deadly contact with any lurking subs. We catch
up with the battlewagon that loitered along for us,
USS Texas, a massive floating fortress. She swings
in miles ahead of us, eyes the water below for our
natural enemies. Now we have a seagoing tug with
us, the USS Cherokee. We are running down the
Virginia coast; recognize the Cavalier Hotel where I
spent a delightful Sunday only four weeks ago.45
We look back, and as far as the eye can see, ships
are still in Indian file. We make a hard turn to port;
turn and count. Now in all there are 15 ships in our
convoy; two battlewagons, New York and Texas; one
tug, Cherokee; and eleven others. We are growing!
One of the doctors remarks, “Hitler, here we come!”
Another chimes in, “And does he know it!” Protection
all around us. Dirigible scouts, PBY [patrol] bombers,
surface craft – destroyers (12 now), minesweepers,
sub patrols, battlewagons.
As many as can, go topside to drink in the beauty of
the October harvest moon. The inspiration seizes me
and I write:
The time is 7:30. The place, somewhere on the
broad sweep of the Atlantic. Two hours ago the
sun, after shining in a cloudless blue sky all day,
dipped slowly below the horizon. In a last fling
of extravagance, as if to hint what colors it could
throw on the canvas of the sky if it had a mind to,
the sun painted the western horizon, crimson,
gold, then flaming orange, as if reluctant to leave
us at the end of a day that would eventually be
written into all the history books of the world.
1000 – We pass Cape Henry, Virginia, and weave
through the minefields. A subtle transformation
runs through crew and soldiers. We are on the
Accepting the challenge to paint a more glorious
picture, a full Harvest Moon slowly climbs in the
44 Foley intended the Latin proverb, from the poet Terrence, quot homines tot sententiæ—as many men as there are opinions.
45 Launched in 1912 and decommissioned in 1948, the Texas was active in both world wars. It is now a museum ship in San Jacinto, near Houston.
29 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
�East. Back home in New England, the nights are
chapter
11 farmers
| for god
and country
crisp. The
are getting
in the fat pumpkins and the overgrown squashes. The first hoar
frost is on the meadows in the morning and the
corn is stalked on the vacant lot down the street.
They are thinking of Halloween day a week away.
The leaves on the maples, oaks, elms are dressed
in a thousand radiant colors.
Now the same Harvest Moon looks down on our
tense convoy that has long since left behind the
protecting nets guarding the harbor of Norfolk
and Chesapeake Bay from the marauders of the
deep. We have eased out into the Atlantic. Our
formation is now three lanes of five abreast, now
five lanes of three, with the pattern constantly
shifting.
Suddenly, the ship swings hard to port and the
lanyards lace the face of the moon, changing it
every minute. They wrinkle her face; now vertically, now horizontally, now on a slant. Now the
20mm AA gun competes with its own design; its
hooded nose ready to be stripped in a split second
so that it can start to write its grim message across
the night heavens in the tracer ink supplied by its
crew that is alert.
We look down to the bow. There the spray is
tossed back endlessly, a cascade silvered by a full
Harvest Moon in the Atlantic. What a night! All
the massed power of modern warfare; soldiers
lining the rails and regretting that they didn’t join
the Navy – unforgettable!”
Saturday, October 24, 1942
We stand on the AA [anti-aircraft] gun deck,
leaning on the gun shield, silently admiring
and drinking in the strange, silent beauty of the
scene. From our middle lane we see big ships
like ourselves ploughing ahead with not a single
light showing, greyhounds straining to cover the
distance that separates us from our destination.
Off our starboard, a lane of hammered silver runs
from our ship to the little destroyer directly under
the moon in the quarter sky and steadily climbing, a ghostly galleon. Off our starboard, the USS
Texas, with reduced speed, leads the parade while
we keep on her stern. Even looking at her, you
sense the massive floating fortress that she is. If
we should happen to meet the Prince Eugen or
any sister ship of the ill-fated Bismarck, she and
the New York could take care of it. Her steel sides
bathed in the soft radiance of the moon, all her
war features are subdued.46
The world is wondering when and where the second
front will open. We know we are it, the spearhead
steaming across the broad bosom of the Atlantic.
Ashore, too, the President must be wondering how
we are making out. Hope he will be able to say,
“Fine, they made it!” Soon we shall be in the headlines. Wherever we are going, the scuttlebutt says it
will take 17 days.
1100 – General Alarm for sub.
1130 – Learned that French Morocco is our
invasion point, Port of Lyautey.47
In Major Dilley’s room I saw exact relief map of territory to be taken. He hopes that natives will offer no
resistance. Men are to land and take fort and airport.
I am bewildered by the complexity of detail necessary for an operation of this kind, yet we are but a
fraction of the entire USEFNA [US Naval Expeditionary Force].
46 The Bismarck, one of Germany’s largest battleships, was sunk by the Royal Navy in May 1941, following a now-famous nine-day pursuit
and battle in the North Atlantic. Its companion ship, the cruiser Prinz Eugen, escaped, survived the war, and was acquired by the United
States and used in the testing of atomic bombs at Bikini Atoll in 1946.
47 Site of a Vichy-held airport, some 75 miles northeast of Casablanca, that, once captured, served as a launch point for Allied sorties
over Germany.
30 | chapter 2: anchors aweigh
�3 | for god and country
Journey to Morocco
Sunday, October 25, 1942
Feast of Christ the King
0530 – General Quarters. Mass on boat deck aft at
0630, half an hour before sunrise. The altar is set
against the shield of the #16 and #18mm AA guns,
with crews manning them. Portside aft of boat deck,
as I turn around to start the Mass, the full moon
is setting in the west, a bit pale after its long trip,
looking as though it needed a rest. Stray clouds drift
along slowly, keeping company with the moon to
make sure that she will not be lonely. They are just a
handful who apparently detached themselves from
their brothers and sisters and went on their own.
The others have gone to parts unknown.
The winds are blowing a bit but nothing of consequence to disturb me during the Mass. Men, hundreds of them, stand in the three lanes looking at
the altar. A strange setting for Holy Mass but one
that is pleasing to Our Lord and that the men will
not forget. One regret – the celebrant has to keep
a silent tongue in his head when he had so much
to say; an unexpected and most untimely attack of
laryngitis hit the Chaplain, first ever of its kind.
Printed a dope sheet to familiarize men with some
necessary points. Gave General Absolution.
Lieut. [Mark] Starkweather, leader of 15 Commandos, taken aboard at the last minute. They are to cut
the sub net up the river where we are to land. He
tells me that the 5th Columnists of ours have been
doing their work in Morocco for a long time.48
Just before he left Washington on this trip, he said
goodbye to an officer who told him that he would
meet him on the dock in Morocco.
Lieut. Starkweather sent one of his Commandos,
Ernest J. Gentile, to me with offers to help me in
any way that he could. Later in the afternoon he
visited my room. He told me their job is to cut
the net silently for passage up of a destroyer; they
have rubber boats with paddles on board. Hope to
take charge of the net tenders without resorting
to bloodshed.
Why did he sign up for this volunteer work? “I told
my wife that I would give everything I’ve got; this
was a chance to give. Will be doing our bit to bring
the war to a close in a hurry. I’d hate to think that
my two little girls would have to live in a world ruled
by Hitler and his gang. That’s why I signed up.”
Calmly he spoke of his ambitions and ideals, the
long preparations made for this raid, how he used
to read about such things in books as a boy, without
ever dreaming that he would take part in one
some day.
48 Mark Starkweather was a munitions expert working in salvage diving at Pearl Harbor when he and a small group of men with experience
working under water were brought together to take part in the North Africa landing at Port Lyautey, forming a unit charged with disabling
underwater defenses that blocked battleship access to the Sebou River and the nearby Vichy fortress and airfield. The unit’s effort was
successful, as Foley relates in his diary, and each member would be awarded the Navy Cross—second in distinction only to the Medal of
Honor—for his work. The ad hoc unit was then disbanded but is considered the forerunner of the Navy Sea, Air, and Land Teams, known
as the Seals.
31 | chapter 3: journey to morocco
�Monday, October 26, 1942
2000 – I go looking for Chaplain Tepper, a Jew-
Today, our fourth day at sea, is fairly rough for landlubbers. Yet, Mr. Kreutzer, 2nd Division Officer, asserts that this amounts to nothing. He was crossing
the Pacific once, when his freighter tried to climb a
wall of water three times and slid back three times.
Yet it is rough enough for us strangers to the sea.
Last night in my bunk, I smacked my head against
the portside bulkhead as the ship rolled way over.
ish Rabbi, to obtain one of the harmonicas that he
brought aboard. One of his soldiers wants to make
the night loud with music. Before leaving he presented me with one of the pocket knives that will be
given as tokens of friendship to the native Moroccans. Brightly colored blankets and cloth are also
among the goodwill offerings that make up a part
of our strange cargo.
Out on deck after celebrating Mass with a dozen men
receiving Holy Communion. As far as the eye can see,
white horses are on the rampage. One of the ships
behind is really pitching. Her keel is visible ten feet
below the waterline as she rises up on the huge waves.
1200 – A new convoy of four ships joins us, the
battlewagon Massachusetts, two heavy cruisers,
and a tanker. They flank our starboard side of the
convoy, sliding along slowly, their horsepower cut
down to keep company with us fellows who are
making only 15 knots.
2200 – I go to the chart room directly behind the
bridge and discover what our course has been.49
First we sailed directly south until we were north of
Bermuda, east of Charleston, S.C., then we sailed
directly east, then north, then east again until at
this hour we are about 800 miles directly east of
Baltimore. We delayed to allow the convoys departing after us an opportunity to catch up.
Lt. Robbins of the Army stops me on the way out
from the wardroom. Wonders if it would be possible
for me to mail a message to his wife after his outfit
leaves the ship. “Just in case I am ploughed under,”
he says, “I would like her to have a last word from
me.” He speaks quietly of his little girl four months
old whom he hopes that he will see again. He will
write a letter to her also. But his problem, “What if I
write, yet nothing happens and I manage to be one of
the survivors of the initial attack?” He remarks that he
will wrestle with the problem for a while, then let me
know his decision. He is a young fellow, well-educated, who speaks in soft tones; yet through those tones
runs the quiet determination that must make him a
good officer for his men. I don’t like to think of him
lying, a crumpled piece of humanity, on the French
Morocco shore. He, like all the others aboard our
ship, has so much to live for. May God bring them
back safely to their own some day.
2230 – Discussion in the passageway with Lt. Gilchrist and Dr. Walker. They tell me this will be the
largest number of ships ever to sail together in
history. We have now picked up three subs that are
riding straight ahead of us on the surface. When we
start landing operations, they will help to form part
of the protecting screen with orders to shoot anything in sight that heaves.
Also learn from them that the password is
“Bordeaux,” for our friends ashore. They speak the
word, then show the inside of their hats on which
the same word must be written. Practically all of our
fifth column groundwork in Northern Africa has
been done by Free French sympathizers.
One hour before “H” hour all the governors of
Northern Africa with the exception of Spanish
Morocco will be handed a letter informing them of
the turn of events. They are expected to take the
correct decision.
49 Perhaps because he was a chaplain and Catholic priest, Foley seems to have had access to areas of the Clymer and to information that
were not accessible to the average officer of his rank.
32 | chapter 3: journey to morocco
�Tuesday, October 27, 1942
Friday, October 30, 1942
5th Day at Sea. Mass at end of General Quarters
as usual in the library.
8th Day at Sea.
Today a fairly smooth sea running after the heavy
weather of the last two days. Taking advantage of the
change, three planes from the four carriers astern
of us put off and go long range scouting overhead.
Before long their reports come back to our ship indirectly – four German submarines 25 miles directly
ahead. Immediately, we strike off to starboard on a
new course to avoid those who would at least try to
detain us, if not permanently detach us and as many
as possible from our convoy.
0730 – At breakfast we learn that the new convoy
has arrived. Promptly we stow the rest of the toast
down the hatch, then make for the flying bridge.
Then a sight! As far as the eye can see, ships of all
sorts, shapes and sizes. Aircraft carriers, battlewagons – three more of them; 25 more transports,
innumerable destroyers and SPs, heavy cruisers, all
rolling in the heavy sea. It is an impressive, aweinspiring sight, one that never does tire the eyes.
Suddenly, the formations are shifting. We slacken
our speed, they cross our bow at a slight angle; we
pick up speed and move out to their portside. Our
two middle lanes of ships move into the middle of
their lineup and our starboard line shoots far out
to form the starboard column of the entire convoy.
Again, the sight is most impressive. As far as the
eye can see, in every direction, ships are ploughing
ahead while our watchdogs now steam alongside of
us; then turn back. Then they shoot in between us
to nail any sub foolish enough to try to do damage
within the columns.
0815 – Quarters Commander Irwin informs us that
we must all be inoculated against typhus now
for those germs have no respect for gold braid.50
He tells us that November 7 is the “H” day; that in
this convoy he counted 49 ships and then gave up.
“Business is meant on this trip and we must do our
part; we will do it, so let no officer consider it beneath
his dignity to grab a line that needs attention when
we are engaged in the unloading operations.”
1030 – I continue instructions in the faith with
Washington, Mess Attendant. My question is
“Who is God?” He answers, “God is a being who
is infinitely perfect,” and I ask him, “What do
you mean by infinitely perfect?” And he replies,
“Nothing no better!”
The one carrier that has been with us since the
second day of the trip has her flattop jammed with
Army planes. They will land after the capture of the
airport at Port Lyautey before they start winging
their way east to battle the German Luftwaffe.
Spend most of this day laying the keel for Sunday’s
sermon when the men will be at Mass probably for
the last time, for “H” hour is 2400, midnight Saturday. It is hoped that all good Frenchmen and native
Moroccans will be sleeping the sleep of the just.
Before retiring I step out on the flying bridge. A
destroyer is only 50 yards off our port beam, hugging
close to keep off those four subs sighted earlier.
Saturday, October 31, 1942
To the soldiers a letter from General George Patton
is read in which the reasons for this expedition are
outlined. At the close of the letter he writes: “The
eyes of the world are watching you, the heart of
America beats for you, God’s blessing is with you.”
50 The gold shoulder braid worn by aides to senior Navy officers.
33 | chapter 3: journey to morocco
9th Day at Sea.
I go topside after breakfast. Far off on the horizon the
tankers are feeding their black gold to the cruisers and
destroyers. We have slowed down to eight knots to keep
the convoy together during this fueling at sea operation.
Using the glasses of one of the lookouts, I count
�73 ships within sight. There are others, how many
I do not know, making up the rest of our armada.
After the heavy weather of the last three days, we
find the sea smooth-surfaced this morning. The
planes off the four carriers astern also finally have
another opportunity to go aloft to scout hundreds
of miles afar for our natural enemies.
0900 – At this hour we were supposed to have
emergency drills. At 0930, the tweet, tweet, tweet,
etc. of the public address system sends us to General
Quarters, forward by starboard and aft by port.
Contact with a sub is made by a destroyer off portside aft. Our ship shivers twice as two depth charges
are dropped over the side. We sit in the sick bay,
our battle station, and again the ship shivers as
one more can is let go at the one who would dare
approach us with our ample protection.
In the Junior Officer’s Wardroom this evening we
were listening to the broadcast of the WisconsinOhio State football game with Ted Husing announcing. It sounded strange to hear him say: “I hope
you’re enjoying this game as much as we are no
matter where you may be listening to it!” We were,
at the time, sitting in practical darkness with illumination provided by just one small blue battle light,
for “Darken Ship” had gone into effect two hours
previously. We were getting ahead of the folks back
home on time with every passing day. Eventually we
would be six hours ahead of them.
This evening three depth charges make things
uncomfortable for subs that dared venture too
close to us.
Our ship is a floating arsenal. If she is hit, the report
will be that she “disintegrated.”
Sunday, November 1, 1942
Feast of All Saints and 23rd Sunday after Pentecost
0650 – Mass at the end of General Quarters; about
350 in attendance, 125 Communions, a most edifying sight. Very windy. God is pleased with our surroundings. Overhead is the blue canopy of the sky.
We have no walls broken by stained glass windows,
just sterns and bows; we boast no marble inlaid
floor, just a wooden deck; no fluted columns soaring aloft and carrying on their shoulders tons of
masonry and steel; only a strong king post adorned
with cables and pulleys and lines that are whistling
in the wind.
0900 – General Service. About 200 there, including
Major Dilley. I speak of Jesus Christ and loyalty to
Him, the need for a man to examine the foundations of his life at this crucial time.
0330 – In the afternoon, Benediction on the boat
deck aft; the first with my Benediction kit. Rosary;
full-throated response by Catholic men most inspiring. Altar is placed against the side of one of the
invasion boats. To the left is an AA [anti-aircraft]
station; men manning it over the side. Starboard are
ships of our convoy, all steaming south away from
the western sun that is slanting its rays on us. Three
hymns: “Mother Dear, Oh Pray for Me”; “Holy God We
Praise Thy Name”; “Tantum Ergo.” Unforgettable –
men remark on it later!51
Jack Bennett, Notre Dame boy, 15006 Fenway
Avenue, Lakewood, Ohio, serves my Mass. He is
one of the soldiers aboard ship. He says that he gets
more of a thrill out of serving my Mass on the boat
deck aft, flush against the side of an invasion boat or
up against an AA gun mount shield, than he did the
times he served in Cathedrals.
Friday, November 6, 1942
Ship vibrates violently; four depth charges dropped
by destroyer ahead of us. Later tremendous oil slick
floats by our starboard side.
“Wallace Beery” Johnson, member of Naval Commando Net Party, weight 225, infectious smile,
gentle as a kitten, pounds out a good tune on the
51 Benediction is a devotional ceremony whereby a priest blesses the congregation with the Eucharist.
34 | chapter 3: journey to morocco
�piano, his favorite – “Indian Love Call” by Victor
Herbert.52
0330 – Tea and toast.
0500 – Five French ships, merchant-men, pass right
Saturday, November 7, 1942
ahead of us, blue, red, green; “Foudrayante Domremy” unmistakably painted on the sides.54
Mass at dawn; about 50 received. Our planes are
flying in formation over us. THE DAY! Men give me
letters to mail “just in case they are killed;” give me
money to hold for them or to send home.
0545 – Lieut. Starkweather sends up red cluster that
shows the net has been broken and that the destroyer USS Dallas can go up the river to the fort and
then on to the airport.
0900 – Soldier on deck singing as he makes his way
aft – “Give My Regards to Old Broadway.”
0605 – Tremendous barrage of red hot steel laid
0330 – Benediction and Rosary; 300 present.
down on the beach. Broken arc of red dashes against
the black velvet of the night sky.
Saturday Night, November 7, 1942
10:00 p.m. – Jagged lightning behind what appear to
be hills in the distance.
12:00 – Midnight Patrol Boat – if it fires, “Blast her
out of the water.” We also passed a Portuguese ship
last night brightly illuminated. She did not see us;
if she had, she would have been sunk after her
passengers were taken off.
Dawn. A cloudy day. Lieut. Haile returns to the ship
and remarks that the first three waves got ashore
without difficulty. Commando Net Party returns
to ship; net not broken. Searchlight picked them
up – crossfire of machine guns nailed party down
helplessly.
0740 – Shore batteries open fire on us alone; we
12:45 – Go topside, inky blackness; can’t even see my
are the biggest of eight ships with all invasion boats
clustered around us like a hen with chicks – eight
near misses. Wheeeeeeeeee-----then tremendous
geysers; one shell right over the forecastle. We could
follow the course of the shells coming from the fort
on the crest of the hill.
hand in front of me. Two clusters of light ashore;
boats going over the side.
0800 – “Enemy Bombers Overhead!” from
I give out Viaticum53 to the Catholic men in the
library after hearing confessions.
Executive Officer.
I stand by silently and bless the men as they start
their battle operation. The President speaks four
hours before we land.
0805 – USS Pennsylvania AA guns fire –
two puffs – plane aflame, plunges into ocean,
disintegrates.
0230 – Mass in library with Jack Burke present.
0315 – Topside. Cmdr. Irwin is directing traffic on
the bridge.
0815 – USS Savannah and USS Texas pour tons
of steel into the fort. Ammunition dump ashore
a pillar of smoke.
52 Beery (1885–1949) was a large, beloved, rough-hewn character actor.
53 Eucharist offered to those in imminent danger of dying.
54 Foley’s reference to “French ships” in this case is to vessels sailing for the exiled Free French government. In most cases, the French he
refers to in the diary are Vichy troops, whom the Americans—and Free French—fought in North Africa. “Foudrayante” is a French verb
meaning to strike powerfully, while “Domremy” is a misspelling, and should read Doremy, which was Joan of Arc’s birthplace.
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�0945 – Three casualties; two serious – Lt. McCrackin
Monday, November 9, 1942
and Kolfenbach, a Catholic to whom I administer
the Last Sacraments when he was dying after being
on the operating table for two hours. Four bullets
drilled him; strafed by planes as his boat hit the
beach. “All hands to General Quarters; enemy
submarine sighted off starboard beam.”
Arose at 0700. Mass attended by Commando Party
in gratitude for their safe return. Day is a bit cloudy;
“rainy sunshine.” We move closer, within four miles
of beach. Tremendous surf crashing on the jetties,
ship rolls on the swell. Fifteen more wounded. We
move within one mile of the beach. Picturesque
summer colony of light brown cottages with
red-tiled roofs. On this beach our men landed
yesterday morning.
1230 – In sick bay. Depth charges rocking ship during operations on wounded. We maneuver wildly to
escape subs.
1330 – We have command of the air with our planes
cruising in formation over us. Topside, heavy firing
shoreward and seaward. Radio man tells me last
report. “Co. F reports that it is completely surrounded by the enemy.”
1630 – Six more casualties; three ambulatory.55
Lieut. Starkweather of Net Party reports that
“we were spotted immediately and caught in
searchlights, withering crossfire of machine guns,
both jetties, and then we had to run for it as the
fort laid it on us also.”
Young sailors who wouldn’t wear life jackets once
now all wear them; wouldn’t wear helmets either.
“Enemy bombers overhead” cured them. Strange,
even at that announcement, how one could be so
cool, stand watching them, and go to bed at 2015
and sleep through a quiet night.
Four men dumped out of boat as she was being hoisted in; dangerous but nobody is injured, fortunately.
One man wounded in arm; was ducked once on beach,
then again as he was being lifted into the ship.
Twenty-three American bombers fly over us. Last
night two destroyers pour hot metal over the hills at
some objective which we cannot see; arc of red hot
dashes for miles.
Boat #5 spills being lifted up with one wounded
man who gets ducked. Inboard guy loose. Five
dumped when Penn tanker hit sandbar, then surf
upended, nosed her over with men in tank.
Report on radio: “Fierce fighting north of Casa
Blanca.” “That’s us,” says Perkins, E. M. 1/c.
Sick Bay Cases:
1. Machine-gunned by plane before hitting
beach.
2. Machine gunned on shore.
3. Shrapnel cases.
55 In the winter and spring of 1995, Foley was interviewed several times at Boston Collège by Steve O’Brien, who was writing a thesis based
on Foley’s diary. Foley was ill with cancer at the time, and he would die on October 21, at age 91. The following, in which Foley reflects on
his encounter with the wounded of Port Lyautey, is from a March 6, 1995 interview and appears in O’Brien’s published thesis Blackrobe in
Blue. “War wounds are not the neat wounds inflicted by a surgeon’s scalpel by any means. You wonder where flesh begins and where the
sand begins. Grenades hitting people or something like that. The bullets. The grenades. The human body is just a mess. I was only afraid
once in the Navy, when I went down with that purser to sick bay with the doctors. By then the German submarines were bothering us and
we were ‘dogged down’ as they say. So if a torpedo comes in, only that particular place would be lost, flooded completely. And here I am,
about 100 wounded aboard the ship and they are lying on the tables in the mess hall and boy did I play the hypocrite. I was deathly afraid
for the first time. As Shakespeare said, ‘My seated heart knocked against [at] my ribs.’ It was pounding. Pounding. And here I am going
around as a hypocrite telling the poor wounded boys who were moaning, ‘We’ll be alright.’ And here I am. I never met a man yet who was
in danger, whether from shore batteries or from bombs or submarines who wasn’t afraid, no matter who the officer was. That was the
only time in all my service days that I was ever afraid. After that, I had had my baptism, and I wasn’t afraid.”
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�4. Concussion – Jack Bennett.
5. Man blinded in whose face gun exploded.
6. Crushed by boats against side of ship.
7. Crushed by boat broached on the beach.
8. USS Penn: Seven drowned in tank boat nosed
over by surf-heavy swell, i.e., way ship rolled.
One man about 26 was quietly sobbing to himself. “If I can help you, I’d be glad of the privilege.
What’s the trouble?” “Nothing, sir.” After a while,
he said that he went to pieces under the gunfire,
machine gun, plane strafing, and coast artillery and
men crumbling on every side of him.
1000 – Commando Net Party tries again. I give
Catholics Viaticum; six of them.
1015 – They shove – portside aft – pitch dark down the
landing net. Just before they go, “Kneel down, men.”
Benedictio Dei, etc. “May the blessing of Almighty
God, Father, Son and Holy Ghost descend upon you
and remain forever. May He be with you in your
mission and bring you back safely.”
Tuesday, November 10, 1942
There was a knock on my door at 0400. Three men
of the Party, Chief and two others. “Well, Padre, we
made it.” Congratulations and then the story. Ran
out of fuel first, came back at midnight to the ship,
then started in again, black as coal. Tremendous
surf. Got by the jetties, being carried down the river.
No Colonel Henny on the dock of the fish cannery
as expected. Suddenly swept onto the net; rocket
guns cut steel cables one inch thick – one cut, current
forced most of cable out; then cut the other and both
of the two dories at either end of them swept out to
sea and they swept out after them, raked by machine
gun fire from nests south of the fort and by 75mm
from near the fort; shell about 18 feet long and eight
inches in diameter. Green, the bow hook,56 Southern
youngster. “Did you ever operate a machine gun before?” “No, sir, but ah sure operated this one!” (Quiet, soft-spoken, yet to shave.) Courage and bravery of
56 Look-out who sits forward in a boat or ship.
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these boys under fire – don’t worry about American
youth, one and all of them. Surf 30 feet high on way
out. Boat about 30 feet long pointed bow rides up
to the crest and then drops as if going over a cliff.
Lt. Starkweather lifted up bodily, flung nose first on
the deck– sprained ankle, smashed fingers. “Would
rather face hell of machine gun fire than that surf
again.” Afraid – all of them grown men but got used
to it after a while.
0700 – Destroyer Dallas goes up the river 48 hours
late with 80 Rangers to take the airfield.
1030 – Seven casualties brought alongside; four
brought aboard when General Quarters was sounded.
First Aid station was set up on the beach, then carried
out, ferried to us on ship in tank lighter. Three left
behind in lighter as we got underway on sub alarm.
I stayed with a Lutheran who remarked, “I sure
would appreciate a prayer.” He had been wounded
by shrapnel in the arm badly, in the forehead, on
the left eyebrow, left hip, left leg in front and right
calf. “Sweet Jesus, mercy. I offer up this suffering
for you in union with your sufferings on Calvary for
my sins, for my buddies wounded and lying ashore
without protection or attention.”
1345 – Just met Lt. Gilchrist outside my door. He was
in the tank lighter that capsized yesterday 300 yards
from shore, in 30 feet of water, nosed over by 30 feet
of surf. Four soldiers in tank trapped and drowned,
sunk not like a stone but like what she was – a tank.
1350 – End of General Quarters.
1430 – Dive bombers, three of them, circled over
target on hill, then leveled off, came in and blasted;
then Texas on north and Cruiser on south poured in
their salvos of shellfire.
1500 – Tug pulls alongside with two Frenchmen;
name of tug – Moumein. Two family men said that
�Germans took them to Dakar. They jumped off the
ship and swam ashore. French think they are fighting
the English. Took both of them to wardroom for coffee. They asked for milk for the children. Loaded them
with food and their tug with supplies for men ashore.
Situation ashore: Airport taken today at 1200. Our
P-40s land; five nose over. A Major, one of our
patients, was the only one seriously hurt.
This afternoon casualties started to flow back to us;
lose first man, Huffstutler, from a bullet wound in
stomach.
A Protestant carried over his heart a copy of the Gospel according to Mark, small copy – bullet cut through
it and picture of his girl and left only a black and blue
bruise. “Supply your own explanation, Father.”
1800 – Dinner in wardroom, radio turned on.
Englishman broadcasting from Berlin remarked that
Mehdia Beach had been captured. First mention of
us at all by any commentator. Oran and Tangiers
fell last night, Monday.
2000 – Executive Officer informs me that the
Captain desires burial of soldier who died this
evening to be done ashore tomorrow morning.
Wednesday, November 11, 1942
0900 – I go ashore in support boat with body of
Huffstutler. Two machine guns on either side and
cases for 48 rockets, 4 lbs of TNT, racks six on either
side with four slots on each.
We hug the south jetty on the northern side. Swirling current and surf about ten feet high. See tragic
reminders of inexperience of coxswains with this
shore; overturned lighters near the rocks. River runs
parallel with ocean after a sharp turn.
We hit Brown Beach and as I step ashore on African
soil for the first time I raise my hand in blessing.57
The entrance to the fort is just off the narrow catwalk.
Off to the left is the house where temporary headquarters have been set up. I inform the doctor present
of my mission and am directed to Blue Beach where
a cemetery is being built. On the way up I see the
roadway lined with bodies of Americans and Moroccans. Directly overhead are the frowning walls of the
old sandstone Moroccan fortress that our men took
by storm yesterday. After a mile and a half ride in an
Army jeep I met Dr. Cassidy, our young doctor, who
went ashore with the medical detachment Sunday
morning. He is happy to see me and all his corpsmen
sing out a “Hello, Father!” They are working like slaves
taking care of the American, French and Moroccan
wounded. A hospital has been improvised of a large
summer residence. Twenty beds have been set up and
there the wounded are being attended to. I give the
Last Rites to two badly hit Frenchmen who will die.
Mehdia Plage itself is a picturesque little summer
resort of 154 houses by actual count. French love of
color in evidence – buff, cream-colored walls, blue
blinds, red and green tiled roofs.
I am told that Army Chaplain Tepper, the Jewish
Rabbi for whom I am searching, is up at the cemetery just over the brow of the hill behind the town.
On the way up I see three women and a cluster of
half a dozen children about four and five years old.
I tell Conway the bugler and the soldier accompanying me to wait for a minute while I go down and
identify myself as a Catholic priest and give them
some medals of Our Lady and the Little Flower.
The eyes of the mothers light up at the mention
of St. Therese de Lisieux.
Pass gabled house – seven gables and cone-shaped
roof, along a sand road, down, then up a slight incline,
a turn to the left through the short cedars, where an
American flag identifies the location of seven American bodies. There is a sailor from the Anthony Cooper
who is awaiting burial. He was killed when his tank
lighter capsized and his head struck the side.
57 Foley had a practice of blessing every shore he landed on while in the Navy. He also blessed, from a distance, men in sinking ships or
under fire on shores or trapped in airplanes he saw fall from the sky.
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�Chaplain Tepper is now down at the fort I am told,
so I start down for the Mehdia Plage again and
receive a ride up to the fort there and meet Tepper
who is directing the collecting of the bodies. The
fort was a formidable military installation, a steep
precipice on one side and three slopes leading up to
it on the other side, pitted with foxholes and trenches. Flanking its approaches are large concrete square
houses with half a dozen compartments. These
presented an obstacle to assaulters that was costly,
as the corpses stiff, cold, and frozen in the grotesque
positions of their death agony testified.
What a hideous, repulsive countenance war has.
It tears the heart to see the tragedy of young faces
upturned to the sky, staring with glazed eyes
meaningless at the sun.
When half a dozen bodies had been collected in
addition to my two boys – sailor and soldier, I started
the service at about one o’clock just outside the east
end of the fort by a Moslem cemetery. Along the
south wall were lined the bodies. Along the east wall
the graves were being dug by 50-odd Arab prisoners.
They stopped, flanked me on the right, with 50 of
our soldiers on my left, the bugler on my rear.
I read our prayers over them after the soldiers and
Arabs and a few French have snapped to attention
when the order was given them. “May the Angels lead
thee into Paradise, may the Martyrs receive thee at thy
coming, etc.” Never shall I forget the circumstances
under which I conducted that funeral service. Overhead the blue sky was cloudless, a gentle Moroccan
breeze stirred the air of a day warm with sunshine.
At the foot of the hill, swinging idly at anchor, were
our eight ships, commando and cargo, while the
protecting screen of destroyers and patrol craft and
the battlewagon Texas kept away the marauders of the
sea. Straight ahead stretched away the broad reaches
of the Atlantic. Over the edge of its horizon was
country, home, dear ones, for all of which these boys
from New York and Michigan and Texas had died that
the foul breath of Hitlerism might never come close
enough to blight those near and dear to them.
Here these boys lie on the crest of this hill on which
they gave their last measure of devotion. The bugler
sounds taps and we have paid them our last respects.
“Eternal rest grant unto to them, O Lord, and may
perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls
and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in
peace. Amen.”
The simple but impressive ceremony is over and the
Arabs go back to their task of digging the graves. A
Catholic boy who comes up to me regrets that there
was no Catholic priest aboard his ship on the way
over. I hear his confession then and there on the hill.
I wander around the hill and the fort to give my
blessing to men whose bodies have not yet been
brought in, twelve in all. A young officer, Lt. Sharf,
is one who ate in our wardroom; a splendid young
Jewish boy who wondered when he left the ship at
midnight Saturday if he would see his wife by her
next birthday in May. He lay where he fell, 200 yards
from the east wall of the fort, dying as he led his
men in charge. Inside one of the small rooms in the
glorified pillbox are two Catholic boys who managed
to get in alive but will be brought out differently.
They are lying in their own dry caked blood, their
heads horribly gashed, brain of one of them completely exposed.
Off to the west are two long trenches protecting the
line of six 5” guns that lobbed shells at us Sunday
morning. One had been blasted by a direct hit. At the
base of the other lay a boy by the name of [Michael]
Hastings from New York City. His mother, mercifully,
will never know how he looked in death.58 To one and
all of them I give my blessing. The last has a small funeral group as three sailors join me in saying prayers
over a boy from Indiana. At the lighthouse one of the
Lieutenants whom we carried over the ocean informs
me that he will be grateful if I would explain to the
58 Foley would later write to Hastings’ mother. See entry for May 5, 1943.
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�Arab family in the square white house next to the
lighthouse that they may stay if they wish. I tell them,
“S’il vous plait, restez ici.” The man of the family is
grateful for the information and stops carting out
their pitifully few possessions. Their mule that had
given them, I suppose, patient dogged service, is
dead alongside their door.
Returning down to Brown Beach we see more
evidence of the murderous efficiency of the dive
bombing that finally crushed all resistance.
I speak with French boys 16 and 17 years old. They
say that they did not know that they were fighting the
Americans; they thought they were English – for whom
they have apparently only a bitter hatred and would
fight to the year 2000 against them.
1600 – We return to Brown Beach where the prisoners are industriously unloading our boats of their
supplies. A squadron of deadly tanks roar out of
the temporary garage on its way to a rendezvous
somewhere.
Chaplain Tepper in charge of the personal effects of
the dead boys gives me something that touches me
deeply – a copy of Joyce Kilmer’s “Prayer of a Soldier
in France,” that I had mimeographed and gave out
at the last Sunday Mass aboard ship. Yes, this day
will be among one of the unforgettable!59
Upon returning to the ship I learned that the
Armistice had been signed at 1 p.m. this morning.
Thank God this needless bloodshed is over, in at
least one section of a bloodstained world in which
Germans are killing Russians and English, Italians
and Americans, French.
Climb up the side of the ship by Jacob’s ladder hand
over hand up 50 feet of landing net. Pitch dark ship
rolling in the long swells swings us out away from
the side and then in to it.
Thursday, November 12, 1942
Unloading of ship continues. I visit the wounded in
their staterooms; we have 65 aboard.
Friday, November 13, 1942
I go ashore in the afternoon to visit the American
wounded in the French hospital in Port Lyautey. I
step ashore at Brown Beach, arrange for transfer of
all wounded – 60-day convalescent cases, beg a ride
in an Army jeep to the town over the crest of a hill.
The town stands out dazzling white in its African
colonial setting against the white green of the surrounding hills. At its entrance soldier guards challenge us. I identify myself and my mission to the
two soldiers who recognize me as off the Clymer;
recently they were two of the passengers. Off down
the long paved highway flanked with quaint houses
of varying design – some modernistic, square-boxed,
cream-colored walls, blue blinds, yellow roofs. I
guess that they are, or rather most of the buildings
are white to lessen the heat of the Moroccan sun. In
the hospital I greet two of our boys badly wounded;
one will die, the other will live minus his left forearm. I give out cigarettes – worth their weight in
gold, chocolate bars, and apples; people have had
a lean time these last few years.
Visit with two Salesian Fathers who greet me affectionately. A trip to the Church which has a most
emphatic tower, its most striking feature. The young
priest with me identifies the architecture as grotesque. Inside are the statues of Our Lady, St. Anthony
of Padua, The Little Flower. It is the Church of Christ
the King. Although the Catholic population of the
town is 17,000 and the Moroccan is 8000, most of
whom are destitute, the practicing Catholics are not
too many. One church is adequate for the needs of
the entire town.
We pass the Municipal Building which is also
striking to the eyes of an American in its design.
59 A Chicago native, Chaplain Irving Tepper was an Orthodox rabbi attached to the Ninth Infantry Division in North Africa, Sicily, Britain, and
France. He landed on Utah Beach on D-Day. Described by a fellow officer as “a frail bundle of enthusiasm, 120 lbs. dripping wet,” he died
in France on August 13,, 1944, at age 31, of wounds received from a German bomb.
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�On the way back to Brown Beach in the jeep, I espy
Major Dilley of the Army. We have a happy reunion
for a few minutes. When we last heard of him, he was
shying away from shrapnel thrown by a French shell.
It was good to see him safe and sound after so many
wounded. He informed me that 74 Americans were
killed, about 700 Frenchmen and Moroccans. Their
firepower could not match our rifles, more rounds,
grenades, machine guns, artillery, etc.
Saturday, November 14, 1942
Sperry of the Commando Party presents me with a
beautiful picture of the fort. I shall always treasure
this tangible evidence of their thoughtfulness. It will
also help to freeze in my memory the spot where I
counted 58 crosses last evening.
Lt. Mark Starkweather, 3174 165th Street, Cleveland,
Ohio (his permanent address) finds that he has a
broken heel as another souvenir of his trip up the
river to break the net.
Sunday, November 15, 1942
Although we were supposed to start out for sea
yesterday afternoon, we didn’t pull up the hook until
0630 this morning.
0715 – Mass. End of General Quarters. “Where are
we going?” is the question on everybody’s lips. Casa
Blanca is the answer to the question; again, only a
guess but a good one for our ship has only one-third
of her cargo unloaded and it would seem the height
or the depth of inefficiency for us to carry back again
all this most important material.
1210 – We sight the Electra sinking. She was one of
our group which, for some strange reason, ventured
out alone last night and caught it early this morning.60 At two o’clock we make out, on the shoreline
with which we have been running parallel all the
way, a beautiful town – Casa Blanca, with the hills
rising directly behind it. Most modern in design;
apartment houses, corner windows, ten stories high,
cream and buff colored buildings.
As we come in behind the breakwater we see evidence
of the naval struggle that took place last Sunday, melancholy reminders of what might have been.
Dr. Walker mentions that four of our transports
were sunk just off this breakwater while unloading
Wednesday after the Armistice had been signed.
About one hour ago just outside the harbor the
sea was littered with our life rafts and sea rations;
tangible evidence of something that was hit.
Tied up alongside of us and the French freighter on
the south side is a torpedoed destroyer that shipped
the tin fish just above her waterline. Just the other
side of the little railroad, off our starboard, is a French
destroyer and a battleship burned at the water’s edge.
Sermon today at Mass. Introduction – eventful week,
recollections of things seen and heard, impressed
indelibly on the memory. Each man has his own
recollections. Mine: Saturday – Mass – Benediction,
Viaticum – stories – St. Mark’s Gospel copy shot –
Big One – Funeral Service – Setting. One thing we
all share is our obligation of gratitude to God and
remembrance of the souls in Purgatory.
1900 – Just back from the USS Hambleton, destroyer
tied up alongside of us. It was a torpedo that wrecked
one of her engine rooms, one fire room, and the electrician’s room, killing eighteen and wounding six.
The four ships sunk, Adam, the fireman, tells me
were Rutledge, Scott, Hughes, and Bliss – all transports. Tanker Winooski that came across the ocean
with us also caught two torpedoes. Scuttlebutt has
us unloaded by tomorrow night and then setting
out for home once again.
60 The Electra, a cargo transport that was carrying wounded from North Africa when she was struck by torpedoes from a U-Boat, did not in
fact sink, but was saved by a salvage crew and beached on North African soil. Once repaired, she returned to duty and later served in the
Pacific Theater.
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�RADIO PRESS RELEASE. Churchill announced
yesterday that subs hunting in packs off the
N. W. Africa coast had paid a heavy price for their
foolhardiness; thirteen were sunk in the last three
days, five yesterday.
Monday, November 16, 1942
Casa Blanca is indescribably beautiful in the morning
sunrise. Lt. Ellery of the USS Hambleton, moored
on our portside for steam and electrical facilities,
inquires if I am a Catholic priest. We make arrangements for Confessions at 1600. I hear them and then
I go into the machinist’s shop to bless the bodies of
the three men taken out of the gaping hole in her
portside that was the engine room until a torpedo hit
her three nights ago at Fedela, where the tanker, the
Winooski, also caught it along with the Rutledge, the
Hughes, the Scott, and the Bliss.
2000 – 150 English soldiers and merchant marines
come aboard. They were torpedoed on September
12; lost 2000, 1400 of them Italian prisoners, when
their ship, the Laconia, was torpedoed. Since then
they have been in a prisoners’ camp. Remarks: ”It
was music to our ears to hear the noise of your
guns.” “I think that this meal is all a dream after the
stuff they have been giving us.” “Sir, I have been in
the desert for two and a half years but I never did
see such beautiful dive bombing as on last Sunday
morning.” One youngster, Paddy Kenny from Liverpool, is only fifteen years old; shipped in the merchant marine. “We all thank God that we are here
this evening.”
leave granted anyone. Just before we leave the Commander calls me to pacify Raymond Colle, a French
boy of 18 who is sick with anxiety about what the
[Vichy] French will do to him if he is put ashore.
He was a member of the Army that swung over
to General de Gaulle. Now those who did that are
being shot as deserters as quickly as they are apprehended. Outfitting him in an American coverall
and soldier’s jaunty cap and putting him under the
special protection of Lt. Brooks quiets him. He will
proceed to Port Lyautey where he will join up with
the de Gaullists there.
I meet Major Creedon, one of our guests, and find
that we have a common friend in Fr. Webb of Woodstock, England, fame.
Some English were saved after their ship, the
Laconia, was torpedoed. They would sail by day;
then at night the sub would insist on towing them
back to the spot they had left in order to be picked
up by the [Vichy] French cruiser which the sub
had contacted. Men aboard the sub who hailed the
Limeys spoke perfect English. On one occasion they
had to put four Italians over the side. “It was a case
of either them or us.” Sub apparently saw the operation, came alongside, challenged them about it; the
German remarks, “Good work, after all, they were
only Italians.”
1300 – We carefully nose out of our pocket in Casa
Next an Italian sub contacted them and asked if they
had any Italians aboard their ship when she was hit.
“Yes; they are aft about five miles.” “Thank you; do
you need anything?” “Could use some water.” Gave
them six bottles of water and same amount of very
good wine. The irony of this gesture!
Blanca Harbor as #23 on the list of ships that have
been shoving off all morning. Goodbye to Casa
Blanca without seeing her obvious beauty at close
range; too dangerous to venture ashore. Hence no
The Laconia lost 2000 souls when she went down
in about twenty minutes even though she was about
18,000 gross tons.61
Tuesday, November 17, 1942
61 The Cunard liner RMS Laconia was torpedoed in the Atlantic off the coast of Africa by a German submarine on September 12. It was carrying 1,800 Italian prisoners of war as well as British passengers and military personnel. One thousand and four hundred of the prisoners,
locked in their quarters, drowned when the ship sank. Others, along with the British crew and passengers, escaped to lifeboats and were
picked out of the sea or taken in tow by four U-boats that then signaled their intention to bring the survivors to waiting Vichy craft. The
submarines were nonetheless attacked by an American B-24, resulting in the loss of several hundred survivors. The Laconia Incident, as it
became known, was raised during the Nuremberg Trials in defense of German naval practices in World War II.
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�Wednesday, November 18, 1942
When daybreak comes we are well on our way out
to sea with land no longer visible. Our small convoy
of eight ships finds its number increased in the
afternoon when three huge Army transports loom
up on the horizon, headed directly for us. They are
former Grace liners, Uruguay, Argentina and Brazil;
each about 25,000 tons and used exclusively for
transporting troops, unlike ourselves who are
combat ships.
Thursday and Friday,
November 19 and 20, 1942
Sea is a bit choppy.
Saturday, November 21, 1942
Sea really begins to kick up after fueling of
destroyers, one on either side of tanker. During
this evolution we slow down to about five knots
per hour.
Sunday, November 22, 1942
0650 – Mass in Junior Officers’ Wardroom; crowded
with about 70 present.
1000 – General Service in NCO Mess. Largest
attendance since I came on the ship. We are growing. The first Sunday total number of non-Catholics
two, then five, now eighty. I gave them a Catholic
sermon without the word “Catholic.”
1530 – Rosary and Benediction. I am sure Our Lady
is pleased with the mixture of Scotch, Irish, Cockney
and Yankee dialects making answer to the first part
of her Hail Mary.
Ocean really boisterous, in fact boiling today,
whipped by a 20 mile wind that we push up to
35 by our speed. Shrouds are constantly moaning;
everything is securely lashed both inside and on
the weather decks.
Sea is alive with white caps and waves that rise to a
crest of 30 odd feet. Foam lashed off the tops by the
wind forming rainbows on every side of us. Suddenly
43 | chapter 3: journey to morocco
a three-decker rainbow colors the sky in the west
where we could see a rain squall a short while ago.
Ships on every side rolling and pitching violently.
Chenago, aircraft carrier, taking water on the nose
of her flight deck; tanker shipping water regularly.
We, I imagine, are like the ship in front of us. When
her bow plunges down, her stern rises high and the
propeller, apparently angry at being lifted out of her
element, lashes out blindly for the sea that wouldn’t
stay altogether with her and white spray is thrown
five feet on all sides.
The piece-de-resistance is furnished by the Chaplain
[Foley] at dinner. We had been sliding a little bit in
our chairs which were not lashed to the deck. Whenever we felt a move coming, we held onto the table
until the roll stopped, but for this one there was no
warning. Dr. Harris asked the Chaplain for the bread.
The Chaplain had just finished putting a piece of
white turkey in his mouth. With the other hand he
picked up the dish of bread to pass it. Then, the roll.
We slid to the portside, three feet, myself and the tailman, then a long ride of fifteen feet to the starboard.
All had grabbed something by this time except the
Chaplain. I set sail again for the portside, holding out
a loaded dish of bread in one hand, trying to make a
sale, and armed with a fork in the other. “Look at the
Chaplain,” I heard as I went sailing by the customers!
Then my ride was over.
Thursday, November 26, 1942
Thanksgiving at sea. Catholic Mass at 0700.
Standing room only. Congregation – Yanks,
English, Irish, Scotch.
1000 – General Service. Congregation the same;
standing room only.
Dinner. Rough sea like a street on a windy day when
the snow is falling, streaks of snow everywhere, not
an even blanket. Streaks of foam; combers breaking all over the face of the ocean. Spray whipped off
the crests lashes me in the face as I look over the
starboard side. Forty winks. Visit to the wounded.
Instructions to two potential converts.
�Sermon: “Today, men, is Thanksgiving Day. This
morning we are gathered together here to take part
in a service of gratitude to Almighty God for the
blessings He has bestowed upon us.
“Although at first sight it may seem that out
here on the Atlantic, 1100 miles from home,
our little service is slight and inconsequential
but that is not the case. It would be if we were
alone but we are not. By prayer, the strongest of bonds, we are united to countless other
services being held all over the globe, at home
and abroad.
“At home in our own country, the memory
of Thanksgiving is being renewed in every
section. The day has been consecrated to
prayer by our President. So in the majestic
cathedrals and modest churches back home,
our mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters,
wives and sweethearts and friends are raising
their voices in song and prayers of Thanksgiving. Perhaps they are worrying, wondering
how we are faring, little dreaming that their
fervent prayers have stood us in good stead.
“Abroad, wherever American soldiers are
stationed, on ships of our Navy at sea, divine
services are being held. For the first time in
history, Thanksgiving ceremonies are being
conducted in Westminster Abbey with an
American Chaplain presiding. Aboard ship,
we too render homage to God and join with
all those services everywhere. Our prayers do
not ascend to the white throne of God as single, isolated fragments but as part of a mighty
host of prayer, welling up from hundreds
of thousands of hearts all over the world in
Thanksgiving.
“As one of the Officers remarked this morning,
‘We indeed have much to be thankful for.’ The
personal blessings that God has conferred upon
us, we alone know their number. What they are
is a sacred secret between us and our Creator,
but we do know that deep down in the sanctu-
44 | chapter 3: journey to morocco
ary of our hearts where we walk alone with God,
where no man treads without intruding, that the
protecting arm of God was not foreshortened.
One and all of us can look back upon moments
when we were intimately aware that God was
with us, moments either of the remote or of the
recent past – as recently as two months ago or
two weeks ago.
“Some among you now listening to the sound
of my voice looked death in the face for six harrowing days and five nights in small lifeboats
on shark-infested waters. Death stared at you
and passed you by – for others. Others among
us apparently had a rendezvous with their last
hour when landing upon Mehdia Beach and
after landing upon it. Yet death stared at them,
too, and passed them by –for others.
“Those of us left aboard ship know that we
were enveloped by God’s protection. It was
there for all to see it. Shells whined aft of us,
over us, and off our forecastle. They fell all
around us from coastal guns. Yet not one hit
its target.
“Now go back, for a moment, to that historic
day when we steamed out of Hampton Roads
on our way at last to open up the much-heralded second front. If any man had ventured
to predict that we would return home with our
ship intact, except for the loss of a few boats,
and more wonderful by far, with our crew unharmed, he would have been labeled “crazy” for
ignoring the percentages of modern warfare.
Yet here we are – ship and personnel intact.
“The same cannot be said of other ships and
their personnel. If I may be pardoned for injecting a personal note, I buried sailors from
other ships. I have conducted funerals before
as an ordained ambassador of God but never
shall I forget the service on the top of the hill
next to Fort Mehdia. The Armistice had been
signed a few hours before. A number of bodies were hastily collected. I faced them, the
�long row of them. Beyond them I could see
our ship and her sisters peacefully swinging
at anchor out on the broad Atlantic. The time
was one o’clock. The day was beautiful with
a clear, blue sky overhead and warm with
Moroccan sunshine. On my right, 50 Arab
prisoners of war who had been digging the
graves. On my left, our own American boys
– comrades of the fallen. The age-old prayers
for the dead, always moving in their simplicity began:
“May the Angels receive you into Paradise;
May the Martyrs take thee at thy coming;
May thou, with the once poor Lazarus,
Have rest everlasting.
“I am the Resurrection and the Life.
He who believeth in me, even though
He be dead, shall live,
And everyone Who liveth and believeth in
Me, Shall not die forever.
“Eternal rest grant to them, o Lord,
And may perpetual light shine upon them.
May their souls and the souls of all the
faithful departed,
Through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
Amen.
“Taps were sounded and when the last note
had died away, the final blessing was given to
our heroic dead. They lie buried on the crest
of that hill looking out over the broad reaches
of the restless Atlantic, toward country, home,
friends, and those near and dear to them for
whom they gave the last full measure of devotion. God, we may be sure, is mindful of their
sacrifice. He is mindful, too, of the honored
45 | chapter 3: journey to morocco
dead of our allies, soldiers, sailors, and members of the merchant marine. We pause to
pay them all our meed [share] of tribute and
remember them in our prayers where prayers
count most, at God’s altar.
“In the words of Scripture, ‘They had girded
themselves, they were valiant men, they were
ready against the morning – they had fought
the good fight, they had finished their course,
they kept the faith.’
“What of us? We must make certain that we,
too, have girded ourselves with the double
bond of loyalty to God and to country that we
may be valiant men in the discharge of our
duty to both, that we may be ready against
the morning when the white tremendous
daybreak of eternity dawns for us. We must
also bend every effort to fight the good fight,
to finish our course, to keep the faith. Then,
and only then, are we making the best possible return to Almighty God for the blessings
and favors that He has showered upon us.
He will know that our thanksgiving is not an
empty, hollow phrase, but a sincere, honest
expression of gratitude that rises straight
from hearts of men whose lives are a living
confirmation of what they profess with
their lips.”
Monday, November 30, 1942
HOME, NORFOLK, VA.!!! Minus four ships that
went East with us – they are now filed in Davy
Jones’s locker. Thank you, Lord, for bringing
us safely back again. We, indeed, have much to
thank you for! Thank you, Lord, again, for a safe
7000 mile round trip.
�chapter 4 | for god and country
What a Trip!!!
Monday, December 14, 1942
In port at Army Base, Norfolk, Virginia; ship is
moored to the dock. I go ashore to secure some
sheet music for our musicians and have dinner in
the City Market. Imagine Faneuil Hall Market [in
Boston] in one big cement building. At one end of
it is a lunch counter. “This will be a good place for
me to get a fine steak.” Girl, “No steak, but you buy
it and we’ll cook it.” To the man at the meat stand
in back of me, “I want a good steak.” T-bone, one
pound, $.65. Back to the counter with it, wrapping
and all. “Here it is.” “What else?” “One raw onion,
tomatoes, mashed potatoes, a glass of beer, dessert
– apple pie and two big scoops of ice cream.” Best
steak I have had in Norfolk in a blue moon. Happy
surprise! Frank MacDonald, S.J., one of our passengers. “Goodbye” at BC., now he shows up as
Chaplain of the CBs.62
Young sailors; an 18 year old taking his first shave;
boys standing around, kidding him. “Just put a little
cream on your whiskers and let the cat lick it off.”
Wednesday, December 16, 1942
Nine days before Christmas we leave the Army
Base, anchor out in Hampton Roads on a morning
harshly raw, grey and cold; in the afternoon, snow
falls. First time for Kendrie, a Southerner. Scoops it
up with delight.
Thursday, December 17, 1942
We begin the first lap of our second cruise. Heave
up the anchor at 0830 on a bright, crisp December
morning; temperature about 35 degrees. Sun is shin-
ing in clear sky but coldly. It is too far down in the
sky. Our passengers this trip different from the last.
Then they were assault soldiers; Commandos and
Rangers. These are Construction Battalion men,
not Army. They are an older group; men who had
already established themselves as machinists, welders, divers, electricians, etc. They line the decks as
did the last passengers. For the large majority, this
is their first ocean trip. As I go topside with some
of their Officers to identify for them the landmarks
on the Virginia shore and Cape Charles, Delaware,
I speak to some of the enlisted men. Ask them how
they feel as we get underway. Reply, “This is what
we have been waiting for.” “What kind of sailors will
you be?” “That’s what we are wondering about, too.”
“Well, we’ll find out shortly.”
Within ten minutes we have passed through the
submarine nets, pulled back by their little tenders
on the north and south side. The order comes from
the bridge: “All hands wear life belts.” Once more
we are on our own, with destroyers on ahead of us,
in Indian file, seven of them. We too are steaming out, Indian file, the second of the ships in our
division, following the USS Allen, our flagship. We
are making about 15 knots with the rudder pushed
over hard to port and to starboard alternately, as we
weave through the minefield. At the end of an hour,
the destroyers fan out into picket lines on either side
of us. We pick up a cruiser and an aircraft carrier,
her flight deck loaded down with planes. The
USS Chenango is the same one that travelled with
us to Africa last month.
62 A reference to Naval Construction Battalions, commonly referred to in writing as the “Seabees.”
46 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
�By the way, this is [one month since] we left
Casablanca. We have a feeling that it will be much
longer than a month before we see home again,
if ever.
As we stand up forward on the flying bridge, the
edge on the sharp wind is knifing into us. One of
the doctors, a Southerner, can stand it only a short
time and goes below.
We guess where we are going. Consensus of opinion
is that we are headed for the South Pacific, New Caledonia. Chief Jenkins has a hunch that we are on our
way to Ascension Island in the South Atlantic which
he visited some years ago. Wherever it is, these men
will not have to fight for their landing beaches as
did the last passengers. Our cargo this trip is not
ammunition, aerial bombs, tanks, jeeps, half tracks,
etc. We could build a city with what we have on
board. Cement mixers, cranes, derricks, bulldozers,
lumber, etc.
We head directly east and follow the buoy-marked
channel for 60 miles, while the destroyers keep tabs
on any marauders of the deep that may decide to
send a “fish” into us.
die or not.” The afternoon continues cold, the winter
sun sets and the bugle plays the “Darken Ship” melody. At the evening meal, some of the officers who
are passengers are conspicuous by their absence.
Seasickness is no respecter of persons.64
In the evening, in the wardroom, two movies are
shown. How War Came, propaganda film, worthless.65 And an educational picture on Tracer Firing,
actual shots taken aboard the HMS Excellent during attacks by Heinckle dive bombers on this ship.
At their conclusion, I go topside before turning in
and am amazed at the change in the weather. The
temperature has climbed thirty degrees to 65. I go
into the charthouse where Sutherland, QM1/c, tells
me that we are 200 miles out to sea and close to the
Gulf Stream and that the temperature of the water
is 72 degrees. Now our course is directly south.
Fr. Frank MacDonald, S.J., Chaplain of the
CB’s is sick! May have to put him ashore at first
port touched.
Friday, December 18, 1942
Second day out.
0650 – General Quarters. All hands don life jackets;
After dinner I notice one of the CB’s leaning
his head against the Welin davit.63 Ask him if he is
seasick. “Yes, sir.” “That’s too bad; sorry to hear it.
How does it feel?” “It makes you feel as though
you don’t want to stay alive.” Others are leaning
over the rail parting company with their meal.
Their look alone would generate sympathy from
the oldest seadog aboard. Seasickness, as somebody
once described it: “The first day you’re afraid you’re
going to die, the second day you’re afraid you won’t
die, and the third day you don’t care whether you
to battle stations one hour before dawn. Thick weather; ship rolling and pitching. Off Cape Hatteras.
0750 – Secure from General Quarters. I celebrate
Mass in the Library.
0830 – Reading my Office in my room, starboard side,
which is four decks above the water line. Suddenly a
crash of thunder against the side of the ship, a splintering roar and water pours through my porthole. Torpedo hit? No, thank God. We shipped a big wave. Boat
63 A davit is a small shipboard crane used for such purposes as raising and lowering lifeboats. The Welin Lambie company, based in
England, was (and remains) a leading manufacturer of davits.
64 Darken Ship is the order to close off all light that could be seen by an enemy.
65 Produced by Columbia Pictures in November 1941, How War Came is a brief animated documentary in which Mel Blanc, who voiced Bugs
Bunny, Porky Pig, Daffy Duck and hundreds of other cartoon characters, provides the voice for Hitler. It was nominated in 1942 for an
Academy Award for “best Short Subject.”
47 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
�swung outboard and the Welin davit is smashed, her
portside stove in against the second boat in the nest.
Water is cascading over the side from the deck. Members of the 2nd Division rush to the spot to secure her
before she becomes a total loss. Soon they have her
lashed securely to the other boat and to the rail. Men
lying stunned on the deck; two injured by water that
flung them against the bulkhead.
Weather is really rough. CB’s are seasick on every
side. My room boy, Godwin, is sitting in a corner,
picture of dejection; smiles wanly as I ask him,
“Has it hit you again?” He had had a bad cruise
on the way to Africa. “Yes, sir.” “How do you feel?”
“I got misery in my stomach again.”
Walking around the ship on the stern are the
hardy members of the Seabees, enjoying the mountainous sea right on the fantail. Suddenly we all
duck. A big wave breaks right on our starboard
quarter. We don’t take her aboard but we are
showered by spray. Intermittent rain squalls with
beautiful rainbows on every side. This is Cape
Hatteras in winter. Old seagoing chief tells me
that Limey sailors have a saying that “If you get
by Bermuda in winter, watch Hatteras.”
Saturday, December 19, 1942
Third day out.
Heavy seas still running. Many passengers stay
below deck, lying on their bunks hoping that mal
de mer will stop plaguing them.
1145 – Tables all set in Officers’ Wardroom. Suddenly a
tremendous roll; every dish and piece of silverware and
glass is sent crashing to the deck. Imagine going into a
china store and tipping over a dozen showcases packed
with crockery and you have some idea of the racket.
The Plan of the Day carries a notice for the first
time that a party is on tap when the ship crosses
the Equator. Hosts will be shellbacks, sailors who
have already crossed the line and been initiated into
the SOLEMN MYSTERIES OF THE DEEP; guests,
victims rather, the uninitiated, the Pollywogs.66
NOTICE
all ye pollywogs beware for on that day king
neptunis rex, ruler of the raging main with davey
jones, his majesty’s scribe, the royal scribe, the
royal judge, the royal doctor, the royal dentist,
the royal barber, the royal undertaker, the royal queen and her two royal babies and the remainder of the royal party will initiate you into
the solemn mysteries of the ancient order of
the deep. from now on all ye trusty shellbacks
observe these scum of the earth, these landlubbers, pollywogs, marines, and what ye have, and
turn in the charges you prefer against them to
the royal scribe who will preserve same until
the day of reckoning. the day of reckoning.
Sunday, December 20, 1942
Fourth day out. Enroute to Panama.
Plan of Day nominates me for special duty.
NOTICE: One of the foremost and holiest pollywogs
on board, namely, Chaplain Foley, was overwhelmingly nominated to compose the “POLLYWOG
THEME SONG” which all Pollywogs will be requested to sing to the tune of “How Dry I Am” before the
august presence of the great Father of the Sea “King
Neptunis Rex.” Of course, the penance to be administered for failing to learn the words of this song is
withheld for obvious reasons:
I’m a pollywog,
A low pollywog
How low I am,
No shellback knows.
I grunt and groan,
I sweat and moan,
How much I moan,
No shellback cares.
66 Ceremonies that mocked pollywogs—sailors who were crossing a latitude line for the first time—were well-established by the
18th century.
48 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
�He breaks my back,
My spine’s a crack
Despite the fact,
No shellback cares.
He thinks he’s comical,
When he’s anatomical,
He whacks my fanny,
Till I ain’t got any.
A shellback’s tough,
He boasts he’s rough,
There’ll come a day,
He’ll cry “Enough.”
I’m a pollywog,
A low pollywog,
How low I am,
No shellback knows.
Weather moderates; beautiful summer day,
sunshine streaming down on us, a West Indian
sun. At night full moon under Southern skies. Back
home, folks are hustling along the street trying to
keep warm by walking briskly. They are standing on
the corner wondering if the bus will ever show up.
They shift from foot to foot, clap their hands together and here we are, walking around the deck in
summer khaki clothing, sleeveless sport shirts.
Mr. Oleson, First Lieutenant, old merchant marine
captain, blonde, blue-eyed Norwegian, tells me of
Pat, the dog on one of his ships. Ugliest face in
creation; always assaulted newcomer to ship with
unbounded display of affection; weighed about
100 lbs. Meanwhile an apologetic stump of tail
wagged furiously. Newcomers mortally afraid of
him. Boatswain’s Mate came aboard one night; dog
made for him, picked up chair to protect himself.
Oleson, “He won’t bite you; look at his tail.” “Am I
going to believe his tail or his face?”
Talk: This morning, men, is the most eventful
day in your lives. For many of you it marks
the first time that you are attending the Holy
Sacrifice of the Mass in a setting that must
seem strange to you at first sight. Instead of
kneeling on the steady deck of a shore chapel,
you are kneeling on the rolling deck of our
ship and perhaps you wonder whether it is
you or the deck that is rolling.
Yes, our setting is a simple one, yet most
impressive in its simplicity. It is true that
we have no expensive stained glass windows
breaking our bulkheads, only the bow and
stern and the sides of invasion boats We are
open to the blue ocean on both our starboard
and port sides. It is true also that our altar
background is not some costly marble hewn
from a famous quarry but only steel plates.
And as we look forward we see no slender
columns soaring aloft, carrying on their
strong shoulders tons of masonry. We see
only massive kingposts adorned with guys
and cargo booms hugged close to them. It is
true also that overhead we see no vaults lined
with delicate stone tracery. Yet we have the
blue canopy of God’s sky which no architect
can rival. He can only hope to copy it. Yet the
very simplicity of it brings us closer to God as
those of our ship’s company will testify and
best of all, Jesus Christ, true God and true
man, feels perfectly at home in this setting.
He is one with us for we should remember
that sometimes we are inclined to forget that
He also went down to the sea in ships. He
chose men who wrested a hard living from
the depths of the sea to be the first members
of His Apostolic Company. To St. Peter, a fisherman, He said, “Follow Me and I will make
you a fisher of men.” He knew what it was to
sleep on the fantail of a ship. He knew what
it was to feel a ship roll and pitch under him
on the surface of Lake Gennesaret67 in Galilee, a huge inland sea, that was no lily pond
67 A place name applied in the New Testament to a stretch of land at the northwest corner of the Sea of Galilee; in Luke, the name is also
applied to the body of water itself.
49 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
�but a body of water where storms rushed and
whipped down from the mountains, lashing thousands of white horses and made old
hands like Peter cry out, “Lord, save us or we
perish.” Christ also mustered men for His
ship’s company like St. Paul who knew the
privations and hardships of duty ashore and
afloat even to the point of being shipwrecked
three times. Yes, Christ is no stranger to our
way of life. But the questions arises, “Are we
strangers to His way of life? To Him?” That
question was put and answered in the days
of Christ by one who said, ‘He stood right in
your midst and you didn’t know Him.’
He was a plain, blunt man, John the Baptist.
He spoke straight from the shoulder. He was
not brought up in the lap of luxury but in the
dust of the desert; his rations were locusts
and wild honey. Since he was the man who
was to introduce Jesus Christ, the Savior for
whom the world was sorely waiting, he prepared himself by long years of solitary prayer
and meditation in the desert. Then when all
men were on the tip-toe of expectation, John
suddenly appeared and delivered his message
and the burden of that message was the need
of repentance. “Make ready the way of the
Lord.” At this time of year shortly before the
anniversary of the first coming of Our Lord,
once again John’s message of preparing our
souls for the appearance of Jesus Christ is put
before us for our sober consideration and the
best way today as then is repentance.
Repentance. What is it? Fundamentally, it is a
change of heart, leading to a reformation of life.
A man looks into himself and asks himself a
question, ‘How do I stand with God?’ He
hears God asking him the question, ‘Is your
heart right with mine as mine is with yours?’
And by a right heart God means a good heart.
For a heart is either good or bad in the sight
of God. If it is a good heart, then it is a stranger to mortal sin, that deadly enemy of the
50 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
soul that lurks on every side to torpedo it on
its voyage to eternity.
Thank God for it, if our heart is a good heart
and has avoided the enemy; remember here
as elsewhere eternal vigilance is the price
of safety. If the heart is a bad heart, then
unfortunately, mortal sin has sent its deadly
destructive message home into it and the soul
has sunk to the bottom of the ocean of life.
But unlike the sinking of other ships, this
sinking is not permanent for the soul can be
raised and be built as good as new by Jesus
Christ, the Carpenter of Nazareth. If only He
is given a chance in the Dry-dock of Confession where the salvage operation takes place.
Once He works on the soul, then it is ready
again for another cruise much stronger and
more certain of arriving safely at the harbor
of eternity for Christ is on the bridge with it,
directing its course.
We must have Christ, Our Lord with us on
the bridge of our life. If we haven’t, then we
are foolish indeed, no matter what our rank
or rating. Some years ago I was stationed
in a hospital acting as Chaplain. One of the
patients in that hospital was a man who was
slowly wasting away and who was also stone
blind. After the noon hour when things were
quiet, I used to drop in to pass the time of
day with him for a few minutes. On this
particular day I stayed for one hour while he
rehearsed the story of his life. As I was leaving I asked him, “As you look back over your
life have you any regrets?” He replied, “Yes, I
have one regret. That regret is not because I
didn’t know what it was to know success and
fame and fortune; I drank deeply of all three.
As a young man in my thirties, I tried every
major murder case in my state. My name was
on everybody’s lips so much that I was elected
with a large majority to the State Legislature,
and I was wealthy as men of this world measure wealth. But I was poor; I thought in my
�pride that fame and success was due to my
own unaided efforts. I said I have one regret.
You are a young priest. Burn these words that
I forgot into your soul and wherever you go
tell my story. I forgot those words of Christ,
“Without Me you can do nothing.”68 Happily,
before it was too late, before I met Him at the
Judgment Seat of Almighty God, I saw the error of my ways and mended them. Wherever
you go, Father, tell my story; I hope that it
may jolt some men’s souls out of their indifference to the one person without whom they
can do nothing.
“Without Me you can do nothing.” That is the
stark truth. We can do nothing that counts
for eternity, or for time for that matter, which
has lasting value in the sight of God unless
Jesus Christ is on our side, unless He is with
us. And He is only with us when our heart is
a good heart; when, as it were, it is afloat on
the ocean of life and buoyant with His grace,
not a torpedoed wreck on the bottom through
mortal sin.
As we look forward to Christmas, the latest
anniversary of His coming, let us make sure
that it will be a memorable one, that it will
live in our memories, not merely because we
shall attend Christmas on the high seas but
because this year we were closer to Him than
ever before, because He found in our hearts,
alive and warm, the welcome that, with His
grace, was so conspicuous by its absence on
the first Christmas morn.”
Monday, December 21, 1942
Fifth day out.
between San Domingo, the other end of Center
Island, and Puerto Rico. Named Mona after the
island at the southern end of it.
Distance so far: Norfolk to Bermuda – 725 miles;
Bermuda to Puerto Rico – 950 miles; Puerto Rico
to Canal – 1060 miles. Total – 2730 miles.
Landfall at 1000. Gibraltar-like island, rising sheer
out of the sea, steep sides; hard to say whether
inhabited or not.
Temperature: Summer; men picking up
deep sunburns.
1230 – Love, SC 2/c69 has appendectomy. Sub alarm;
General Quarters in the middle of it. Sub, 1000 yards
off Montpelier, cruiser on our port, crash dived immediately. Destroyer sent back; stays there all night
to keep her under so that she can’t catch up with us
during the night.
Tuesday, December 22, 1942
Sixth day out.
CB Mike Rice, 43 year old lay apostle, brings me a
man who has been away from the Church for quite
some time. He introduces him with the following
words, “Father, this is Jimmy. I just did a greasing
job on him. Now you give him a change of oil.”
Wednesday, December 23, 1942
Seventh day out.
Dark plottings by the shellbacks who intend
to scalp us as we cross the Equator.
Thursday, December 24, 1942
Christmas Eve. Eighth day out.
We sight land at 1000; the land is Desecheo Island.
We are passing through the Mona Passage. There
are two passages on the way to Panama; Windward
Passage between Cuba and Haiti; and Mona Passage
68 John, 15:5
69 Ship’s Cook, Second Class
51 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
We arrive at Cristobal, Panama, about three o’clock; two
jetties protecting the harbor. Sailor and I remark on the
four shades of blue that stand out distinctly. The blue
�of the cloudless sky; the blue of the Montpelier, the
cruiser; the blue of the sea; and the blue of our ship.
All the same color but strikingly different shades.
First reaction to the sight of Panama, after the heat,
is the luxuriant growth of the vegetation. The low
hills are densely covered with trees and underbrush.
The color is the greenest of the green.
I go ashore to pick up some things for the Crew’s
Mess. Streets are palm-lined. Houses are roofed
with red tile. Walk down the main street. Stores
are set back from the curb stone; all have pillars
supporting the second deck that in turn is supported by pillars resting on the curb. All the stores
protect themselves from the heat by awnings that
carry all the colors of the rainbow. Houses are like
New Orleans French Quarter. Call on St. Joseph’s
Church. Fr. Mischotti is fixing up the altar; mutual
introduction; informs me that three other priests
are from Boston, all Vincentians.
1:30 – When I disembarked, stores closed for
afternoon siesta.
2:00 – Bustle of excitement; streets come to life.
Taxis cruising up and down, guitars making loud
gay music, voices rising and falling in harmony,
high laughter on a corner. One colored man is
threatening to whip another with a strap that he
waves menacingly in his hand.
Church is second floor; big hall. Colored youngsters
running around, having a high old time.
Street scenes: Woman balancing a basket that must
have been her own weight dexterously on her head.
Huge Negro sitting before a pile of coconuts, slashing
them open with a murderous looking machete and
eating the small nut about the size of an egg. Then
draining the watery colored fluid into a bucket.
Madames, over-rouged and underdressed, shamelessly sitting outside houses, soliciting their customers; love for a price.
52 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
We are to transit through the world famous Canal
built between 1904 and 1914. The Canal Zone is
500 square miles, 50 miles long and 5 mile strips
of cleared land on either side. Water of Canal: 85 feet
above sea level; 35 miles fresh; 15 miles salt – 8 on the
Atlantic and 7 on the Pacific. Width of Canal: 300 feet
at its narrowest; 1000 feet at its widest. Location:
Directly south of Pittsburgh. Locks: From Atlantic
end. Lake Gatun, largest artificial lake in the world;
164 square miles. Pedro Miguel, Miraflores, Chagres
River, a torrential, tropical stream fills Lake Gatun.
General Gorgas, Army Doctor. Yellow fever and
malaria decimated the workers; new arrivals heard
of deaths and sought immediate passage home.
Panama changed by him from the pesthole and
death trap of centuries into the healthiest area on
earth. Today its death rate is lower than New York’s.
How? By killing off the female mosquito, “Little Fly,”
and setting up 25 sanitation districts. Man in charge
had 20 to 100 laborers. Their work? At first, one
mile territory on either side of the Canal, cut brush
within 200 yards of all dwellings, drained standing
water, trimmed grass a foot high. Why? Because
mosquito easily destroyed by wind and sunlight;
sought grass and foliage for protection.
The Pacific end of the Canal is 20 miles east of the
Atlantic end. How explained? Well, the Isthmus
runs northeast and southwest and the Canal runs
more nearly north and south than east and west.
Fifty miles long, extends from Limon Bay on the
Caribbean to Balboa on the Bay of Panama. Canal
Zone: Owned and governed by the United States,
but political sovereignty technically remains in
Panama. The Canal shortens the distance between
New York and San Francisco by 8000 miles.
Friday, December 25, 1942
Christmas. Ninth day out.
Midnight Mass in the Officers’ Wardroom at 0000.
Altar looked lovely with my mother’s poinsettias in
Christobal vases that she will eventually have when
we get near home again. Choir did marvelously well
�singing the old hymns that are traditional for Christmas. Silent Night, O Holy Night, Hark the Herald
Angels Sing. Standing room only, 250 at the Mass,
Catholics and non-Catholics.
10:00 a.m. – General Service. At the end I am told
2:30 A.M. – To bed after my second Mass, but not
that a photographer has taken some colored movies of
the Service. I am happy to learn of it, but ask him to
take some of my Mass which follows immediately. He
does; a Christmas gift that I think I shall always cherish, but I don’t get the film. Security rules prevent it!!!
until visit to topside; full tropical moon directly
overhead.
12:00 – Christmas dinner with all the fixings.
3:00 A.M. – Underway, in transit through the Canal.
4:00 – To the USS Allen for Rosary and Benediction,
Slowly following the markers, white circles with
black crosses on them, all in pairs. Ship keeps its
nose pointed at the pair until it sees only one circle;
then it knows it is on the right course. Water is a
dirty brown color.
on the invitation of Lt. Hackett and Lt. Franceski,
USMC. Delighted to give men the opportunity of
having some Service on Christmas Day. We are now
at the Pacific end of the Canal, Balboa.
8:30 a.m. – Pass Army encampment along the
shores and Officers’ homes. Folks line their piazzas and banks of the Canal to greet us. I organize
a “Merry Christmas to You” greeting up at the port
gun station, and we sing until the echo bounces
back from the hills. Drop a lot of green ice cream
scoops all over the place for an idea of the landscape.
We weave in and through them, and the locks, of
which there are three.
We see for the first time the “rubber cows,” the balloon barrage in the sky. At one lock I count 42 of
them. They look like silver fish pinned against the
sky permanently. I remark to an Officer beside me,
“What a picnic a youngster would have here with a
BB rifle.” High poinsettia trees.
At some places you would be able to dive off our
ship and make the shore in one scoop, only about
twenty feet away. One place, Culebra, cut, gouged
out sides of the hills which tower over us as we
steam through. High, soggy temperature of about
110 in the sun; 85 by check on shaded thermometer
on the bridge.
Saturday, December 26, 1942
Tenth day out.
Shove off from Balboa at 1000, after being tied up at
dock. Directly behind it, a towering hill with a little
radio station atop of it.
We swing around after five subs go out first. As ship
carrying the “Flag,” alias “Admiral,” we break out his
ensign.70 Start out Indian file as usual. Five transports and cargo ships, plus the Montpelier and the
Chenango, the aircraft carrier that lost a plane that
plummeted into the sea the day before we arrived at
the other end of the Canal. Scouting ahead of us are
MTPs.71 They roar by us as if we have thrown out
both of our anchors. One CB remarks that he would
give half of his remaining years for the opportunity
of shipping aboard one of them for duty. Most sailors are like that; they want duty that is most dangerous. The bigger the spice of danger, more desirous
they are for it.
I am puzzled by the land that is on our starboard side.
I thought that since we were slipping down the coast
of South America that the land should be on the port.
70 Flag flown at the stern of a ship.
71 The MTP, or Motor Torpedo Boat, was a British Navy vessel. Foley, however, was certainly referring to Patrol Torpedo Boats, generally
called PT boats, and an American craft.
53 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
�Then I look at a map and find that we are in the Gulf
of Panama and we are hugging its northern shore.
The picture as we steam along: green mountains
capped with white clouds, soft lazy veils across the sky.
Occasionally, a little mountain about 200 feet high
that once decided to go in swimming and found
itself permanently attached to the floor of the sea.
Rich colors all around us; deep green of the mountains, the blue of the sky, of our ships, of the water,
and of the dive bombers.
its two spires but its whole body bathed in the glory
of the setting sun.
One of the Officers, a non-Catholic, informs me
that he attended Midnight Mass, as he has done for
years. Wrote to his wife and two youngsters and told
them that he was united to them as in the past, for
they always went to Midnight Mass together. Ended
letter by saying that he hoped they didn’t miss him
as much as he missed them.
Sunday, December 27, 1942
At 2:00 three of them, our own, thank heaven, come
in upon us with all throttles wide open. They are
giving gun practice to our men. I am standing on
the flying bridge, just above the bridge deck as the
first one comes in. He has leveled off about 200
yards away, shut off his engines, heads straight for
the bridge deck at a blinding speed of 300 miles an
hour. Officer in charge of gun crew, upon receipt of
signal from gunnery officer, “Fire! Let ‘em have it.”
But the nose of the plane seems to me an amazingly
small target, which it is. The plane is apparently
coming straight at us, then about 50 yards from us,
rises sharply, soars over our heads, almost directly,
banks quickly, gone. #2 roars in the same way,
and also #3. Speed is so fast that gunners have only
about three seconds to hit them. First they came
over the starboard; next trip they come from portside, parallel with the ship. Planes seem almost alive
as they bank and turn and dive and climb up into
the blue summer sky, join up and then turn again
for another attack upon us. For half an hour we are
treated to all the realism of an all-out bombing attack without the live bombs.
3:00 P.M. – Convoy lanes form up and we are the
leader in the center of the three lanes. The ocean is
Pacific. The ship has not even the slightest roll or
pitch. Incredibly calm. Now see why she rates her
name. Even the Mystic River near Medford Square
is rougher than this surface.
First Pacific sunset. First, yellow color, then yellow
warms into red, and the red flames into gold. Cloud
formation, a cathedral , on the right, with not merely
54 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
Eleventh day out.
Norfolk to Canal – 2700 miles. Now 600 miles out
from Canal; 6999 miles to go. What a trip!!!
Fr. MacDonald celebrates Mass at 6:45 Upper Deck
Aft. I have mine at 0900 and General Service at 1000.
I kneel in the stern of Fr. MacDonald’s congregation. He is not in the sunlight at the beginning of
Mass. Then we make a hard port turn and the early
morning sun plays on his red vestments, worn in
honor of the feast of St. John. John, fisherman that
he was, looked down from heaven with pleasure
upon the setting, I am sure. Then we make a hard
turn to the starboard six minutes later, and the sun
has swung away also. Our zig-zag plan #43.
3:30 – Rosary and Benediction.
In the evening songfest I lead the pollywog song.
Pollywog: “A blob plus a tail.” That’s the name for us
who have never crossed the Equator before. We are
expecting heavy weather from the shellbacks when
they bring us before King Neptune for judgment,
come the day of initiation into the solemn mysteries
of the sea.
Monday, December 28, 1942
Twelfth day out.
Staging for Father Neptune is rapidly approaching
completion on the boat deck forward. We pollywogs
are evidently going to catch it properly. First Lt.
Oleson wears a big, broad knowing grin every time
�he meets me, breaks out into a hearty chuckle, and
says, “I ain’t saying nothin’.” Wet stormy day; big
run on the library.
Tuesday, December 29, 1942
Thirteenth day out.
Beautiful day, cloudless sky, warm. Incongruous
note: Gas masks issued at 1100. New Year’s Eve, a
bit of old time harmony is furnished in the Officers’
Mess by a quartet.
Friday, January 1, 1943
Sixteenth day out.
Day dawns fair and warm. We are presented with
the Plan of the Day that carries the notice of the
arrival of Davey Jones, advance guard for Father
Neptune. Reads charges against pollywogs. First
dose of punishment, five whacks on keel by pirate.
Wednesday, December 30, 1942
Fourteenth day out.
Beautiful clear sky. Father Neptune arrives. Punishment for me: Step onto wooden griddle, electrified;
made to kiss the Royal Baby, First Lt. Oleson; then
sat in Royal Barber chair, upended into pool, clothes
and all. Uniforms of Shellbacks: Long underwear,
marked with skull and crossbones, slit dungarees,
green pajamas, suspenders, green helmet, white
collar and tie. Ended at noon.
3:40 – We crossed the Equator, but we can’t see its
green line.
1800 – At supper ship shivers from stem to stern.
Two depth charges go off from destroyer off port
quarter, two miles away. She cruises around, fairly
leaping out of the water with her 35 knots. Ten minutes later, four miles away, drops three more; then
hovers around the spot where Hirohito’s men may
be lurking.72
Emergency turns – 45 degrees. Blasts on horn to
inform other ships in the convoy.
1:30 – Five of our subs ghost through our lanes in
opposite direction.
Thursday, December 31, 1942
Fifteenth day out.
72 The 124th emperor of Japan, Hirohito reigned from 1926 to 1989.
55 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
All through the night blasts on ship horn; other
ships answer like melancholy whistle of far off
trains echoing back from the hills.
Tragic note: Cruiser Montpelier catapults her planes
off in a routine scouting operation. One rises slowly,
the other suddenly explodes about twenty feet in air
and plummets into the sea. There is a terrific explosion as her two depth charges go off. Water sent high
over the cruiser. Boat put over her side; rescues
survivor and recovers pilot’s body.
In the afternoon, broadcast of the Rose Bowl
football game.
Mike Rice, Pontoon Assembly Detachment, and I
passing the time of day topside watching the sunset.
Looks over to the Montpelier at the single plane at
her stern under the catapult where there had been
two until this morning and remarks, “She looks
lonesome, Father.”
Saturday, January 2,1943
Seventeenth day out.
Bad language from some Southerners during Mass
on the Upper Deck Aft. My Apostle, Mike Rice, quietly
but distinctly remarks to the group: “Quiet, please;
Church Service going on.” Someone in the group
retorted, “If you were paying attention to the service,
you wouldn’t hear it.” After Mass is over, Mike, “Just
came over to say that I was the man who asked for
quiet. I heard that remark that was passed. Let the
man come topside, put on the gloves, and we’ll settle
the argument then and there.” Nobody moved.
�Southerners, incredibly ignorant, believe the most
awful stories about us priests. Some of the Catholic
men told us what they were. They are to be pitied,
although at first the reaction of the Catholics to the
stories is one of anger because they are so vicious.
Some refuse to go to General Service for non-Catholics because it is run by a Catholic priest, “the guy
with the nightgown on when he says his Mass,” as
one of them put it. Ignorance like that is to be pitied
and enlightened.
Burial at 2:30 p.m. of Ensign Thompson, pilot from
USS Montpelier plane that crashed yesterday. All
the flags are at half-mast on our convoy. Up on
the flying bridge I borrow binoculars from one of
the members of the gun crew. Men of the Montpelier are standing in close-packed ranks, facing
aft, dressed in blue pants and white skivvy shirts.
Honor Guard of Marines in khaki. Platform erected
under the catapult where the plane and its pilot had
taken off many times. Clear blue sky overhead; sun
drenching the entire crew and officers. Prayers are
being said over the corpse wrapped in national ensign [ flag]. They end; three volleys crack out sharply
on the summer Pacific afternoon, the canvas with its
precious burden slides over the side and the waters
of the ocean swallow up the weighted sack quickly.
Beside me a sailor remarks, “If I have to die, Chaplain,
I hope that I will be buried at sea, and not on some forgotten island of the South Pacific; at least my wife can
cast some flowers on the water back in San Diego.”
Sunday, January 3, 1943
Eighteenth day out.
First Mass at dawn, 5:45; Upper Deck Aft. Overhead
the Dawn Patrol takes off from the USS Chenango
scouting for any marauders of the deep that may be
waiting for us. The overtone of their motors is now
a commonplace musical background for Mass.
every single corner of the deck. Sun streaming down
on us makes us realize that it is mid-summer here.
3:30 – Benediction and Rosary with the men.
Monday, January 4, 1943
Nineteenth day out.
The end of General Quarters came during Fr. MacDonald’s Mass at dawn this morning. When he came to the
Consecration the ship made a sudden sharp turn to
the portside so that our stern faced east. The sunlight
caught Our Lord as He was raised on high for the adoration of the men. It seemed that the sun itself wanted
to pay tribute to the One who hung it in the sky.
Tuesday, January 5, 1943
Twentieth day out.
Preparations made for any burial that may have to take
place aboard our ship. Platform is rigged on Boat Deck
forward starboard side. Canvas sack is readied. Procedure for committal at sea determined. One case of
spinal meningitis aboard; very sick man from Virginia.
Wednesday, January 6, 1943
Twenty-first day out.
Feast of the Epiphany. Our Lord’s appearance to the
Wise Men. Haunting music, soft tropical moonlight,
palm branches caressed by trade winds. As yet we see
no land. One of the men remarks that he would be
happy just to be able to set foot on Tahiti for a minute. We are directly north of it, passing between the
Marquesas Islands and the Tuamotu Islands, both
French possessions. Tahiti is west of the latter group.
Flying fish on the road to Mandalay are sporting on
all sides of us; some of them actually flying through
the air for about 15 yards, then plunging into the
ocean like a dive bomber.
Thursday, January 7, 1943
0900 – Mass. Boat deck forward, with a canvas to
Twenty-second day out.
break the wind blowing in from the portside.
1000 – General Service. About 300 present, jamming
56 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
Gunnery practice. Strange how routine it can become. At first when a plane towed a white canvas
�sleeve across the sky as a target for our anti-aircraft
gun crews, we rushed topside to witness the accuracy of the crews. Now I am sitting in my room as the
staccato bark breaks out on the Pacific morning air
and continue to carry on a conversation with a man
who is desperately homesick.
At 7 o’clock after dinner all hands on topside to have a
look at two warships on the horizon. Fortunately, they
give back the proper signals when they are challenged
and then stay on their course which is northeast for
Hawaii. They were a heavy cruiser and a destroyer.
Friday, January 8, 1943
Twenty-third day out.
General Quarters at 0505. I went to bed last night at
2030; 8:30 p.m. for landlubbers. Apparently slept out,
for I woke up at 0430, shaved, stepped out on deck
in the early morning darkness and looked up to the
bridge. Lookouts are peering out, dark forms outlined
against the still starry sky that gradually loses its lights
as the east begins to brighten. Sky lookouts and gun
crews on highest decks are scanning their sectors. As
I move among gun crews and through them, exchanging a good morning, they remark that there is no excitement yet; however, they are keyed up and waiting,
their tenseness further sharpened by the rumor that
swept the ship yesterday that in a big naval battle with
Japs, we were on the receiving end.73
I stand on the boat deck and watch the dawn. Only
[Robert Louis] Stevenson, who spent some time in
these islands, could describe what this dawn in the
South Seas is like. He wrote somewhere: “The dawn
– when darkness trembles into light and the stars
are extinguished like the street lamps of some human city, when the whiteness brightens into silver,
the silver into gold, and the gold kindles into pure
and living flame and the face of the East is barred
with elemental scarlet.”
There are clouds along the horizon this morning,
clouds and cloudlets. Where the sun will come up,
there is long horizontal break in them. As the sun
throws its light long distance into that break, it
resembles a lake with its vivid blue waters. On its
nearest shores are mountains, crested with snow,
one towering high above all the others. Gradually
the blue of the lake changes into gold. The rims of
the mountains, even the lowest, are tremulous with
orange, so tremulous that it seems that they must
give way, too; but still the sun does not raise its
head. Then its rim arches over the cloud’s edge
and another day has dawned. “Good morning” is
the spontaneous greeting of the heart to the sun
as it begins another day’s journey.
I go down a deck to the upper deck, vest for Mass
after reading part of the Divine Office. The lines
in the hymn for Sext in the Office “Qui splendore
mane illuminas.”—“Thou who lightest up the
morning with splendor, with glory” convey a
meaning to me that they never had before.74
Quietly the Mass proceeds; softly the little Mass bell
rings out into the open air and the heads of my men
and passengers are bowed in adoration as the One
Who hung the sun in the sky is raised aloft after the
Consecration.
Meanwhile the dawn patrol of two planes from the
carrier Chenango roar by overhead, their lights now
dimmed for it is day again. Another beautiful day,
temperature about 85. Some of the men now brown
as nuts from the tan they have acquired. I lay the
keel for Sunday’s sermon.
In the evening after chow, about 5 o’clock, songfest
on the boat deck forward. As the ship rises and falls
ever so gently, the voices of the men fill the soft Pacific night with the old favorites, “Carry Me Back to
Old Virginia,” “Old Black Joe,” “I’ll Be Down to Get
73 A good example of “scuttlebutt.” No such battle occurred. The Second Naval Battle of Guadalcanal took place on November 14 and 15,
and was judged a decided American victory. No other major naval conflicts in the Pacific Theater took place later in 1942 or in the first
week of 1943.
74 The Latin phrase is from “Rector Potens, Verax Deus,” a hymn for the Midday Office in the Roman Breviary.
57 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
�You in a Taxi, Honey,” “There’s a Long, Long Trail Awinding,” “Into the Land of My Dreams,” etc. They
continue singing as darkness falls. One of the ship’s
crew remarks, “If homesickness were five cents a
pound, those fellows would be wealthy.”
Nightfall under a South Seas moon. Sky is spangled
with myriad stars, every available inch sown with
them, not like any sky back home. Clusters and then
other stars, but in an incredible number. Sky seems
alive with them.
Off in the distance our convoy partners are steaming
ahead silently under the January summer moon. It
seems strange to write that combination, but we are
down under the Equator.
Saturday, January 9, 1943
Twenty-fourth day out.
Go up on deck after General Quarters. Looks like
a stormy morning. Sleepers out last night driven
in at 0300 this morning. Sky overcast. Men cluster
around the altar, wondering if rain will catch us
before we can start the Mass. We venture it, though
ominous clouds overhead. Mass is finished without
them emptying their cargo.
After breakfast, topside; water a deep indigo blue
from the storm clouds coming in massed array from
the west. Not a white horse on the water anywhere.
Off to the west rain is pouring down; it is foul
weather over there. Heading in our direction, two
planes streak by overhead. Standing just outside
door talking to Ensign, one of our passengers who
is trying to catch his ship. Talking about how serious a man becomes at sea, thinking thoughts which
peace time distractions may have kept in the background. An enlisted man passes by and asks if it is a
plane that has crashed into the sea off our starboard
near the carrier. We join the group on the bridge.
Yes, another crash. Borrow a pair of binoculars and
train them on a destroyer. I raise my hands, giving
absolution from a distance. Plane swerved in over
the carrier, about to land when the pilot changed his
mind, swept low over the sea and then spun in.
58 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
Through binoculars can vaguely make out in mist
and rain the destroyer heading about and making
back for scene of crash. Everyone hopes that the twoman crew has been saved. Message comes in about
five minutes later; both pilot and radio man rescued.
Meanwhile the other plane is hovering aloft, speeding through the mist and rain, trying for a spot for a
landing. All eyes glued on her as she heads in over
the flight deck, passes by, completes another circle,
then tries again, makes it this time and everybody
breathes a sigh of relief. Message comes through
from destroyer that all hands aboard and unhurt.
Sunday, January 10, 1943
Twenty-fifth day out.
0425 – General Quarters. “Man your Battle Stations”
Ship shrouded in darkness; a finger of light off on
the horizon, identifying the east for us. Ships seem
asleep, but tremendously alive. Every man intensely
alert. Up in the Crow’s Nest, forward and aft, horizon
lookouts scanning the distant verge. On the bridge,
lookouts on the watch are ranging over each square
foot in their assigned territories. Sky lookouts on the
guns are peering overhead for anything that might
suddenly drop down on us.
Crow’s Nest lookouts forward scan the horizon from
0 to 90 degrees, from 360 to 270 degrees. In other
words, to the starboard beam and the port beam. Lookouts in the aft Crow’s Nest scan from 90 to 180 and
from 180 to 270. Two lookouts in each one and the
watch is two hours. This is a dangerous hour in the
morning when subs can create a disaster in seconds.
We are moving in our old formation, two lines
of three abreast, with the aircraft carrier, Chenango,
bringing up the rear. Three combat transports lead,
while two cargo ships and the cruiser, Montpelier,
complete the second line.
In the evening the sun starts to set about 6 o’clock;
darkness falls down quickly from above. Songfest
being held on the boat deck forward. Slender crescent moon lazily lying on its back hangs high just
�Ensign Schula, with a voice that is a dead ringer
for Lawrence Tibbett’s,75 sings tunes from Stephen
Foster, “Beautiful Dreamer,” etc., then arias from
the operas. Greeted with tremendous applause.
Meanwhile up on the bridge the watch and officers
are scanning the waters.
are the unsung heroes of the ship. They give their
sweat every minute they are on duty. If the ship
should be torpedoed, they will be the first to give their
blood, for this engine room is the vital part of the ship.
If the worst should come, they are hopelessly trapped.
If the water doesn’t get them, 400,000 pounds of live
steam will. Down there, deep in the engine room, one
becomes acutely conscious of how these men, above
all others, are living on borrowed time.
Monday, January 11, 1943
Tuesday, January 12, 1943
Twenty-sixth day out.
Twenty-seventh day out.
Two months ago today I buried the sailors and
soldiers at Port Lyautey in North Africa. Today
I am in the South Seas, just about 500 miles from
Samoa on the way to Noumea, New Caledonia.
The Allen is about to leave us so her escort vessel,
USS Taylor, comes alongside for her orders. She
will shepherd the Allen to her destination, where
her 1000 Marines will be unloaded.
0450 – General Quarters. “All hands man
off the forward mast on the portside. We make a
sharp turn to port and the moon shifts to starboard.
Sea is a glassy calm, unbelievably smooth, as
smooth as the birdbath in the garden back home.
This evening a visit to the Black Gang in the Engine
Room. As I open the door, I am met with a withering
blast of suffocating hot air. Deep below about forty
feet is the deck of the Engine Room. Looking down,
one sees nothing but a maze of ladders and catwalks.
I seize the handrails on the ladder but quickly release
my hold. They are scalding hot. Down the ladder I go,
gingerly, into the bowels of the ship where I meet the
chief. When I remarked about the heat of the handrails, he humorously remarked that he asked the
men on watch if they had turned the steam on them.
“What is the temperature of this engine room?” I ask
him. He takes a look at the thermometer which reads
116 degrees.
The members of the watch, six of them, are dressed,
or rather undressed, in dungarees, stripped to the
waist with perspiration pouring from them as they
obey the various signals from the bridge. These men
Battle Stations”
Mass as usual at the end of General Quarters on the
Upper Deck Aft. Of the fifty who attend, about ten
men receive Holy Communion. Splendid Catholics,
these men, the pride and joy of their temporary Pastor.
Conversation with Dr. Arnold LaPierre, graduate of
Sheffield, Yale and Columbia Medical School. Regrets
his highly scientific, specialized training; too much
science and too little of the literature of the ages.
Mr. Pound informs me that, although he has been
24 years in the Navy, this is the longest cruise he has
ever taken.
Lt. Kreutzer’s Beach Party is toughening its muscles
for their next landing party; this time a battle with
the Japs. When? He guesses that it will be in about
six weeks. He is the ideal man to lead them into
action. Absolutely fearless and courageous, not as a
callow youngster, but as a man who has seen action
as he did in Africa.
Africa. Yesterday, two months ago, I buried the first
soldiers and sailors who died in the North African
Campaign. May God have mercy on their souls.
Nobody thinks of them now except their dear folks
who received the short notice from the Government.
Their buddies have gone on to meet a far fiercer foe
75 Tibbett (1896 – 1960) was a star baritone with the Metropolitan Opera.
59 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
�in Tunisia, and the shipmates of the sailors are now
with us streaming for New Caledonia, also to battle
a foe that is a formidable one, in capital letters.
like this help to convey to all of us better than words
that we are approaching one of the worst battle areas in
the world.
If anyone doubts this, let him read the news in
today’s press release from the Radio Shack.76
Yesterday Washington gave out the news that we
have lost in the last three months, here in the Southwest Pacific, ten men o’ war, as follows: one aircraft
carrier, the Hornet; one heavy cruiser, the Northampton; two light cruisers, Juneau and Atlanta; and
six destroyers, the Benham, Cushing, Barton, Laffey,
Monseen, Preston and Walker. These ships were put
to the bottom with equipment no stronger than peashooters and slingshots. I confess to a misgiving that
we have been undermanned and undergunned ever
since we started the offensive down under. Perhaps
the tide will begin to turn now.
At Quarters for Officers the other morning, the Executive Officer informed us that we have a hundred to
one chance of coming out of our next battle operation
alive. Lt. Commander Oleson expresses my sentiments
when he comments, “Well, I have one chance, haven’t
I?” That remark is the key to his character; optimistic
through and through, he never could be cast in the role
of Jeremiah.
The acute problem of communications has been
hammered home to us on this trip. Here we have
been at sea since December 17 and have yet to
arrive at our destination. In the same time, similar
Jap ships can make approximately eight round trips.
We are handicapped.
While reading one of the old Commonweal magazines, I learn that George M. Cohan died about three
months ago. The news came as a start. Although I
never had the good fortune to meet him in the flesh, I
had the pleasure of seeing him act in a play in Boston
about three years ago and once in the movies. Clean
through and through, he would be like a breath of
fresh air in the theaters and movie mansions of today.
Westbrook Pegler wrote his epitaph when he concluded his column by saying that “He was too clean
for the stage of today.” A scathing condemnation of
today’s stage, playwrights, and actors and actresses.
May the Lord have mercy on his soul.77
Today the ship’s company have two suits of whites dyed
khaki to lessen their visibility for bombers. Little things
One of the enlisted men turns over $200. to me for safekeeping. I jolly him about how he managed to collect
such a staggering amount in one month. His rejoinder,
“I come by it honestly, Father.” Then he remembers
what a chief told them in boot camp when they got their
first five dollar pay. “Spend one-third on women, onethird on liquor, and save the rest.” Instructions like that
are damaging, to put it mildly, perhaps diabolical is the
correct word for it, for a youngster away from home for
the first time. What strikes me is that, though he must
have heard scores of talks in his boot days, this was one
of the observations, granted that it may have been only a
stray one, that stuck with him.
Chief Frank Gordiano from Springfield talks about the
folks back home. We have in common one man who
rode the crest of the wave of fame, fortune and success,
then slipped back into the trough as he crossed into his
fifties and finally died a poor man in a hospital. The
chief remarks, “Well, Father, I have always said that it is
a local on the way up, but an express coming down.”
Wednesday, January 13, 1943
Twenty-eighth day out.
0000 – USS Allen leaves us with the destroyer, Taylor, for her destination, to proceed on duty assigned,
which happens to be Samoa.
76 The room that housed a ship’s communications equipment..
77 Cohan (1878–1942) born Keohane to Irish immigrant parents, was a popular singer, dancer and playwright in vaudeville and on Broadway.
Played by James Cagney, he was immortalized in the 1942 film Yankee Doodle Dandy.
60 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
�0830 – Just returned from the bridge. The Algorab78
8:15 p.m. – South of the Fiji Islands we listened to a
has taken the position vacated by the Allen, and the
aircraft carrier, Chenango, slips in behind us.
radio station in Seattle, playing the “[“Song to the]
Evening Star” from Tannhauser!
Mr. Sebrell informs me that we missed some
excitement last night. About twenty minutes to twelve
a ship loomed up on the horizon off the port bow,
unidentified. Three destroyers rushed over, formed
a protecting screen and were poised to go into action
within seconds when the ship revealed her identity.
She proved to be a US Navy tanker, without escort.
Thursday, January 14, 1943
Know now what is meant by the phrase, “As suddenly
as a tropical shower.” Without warning, the clouds
come on in massed array out of a perfectly blue
sky, rush pell-mell along, empty themselves of their
cargo, then are away as quickly as they arrive. Before
leaving today, one of them put on a gala display of a
three-decker rainbow.
Train the long glass on the aircraft carrier. On her
portside forward make out a pilot seated on a chair
reading. He apparently is the ready pilot, primed to
take off at a split-second’s notice to scout or to fend
off enemy planes.
Read in National Geographic magazine for July a
description of New Caledonia. Must tell my mother
about it in my letter.
New Caledonia. Its climate from May to December,
mild like Florida in winter with average temperature
of 72. December to April is cyclone season; temperature 65. Population: 53,000 of whom 5000 are
grown white men. Island is about 250 miles long
and 30 odd miles wide and is located about 750 miles
north of Australia.
Twenty-ninth day out.
0420 – General Quarters, General Quarters,
All Hands Man Battle Stations, All Hands Man
Battle Stations!
Mass at 5:20 Upper Deck Aft, as usual. During Mass
tropical shower without warning spills down on
celebrant and parishioners.
Breakfast at 6 o’clock, then topside to flying bridge
deck alongside of the Stack, lying in deck chair,
letting the warm sun beat down on me. Morning
is refreshingly cool after the rain of yesterday. Sky
seems to have its face washed. Ahead of us two
destroyers are scurrying back and forth across our
bows like big water bugs as they shoot to port and
then wheel around sharply, retrace their tracks, then
double back and forth again, incessantly nervous.
Believe it or not, we actually loaned out our library’s
prize volume, “How to Raise Chickens for a Profit.” A
member of the Construction Battalion, former chicken
farmer, wanted to check theory against practice.
Friday and Saturday,
January 15 And 16, 1943.
Thirtieth day out.
Crossing the International Dateline we lose a day.
Friday is the casualty.
0435 – General Quarters. My, but these are early
Mr. Oleson looks up into the sky and remarks,
“Mares’ tails there mean that we will have a wind.”
Starting at one o’clock, rains all day long.
78 Like the Clymer, an attack cargo ship.
61 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
hours. Dawn rises early here south of the Fiji Islands.
Mr. Meyer predicted a few days ago that when we hit
this part of the trip, we would strike weather that was
really cool. It is, pleasantly so. Last night was a bright
�cool night, such as we would have back home in the
Spring. Now I am curious to know what the temperature is this minute, so a halt while I go up to the
bridge to find out. The thermometer reads 85, yet it
doesn’t seem to be that warm.
Remark overheard as I pass along the Main Deck
where our passengers, Construction Battalion, Pontoon Division, are lined up for chow. “A lot of red
water rushing down a gulley in Georgia would look
good now.” It has been a long trip for men who are
not sea-going sailors.
1130 – General Quarters. Unidentified plane sighted
on port horizon. Good news or bad? We wait to see,
even though it may be thirty miles away. These
planes can make 300 miles per hour, so that stranger, if stranger she is, would be on top of us in five
minutes. It passes away.
1200 – Aircraft carrier, Chenango, steams by us at
full speed, about to send aloft six scout bombers.
She moves so fast we are like an old Model T, while
she is the latest Packard. By she steams, wheels to
the port side into the wind. Up to the bridge I go to
train the long glass to watch the maneuver closely.
The first two planes she catapults off her crowded
decks; ponderously and slowly they lift themselves
like some giant bird a bit uncertain of itself. The
others make the 20 yard run and then all six swing
into formation and they are off on their assigned
mission. An hour later they are back.
Destroyer Chevalier comes alongside to deliver mail
from another ship, along our port quarter about 100 feet
away. A rocket gun is fired from us to her, a miniature
breeches buoy is rigged and the mail sack is hauled
along the line by hand on a pulley. Meanwhile both
ships are making 15 knots. The line is no help to either
bridge to keep the ships on course. Bridge has to be
keenly alert, for ships have a tendency to run together,
closing the distance between them. The reason? Water
between is travelling faster than the water outside.
Sunday, January 17, 1943
Thirty-first day out.
0455 – General Quarters.
0555 – Mass. Fr. MacDonald says this first Mass of
our floating parish. He has a bad cold; started the
cruise with one and finishes with one.
0900 – Second Mass by yours truly. I compliment the
men on their splendid example during the trip.
1000 – General Service.
1530 – Rosary and Benediction.
1630 – Unidentified ship on the horizon. After one
hour she uses her searchlight signal to inform us
that she is the Santa Anna. The men on the bridge
look her up and the information they have says that
she is a ship of the Grace Line.
At table Mr. Kreutzer informs us that we are now
members of the South Pacific Task Force and that
eventually the following ships will join us: the Washington, the Indiana, the Idaho, the North Carolina, and
that we will be formidable with them alongside of us!
Up on the bridge at nightfall. Tell the Captain how
much I like the word of Departure that he gave a
short while ago over the public address system to our
passengers, CB’s and PAD’s. I tell him that, when he
finished, the men spontaneously applauded as they
stood in the chow line. He is naturally gratified that
they liked it. The man shows long days and nights of
anxiety that have been his lot since we left Norfolk on
that cold, raw, snowy morning in December.
No man, officer or enlisted man, need have any fear
about the safety of the ship while he is our skipper. May
God grant him long life and permanent days with us.79
79 Captain Arthur T. Moen (1894–1962) was a 1917 graduate of the Naval Academy. He commanded the Clymer from December 1942 to
October 1943, for which service he was awarded the Legion of Merit. He retired with the rank of rear admiral in 1948.
62 | chapter 4: what a trip!!!
�chapter 5 | for god and country
South Pacific Task Force
Monday, January 18, 1943
Noumea, New Caledonia.
0420 – General Quarters. The earliest yet.
Was I sleepy getting up at this hour!
0515 – Mass as usual on the Upper Deck Aft. Quite
gusty. Sky looks threatening but fortunately continues to only look so.
This day we make port. All hands on tiptoe of expectation as we steam ahead. About 1000 we have
General Quarters, a sure sign that we are nearing
our destination, even though we sight no landfall.
1100 – Word
runs through the ship like a prairie fire.
“Land! On our starboard side!” Sight of the good
earth again.
Just a short distance away, surf is breaking over the
coral reefs. As the article in the National Geographic
magazine for July described it, this island, New
Caledonia, is surrounded by coral reefs that extend
from one to ten miles off shore. We can see indistinctly mountains in the distance; even through the
long glass they are vague.
At twelve we take the pilot aboard and snake our way
up the channel to anchorage. On our port, a lighthouse, immaculate white on a little fifty-foot island.
We turn back on our wake; on the south side of the
island is the whitest sand we have ever seen and the
greenest of water. Day is now sunshiny, clouds have
burnt away and a pleasant breeze is blowing. Suddenly it gets very humid. The mountains apparently
shut off the wind.
63 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
The mountains are intense purple in the distance,
primitive looking, as though they were built at the
very dawn of creation. One of the men standing up
on the gun platform group #3 remarks: “They don’t
believe in foothills here, Father.” First there are little
mountains out wading in the sea. Then there are
three tiers of them, the next higher than the one
ahead of it. The last tier pushes its head up into the
clouds. All of them look as though they were fashioned when the world was young. Another sailor,
a CB this time, remarks, “You get mighty close to
God looking at the tops of those peaks.” How do our
passengers feel about their new home? One of them
put it this way, “We have our job to do here and we’ll
be happy doing it.”
We make our way in slowly for two hours. Now we
can see the scenery at close range. The coastline is
like a comb, cut in by innumerable inlets. As we skirt
them, we note that ships are hiding around the hills
at the mouth of each of them. We make our entrance
into one of them. It is a narrow passage, only about
300 feet wide. Carefully we nose in, while searchlight signals are concentrating on us from four different places, two ships and two shore stations. We
are amazed at the collection of shipping. First, about
30 freighters are counted. As we come by the two
little hills rising sharply and standing guard at our
inlet, we count many more, 28 in all, plus the 30 others. We now descry men of war, a big battlewagon,
destroyers and minesweepers. Something is being
built here alright. We had seen the same building
up before we set out for Africa. May God be as good
to us and as generous with His protection on our
new mission as He was then – rather may we show
ourselves worthy of His protection and care.
�The mountains are sharp cones; not green in color
but a slate-like brown. A PBY Martin Patrol Bomber
cruises overhead, banks sharply against the backdrop of the mountain, then taxis into her berth after
landing on the water.
The temperature is very humid, like Charleston,
South Carolina, in July.
At 4:30 we anchor but nobody goes ashore. We find
that we are in Noumea, New Caledonia. The town is
nestled at the foot of the mountains. Red-tiled roofs and
cream-colored stucco fronts to the houses, all of one
and two stories. Impression from where we are is much
80
the same as that of Panama, Colon and Cristobal.
We have travelled 10,300 miles since leaving
Norfolk on December 17, 1942.
Tuesday, January 19, 1943
Unloading of ship has been going on since we anchored last night. First batch of CB’s and PAD’s go
ashore. I set foot on land at 9 o’clock, equipped with
a box of apples, one of oranges and 100 pounds of
sugar. Mr. McRae, our Communications Officer,
informed me yesterday that he had been told that
the Sisters who ran the local hospital would be glad
for some fruit. I have two aims as I step ashore. First
blessing the land, as is my custom whenever we hit a
81
new beach. And I want to meet my brother Ed, and
to help the Sisters. On the shore there are no docking
facilities. We run the invasion personnel boat alongside of a temporary 10 foot wharf built by another
detachment of CB’s who have been here since November 11, 1942. A pile driver is hammering in piles as
foundation for a future dock and cranes and bulldozers are doing the work that was meant for them.
I look around, speak to a couple of Marines in a
truck, ask them if they will carry the box of apples
and the bag of 100 pounds of sugar to the hospital
for me. No Marine ever says “no” to a priest, so off
we go to the hospital. There I learn that it is run by
the government, not by the Sisters who were kicked
out by the government, and all are admitted “sans
distinction.” I take my two boxes with me, decide to
give them to the priests that staff the Cathedral that
was our guide as we came in yesterday.
Up we climb the hill to it in a truck. I find out from
a barefoot Melanesian boy in the Church where
the priests’ house is, and the box of apples and the
sugar are dumped in front of it. Meanwhile before
going in, I make a visit to Our Lord in His New Caledonian home and I say the Stations of the Cross for
my father. At the altar rail I whisper a prayer for all
the family back home and all away from home.
The Cathedral is built of local sandstone, cruciform.
And on an altar that was rebuilt lately, there are two
dates, 1870 and 1914. The Church looks as though
it was built on the earlier date. On the way out, the
door frames one of the most beautiful scenes I have
ever caught anywhere. As you start back from the
altar you see only the ocean, just a couple of miles
away. Then proceeding down the aisle, you suddenly
notice that two little islands have come into the
picture, the two through which we passed yesterday. As you walk nearer to the back of the Church,
more islands swing into view, until finally standing
on the porch you have the whole island at your feet.
I repeat again the wish so often in my mind, “My
kingdom for a camera.”
I swing left to the priests’ house in back, am introduced by the barefoot Melanesian boy and present
my calling cards, apples and sugar. They are happy
to receive both, invite me to dinner, but I want to see
Ed as soon as possible. They press their invitation
for today is the one meat day of the week, they say.
“Why not take advantage of it with us?”
80 The city of Noumea, capital of the French colony of New Caledonia, originally served as a French penal colony. It was headquarters for
American military forces in the South Pacific.
81 Edward C. Foley (1917–2005) was an Army lieutenant stationed in the South Pacific. He was 12 years younger than his
chaplain brother.
64 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�However, Ed is uppermost in my mind and I must
see him as quickly as possible.
At the Army Headquarters they tell me that Ed left
for Guadalcanal six weeks ago. I am disappointed
to hear it but do not give up hope of seeing him
shortly at “Cactus,” the code name for red-hot
Guadalcanal.
I forget to mention that the priests at the Cathedral
informed me that there are Sisters of St. Joseph of
Cluny here who run a school. I decide to present
82
them with some calling cards tomorrow.
I wander around the old town to verify for myself
somebody’s observation that when France fell this
little place was hard hit. She was. The stores are bare
for the most part. What is on their shelves will not
be there long unless Uncle Sam replenishes their
stock of things like soap, etc. What of the people?
They are French, their white faces standing out in
the polyglot collection of people that make up the
population. Now I see for myself for the first time
in the flesh the men and women in the National
Geographic for July. There are Chinese, Javanese
and the natives, the Melanesians. The Javanese
women, beautiful and petite, are dressed in multicolored blouses and long skirts. Round their waists
are swathed the sarongs. Now a mother comes along
with her sarong slung across her right shoulder for
her youngster, riding cheerfully in his chair that
the sarong makes on his mother’s right hip. The
youngsters look too large a burden for such delicate,
slender mothers.
Over a little brown stucco house I read “Blancherie.”
It is the Chinese laundry, doing a rushing business
for les Americanes. All over the town the Chinese
families are doing laundry.
Suddenly I hear a shrill squeak of a 1920 horn of
rubber, operated by hand. One of the priests of the
Cathedral is blowing for my attention. I hop into his
ancient Renault and he takes me to the Sisters who
run the Ecole Libre. There Sister Joseph, who speaks
English, is most charming. She tells me that she
would be delighted to have some fruit and sugar for
her poor. I promise to have some brought back tomorrow. School is out for the summer, she informs me.
Summer here is winter. Back home the folks are slipping along on icy sidewalks, boys are playing hockey,
girls are trying to make figure eights and the first-timers are assuming horizontal positions. Here coconuts
are ripening overhead on tall trees about as high as
telegraph poles back home, with fronds only at the top
of them. Flamboyant trees, spreading foliage about
20 feet high, are in full bloom with their gorgeous red
blossoms. How my mother would love to have one of
them on the lawn. The Sister takes me through the
school where the desks are now empty. On the walls
are the maps, all in French. Sister is amazed when she
learns that we were in Africa recently. I leave her and
promise to surprise her in the morning.
Back through the town to the temporary dock. The
native men are dressed in shorts, blue and multicolored shirts, red for the most part. Their hair is
thick and jet black, except for the top, where they
have dyed it with peroxide! Queer combination,
reddish yellow and black. These are the men only.
I decide that I will surprise the Sisters this afternoon. So back to the ship immediately. Chief Bonnette, Chief Commissary Steward, gives me three
100 pound bags of sugar, the same of rice, and three
big boxes of apples and of oranges. Back to the town
where the Marines again give me a lift to the Convent. The eyes of Sister Joseph almost popped out
when she saw the load of food. The men carried it
in. The Sister rang the house bell and all the Sisters
then and there ate an apple. They hadn’t had one
for two years. No importation from New Zealand for
that length of time. Their eyes sparkled with evident
pleasure at the goodness of Providence, to which
82 The Sisters of St. Joseph of Cluny are a worldwide missionary order founded in France in the early 19th Century and focused on charitable
work and education.
65 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�they attributed their windfall. Sister Joseph wanted
to know if I had stolen them, to which I said: “Yes,
of course, Sister, every Chaplain is an honest thief.”
French wine and insisted that I take two glasses;
the homemade cookies that accompanied them
were delicious.
“Maman,” the Superior, was as overjoyed as the rest
of them with the foodstuffs and she insisted that
I take some of the handiwork of the nuns to my
Maman, some delicately embroidered table cloths
and doilies. I was delighted with them and shipped
them home immediately upon my arrival back on
the ship. I wonder when she will get them.
In the afternoon I leave them to wander around the
town. To the Cathedral for Stations of the Cross for
my father. There I meet Chief Callahan of the USS
John Penn, who ran the Rosary for his men on his
ship while we were on the way down south on our
cruise. They did miss the priest, he said, and he felt
that something should be done to signalize Sunday
from the other days of the week. We have a pleasant
reunion. Also meet Fr. [Ozias B.] Cook, Chaplain on
the Saratoga. His parish is a large one; 3200 men
aboard her. She is lying off us, still a magnificent
fighting ship, although the Japs have reported that
83
they sank her.
In the center of the town of Noumea is the Place des
Cocotiers, a long rectangular shaped park. The lower
portion of the park comprises a small botanical garden
surrounding the statue of Governor [Jean-Baptiste]
d’Olry, famed for his pacification of the natives after
the 1878 revolt. Place des Cocotiers is a misnomer because the only coconut trees are a few planted around
the edges. Most of the trees are the wide spreading
flamboyants. The winter, their flowering season, has
transformed the whole place into one blazing mass of
color with their broad crimson flowers.
Two American soldiers pass by, one asking the other,
“What does ‘merci beaucoup’ mean?” Other laughingly replies, “Thanks a million.”
Wednesday, January 20, 1943
Back to the Convent again in the morning; this
time with another box of apples and one of oranges.
Again the house bell rings and the eighteen nuns
flock around me for an orange personally distributed. What surprises them is that they are still cold.
They had just come out of the refrigerator on the
ship and moisture was still condensing on them.
This time Sister Joseph gives me an alb that I sorely
needed for my altar equipment.
I forgot to mention that on each of my visits,
Sister Joseph brought out the very best bottle of
At the corner of the Rue de la Somme and Auvergne
is a garage where a couple of men are repairing a
car. Standing against the wall are two bicycles. On
my inquiring about the chance of hiring one of
them for the afternoon, I obtain the permission,
providing that I sign a promise to meet all expenses
for “destruction,” spoken in melodious French. Off
I wheel on my latest 1925 model. Suddenly three
pedestrians loom up on my port bow. I yell at them
to watch where they are going. When Commander
McRae, Communications Officer, Lt. Oliver, one
of our doctors, and Ensign Eccleston saw me they
shouted, “Where did you dig that out?”
I bike here, there and everywhere all over the town.
Somebody identified a brown stone group of buildings as a leper colony so I investigate. It turns out
that it was the town prison. Right next to it, sailors
and Construction Battalion men are putting up
Quonset huts. One of them informs me that here
will be the location of the COMSOPAC, Commander
of the South Pacific Headquarters.
83 One of three American aircraft carriers in the Pacific Theater, the Saratoga was twice torpedoed by the Japanese but never sunk. The fog of
war knows no boundaries, and as Foley notes, the Japanese did report that they had sunk her in the Battle of the Coral Sea in May 1942,
but they had in fact sunk a sister ship the Lexington. The Saratoga served out the war and was finally sunk in an atomic bomb test in July
1946. She presently serves as a recreational diving site off Bikini Atoll.
66 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�Down a twisty, little street to a corner where a small
house is being built. The cement is being shovelled
into empty gasoline cans and is carried shoulder high
by hod carriers, Melanesians in shorts, as usual. Two
of my CB’s come along, laugh at my bike and stand
to watch the operation. One of them tells me that he
once read the biography of one of the gas cans. It had
travelled all over the world serving every conceivable
purpose and some purposes that were beyond the
fondest imaginings of the manufacturers. As he put
it himself, “I have seen them used for everything
from kitchen utensils to baby carriages.”
I climb up a little side street with its picturesque onestory houses. One catches my eye particularly. It has
two wooden cones at either end. In the middle is a
door. Inside an elderly maman with snow white hair
is reading with absorbing attention a letter, perhaps
from the home country. By her is a little table with her
basket of handiwork and at her feet is the dog sound
asleep. The house is painted a warm brown and looks
like what it is, a home with a mother presiding over it.
The next street brings me to a hospital where some
of our Guadalcanal veterans are recovering from
their wounds and some of the non-wounded are enjoying their leaves. They stay on the island for three
months and then get about three weeks liberty before
they go back to battle the Japs.
8000 miles for the 35th CB Battalion. Giant cement
mixers, cranes, tractors, bulldozers, scrapers, rooters,
all of which will be put to work shortly building airports, warehouses, etc. This place is now an advanced
base, the nearest jumping off place for the Solomons,
about 800 miles from Australia and 1150 from the
Solomons.
On the little fishing boats in the harbor, as we make
our way back to the ship, only five minutes from
shore, we see what is now familiar, the Cross of Lorraine and the Free French Flag of De Gaulle. The
Cross of Lorraine is a double one, blue on a white
field. The Free French Flag has a blue, white and red
pattern, same as the regular French flag, but for its
arrangement, which consists of three simple perpendicular blue, white and red squares. This flag starts
with blue, has a white diamond and a red ending.
Upon my return to the ship this afternoon I meet
the Chaplain of the USS Montpelier, Mr. Leonard
Dodson [a minister in the Church of the Nazarene],
originally from Plymouth. He invites me to conduct
services aboard his ship. I leave with him, hear confessions from 7:20 p.m. to 9:20 p.m., then cross the
gangplank to the USS Chicago, another cruiser tied
up to the Montpelier. I finish hearing confessions at
10:40 p.m. and start back for the Clymer.
Thursday, January 21,1943
At the Convent where I dropped in before going back
to the ship, I met one of the nuns who escaped from
the Japs in the Solomons. She, 28, and a companion
65 years-old fled 35 miles over the mountain passages before they made contact with the Americans. The
Japs killed two Sisters and two priests, one a Frenchman, the other Fr. Duhamel, because they refused to
84
give information to their captors.
Back to the beach where I see on the street approaching it the massive equipment that we have carried
Up at 0430. Start at 0500 for the USS Montpelier
where I am to say Mass at 0600. Fr. MacDonald,
still aboard, will say Mass for my men. Aboard the
Montpelier I praise the men for their splendid turnout for Mass and Communion. Learn at breakfast
from the senior aviation officer the circumstances
of the death of Ensign Thompson, the pilot killed
in the plane crash. Plane didn’t get sufficient impetus from the catapult. When the two depth charges
exploded, he was killed instantly. Radioman was
not open in the cockpit as he was, but enclosed in
84 Japanese treatment of Catholic clergy in the Solomon Islands was particularly brutal. Arthur Duhamel, a Marist priest from Massachusetts,
was executed at a mission station on Guadalcanal on September 3, 1942 along with a Dutch priest—to give Foley his due, the man’s name
could be read as French—and two European nuns. They’d been accused of communicating with the Allies.
67 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�85
pliofilm. When he recovered consciousness, he
was upside down in the water in the plane. Smashed
fist through the pliofilm, freed himself from the seat
to which he was strapped, recovered the body of the
pilot, clung to a piece of debris until boat from his
ship rescued him.
strap for my watch right on the spot. Stepping into
his shop you actually caught the smell of the cattle,
the leather is so fresh.
Men from the USS Chicago also at Mass. Their ship
has been through three major battles: Midway, Coral
Sea and Guadalcanal. Has suffered only one hit in
86
which four men were killed.
Fr. MacDonald leaves me so once again I am a pastor
without a curate. He was a tremendous help to me,
both hearing confessions and interviewing men.
They liked him exceptionally well, which augurs well
for his 37th CB Battalion and their relations with
him. He should make an excellent Chaplain for them
in their camp six miles back of Noumea in the hills.
1000 – Back
Friday, January 22, 1943
to the Clymer, then ashore where I
meet, above all people, Fr. Dan Meehan, whom I last
saw at Camp Allen in Norfolk last June. He is with
the 19th Construction Battalion. Out to his camp
four miles from Noumea in his jeep. Dinner with
his officers, a most hospitable group. Shows me his
quarters; tent with concrete floor. Cot has mosquito
netting to protect him from nature’s dive bombers
who do their work under cover of darkness.
Met Fr. Molloy, Army Chaplain in town where his
unit is quartered in one of the parks. Am highly
amused at the sign the Massachusetts boys have
placed outside a head, “Boylston and Tremont Sts.”
Fortunately our boys have their sense of humor even
10,000 miles away from home. A barbershop owns
the unique name of Scuttlebutt Center, Scuttlebutt
being the Navy name for idle rumor. “Scuttlebutt
says” is something we are hearing all the time when
we are underway and know not our destination.
Walking back to our miniature dock where our boats
are ferrying the cargo to be trucked away by the
CB’s, I almost bump into a black native Melanesian
who is wearing a triangular fern on his head. He is
a magnificent physical specimen, is dressed in blue
shorts and a dark blue shirt. I met him just as I left
the shop of a saddle maker who made me a leather
We finish discharging our cargo and get underway,
nose our way around the little hills bathing their feet in
the sea, turn hard to starboard where we tie up alongside the tanker Gulfport for fueling. We lie to all night.
Mr. McRae, Communications Officer, informs me
that I may have a chance to see Ed at Guadalcanal, for
that is where we are eventually going. First we head
for Viti Levu, one of the Fiji Islands, then back north
to Guadalcanal. However, we may stay there only during the daylight for submarines make life miserable
at night for ships there.
We take aboard hundreds of sacks of mail for Suva,
the port of Viti Levu and for Guadalcanal. Their
Christmas mail is just catching up with the boys.
Saturday, January 23, 1943
87
Underway again, for Suva 850 miles away. We
go out unescorted; will make run for it alone since
we are a fairly fast ship, 18 knots, and these waters
are not too dangerous; safer, surprising to say, than
outside Norfolk or Boston Harbor.
Men are cleaning up the ship after the unloading.
The dry cement powder left the boats, holds and the
85 A transparent, plastic membrane used for waterproofing.
86 The Chicago, a heavy cruiser, was torpedoed and sunk by Japanese aircraft eight days later, on January 30, 1943, in the Battle of Rennel
Island, part of the Guadalcanal Campaign. More than 1,000 personnel were rescued. Sixty-nine were killed. Foley refers to the ship’s fate
later in the diary.
87 A harbor city on Viti Levu, the largest of the Fiji Islands.
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�decks in a sorry condition, but our men turn to it
with a will and scour and scrub all day.
Evening sunset in the South Seas. Sky is liquid gold
as the sun gives us her parting benediction of the
day. Clouds are on fire with her glory. Nature is lavish
with her masterpieces down here. Last night we saw
a tropical moonrise. Again a full moon. We have seen
the moon full at sea for the last four months; the October Harvest Moon on the way to Africa, the November Hunter’s Moon on the return trip, the December
on our cruise down here, just outside of the Panama
Canal, Pacific side, and now moonrise over the Dumbea Mountains, our anchorage last night. Through a
cleft in the mountains she slowly raises her head in
full blown beauty.
Off to our portside red lights top the masts of 20 odd
ships that are riding at anchor, men o’ war, combat
transports like our own and ferry transports, tankers
and minesweepers. On the top of one of the mountains a searchlight is chattering away unceasingly to
one of the ships on the other side of us. The night
is filled with silence. The moon is riding in and out
through the clouds. Mr. Townsend by my side remarks that the mountains are as beautiful in the half
shadow as in the full moon. We stand on the bridge
deck aft, drinking in the quiet beauty of it all. Suddenly at 8:30 p.m. General Quarters and we rush to
our battle stations. Alarm over in half an hour.
Sunday, January 24, 1943
Up at 0410. Is that early! Once again we are at sea
taking all possible protection against anything that
might be bent on our destruction. While in port we
enjoy a sound night’s sleep without making any provisions for going over the side at night. Now that we
are underway again we are back in our old routine.
“That thought” is always in the back of the mind,
“It may happen at any time, so be prepared.”
0510 – I have my first Mass on the Upper Deck Aft
when dawn has grown bright and the best hour for
submarines has passed and the worst hour for us.
A dozen men receive Holy Communion. My parish
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is reduced to normal numbers, for we have disembarked all our passengers. Shortly we expect to take
more aboard.
0900 – Second Mass, which I offer for my family
that God will continue to bless us all and bring us
safely and shortly home again. By the way, as yet
no mail from home. Not to be surprised at this, as
I write to my mother, for our ship did a lot of travelling since last December 17, 1942, and mail will
have a devil of a time catching up with us.
Today “Up Rugs.” The deep cushiony grey rug on
my deck goes the way of all rugs on our ship. She
is taken up and stored away against a better day, for
we must cut down the fire hazard. When we are hit
(How optimistic!), there will be less to burn.
1000 – General Service. Protestant boys are most
attentive listeners to the sermon on the leper and
the Centurion, the Gospel for the third Sunday after
Epiphany. They get the same sermon today that the
Catholic men got and they seem to like it.
We have aboard with us Captain Shull and Sgt.
Snyder, Marines attached to the Quartermasters’
Division; both splendid young fellows. Shull attends
General Service and Snyder Catholic.
Monday, January 25, 1943
0445 – General Quarters. We are old hands now at
getting up an hour before dawn but we never get
used to it. Mass as usual and then breakfast when
the chimes sound at 0700.
Ship seems very quiet during this 850 mile run
for we have no passengers on board. We will start
picking them up when we reach port at Suva on Viti
Levu. A week ago we ran south of it on the way
to Noumea.
What about the weather these days! One beautiful day follows another. Only once in the past four
weeks have we had a bad day. It is glorious summer
weather; temperature a comfortable 80 degrees.
�At Noumea I bought some of the latest magazines.
January 20 was the day I purchased the October 17,
1942 issue of the English Sphere, an illustrated
weekly of a type far superior to Life. This one carries
excellent book reviews and articles on the current
stage. One book review was [titled] a “Word in
Your Ear,” an anthology [of word histories] by Ivor
88
Brown. The following struck me for its original
turn of expression in the review. “At least it will
never be able to be said of him that a weary reader
might be found gathering wild adverbs on the northwest slopes of his Sunday article.” Never before
came across such an original metaphor. The advertising section for hotels in the country is most decorous.
In order to have an ad appear, you must write a letter
89
to Ashley Courtenay. Upon his endorsement your
ad breaks into print. This one really captured my
fancy. “clematis cottage hotel, Washington,
Nr. Worthing. A haven of content and character for a
weekend or longer in the fold of the Sussex Downs.
Noted for the discerning people who repeatedly stay
here. Inclusive terms 4–41/2 guns.” (guineas)
At 2:30 p.m. up to the flying bridge, sight wild
mountains covered with dense, green growth;
apparently uninhabited. Down this way as in New
Caledonia, the world still wears the fresh look of
the morning of creation.
I try out new hand range finder on Gun Group #8.
It is like a woman’s hand mirror with an open circle
in the center across which run two perpendicular
hairs. On the face is a gadget like the dial on a circular radio front. It can be manipulated all around.
Numbers 45, 60, 90, etc. are the wing spread of the
plane, on the same face. Get the spread, twist the
hairs and you have the exact distance of the planes.
On the face also are the readings Zero, Focke, Wolf,
Messerschmitt, Junkers, Savioa; all the enemy planes
set according to their relative size.
3:30 P.M. – “Station all special sea details.” We are
supposed to dock at 5 o’clock; looks as though we
90
are a bit ahead of schedule.
4:00 p.m. – We steam through the end of the Kan-
Two o’clock we begin to sight high mountains on
both sides of us. We are entering the Bay, passing
through Kandavu Passage.
Planes circling overhead on patrol reassure us on
our lone wolf trip. Hear one rush by at deck level.
Out to see it but has come and gone. Chief Bonnette
sitting out on the deck, man in charge of crew’s
mess, enjoying his rest smoking a cigar, shoes off.
Say to him safer than we would be outside Norfolk.
His reply, speaking English as quickly as he does his
native French, “No, no, no, no, Father. Here’s where
the Jap boys take inventory. No patrol ships around,
they pick what they want.” The Chief has been 24
years in the Navy. His ship, the Utah, was put under
in 11 minutes at Pearl Harbor on that fateful December 7, 13 months ago.
91
davu Passage. Tremendous island mountains on
both sides of us, clad in dense foliage. On starboard
side is the Matuku Range, one peak after another.
One sunburst in particular catches Suva in the distance. If it is half as beautiful as it appears to be, it
will be well worth a stay at shore. Snow-white business houses, white stucco residential sections with
red and green tiled roofs, all brilliantly alive in the
afternoon sun and set against a deep green background make a fit subject for an artist’s brush.
4:10 p.m. – We take the English pilot aboard, a Naval
Lt. dressed in tropical naval uniform, British, white
sport shirt and white shorts, white long stockings,
shoes to match. He just exudes coolness. We follow the tortuous path through the minefield, being
saluted en route by two scout planes from the local
88 Brown was a prolific anti-modernist British journalist and critic.
89 Courtenay was a noted hotel reviewer whose name later appeared on a series of popular travel guides to haute Great Britain. Foley, who as
a Jesuit had taken a degree in classics at Oxford, was something of an Anglophile.
90 Special sea details are manned when a ship is entering or leaving port.
91 The passage runs through the Fiji Islands.
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�base, who scream at us at deck height and wave
a greeting.
4:30 p.m. – We are closer and are struck by the lovely
fresh beauty of the place. It is set directly on Suva
92
Bay with the South Seas sunset playing upon it.
5:30 p.m. – We moor to the dock. Note that even here
camouflage is in order to mislead any Jap raiders.
Preparations are made to take on cargo and passengers immediately, with plans noised about that we
are getting underway two days from now.
Tuesday, January 26, 1943
I go ashore on this island of the Fijis “where winter
never comes.” Note the lush tropical growth everywhere. Traffic cop in color is one for the candid camera fiend. He is dressed in a blue jacket with a red
belt and white skirt, scalloped at the knees. His hair
is a thick mop of black that is almost another head.
The creek I immediately cross is the Numbukalou.
The street to the right leads down to the main shopping center. On the right is the “All Nations Street.”
I meander down that one. Here are the fish and fruit
markets, shops run by enterprising Chinese, Indian
barbers, shoemakers and the ubiquitous Bombay
tailor. It is a polyglot collection. On the streets are
the natives, Fijians, the women dressed in long
dresses, reaching down to their ankles, in colors of
red, green and black, yet nothing garish about them.
Though they are black in complexion, they have no
Negroid features.
The women are distinctly beautiful and the men
are fine physical specimens, dressed in brown
shorts and shirts. Both have the outsize head of
hair. Mixed among them are the women from India,
dark complexioned with the most delicate features.
Two that come along must be the child brides I have
read about in the tales of the missionaries. They
cannot be a day over fourteen, yet are mothering
little youngsters obviously their own. Suddenly two
Fijian boys of ten dash in and out of the shoppers,
one trying to catch the other; white, black or brown,
boys are the same the world over. Both incidentally
are barefoot, like all the Fijians, while the Indian
women are sandaled. The dress of the latter are long
flowing gowns of beautiful colors, pink and white.
Two sweep by that are really striking. They are dark,
very dark complexion and are robed in snow white
from their headpiece to their sandals.
I step into one of the shops staffed by Indians to
purchase something for my mother and sisters. Hope
they will like them when they receive them. It will
probably be months but they will get them eventually, before New Year’s Day, 1944. Some tortoise shell
souvenirs, a necklace and a pillow slip.
An Indian lady strolls by with an earring placed
in her right nostril. This is quite common among
them. Some of them also have earrings, even the
men. A black priest walks by on the other side of
the street. I make bold to chase after him, identify
myself, and the tie that binds all priests together
the wide world over breaks down all formality and
he tells me about his mission in the hills. Fr. Julian
Owanga is his name. I part from him to run into
Brother Patrick, a Marist Brother teaching in the
school they run here.
In another shop I buy a hand-painted scene with a
piece of bark from the Baka tree used for canvas.
The young Indian boy speaks fairly good English.
He informs me that he is 15 years old and goes to
school still, but this is summer here. I ask him what
school. The answer is still vague. Finally he makes
himself perfectly clear. These people, his teachers
“teach for Jesus Christ.” He has summed up the
entire life of a Catholic lay person, Sister, Brother
and Priest perfectly.
To the Church, a beautiful Cathedral, with a lovely
life-sized statue of the Sacred Heart, hands outstretched in welcome looking down from the main
entrance. It is built of brown sandstone, is cruciform,
92 Suva, on the island of Viti Levu, was the capital of Fiji, itself a British colony.
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�with an altar to Our Lady on the Gospel side of the
High Altar and another on the left which remains
unidentified. Still in front of it is the Christmas crib
with massive life-sized Wise Men and 11 other figures
also. On the walls are the Stations of the Cross. Again
I say them for my father. One strikes me particularly, “Our Lord Is Stripped of His Garments.” In it,
one of the Roman soldiers is leaning against a post,
legs crossed, utterly indifferent to the tragedy being
enacted. To him Christ was just another Jew to be
executed. “Part of the day’s routine in this forgotten
hole of creation,” as he might have said.
Notice a nun in the first row. When she finishes
her prayers, I introduce myself. We go over to the
Mother who, unlike the first nun, is straight from
Ireland; the first one is from England. She is outnumbered, for of the four, three are from the Emerald
Isle. Then in comes Father [Robert] Foley, Marist like
the Sisters, and we sit and talk for an hour. One of the
Sisters gives me some seeds for my mother. Hope
they get to her in good condition.
Walk along out of town up a long hilly street. One
lawn is fringed with long palms of banana trees,
with the stalks growing in a way that appears to
me to be upside down. Right alongside of them are
the marigold flowers at home in Fiji as well as in
the garden back home. What of the weather? Tropical showers are the rule, not the exception. People
don’t, however, wear raincoats or carry umbrellas
because the clouds empty their cargo in four or five
minutes, the sun comes out and everything is dried
out in short order.
The tanker forward of us shoves off and anchors out
in the stream to allow a British passenger liner to
berth. She is evidently a luxury liner converted to a
transport. Is she? Not at all. In her case appearances
are amazingly deceitful. As she slowly steams by us,
we note on her promenade deck three huge six inch
guns swung inboard parallel with the lines of the
ship. She has the same on her other, the starboard
side, and, in addition, two three inch forward and
aft. She is a raider, powerfully equipped and could
wreak havoc on a Jap or German ship that would
take her for what she appears to be from a distance.
No doubt there is the same chattering going on
alongside of her as there was alongside of us when
we docked. The natives shout out “Boula,” whatever
that means. “Hello?” They will put on board her oil
drums as they did aboard us. They roll them down
the length of the dock, pushing them with their bare
feet. They come alongside of the hatch where they
93
are hoisted aboard.
Wednesday, January 27, 1943
We are supposed to be underway today, but remain
at anchor all day. Word comes of intense enemy
activity where we are going so we ride idly in Suva
Bay about a mile off shore. Meanwhile the USS
Buchanan steams in and drops her hook. She will
be our escort on the trip north to Espiritu Santo and
then Guadalcanal? We shall see. The Buchanan has
done her damage out here. She has painted along
her bridge shield one plane with five Jap flags alongside of it. The Radar Shack high up over the bridge
has a destroyer with a Jap flag alongside of it. One of
the torpedo tubes amidships indicated by her little
cruiser and flag that one fish found its home in a
Jap cruiser that she came upon sound asleep. Three
torpedoes were fired into her and she went down in
three minutes.
Today is feast of St. John Chrysostom. Sixteen years
ago tonight I was delivering a Latin sermon, praising him in the refectory at Shadowbrook at the
94
evening meal. This evening I am aboard a fighting
ship of the United States Navy, a combat transport
anchored one mile off the biggest of the Fiji Islands
in the South Seas. “Tempora mutantur et nos mu-
93 Boula is a Fijian greeting meaning “life” and implying a wish for good health.
94 Celebrated for his eloquence, John Chrysostom (c. 347 – 407) was an early church father and archbishop of Constantinople. Shadowbrook
was a Jesuit novitiate in Lenox, Massachusetts, founded in 1922. A decline in the number of Jesuit aspirants forced its closure in 1970.
72 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�tamur in illis.” The Latin poet was right; times do
95
change and we change with them.
the first. These Army boys hate their canned rations.
Confessions this evening for soldiers.
We get underway at 0900 this morning with a load
of soldiers bound for Espiritu Santo, an island north
of New Caledonia, the stop before Guadalcanal.
In code we are on our way to “Button” first, then
to “Cactus.” There I hope to see Ed. We leave the
tropical showers behind us. Forgot to mention that,
when I went ashore at Suva, during two hours of the
morning from about 10 to 12 o’clock there were five
showers. The people ashore simply waited under the
roofs extending out from the houses and stores to
the curbstones and then went about their business,
with the longest shower lasting about four minutes,
the shortest two. There might be clear sky overhead,
yet suddenly a downpour would break with the rain
clouds miles away in the sky.
Saturday, January 30, 1943
0430 – Up at this unearthly hour again for General
Quarters. Dawn comes early in this part of the world.
0515 – We pass through Selwyn Straits, with Pentecost Island on our starboard and Abrim on our port
side. Passage is about two miles wide with mountains rising up sheer on both sides. Are heavily
wooded; no signs of life except on starboard mountain. A modern house with red-tiled roof and white
stucco front all by its lonesome down on the shore.
Perhaps in it lives somebody who wanted to get way
from it all. Not satisfied with the South Seas alone,
he even picked himself a deserted island.
0815 – We suddenly answer an alarm for General
Our escort, the USS Buchanan, is ahead of us kicking up a tremendous wake as she cruises back and
forth across our bow. We are doing 16 knots, about
101/2 land miles, while the Buchanan is doing about
25 knots, in land miles about 29. Looking down
from the flying bridge to the bridge I note that on
the splinter shield protecting the bridge is written in
chalk the following: “Course T 202; Course T 201;
Convoy Speed 16; Present RPM 74 (Revolutions of
[propellers] per minute); Zigzag Plan #38.” Heading out to sea we have a lovely summer day, for it is
always summer here in Fiji.
Friday, January 29, 1943
0430 – Up for General Quarters again.
We forge ahead making excellent speed on our own,
like this is not part of a convoy. Soldiers are playing
cards, sleeping on the decks, developing their suntans. As we go down a starboard ladder, strong odor
of bacon. One soldier yells out to another, “Smell
that rasher of bacon!” Other replies, “The kind that
mother used to cook.” “Almost” was the rejoinder of
Quarters. Sub reported in the channel. This is one
of the places where, according to Chief Commissary
Steward Bonnette, the “Jap subs take inventory.”
After half an hour we are secured from General
Quarters. One depth charge dropped overboard to
keep Hirohito’s boys down.
We proceed slowly up the mined channel, using
extreme care. As we pass between two marked buoys,
we are told that here is where the USS President
Coolidge, one of our biggest ferry transports, went
down last month. She struck one of our own mines,
swung around and hit another. An attempt was made
to beach her. She headed for shore, came to rest on
a ledge, later slid off and went to her death. Coolidge
lost only four soldiers. She was within 100 yards of
96
shore, but all equipment went down.
Air is filled with odor of what seems to be pine trees.
Reminds me of Lexington Park [in Somerville, Massachusetts], where our parents used to take us when
we were small. Man after man of us fills his lungs
with the pungent sweet smell.
95 Foley attributes the line to Ovid, as was believed at the time; but it is now said to be a 16th century German invention.
96 The Navy records two deaths; 5,440 Army troops were on board the former luxury liner.
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�Make out large plantations on the shore, row upon
row of tall, palm-crested trees about as high as a
telegraph pole. Civilian standing near me, Mr. Beveridge, informs me that they are coconut trees. In
the distance, tops of mountains on every side of us
wearing lovely blue color that deepens into purple as
they fall away to the horizon. Again we see the sandy
shore of the channel, the greenest of green water and
the whitest of white sand. Channel is lined with long
stretches of sand that are never stepped on by human
feet. What crowded beaches they would be at home!
Off in the distance off our port bow is a mountain that
has a cloud spiraling up. Has appearance of a volcano
sending up lazy white steam. Plane suddenly roars by
at deck height, dips its starboard wings in salute, so
close to us that we can see the pilot and his radioman
smiling as they wave.
We maneuver through the minefield, pass through
the anti-sub nets, make a turn to port and suddenly
find that we are in the presence of 32 other ships of
all descriptions; cruisers, minesweepers, destroyer
tender with three of her children tied to her apron;
British cruiser Achilles that helped us put Graf
97
Spee under off east coast of South America. There
are cargo ships and ferry transports and fighting
transports like our own. On either side of the channel that runs between the two islands slowly rises
a line of mountains, either densely clothed with
tropical growth or neatly laid out in square patterns
of coconut trees. Suddenly down the sloping side
of the mountain off our starboard, a seaplane is
coasting as she comes down to make a landing on
the water, then a little lower, and the first spray flies
from under the gentle touch of her under carriage.
Pontoons, another white plume, another, another,
until she has landed; another scouter back
home safely.
This island right here is bombed regularly, about
every two or three nights by Joe Lone Wolf, but he
does little damage, being able to see nothing in the
black darkness. His objective is the airport just over
the brow of the mountains. Meanwhile we see scores
of seaplanes riding at anchor. They are spaced about
100 yards apart and line the starboard bank. Training the glasses of the sky lookout in Gun Group #2,
I espy a nest of six small bomber seaplanes hiding in
a coconut grove. A mile downstream there is another
group; this time about ten of them. Meanwhile there
are a number of them up in the air, patrolling their
regular stations, high in the skies.
Peace and war are sharply contrasted by the sight of
cows grazing unconcernedly in between the wings of
the planes parked in the groves.
There is no sign of habitation except an occasional
little house of white with a red-tiled roof. In the
distance we can make out a cluster of about six of
them, with a lovely little church painted white with
red piping. Nearby are two long buildings with Red
Crosses on them, indication of Hospital. The Church
is Catholic and has a statue directly in front of it.
Shortly after passing the island, we drop anchor just
before the channel as this end opens out to the sea
again. Alongside, the cruiser Minneapolis shows her
scars after a recent brush with the enemy. Her bow
is patched up. Sun is boiling hot. A ten minute session with it is a big dose, as some found out to their
sorrow when big blisters formed on their backs. We
lay to the rest of the day. I read some of the Office,
then submit the schedule of services for tomorrow
to the Executive Officer.
Sunday, January 31, 1943
Espiritu Santo.
0500 – Deep throated roar of seaplanes taking off
on dawn patrol wakes me up. One after another they
soar off to the horizon on their scouting mission.
97 The Admiral Graf Spee, a German battleship, was deployed to the South Atlantic to attack merchant ships believed to be carrying material from South America to Great Britain. In December 1939, following a celebrated naval battle with British forces in which she was
severely damaged, she was scuttled by her captain off the coast of Uruguay.
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�0600 – Reveille. First Mass 15 minutes later
with practically all of the thirty men going to
Holy Communion. The soldiers are grateful for
the opportunity for they have no Catholic Chaplain.
0900 – Another Mass at which attendance
is excellent.
1000 – Chaplain
Goodhand, Chaplain with the
troops, conducts church service on the boat deck
forward for non-Catholics. Weather frightfully
warm, sun beating down upon us in full force.
I ask the Executive Officer for permission for the men
to have a swimming party. Off we go at one o’clock
up the channel about a mile, where a river flows
into it. We, 100 of us in three boats, go up about
200 yards till we hit a pontoon bridge erected by the
CB’s; there we disembarked, hopping out of the
way of Army and Marine trucks rumbling over the
bridge. A quick rush up an embankment to a grove
and through it for a couple of minutes and off a 10
foot diving platform into the cooling fresh water of
this swift river, about 100 yards wide. Somebody has
rigged a long rope to the limb of a tree, put a stick
about a foot long through the end of it. We stand on
the top of the platform, about 25 feet high, especially
built for this game. Grab the rope as it swings back
from the man ahead of you and then out and up,
sailing with the greatest of ease until you let go and
then drop about 30 feet. That swing is kept busy all
afternoon. Down about 25 yards is one that is really
a breath-taker. You climb a tree to grab that rope,
swing out over the bank which is about 20 feet over
the water, then at the end of the long arc, let go and
drop 50 feet. It is too much for some of our boys;
they swing way out and hold on until they swing
back again. I, too, am content with the one of moderate height.
I have my first sight of the natives; half a dozen men
or boys. It is hard to tell their ages for they are all
coal black and wear only loin cloths. They are sitting in a group watching the American sailors enjoy
themselves. There are men from other ships as well
as ours. One boy sailor, as he steps out for his swing
over the water just ahead of me, sings out, “This is
the life, January 30, swimming in the old river. We
didn’t do this in New York.”
The water is a light blue color, lined with thick tropical
vegetation right down to the edge. We are swimming
in a clearance made for a coconut grove. Overhead
are the big trees loaded with their fruit, growing in
clusters of nine or so with about three clusters to a
tree. Right alongside a little bush on which I hang my
clothes is an old monarch of the forest whose trunk
goes into a fancy dance just before it disappears into
the ground. Instead of being round like the other
trees, this one spreads out into five legs, as it were,
about three feet high and very slender.
We swim about three hours, from one to four, and
then head back for the ship. Before leaving I pick up a
coconut, endeavor to open it, but fail. Its shell is hard.
Monday, February 1, 1943
0615 – Mass on Boat Deck Aft.
1630 – We
are underway for the most talked of place
in the South Pacific, Guadalcanal, and with us are
three other attack transports and four destroyers for
98
protection. We make our way, oh so cautiously,
through the minefield and the nets and once more
98 Guadalcanal, the largest island in the Solomon’s and 1300 miles northeast of Brisbane, Australia, was taken by the Japanese in July 1942 with the
aim of siting an airfield that would allow them to strike New Guinea, Australia, and eventually the American West Coast. The Battle of Guadalcanal, the first American offensive thrust in the Pacific, began with a Marine landing in August in which the Americans took the nearly completed
Japanese airfield and named it Henderson Field,. In the six months of battle on land and sea that followed, 24,000 Japanese and 1,600
Americans lost their lives in combat while thousands more died of tropical diseases. Several of the battles within the Guadalcanal campaign—such as the Naval engagements at Cape Esperance and Santa Cruz and the Marine Battle of Edson’s Ridge—soon entered military lore, and the Battle of Guadalcanal has itself been the subject of scores of books and movies, the first of which, journalist Richard
Tregaskis’s Guadalcanal Diary (see Foley’s February 3 entry), was published on January 1, 1943. The last Japanese troops withdrew from
the island on February 7, 1943.
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�we are on our own. Four cruisers steam by our starboard side, heading for the place we just left. One
sailor remarks, “Chaplain, they are going the wrong
way. We need those fellows.” Overhead planes are
flying about ceaselessly searching the waters below
for Jap subs. Our zigzag plan is #38 with turns that
are the sharpest that we have ever made. They are
99
almost complete right angles.
they are either in an intellectual coma, are ignorant
or are hypocrites. I am in the first class!! He has no
beliefs. He will die like a dog, i.e., no immortality of
the soul; blind extinction at death. No belief in God or
in Christ. “Schopenhauer,” he says, “was right. The
only thing for a man to do is to put a bullet through
his head.” Although only twenty-three years old, he is
a confirmed atheist and a cynic.
Underway about an hour when five destroyers, a
cruiser and an aircraft carrier loom up on the horizon
forward of us, again going in the opposite direction.
The carrier is the Saratoga which was reported sunk
100
only three days ago. She is still a good fighting ship,
without any scars of the battle in which she took part.
We are steaming directly for a big mountainous island
straight ahead. Over it and the other mountains that
line our sides are lazy white clouds; some big white
blankets, others just powder puffs. One sailor remarks
that he slept topside on one of them last night and
forgot to take his blanket in.
First letter from my mother arrived today, along with
Christmas cards. About twenty pieces of correspondence; mother’s letter was dated December 31, 1942.
Books from “Book of the Month Club” also arrived.
The first has a cover that contrasts sharply with our
present weather. It shows a cottage in the Maine
woods buried in snow. Here we are on our way to
Guadalcanal with the warm South Seas sun beating
down on us, the temperature being about 90. In the
“Book of the Month Club News” there is notice of a
book, “Light on the Jesuits in China,” telling of our attempts to form a link between the East and West. The
last sentence of the review reads, “The Chinese and
the Jesuits both have a reputation for mysterious and
devious ways; if you would like to know how
justified that theory is, you may well start your
investigation here.”
Uneventfully, the day grows old until 11 o’clock when
we have a sub alarm. “Tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet”
goes off over the public address system and every man
on the ship springs to his battle station. We are keyed
up for half an hour when we are “secured” as the Navy
calls “Dismissed”! I ask my room boy, Godwin, how he
would like meeting the Japs. He answered, “I wouldn’t
mind if we had some more battlewagons with us.”
In the evening a discussion with two Army Lieutenants on matters religious and otherwise. One has a
sophomoric mind, was a Catholic, lost his faith at
Union College, New York. We are both frank with
each other; the discussion runs for two hours. Four
others join in. An ex-Catholic is firmly convinced that
people who practice religion are one of three types;
Wednesday, February 3, 1943
0455 – General Quarters. Out on the deck in the
dark as usual, setting up my altar at the “Church of
the Anti-aircraft Battery.” I wonder how Lt. Welch,
who coined that title, is. I hope he is still of one
piece fighting now in Tunisia against the Germans.
Cerise sky at sunrise, never seen before by men
aboard. Cerise at sunset, yes, but not the first coloring at dawn.
99 These defensive maneuvers were a commonplace in Foley’s life at sea, and while the command of them lay outside the responsibilities
of chaplains, he had studied these procedures as he did many aspects of Navy life. Naval regulations prescribed zig-zagging as the
principal defensive measure to be undertaken by surface vessels in waters known to harbor enemy submarines. “The primary purpose,”
notes Naval War Instructions (1944) “is to reduce the accuracy of torpedo fire, rather than to evade the submarine, since evasion is not
feasible.” While promulgating guidelines as to speed, turning periodicity and turning angles to be employed under various conditions,
Instructions left final determination of such matters to the judgement of a ship’s senior officer.
100 See note 83.
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�Learn when rigging the altar that we have reversed
our direction. We are beating a hasty retreat right
back to where we came from, Espiritu Santo. Japanese task force was headed in our direction; 35 ships
reported ahead of us! We are going all out; ship just
quivering under the forced draft. We would have
been in Guadalcanal in two hours at eight o’clock.
Now the boys there and brother, Ed will have to wait
for the sorely needed replacements that we are carrying. Word came through last night at 8 o’clock that
a task force was headed in our direction. All other
forces headed for Guadalcanal like ours were told
to reverse direction. We received no word. For six
anxious hours, since no word came, we continued to
head right into the mouth of the big guns of the Jap
ships. Then at one o’clock this morning word finally
came through to us to turn back. Meanwhile two
of the destroyers leave us and go straight ahead to
join battle with the Japs in union with our other big
ships that are with them on their way to engage the
Japs. So Communications Officer McRae informs
me. He said that he was sick with anxiety last night
waiting for the big message to come through on
the radio. Air traffic was extremely heavy. Yet in the
coding room message after message was broken for
hours until the one came through.
Army Officer informs me that when he came on
deck and noticed that we were steaming south
again, since the sun was on our port instead of our
starboard side, he inquired of one of our Officers
if we were going in the right direction. The answer
was, “It’s the right direction for us in view of what
is ahead.”
After breakfast I thumb through the latest ”Book
of the Month Club News.” It tells us that one of the
books for next month is “Guadalcanal Diary”. In the
review I read that boys ask questions like the following: “Why was this spot chosen to send our men to, so
remote that the supply line seems impossibly long?”
“Why don’t reinforcements come?” “Why does it seem
easier for the Japs to get new forces than for us?”
We on our ship know why we couldn’t get in there
this morning, as we were scheduled. May God be
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with Ed and the rest of the boys during their hours
of isolation and apparent neglect. May their sore
trial be a short one. All morning we continue to
rip along, kicking up a tremendous fuss between
us as we endeavor to put mileage between us and
the Japs.
About two o’clock a plane, a dive bomber, is sighted
on the horizon off our starboard beam. What is she?
Has a carrier caught up with us through her flying eyes? Fortunately, it turns out to be one of our
own from Espiritu Santo. Shortly a large PBY patrol
bomber cruises leisurely by. Meanwhile the [dive]
bomber goes up high behind a big white pillow
of a cloud. He suddenly pierces through it, diving
straight down in a power dive at an incredible speed
of 400 miles per hour. Then climbs out of it perpendicular again, but this time straight up, he turns
over on his back, describes a loop, is once more on
an even keel and makes away to catch his breath.
This boy certainly handles his plane magnificently.
He is lost behind another cloud, rides through it,
straightens out and is away, after giving us a firsthand demonstration of what a dive bomber does in
actual operation. Now he knows, if he didn’t know
before, what his good ship will do, what strains she
will stand, how obedient she will be when the hour
of testing that means life or death comes.
.
One of the Army Officers remarks that he used to
think that the Air Corps were the glamour boys of
the fighting forces. He had his ideas changed radically one day at Fiji. He was at the airport when five
four-motored long distance bombers came in. They
had been on a long raid to the Solomons. The first
plane that came in had 111 bullet holes through her.
Her five crew members struggled out of their ship
and collapsed in a pile, completely exhausted. For
three hours off and on they and the other ships had
fought off one fighter attack after the other.
The Morning Press from the Radio Shack carries the
following paragraph radioed from Los Angeles. “Knox
and Nimitz and Halsey were under Jap air attack twice
within the past two weeks – first at Espiritu Santo, of
short duration, second of 7 hours duration at Guadal-
�canal.” “That’s us,” says one of the sailors. Just at this
101
moment we are between both of [the islands].
4:30 p.m. – Off on the horizon three squadrons of
bombers are winging their way north, no doubt bent
on giving aid to their brothers in arms on land and
sea on and off Guadalcanal.
7:30 p.m. – We drop anchor in Segond Channel,
where we were when we first arrived last Saturday.
We note on our way in that there is not a single
fighting ship in these waters. Only last Monday
when we were leaving there were at least twelve.
Then on the way out, four sleek light cruisers were
heading into port here; they didn’t remain long!
Over the radio comes the report: Big sea battle
being waged off Guadalcanal. Losses suffered by
both sides. All-out battle by Japs to retake “Cactus.”
Again may Our Lady and her Son and St. Joseph be
with Ed and his buddies in their hour of agony. Here
we swing with the rapid current of the stream while
102
they perhaps battle with the Jap reinforcements.
Yet here we must stay. If we ventured out, we would
be liabilities to our own fighting ships; besides
fighting the battle they would be endeavoring also
to protect us. God grant that the battle be decided in
our favor so that we may hurry to their assistance.
Then the report of a possible enemy offensive was
an accurate prediction that held us over for a day at
Suva, Fiji. Had we not stayed over, we should have
by this time been filed away in Davey Jones’ Locker.
Thursday, February 4, 1943
0600 – Reveille.
outcome is in our favor, we should shortly move north
again to Guadalcanal. If against us, then we will stay
here until the balance is adjusted in our favor.
After breakfast, go topside to the flying bridge to
read my Office. Skirting the shore on our starboard
side about a mile away are ten one-story shacks of
corrugated tin, white on the sides and red on the
roof. Between the fifth and sixth is a little lean-to
with Chinese writing over its entrance. Apparently
it is a shrine. Out of one of the houses comes a
Tonkinese woman with two gasoline tins straddled
across her shoulders. She makes her way to the
community well, dips down with the bucket three or
four times, balances her burden and goes back into
her house. From another shack a little Chinese tot,
about three or four, toddles out, dressed in a black
skirt and a multi-colored blouse. Behind the little
one is the mother, dressed also in a black skirt but
a white blouse. Both of them also make their way to
the community well.
These houses are only about twenty feet from the
river bank. Green lush grass grows right down to
the water’s edge. In back of the houses are orderly
coconut trees. Under them placidly chewing their
cud are half a dozen cows, utterly indifferent to the
ships anchored at their front door.
On deck below two of our soldier boys are scrapping.
One is trying to dust the head of the other with a floor
broom. Suddenly both of them are rolling on the
deck, trying to secure headlocks on each other. The
impromptu wrestling match in a twinkle gathers an
audience soon split into two camps that cheer along
the contenders. A referee steps in, umpires the match
and hoists the arm of the winner after five minutes.
0615 – Mass on Upper Deck Aft. At breakfast Radio
Press carries news from Washington that American
and Jap air and sea arms are locked in a major struggle for the control of the Solomons. That means that
we stay here at least until the issue is decided. If the
On the other side of the deck men are sleeping after
breakfast. They sleep everywhere; in the stern of the personnel boats, under them, flat on the deck, on top of the
fire hose locker, at the base of the 20 mm guns, on top
101 Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox had just paid a visit to Guadalcanal. Adm. Chester W. Nimitz, was commander of the Pacific Fleet.
Adm. William F. Halsey was commander of the South Pacific Fleet and had led Naval forces at Guadalcanal.
102 The Battle of Rennell Island (January 29-30) was the last naval engagement of the Guadalcanal campaign.
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�of the ammunition boxes, every conceivable place, some
of them positively defying the laws of gravity.
Alongside, moving slowly, maneuvers a native
canoe made out of tree bark, which is still green.
It should hold only two natives squeezed into the
bow and stern, but she carries two more who are
precariously balanced on a network of bamboo poles
criss-crossed over her middle. The starboard extension is about four feet out over the water with a little
pontoon to help keep the nervous craft on an even
keel, and the port extension is out about a foot; on
both sit the two extra passengers. In the canoe are
bananas and coconuts. Presently they are engaged
in bartering, dictating by pointing to a sailor’s white
undershirt that they want clothes in exchange for
their fruit. Vigorous shakes of the head turn down
the dollar bills sent down to them on the end of a
rope. They are swarthy, black, magnificently proportioned and ominous-looking until they smile. Soldiers
ashore told us that they are very friendly. Their barter
goods are the chief products of the island of Espiritu
Santo. They complete their business satisfactorily
and paddle away, while we wonder why they don’t
tip over when it seems that a deep breath would
dump them.
Friday, February 5, 1943
First Friday.
0430 – Reveille
0500 – Station all special details.
0615 – Mass of the Sacred Heart.
Read in an old Time magazine that Admiral Halsey,
the boss out here, throws everything, including the
kitchen stove when he goes into action against the
Japs. The officer who supplies him added that he
then comes back for more lids. Halsey is now engaging the enemy where we came from. As yet no word
beyond a noncommittal Washington Navy communiqué yesterday that a battle of major proportions is
being fought. So yesterday’s communiqué.
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Today’s – “An air of impending crisis hung over the
Pacific where there were indications that a great
and perhaps decisive American-Japanese sea battle
might be developing in the Solomon Area.” Another – “The Area is Guadalcanal.” So the morning
radio news. However, we get underway at 0530, so
that means we must have the upper hand. Otherwise we would not be making another attempt to
get through to Cactus, as Guadalcanal is known.
We figured when we reversed course in a hurry two
days ago that, if we were victorious in this sea battle,
we would be on our way again shortly. If our forces
were worsted, we would not return. We are underway! The vagueness of the report must be to mislead
the enemy.
Just before dinner at noon up to the flying bridge for
a little sun where I meet Mr. Beveridge, our civilian passenger bound for Guadalcanal where he has
spent the last five years of his life. Most interesting
life. Was a member of the Ninth Scottish Division
in the last war. Southern Highlanders, one of the
units of the “Ladies from Hell,” called that because
of their fierce fighting qualities and their kilts.
Quiet, soft-spoken man, of the type who has helped
England to rule in the far off places of the world for
these long years. Was a prisoner for a year during
the last war in Germany; found the common man
as sick of fighting as the common man of England
and France and Scotland and the States. Has greatest respect for Sisters and Priests who have given
their lives to converting and consequently civilizing
the natives, some of whom are less than a 100 years
away from cannibalism.
Three o’clock in the afternoon, heart skips a couple
of beats as word is passed down from the bridge
over the broadcasting system, through 50 odd outlets of the ship, “Stand by for enemy planes.” On the
way down to sick bay, my battle station, I can make
out on the horizon about three miles away, a big
plane off our starboard beam, headed straight for us.
“Is this it?” I ask myself. Go on down another deck,
adjusting my sturdy helmet and lifebelt. After two
minutes, roar of motors passes over us, no noise of
any kind, word is piped down: “Secure from General
�Quarters.” Plane was a big Patrol Bomber, Seversky
[Aircraft Company], returning from the north, the
direction in which we are headed. She was homing
for Espiritu Santo, New Hebrides. All breathe a sigh
of relief as we turn back to the tasks that were interrupted by the alarm. Then five minutes later another
alarm; same as before, same issue, another of our
PBY’s. Back again to packing my zipper bag that I
got three years ago Christmas from “All of Us” as
the card was signed, which meant the whole family. And now look where we are! Why pack the bag?
I am getting ready with some “Oh, Henry’s” and
cigarettes, etc. for Ed whom I hope to see day after
tomorrow at the end of our trip. I hear that we [will]
get up at one o’clock that morning of our arrival.
Gore, Mess Attendant, leaves $15.00 with me for
safekeeping. I ask him, “How do you like going to
Guadalcanal?” Reply:, “Can’t say that I do. But anything to help the boys there.”
One of the men comes in for a talk, is despondent
because in the letter from home, wife told him that
the baby had a bad case of whooping cough, is worried about the youngster. Moral: don’t tell boys news
like that, of minor importance, about which they can
do nothing but worry. Tell them about the dinner on
Sunday, who was there, what his friends are doing,
what the latest story is from the corner where he
used to stop for the bus for work in the morning.
Anything but the bad news.
Saturday, February 6, 1943
0500 – General Quarters.
they roll over into a white wake. Occasionally on
the bridge right over us, the port wing of it, Quartermaster sings out his bearings; 220 on the American
Legion, 220¼ on the American Legion, another ship
103
in our task force. Sun rises during Mass. After
Mass one of the men says that he will never forget
the beauty of the setting. Sun rising to pay tribute of
adoration to Our Lord also.
After breakfast men turn to have everything shipshape for unloading. Standing by the after hatch
#4 watching soldiers having boat drill, one of them
trips over cable, goes headlong. Roar of laughter
greets his plight; rises with a smile as one of his
buddies sings out, “What’s the matter? Got a case
of the Solomon shakes?”
Before seeing the Captain about permission to see
Ed ashore tomorrow, I whisper a prayer to Our Lady
that request will be granted. That after Executive
Officer first seen said the chances were very slight.
Captain most graciously granted permission. At the
same time, doesn’t want me left behind if we have
an attack from land, surface vessels, subs or planes.
Thank you, Our Lady. It is to you and your Son that I
owe this favor.
At table one of the Army Officers is Walter Cox of
Clemson, member of team, guard on eleven that
beat B.C. at the Cotton Bowl three years back. Splendid young man with highest of respect for our men
104
against whom he played.
Sunday, February 7, 1943
0300 – Mass in the Library.
0600 – Mass on the port side of the boat deck
forward with about 50 men attending. Site changed
from the usual location, Upper Deck Aft, due to
preparations for unloading at Guadalcanal. Set altar
up around the corner due to the wind coming in
over the starboard side; is a quiet spot. Over on the
horizon sun streaking the eastern sky with fingers
of gold. Only sound is crisp fizzing of the waves as
0330 – Distribution of Holy Communion to soldiers
in the Library.
0400 – Boat teams are forming to put soldiers over
the side.
0430 – I go up on the bridge. Hear the Assistant
103 Like the Clymer, the American Legion was a troop transport.
104 Cox (1918–2006) would enjoy a long career as an administrator at Clemson, including a stint as interim president in 1985–86.
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�Navigator giving the bearings, “188 on highest peak
on Guadalcanal.”
We are here at last. On our port side is the island
which has been the cause of so many sea battles and
whose soil has soaked up so much blood. Skyline is
humpy, indicating mountains. Off in the east over
the end of the line of mountains, sky is beginning to
whiten a bit. Night is black as pitch, yet ship is wide
awake, men are loosing all lines, grips ready to hoist
27 boats over the side as soon as we slow down.
Decks are alive with activity as men go through
tasks which are now second nature to them.
Up on the bridge is the air of expectancy always in
evidence when we are striking a strange anchorage.
Figures of the officers and men on watch are darkly
outlined against the sky. Man brushes by, says familiarly, “Hello, Father.” Can’t identify the owner of the
voice in the dark. Over against the backdrop of the
dark mountainside red and green lights are moving forward rapidly, then two more and two more.
It is the dawn patrol of planes taking off, beginning
another day’s work.
Day is brightening quickly. Dawn breaks and the
tips of the mountains and the green pastures on
their sides are bathed in the fresh morning sunlight.
Now Henderson Field is identified behind a row
of coconut trees. A pillar of black smoke is rising,
whose base is being licked by angry flames. Makes
a somber contrast with the lush green of the mountainsides and the fleecy white strips of cloud that
lace their tops. Is this a melancholy reminder of last,
that is to say, this night’s raid on Henderson Field?
The other three ships with us turn off to starboard
anchor and we are the last to set our boats in the
water. In they go; order is given for boat teams to
come topside for their nets at 6 o’clock. I climb
down the net port side with my black bag loaded
with Oh Henry’s, apples and Chesterfields for Ed.
We head for the beautiful shoreline, fringed with
coconut trees. The boat runs up on the beach with
its 35 troops and myself; out we hop and following
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my custom, I bless the land as I set foot on it for the
first time. Surf is rolling in gently, no angry waves
at all, most unlike Africa where boats capsized with
loss of life even before they hit the beach.
I identify myself to a Marine Officer when suddenly
our conversation is drowned out by the roar of an
Aircobra, a P-38 climbing from behind the row of
coconut trees. Up she starts, then soars straight up,
turns to port and is followed by three others, deadly
looking planes with their double tails and long nose
between two motors.
One of the soldiers standing by, asked as he stood
gaping up at them in wonderment, “How do you like
them?” answered, “I like them with that star on them.”
I start walking along the road to find Ed, who is
somewhere in that coconut plantation. A jeep comes
along; I bum a ride along a road constructed right
through the heart of a coconut grove. Suddenly
through a line of trees pockmarked by shell fire, I
see the fire sending up the pillar of smoke; a plane
that crashed. Now she is only a smoking ruin. On
we bump by Henderson Field where hundreds of
our planes are lined up, some at ease, others coming down the bomber strip, still more being serviced
even at 6:30 in the morning.
We skirt the edge of the field when I see a sign
“101st Medical Regiment” tacked onto the trunk of
a coconut tree. “Thanks a lot for the ride,” and I am
hotfooting it down the dirt road indicated by that
arrow. I meet a soldier who is walking up, asked
him if he knows Ed Foley, says that he just went
down to the Chapel for Mass. Two tents down I see
a priest vesting, walk up to identify myself. He is
Fr. Ed Flaherty, brother of Fr. Tony Flaherty,
Director of Charities in Somerville, Mass.
In a split second Ed is up and we both burst out
in a long delayed “Hello!” right on the altar steps!
We look at each other for a few seconds, all smiles,
and then postpone our chatter till after Mass. To
hear confessions I sit on a stone to the right of the
Chapel which is only a canvas of a couple of Army
�tents stretched from coconut trunks. I am sitting
between two Chevrolet trucks that brought some of
the men for Mass. The men have to speak up to be
heard, for all the time the planes are taking off just
200 yards away and trucks are rolling back from the
front just 2 miles away. “Front Line Specials” as the
drivers have painted on them. A pet dog of the soldiers comes along to make friends, but I am cold to
him. He doesn’t realize I’m hearing confessions. The
song of the parakeets flying from the palm head of
one coconut tree to another adds another element that
is missing when hearing confessions in the Churches
back home. In the distance can be heard the rumble
of gunfire where our artillery are hammering the Jap
front lines. Quite a combination of noises!
Mass over, we chin together, Fr. Flaherty, Ed and
myself. He looks wonderful, is tanned, hadn’t lost
any weight since the early days of the service. As
usual, he is smiling all the time. Says that he hasn’t
been sick a day of the two months he has been here.
He and Father exclaim “Oh, boy!” when I open
the contents of the black bag. Nothing but canned
rations in their Army menu.
Fr. Flaherty goes off to get ready for another Mass.
Ed takes me down to see some sick Jap prisoners.
About twenty of them who were starving when they
were captured. One speaks a bit of English, is most
105
friendly. All look woefully undernourished. The
ambulatory cases are wearing shoes like our old onefinger mittens. The big toe is alone. They are of black
cloth composition. Most of them look at me with a
quizzical expression, wondering what I am.
Meanwhile fighter after fighter plane is taking off
right over our heads. Ed says that they have had
twelve bombings during the last 14 nights. He tells
me that they are so used to the roar that they sleep
right through it at night. They have nicknames for
the Japs coming over, such as Maytag Charlie; his
engines aren’t synchronized, don’t hum together,
it seems. And there is Pistol Pete who has a loud
staccato bark, and Millimeter Mike who talks like
a 20 mm machine gun.
Ed finishes his breakfast and then Fr. Flaherty takes
us for a ride in his jeep. We bounce along the roads
made by the CB’s straight through the coconut
plantations where the natives work for 6 pence a
106
day for Lever Brothers. The main road is all right
but when we strike off it, then the jeep sinks up to
its hubs in black oozy mud, oceans of it. We swim
around in it as well as the ten wheel Army trucks
that nudge against us. We ride about five miles
along and then turn back. Just as we turn there is
a little cross indicating the last resting place of a
Marine Corporal. RIP. Ed tells me that the Marines
were pushed back 7 miles right to the edge of Henderson Field when no reinforcements came to help.
We drop off at Ed’s regal apartment of a tent in
the coconut grove. He has a mosquito netting up
around his bunk in this tent which he shares with
three other buddies. His and their personal conveniences here are absolutely zero. The boys have given
up everything. A turn of a switch means civilization
to them, Ed says.
Pair of us go walking down to Henderson Field; we
hit through one jungle. On every side tremendous
giant hardwood trees tower well over a 100 feet into
the sky. They have boles about 6 to 8 feet in diameter flared out at the base by great buttressing roots.
Among the trees and beneath them thrives a fantastic
tangle of vines, creepers, ferns and brush. Up above
some white exotic bird flies away. Insects are all over
the ground; ants “whose bite feels like a live cigarette
against the flesh,” giant spiders and wasps 3 inches
long, scorpions and centipedes. There are strange
kinds of rats, too, said to be distant relatives of the possum; lizards from 3 inches to 3 feet and a few snakes.
The air is motionless and stifling. The hot humidity is beyond the imagination of anyone who hasn’t
been here. Rot lies underfoot everywhere and the
105 Japanese soldiers were dying of hunger in the last weeks of the campaign and began to call Guadalcanal “Island of Death.”
106 A British soap manufacturer, Lever Brothers owned coconut plantations in the South Pacific.
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�ground is springy and mushy with decaying vegetation giving off a sour, unpleasant odor. We are constantly fighting off mosquitoes, bearers of malaria,
dengue fever and other fevers. Ed tells me that in
the Lunga River are giant crocodiles. This type of
jungle is the type known as “rain forest” from the
unbelievably torrential rains that come down. It is
not surprising that a thick and heavy dampness is
everywhere. What a terrain to have to fight through!
It is really the “green hell” of popular imagination.
Coming out at the other side, we pass the powerhouse on which is written “Tojo’s Powerhouse, Now
107
Under New Management.” The boys haven’t lost
their sense of humor. As we stroll through a long
coconut grove, we are amazed at the lighting effect;
sun is boiling hot, yet is filtered down through the
palms in a sort of polaroid shade. Green sward below, whitish trunks about 100 feet high with green
crests of palm leaves, gives the light green effect.
Out onto Henderson Field where we see the planes
in dirt revetments tossed up on three sides so that
only one plane will be hit by bomb fragments.
I espy a Marine sitting under a sunshade that walked
off Nantasket Beach. He says that the Japs left it
behind right by his bomb shelter. In we go, Ed and I,
and see the Jap handiwork, a very good dugout. Now
occupied by John Kerr, son of Mrs. Mary Kerr, 344
Cherry Street, West Newton, and William Walters,
son of Mrs. Bessie Walters, 326 E. Border Road, Medford. We have a picture snapped that should provide
some smiles back home. [The photograph can be
found on the cover.]
This is the bomber strip of the airport, which is a
portable one with the steel mats laid down for a mile
on end. High above are cruising four murderous
looking P-38s, the Aircobras. Furnishing protection
to my ship and her sisters lying along the shore.
Through a break in the trees she can be seen riding
peaceably at anchor.
Back to the quarters, which are located between
the bomber and fighter strips of Henderson Field.
Because of their location, they do catch it on the
bombing raids!
After dinner Ed and I start for my ship. He is taken
with the lines of her as is everybody when she is
seen for the first time. Up the landing nets, we
climb onto the main deck and Ed is aboard. Up to
the room where he gasps at the appointments. A
good wash-up and some ice cream for him are just
what the doctor ordered. The hour is two o’clock.
We get permission from the Captain to have him
stay aboard for the night; then we order two big
steaks with all the fixings. Another box of ice cream
and now he says he won’t have any more until after
the steak. We wander around the ship on a tour of
inspection. Then at 4:45 the Executive Officer sends
word down that Ed is to leave the ship immediately.
Disappointment but the reason is clear later. Jap
task force is on the way; may be invasion force that
is expected. Over the side goes Ed and we promise
to see each other first thing in the morning. A long
letter to our mother to let her know the good news
about Ed. She will be tickled to hear that he is so
108
well. We up the anchor hook in a hurry.
Monday, February 8, 1943
We are still running for all we are worth away from
the Jap task force which we learn comprises one
carrier, two cruisers, and six destroyers, 150 miles
astern. Aboard we have about 100 Marines, the first
of the contingent. Half a dozen of them are down
with malaria that the female mosquito pumped into
them. One has two shrapnel wounds, souvenirs of
the bombing the other night. Ed told me a funny
story about Fr. Flaherty. He asked Ed if he minded
breaking his stride on the way to the bomb shelter,
107 Hideki Tojo was general of the Japanese Imperial Army and prime minster of Japan during much the war, and “Tojo” was American slang
for the Japanese military. Convicted of war crimes, Tojo was hanged in 1948.
108 On the previous evening, 20 battleships of the Japanese navy had evacuated the last of some 10,600 men from Guadalcanal, seeding the
notion that the Japanese were about to try to retake the island.
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�a roughly dug tunnel, when the alarm went off during the night. They had 10 bombings in 14 nights.
The first night after Fr.’s request, Ed jumped up at
the alarm, grabbed three shoes as he told me, and
started out on a hundred yard dash, wildly swinging
the shoes, looked into Fr. Flaherty’s tent, but neither
hide nor hair of him did he see. Fr. Flaherty broke the
world’s record for getting up out of bed to the tunnel.
These Marines aboard are manning our anti-aircraft
guns; have had six month’s experience on Guadalcanal. Knocked down over 700 planes. One day
they informed me that out of 23 torpedo planes that
came in to attack the shipping on the beach, only
one managed to get away. What they and all others
dreaded more than anything else was the Japanese
naval shelling. That was a killer for the morale. Just
sit and hear the ghostly whining of the big shells
coming, crouch and pray that they wouldn’t kill you
but be able to take no action in self-defense. Most of
them are young boys about 21. A tough, hardened
crew, happy to get away from it all for a while. As
one of them put it, “I’ve seen enough dead men to
last me for a long while.” There is no glamour or
romance or desire for battle action on their part.
4:00 p.m. – We turn back to Guadalcanal! Something
must have happened to that Jap task force that was
on the way. Destroyer that had been out in front of
us about two miles also turns and steams by us as
though we had both anchors thrown out. No more
beautiful sight than to see one of the tin cans underway at full speed. Her prow is cutting the water
like a knife, cleaving a line of unbroken white waves
about five feet high while her stern is deep down,
leaving a wake of boiling foam. With every line of
her a thing of beauty, she leaps by to resume her station up forward to fend off the Jap subs.
What kind of a day is it? Same as usual; warm and
summery, temperature about 85. Our sailors are taking advantage of it to deepen their tans. We left about
100 on the beach with their boats with whom we
shall embark again tomorrow morning. These Marines have been on Guadalcanal since the first landing last August. Their stories are hair-raising. They
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thought their last days had come. Bombed from
the air, shelled from the sea and attacked from the
land, they thought their last hours had come half a
dozen times in September and October.
Tuesday, February 9, 1943
We drop anchor off Guadalcanal at 1230. I rush
ashore immediately in a personnel boat to see Ed
with a package for him that contains a radio, a box
of Oh Henry’s, one of Hershey bars, two dozen apples, a couple of apple pies, some air mail envelopes
and paper. After landing on Kokum Beach about 7
miles south of where we were Sunday, I beg a jeep
and travel through a coconut grove to the main road,
down about five miles where I meet Ed and start
right back with him for my ship. Fr. Flaherty starts
to hunt up a jeep but we bum a ride before he shows
up. Then when we come to a turn, he is right behind
us. We hop in; join four others for the ride of our life.
There was no road, just a mud ditch through this
coconut grove. We slew from side to side, almost take
off when we hit the deep gullies, all of us roaring with
laughter at Fr. Flaherty, the driver, who Ed tells me is
notorious for his chauffeuring.
We disembark safely on the beach where we talk
for about fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, prisoners are
boarding our PA boats, hospital cases are carried on
stretchers and Marines are being added also. While
we take in the scene and talk, big four-motored
bombers are coming down about 200 yards overhead after their long raiding trip. P 38’s are flying
high up in pairs cruising around looking for any
trouble that may materialize.
The setting is anything but warlike; the gentle breakers, spent, are fading away at our feet, the sun is beating down from above, the coconut trees twenty feet
away make a vivid contrast with the white strand of
the beach, which is the exact place where the Marines
landed last August 7th. The black, black mud Fr. Flaherty’s jeep kicked up is still with some of us; we wash
it off. Recalls a remark of one of the Marines aboard,
that this soil is so rich that if you stuck a match or a
toothpick in the ground it would grow.
�I tell Ed that we will be known as the Guadalcanal Local before long. Like all train schedules, ours too will
have a footnote, “Subject to change without notice.”
After about half an hour I hop into one of our invasion boats to start back for the ship anchored about
two miles off shore. Goodbyes all around while Ed
breaks out into his best smile and says, “Oh, you’ll be
back again. The next time you’ll take me with you for
a change of scenery.” I certainly hope so; meanwhile,
“so long,” and I’m away, as casual as that, although
neither of us knows which one may go first.
On board the ship we now have about 1000 Marines
and soldiers and 110 Jap prisoners of war. The soldiers and Marines are tired looking boys, obviously
in need of a long rest, good food and clean sheets.
Their officers are the same. One remarks at mealtime that this will be the first time that he has slept
between sheets in six months and the second time
that he has taken his clothes off.
Mr. Graves, the ship-fitter, meets his son, Donald,
whom he has not seen for three years. Both of
them fill up when they see each other. “Hello, son.”
“Hello, Dad.” And they are in each other’s arms.
The Jap prisoners for the most part are a ragged lot.
About twenty of them are so weak that they have to
be carried up the side of the ship on stretchers. They
were cut off from their own men and were starving
to death when they surrendered. They are the same
men I met with Ed over at the 101st Field Hospital
last Sunday when I saw him for the first time. As
they came aboard one of the two officers with them
lined them up on the quarterdeck in twos and they
bowed in salute to the Executive Officer. Then they
were escorted by Marines to a compartment below
while the sick men are treated as tenderly as if they
were our own. Yet they had been told that we would
torture them. The Army guarantees good treatment to Japs who surrender by dropping down on
them safe conduct slips. Some of them work. The
Marines, who report that some of their men were
tortured, refused to take any prisoners.
What kind of fighters were these men? Long after
the heat of battle subsided an American staff officer
wrote: “The Japanese soldier fought as an individual,
as well and as bravely as any warrior the world had
ever seen. He bore privation and hardships that
would have put out of action most of the troops of
the Allied Forces.”
We hear the boom of our artillery ten miles down
the coast. One of our dive bombers is operating
on enemy lines. Black puffs of smoke blossoming around him indicates that they are giving him
a warm reception. But he manages to fly through
unharmed, then lands on Henderson Field.
Savo Island, where we lost four cruisers one awful
night in August 1942, is just off our port bow. Marines tell us that this water has been the graveyard
of many ships, ours and Japs. They point out four
Jap transports that were hit and beached just north
of us on Cape Esperance. They were some of the
victims of the November 12 to 15 battle when Halsey
slugged it out with the Japs who were making an
all-out effort to retake Guadalcanal. Halsey’s sea and
air forces sank one battleship, 3 heavy cruisers, 2
light cruisers, 5 destroyers and 12 transports. Our
losses were 2 light cruisers and 6 destroyers. The 4
beached transports are now on the shore 7½ miles
109
north of us at Tassafaronga.
As the sun goes down, we are on our way to
Wellington, New Zealand, according to rumor.
Wednesday, February 10, 1943
Another beautiful summer day. Our passengers, soldiers and Marines, are interested only in catching up
on their sleep and eating hot food. These Marines have
been close companions of death for six months. They
have seen their friends dying around them, yet what
109 The Battle of Guadalcanal was in fact led by Rear Admiral Richmond Turner. The Japanese lost two battleships, one heavy cruiser, three
destroyers and 11 transport ships. American losses were as Foley describes, with the exception of one additional battleship. The third of
three major naval battles in the Guadalcanal campaign, it was the first that ended in a decisive victory for the United States.
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�do they ask for now? First Marine who came into the
Library asked for an anthology of poetry. The next one
with whom I was speaking wanted one thing when we
got to our destination. “A long, long quart of milk.”
We are sliding down the slot of the Hebrides and the
Loyalty Islands, with islands, isles and islets on both
sides of us. In the afternoon one of the destroyers
quickly changes her position and drops three depth
charges as we pass through a very narrow passageway about a mile and a half wide.
Some of the Army personnel have no extra clothing of
any kind. They are outfitted with an emergency issue
until we get to our destination. All of them are sick
patients being evacuated for one reason or another,
about 100 of them. Most of them, like the sick Marines, have had three or four bouts with malaria.
Lt. Scott, sitting beside me at table, tells me that 91%
of his battalion of 1000 men have had malaria at least
once. Some of the men have had it four times.
The following note appeared in the “Plan for the Day.”
“The following dispatch from Task Group Commander is quoted for the information of all hands:
‘in six trips on the cactus ferry i consider
the present performance outstanding in all
respects well done.’
“The above dispatch is reward enough for a job well
done, but I would like to add my observation of all
indicated an even better performance than usual and
is greatly appreciated. It is hoped that at our next destination you may all have a real liberty which you all
so richly deserve. A. T. Moen, Cptn., U.S.N.”
He didn’t redeem his hope!
Thursday, February 11, 1943
0450 – General Quarters.
110
Among the prisoners is a Zero pilot. He tells the
interpreters, two Marines, that Guadalcanal was nicknamed by them the “Island of Death.” Their losses
were terrific. The Tokyo radio announced the withdrawal of its men from Guadalcanal and reports that 139
planes were destroyed from both the Buin and Guadalcanal areas. Anti-aircraft units of Marines aboard smile
their incredulity. “Why we alone were credited with 769
shot down. Twice squadrons of 24 big bombers came
over, once one got away, the next time not even one.
111
We probably shot down about 700.”
The hit parade! “When it’s Mitsubishi Time on Tu112
lagi,” “Stars Fell on Lunga River.” Even with death
raining down on them from the skies and pouring on
them from below the horizon of the sea, the sense of
humor of our boys did not desert them. One tells of
how one night when he hopped into his foxhole this
tremendous weight landed on him, a horse that stumbled and fell down on top of him. He never felt safer.
Prisoners aboard are small men about 5 feet in height
and weighing about 100 pounds. With good food they
are beginning to regain their normal weight. Marines
tell us that Japs on Tulagi were magnificent physical
specimens, a picked group, “The Imperial Marines.”
113
They had to be killed to the last man.
Friday, February 12, 1943
0430 – General Quarters.
110 The Mitsubishi Zero was a single-seater fighter aircraft known for its speed and maneuverability. It was superior to any fighter plane the
U.S. possessed when the war began.
111 The number of Japanese aircraft lost during the Battle of Guadalcanal is today estimated to fall between 680 and 880.
112 “When It’s Sleepy Time Down South,” was made popular by Louis Armstrong in a 1942 recording, “When the Stars Fell On Alabama”
was first recorded by the Guy Lombardo Orchestra in 1934.
113 Another instance of the fog of war. The Japanese had no “marine” force, imperial or otherwise. Its navy assumed responsibilities that the
Marines took on in the American military. And while belief in a military force of six-foot tall Imperial Marines bred on an isolated northern
Japanese island was commonplace among American forces in the South Pacific, there was no such group. A photograph of 27 Japanese
officers who led the defense of Gavutu in the Battle of Tulagi and Gavutu–Tanambogo shows them to be of near average height for
Japanese men during the war years: 5’3”. Virtually all of them died in the battle for the island. See entry for April 7, 1943.
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�0530 – Mass
One of the Jap prisoners died this morning, a victim
of beriberi and a bullet wound in his chest. Captain
calls me to say he has decided that funeral will be at
114
0400 tomorrow morning.
Saw the doctors taking care of the wounds of our
prisoners today. Couldn’t be more solicitous if they
were our own men. Has made a deep impression
on them. Quite contrary to what they expected. One
Marine said that when taken prisoner a Jap pleaded
with him to kill him with the first bullet.
Jap pilot is best physical specimen of prisoners.
Unlike the others who were cut off in the jungle,
he was forced down in the water. He pantomimed
for me the whole operation. A steady hum was his
flight, then a coughing noise to indicate the sputtering motor, a down swoop with his hands for the
nose dive into the sea, then he was swimming. He
was lucky to be picked up.
Jap prisoners were wise to surrender. Marines tell
of how they trapped a battalion of 900 in a ravine.
During the night they put up two rows of barbed
wire around the Japs. Even then they wouldn’t surrender. Those who climbed over the first line of
wire were caught on the second by the crisscross of
machine gun fire.
Weather changes sharply today. From December 8
to today, lowest temperature was 85. Highest 106 on
Guadalcanal. Now as we are nearing New Zealand
where their Fall is beginning, temperature drops to
70. Marines feel the drop, for they have been in the
tropics for over a year.
Saturday, February 13, 1943
0330 – Called by the Quartermaster. After saying
some prayers in my room, go to the stern of the
ship, the fantail, where four figures are holding a
stretcher with the body of the Jap who died yesterday. I say some brief prayers over him, by pencil
flashlight, asking God to count in his favor the
circumstances of his death and burial, in strange
surroundings, under foreign skies far from those
near and dear to him. When I give the word, they lift
the stretcher high. There is a grating noise and the
body is consigned to the swirling waters. It is so dark
that I recognize only one man and that by his voice,
McGarry MM 1/c [Machinist’s Mate 1st Class] from
Kenmore Square. Along the eastern horizon there is
not even a flicker of light yet. We make our way back
gingerly to the ladder that leads to the next deck up.
A simple ceremony but one that I shall never forget.
Sunday, February 14, 1943
Steaming to Wellington, New Zealand. Marine Officers at table hear that “Battle of Midway” was filmed.
“Would they like to see it?” “Not at all, not for three
months at least.” “We went through that.” Presently are noise conscious. Were on Guadalcanal for
7 months from the first hour of landing. Most critical time was in early October. Could see Japs landing
troops and supplies down the beach from them. Could
do nothing about it. Nothing coming for them, except
from the enemy naval shellings by night from below
the horizon from unseen battlewagons, bombings day
in and day out. Had only enough gas to put up one
scout plane a day. Decided that they would “die in
a manner that would make the folks proud of them.”
Would not surrender but take to the hills and wage
guerilla warfare. The while they were discussing this,
between listening to the radio and the latest news dispatched from Frisco, a smooth-tongued commentator
on a national hookup out of Frisco told his millions
of listeners “not to be surprised if Guadalcanal fell,
that it was not important after all.” “Then what in the
hell did we come up here for? If we had that guy in our
hands, we would have choked him to death, Father. We
would die before surrendering, yet that guy and a lot
like him had given up on us.” Such were the remarks
of these Marines to us today.
114 Beriberi was caused by a thiamine deficiency often linked to an inadequate diet, such as the rations of white rice that sustained Japanese
soldiers during island warfare in the South Pacific.
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�Read Naval Intelligence reports on Jap prisoners. Most
of them are very interesting. Story of military career,
where they have fought, period in service, casualties
in their regiment. All reluctant to talk until pressure
exercised by telling them that names will be forwarded to Japan as prisoners of war. Then resistance collapses for if that information were received at home,
they would be a disgrace to the family, the nation and
the emperor.
One of the prisoners said that he knew Ralph
Metcalfe, Eddie Tolan, Jesse Owens, all Olympic
sprinters in ’32. He had raced against them. He was
Director of Physical Education at a high school in
Tokyo when called to the colors.
One hill on Guadalcanal known as “Bloody Ridge”
from number of Japs killed there; 700 of them to
84 Marines. Attack was one of three heavy ones, an
all-out effort to retake Henderson Field. Other two
were repulsed also. Had they been coordinated as
they were supposed to be, as we found out from a
captured Jap’s diary, the Marines would have been
wiped out. General [Alexander] Vandergrift did a
marvelous job manipulating his few men to the
115
point that was being attacked.
One of the Marine officers shows me a translated
page of a Japanese soldier’s diary found on his dead
body. Translation of one page of Japanese diary:
“Today the weather became very fine. We worked
in the telephone office for four hours today, two
hours in the morning and two in the afternoon. We
exchanged thirty rounds of artillery ammunition for
thirty which we had previously issued. Evidently the
old ammunition had become useless. We have not
fired our guns since we landed. When the fighting is
ended, we will probably have fired all our ammunition. Our intimates in our native land would be
uneasy for us if they knew we were fighting. However, at the present time things are very easy.”
Tuesday, February 16, 1943
We sight land on our port side, our first glimpse of
New Zealand. We really are down under at last. Rugged, volcanic mountains rise up. Densely forested,
save for an occasional one that, unlike the others, is
out of step with its bare sides. The day is a stormy,
windy one, with the wind howling in the shrouds,
but the weather cannot dampen the spirit of the Marines. They are buzzing with animated conversation
as they stand in line for breakfast.
About one o’clock we make a hard turn to port and
head into what is said to be one of the most beautiful
cities in the world. Wellington, named after the Duke
who immortalized himself by saying that the “Battle
of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton.”
There is no question that it is beautiful. The harbor is
ringed by mountains rising up sheer from the shoreline. Here are real cliff dwellers. Houses are built right
on the steep sides of the mountains. Apparently, no
height is too steep to put up a home.
Ashore in the afternoon. My years in Heythrop from
116
1927–1930 return with a rush.
This is a corner
of the Empire. When inquiring for directions, once
again a bobby is the guide. The ironmonger’s shop is
here and the chemist’s and the draper’s. The streets
are alive with mid-afternoon shoppers. Department
stores are doing a rushing business and the ubiquitous Woolworth’s is too small for its patrons. On the
trams the conductorettes are taking the tuppence and
threepenny bits from the passengers.
I learn from a native of Wellington that an earthquake
is responsible for the repair jobs being performed
upon a dozen odd buildings in the heart of the busi-
115 The critical defense of the airfield, which took place over September 12-14, 1942, is better known as the Battle of Edson’s Ridge, for Lieut.
Col. Merritt A. Edson, whose Marine battalion played the critical role in the engagement. It is now estimated that the Japanese lost some
830 men. Foley’s 84 Marine dead is accurate. Alexander Vandergrift, who commanded the 1st Marine Division at Guadalcanal did indeed,
do “a marvelous job,” as Foley put it, and was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for “tenacity, courage, and resourcefulness.”
116 Heythrop College was a Jesuit institution near Oxford where Foley pursued graduate studies as part of his Jesuit “formation.” Selection to
Heythrop was a mark of honor for American Jesuits.
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�ness section. Last October was the month of the visitation. A lady ahead of me with her daughter points
out as she remarks in what sounds cockney to me,
“This is one that was knocked about badly.”
What I am thirsty for is a glass of milk after a long
drought, so I pop into a tea room where I perform
the old English ritual. First a plate is picked up, then
a choice made of half a dozen kinds of sandwiches
neatly cut into diamonds, then another choice of
the cakes, delicious upon tasting, a baker’s dozen
of those to choose from; whipped cream puffs are
mine plus tarts. Puffs are running over with the
cream. Here is abundant measure, pressed down
and running over. I pick a table; the waitress inquires for my drink. “A glass of milk, please.” It is
the richest, creamiest milk I have ever drank. It is
so delicious that another one is ordered immediately. I haven’t had a glass of fresh milk since I was
home in December. Norfolk’s product was reportedly not pasteurized so I didn’t venture that. But this!!
In one of the tobacco stores a typical English shopkeeper, the essence of courtesy and consideration,
sets before me three booklets with views of the city.
At another shop where I am puzzled by the rate of
exchange, I ask the girl if she gets tired of being
asked, “How much is this worth?” She replies,
“No, as a matter of fact, I enjoy you Yanks.”
On a tram car I find myself sitting beside a
Mr. Hunt, a man about 75 who informs me that
he spent some time in Samoa with Robert Louis
Stevenson. He seemed to be unacquainted with Stevenson’s famous letter to Mr. Hyde. Hunt was with
Stevenson ten days before he died [of tuberculosis];
117
said that he kept himself alive by sheer will power.
The only level streets in the city are those near the
beach. The others climb right up the sides of the
mountains, with houses seemingly precariously
perched on the sides, all of them surrounded by
flowers. It is midsummer here, corresponding to
the month of July back home. The rest of the
year the temperature is slightly lower, but the
only real difference is that it rains heavily in the
non-summer months.
Wednesday, February 17, 1943
Ashore early to purchase some needed altar supplies; incense, charcoal, vigil lights, etc. Some
books also, one of which would please my brother.
America Speaks by Philip Gibbs [a prolific Catholic
journalist], whose European Journey he gave me for
Christmas some time ago.
Pass a tea shop; see in the window a luscious
whipped cream pie, the kind that used to be in
Lyndell’s shop window back home [in Somerville,
Massachusetts], only not folded over. This acre of
whipped cream is sitting on a deck of sponge cake
with flaky macaroons on the top and a spoonful of
strawberry Jello to add a flash of color. I collapse and
sit down with a glass of rich creamy milk and that
pie; the one and three is well invested!! I am making
up for lost time. If my mother were with me, her
diet would be thrown overboard before the lusciousness of the same whipped cream. This is no imitation either. Once in Norfolk [Virginia] I saw whipped
cream éclairs, eight cents each in the window of a
bakery. Two of them were full of marshmallow; both
wound up in the street.
I visit the Church again, St. Mary of the Angels;
kneel before the Pieta group, Our Lady holding Our
Lord in her arms. The statues are life-size and the
most striking I have ever seen. Our Lord is a dead
man! There is no doubt of that. “There is no beauty
in Him.” His eyelids are half open, the eyeballs have
the dull glazed look of death, are half hidden under
the eyebrows. His mouth is bloody, stained, cracked.
117 Stevenson’s letter, published as a pamphlet and much celebrated by Catholics, offers a spirited defense of Fr. Damien, a Belgian missionary Stevenson had met and who, from 1873 until his death in 1889, ministered to lepers isolated on the island of Molokai. Shortly after
Damien’s death, the Congregationalist missionary Charles M. Hyde, also of Hawaii, wrote a personal letter critical of the priest. The letter
found its way to publication in an Australian newspaper, ultimately eliciting Stevenson’s response. Fr. Damien was canonized by Pope
Benedict in 2009.
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�He is what He was, a shattered remnant of a man,
whose manhood was ploughed and furrowed by the
lash of the Roman soldiers until He was no longer
Himself. Our Lady is looking off into space with
eyes that are most expressive. It seems that she was
looking off to Bethlehem. There are a few teardrops
around her eyes. She is heartbroken. Her skin has
the warm color of life, but her eyes are what catch
me. Then I discover the real reason. They are glass
eyes, as natural as real eyes. This is the most life-like
statue I have ever seen. One would have no hesitation in bringing a heartbroken soul in here. No
words would be necessary. No matter what the cross,
the soul would rise strengthened from seeing the
agony written on Our Lady’s face and the drained
white countenance of Our Lord.
From the Church to the Botanical Gardens where salvia, bleeding hearts, carnations, azaleas, peonies, sweet
williams, hydrangeas, larkspur are all in bloom. Recognizing the visitor as a stranger, an elderly lady instructs
me to visit the Begonia House. I tell Mrs. Butcher about
my mother and her love of flowers and how she would
revel in the profusion of blossoms here.
Dropped into Rectory of St. Mary of the Angels to go
to confession; met Fr. Stewart, a Marist. Had evening meal with them; mutton with carrot gravy.
Our passengers this trip are a variegated lot. Carlson’s Raiders, the Marines who raided Makin
Island, a Jap possession, last August, destroyed all
the installations, killed about 200 Japs, lost 34 of
their own men. Before leaving the island, one of the
officers told me that Col. [Evans F.] Carlson personally visited the body of every boy who was killed and
folded his hands across his breast, took his personal
possessions and sent them home to the boy’s folks.
There were two Japs who took to the hills, but “The
natives would take care of them,” as one of the
118
Marines put it.
Other passengers: New Zealand Radio Detection
Group also bound for Guadalcanal; among them six
Catholics. Also two Koreans with us who are in the
Intelligence Department of the Marines.
Friday, February 19, 1943
Up at 0430 again as we head back north to Ed’s
territory. Temperature begins to climb to 100
degrees. We are hitting the tropics once more.
With us are the [attack transports] Hunter Liggett
and American Legion.
Saturday, February 20, 1943
Thursday, February 18, 1943
The other two ships break off for Noumea, New
Caledonia. We continue on our way to “Button,”
code name for Espiritu Santo, New Hebrides. Ultimately we shall be at Ed’s home in Guadalcanal.
A blustering day with the wind howling down over
the mountains as we put out to sea. Instead of the
four days here we expected and the eight that were
asked for, we wind up with two. Men are disappointed for it is a delightful city. People are extremely
friendly and courteous. As we make our way out of
the harbor, everything is secured for sea. Wind “has
a fit,” as one of the passengers put it, howling in the
shrouds again.
We learn today that the casualties of the battle of
the Solomons from January 29 to February 9 cost
the Japs 15 ships sunk or damaged and 60 planes.
Our forces lost 22 planes and two warships, including the heavy cruiser, Chicago. Happily I had gone
aboard her and heard confessions and gave Holy
Communion one week before. May all her boys who
went down with her rest in peace! She was sunk [in
118 Makin Atoll was actually a botched affair, with the Marines forced to retreat from the island in disarray. (They left behind 12 prisoners, who
were beheaded by the Japanese.) But as indicated in Foley’s entry, the action—along with Carlson, a charismatic figure and an inventive
tactician—was widely celebrated in the United States as a victory, with a movie account, titled “Gung-Ho!: The Story of Carlson’s Makin
Island Raiders” released in December 1943. Gung-Ho was a phrase Carlson had invented based, he said, on a Chinese expression he’d
learned while serving in the 1930s as a military observer embedded with the Red Army. Carlson and the Marine Raiders 2nd Battalion
redeemed themselves with their legendary “Long Patrol” behind enemy lines on Guadalcanal.
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�the Battle of Rennel Island] south of Guadalcanal
the night of January 29, 1943 while protecting transport movements. She went down after two torpedo
plane attacks. The second night, January 30, 13 planes
attacked her while she was being towed. They got her,
although 12 of the 13 were shot down after the attack
119
by our own aircraft that intercepted them.
Savo Island. Twenty destroyers approached there the
Sunday night that we ran out. They were evacuating
Japs from Guadalcanal. Wouldn’t we have been duck
soup for them! The place where they were taking off
their men we could easily see when we came back the
next day. After three Motor Torpedo Boats attacked
them, two of the MTB’s were unfortunately lost. It is
clear now that both we and the Japs paraded a heavy
array of naval strength, air-supported in the Solomons
area. The Japs did not take advantage of Halsey’s offer
for combat. Then it became clear that the enemy was
concerned only with evacuating its forces from Guadalcanal and hindering the arrival of our reinforcements, which again meant us!! The result was, instead
of a big naval battle, a series of dogfights, all of which
were fought between air and surface craft. The ships
120
of the line never met each other.
Sunday, February 21, 1943
0445 – Up again at early hour as we head
back north.
0530 – Mass Upper Deck Aft.
Bit of a blow this morning. Wind whipped linens
off the altar as we started to rig Church. Finally were
secured, fastened down with all-service thumbtacks.
Candles were lit behind the stern of one of the boats.
Placed on the altar, one puff of wind blew them out.
The stars paling before the dawn will have to serve
for illumination, those that will be staying out late.
During Mass, the rubric about extending the hands
suffers a modification. Hands are occupied in keeping
the missal pages from flying over and over. At Gospel
time the sun crept over the horizon to adore with its
fresh, clean rays the Lord who made it as He was
elevated at the Consecration. In the west, the full
moon has definitely lost her color. She can no longer,
as the poet puts it, “look around her when the heavens
121
are bare, for the sun has displaced her.”
Sitting next to me at table is a Lt. from Belmont who
was torpedoed on the Yorktown and the Hornet.
Yorktown was bombed at 930, 230 and 430. Finally
torpedoes from our own destroyers put her under
when she was dead in the water. She was their coffin
122
for a lot of good men.
Monday, February 22, 1943
Washington’s Birthday.
“Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis.” Times
123
change and we change with them, says the poet.
Fifteen years ago today Ronald McGilvary and I in
England thumbed a ride from Heythrop [College]
to Stratford on Avon where we paid our respects to
Shakespeare Country. Today I am steaming east of
New Caledonia on the way north to the New Hebrides, 15,000 miles on the other side of the world.
Tuesday, February 23, 1943
Up at 0330 this morning! Are we early birds! As
usual, glorious morning. I say Mass at 0430, go up
to the flying bridge, read my Office, watch a South
Seas sunrise. I set the deck chair toward the east and
note the moon is three quarters down in the sky and
is rapidly growing paler and paler. Some forget-menots of the angels, as Longfellow called these stars
that bloom in the infinite meadows of heaven, are
lingering to keep the moon company.
119 See entry under January 21, 1943.
120 See entry under February 8, 1942.
121 From Wordsworth’s “Ode on Intimations of Immortality.”
122 The Yorktown, a decorated aircraft carrier, was sunk in the battle of Midway in June 1942, with the loss of 141.
123 See entry and footnote under January 27, 1943.
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�The sun will have to climb the mountains off our
port side before it greets this new day. Once again we
are running through the slot, islands on both sides
of us as we get closer to “Button” [Espiritu Santo].
This long island on our port is densely covered with
trees that begin right at the water’s edge. The tops of
her mountains are wreathed with darkish clouds that
will soon be bursting with light for their edges are
beginning to be silvered. Then the white of the sky
grows pink, then into a warm red. The clouds are
on fire with flaming gold when the sun lights a rim
slowly, but steadily, up from behind them. Another
day is born. Now the mountains are a deep purple
and on the ocean is a path of light as the waves
sparkle in the early morning sun.
From the west two STDs, Scout Torpedo Dive
Bombers, swoop down on us in greeting, then
climb up into the blue sky. They are the dawn
patrol, swinging up and out to keep the lines of
our communication intact. “No interruptions,”
is their motto.
To shore; visit Church of St. Michael, little French
Chapel seating 150; say Stations of the Cross for
my father. Concrete floor; statue of St. Michael over
altar. Into the corrugated tin-roofed, white-walled
rectory where I met Fr. Jacque, 43 year old Marist,
who has been in these parts for 16 years.
His dinner guests are a French trader, father of nine
children who has been here for 28 years, and another priest, bearded, with twinkly eyes and a most
kindly face, who has been here for 36 years, with
one visit home after 21 years out here.
I forgot to mention that a native boy, nine years
old, brownish black in color with yellow dust in his
kinky hair, was the one who directed me to the rectory. In English he told me that his name was Joseph
and that he liked Americans. He was a keen youngster who had picked up English from the American
soldiers. Back to the ship where I count 52 ships; a
lot of us here.
Thursday, February 25, 1943
Now we begin to see landmarks. We are back where
we were on January 30, 1943. We disembark the
Raider Battalion of Marines and anchor for the day
at Espiritu Santo.
Wednesday, February 24, 1943
I board the USS Alcheeba [a cargo ship] with some
books and magazines for her crew. One of them tells
me that they have been sitting here in the channel
for two months. On their sixth trip to Guadalcanal
last November as they were about to drop anchor,
Jap sub broke her periscope inside the screening
force of destroyers, sent torpedo home into forward
hold. Two soldiers lost who, panic stricken, jumped
overboard and were caught in the suction of the
propeller. Ship beached for four days. Unbeached
shortly, she shipped two more torpedoes in engine
room; lost seven sailors. Dead in the water, she was
towed back to here. Decks like tiddly-winks [ from
“tiddly,” slang for drunkenness] from the heat of the
explosion. Port side same wave motion. Holes in her
side like piece of paper pierced by a pencil.
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Sitting topside on the flying bridge this morning
when seven dive bombers flew over, going north
in V formation. Five minutes later they were back
over us, practicing strafing the shipping. In broken
formation on their own, they swooped and rose,
banked and climbed up straight. It was frightening
to watch them and to recognize that three seconds
was the maximum time for getting a sight on them
and firing had they been enemy planes.
We embark the 35th CB Battalion, bound for [the
Russell Islands], our most advanced base north of
Guadalcanal.
Friday, February 26, 1943
Second trip to Guadalcanal.
0445 – Up again early as we head north through
Torpedo Junction, islands flanking us on both sides.
We are going at a slow 11 knot speed. Two Liberty
ships – what slow scows! – hold us and the John Penn
down. Three destroyers screening in front of us
assure us of ample protection.
�Rain is driving down hard. I hear confessions at
night; excellent turnout. These men, majority of
them Catholics from New England with Bostonians
abounding, have no Chaplain. They seize the opportunity to go to confession and Mass.
Saturday, February 27, 1943
Up at 0430. Mass at 0530 at which over 40 men receive Holy Communion. Day dawns bright and fair
but promises to be extremely hot. Heat rash breaks
out on us again. Doctors have it, too.
Sunday, February 28, 1943
0445 – General Quarters.
0555 – Mass in Mess Hall; pouring rain outside so
we’re driven in. Again a splendid number of Communions. I compliment the men on their virile faith
and their closeness to Christ. Day is dark, windy and
stormy. We seem to be proceeding at a snail’s pace
when we can make 18 knots and are now down to 11.
Overhead Patrol Bombers, long distances, salute us
with a dip of the wing on their port side as they fly
by. They are the men who would report anything
that might be lurking ahead for us in the shape of
surface vessels.
Monday, March 1, 1943
0330 – Reveille. 0400 – Mass. 0445 –
General Quarters.
0730 – I shove off in a boat to track Ed down, for we
are outside Guadalcanal once more. In ten minutes
we run up on the beach, leap out into the surf, the
tail end of a spent wave just grazing my heels and I
start after Ed. Now he is twelve miles from here; the
last time he was only one mile. The beach has no
signs of habitation. About a quarter of a mile down,
the first Army tents appear in the coconut groves
and jungle. I identify myself and ask for permission
to use the field phone. While waiting for the call to
go through to Ed I notice a beautiful shadow cast
on the tent side by a palm tree outside. The sun is
throwing it full against the tent as though it were an
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artist. “Study in Silhouette” would be an appropriate
name, I muse to myself.
No business on the telephone call. Current is too feeble. I start hitch-hiking. A truck going for water is my
taxi. Off we go through a field of cane grass. Whenever the makeshift road is too mucky even for a jeep,
the driver swings off right into the cane grass that is
higher than the jeep, puts it into four wheel drive and
we swish through the new territory. Suddenly in the
road a lake appears. The jeep can’t make it. We swing
off to blaze a new trail, then stop. We are in water up to
our hubs. Out we climb and wade, one of the men and
myself, he to get a service truck for the pulling job, I to
hop another car if possible. No luck for a long while, so
I take a swim then and there. Warm salt water rolling
in on the beach that is about ten miles long, fringed by
palm trees and coconut trees.
Finally it is noon time. I beg a sandwich at an Army
camp down the road, then start again after Ed. This
time I make it. Two detours through oceans of black
mud that smells to high heaven hold us up for a
while but we swim ahead. The mud is up to the
hubs, but these jeeps are endowed with amazing
drive. They roar ahead. We look back and the tracks
have closed just as soon as we have passed; primeval
ooze this. Overhead the parrots and parakeets are
shrilling, talking; now and then a beautiful white
bird about the size of a pigeon flies away in fright.
Onto the main road built by the engineers. From
it clouds of dust are rising as heavy traffic crowds
both sides of it. Over the Lunga River where Ed took
some pictures on last meeting. I recall how utterly
unconcerned he answered my question concerning
something that started away from under our feet. A
fleeting glimpse of it didn’t allow me to identify it.
“Just a lizard,” says Ed, as though he had been living
here all his life.
This is the jungle. By the water station a few miles
back on the road, water is being sucked up from a
fresh water stream, being purified before poured
into big containers. While the driver was filling
�up, I wandered back in behind the tanks. No sun
pierced the heavy growth overhead. Tall trees were
being strangled by thick vines; some were dead
already, mats of heavy vines hung from others. The
atmosphere was dank and the ground was alive
with creeping, crawling things, lizards, bugs, etc.
Through here the sun never came. The trees were
alive also with talking things, toads and what not.
The green hell of popular imagination all right.
My recollection of that bit of jungle was cut short by
a sign now familiar to me after my last two visits,
101st Field Hospital. In three minutes Ed and I were
together again, a happy reunion. Fr. Flaherty came
along and I invited the pair of them to the ship. A jeep
with Father as chauffeur started back again. He gave
me the ride of my life, through black oozy mud and
dusty roads until we hit the beach. Then he imitated
the racers on the beaches of Florida. We raced along
the hard-packed sand for about five miles. Every once
in a while we would meet a group of soldiers and Marines whose day’s work was done at 4:30 p.m. taking
a swim in the blue waters off Guadalcanal. I pointed
out one spot of historic interest, where I swam about
11 this morning. Onto our beach, into a boat, up the
side of the ship on nets, decks, and the landlubbers
were in my room. A steak dinner with all the fixings;
fresh vegetables, real butter, (they hadn’t had any for
months), fresh peaches with ice cream, lemonade,
Coca Cola, orange juice, etc., helped to atone for what
they had been putting into themselves from cans. After
the meal about 7 o’clock they relaxed in deck chairs for
the next two hours. They were having the time of their
lives just relaxing, drinking in the beauty of the starfilled tropical heavens and the lights of Tulagi off our
port side. When they were ushered into the staterooms
for the night they were afraid that they wouldn’t be
able to sleep because the mattresses were too soft after
they had been sleeping on cots for months.
We fuel the destroyer USS Soufley on our port side.
Ens. Lucier knows Fr. McInerney, CSC, a professor at
Notre Dame, brother of the secretary to Fr. O’Connell
at B.C. He helped to engineer the change of Football
Coach Frank Leahy to Notre Dame from B. C. He
spoke individually to the members of the Notre Dame
124
graduate board, then saw Leahy in Cleveland.
One of my men in an interview tonight said that he
was reading the New Testament, the section about
“Knock and it shall be opened to you.” “I’m going
to keep pounding until I get what I want!”was his
observation.
Tuesday, March 2, 1943
0600 – I celebrate Mass with Ed serving and receiving Holy Communion. The folks back home will be
glad to learn that our Mass was offered up for the
entire family, living and dead. Fr. Flaherty followed
125
on with his Mass and I had the privilege of serving
him. After breakfast they retire to the bridge deck by
the Radio Shack where they ease themselves into deck
chairs again and watch a destroyer come alongside the
port side for a fueling operation.
Chief Bonnette calls up to say that they have some
nice hot doughnuts below. Perhaps they would like
them. They do! For dinner they choose another steak
and fresh drinks, orange juice and lemonade. Believe
it or not, but Ed and Father had to call a halt on their
dessert; their capacity was exhausted!!! In the meantime, down below a box of oranges and apples and
chocolate bars was being filled for the two generals.
When they left the ship about one o’clock, they
were a full and happy pair. Fr. Flaherty said that the
experience was as good as a furlough. Ed said that
he might be in Fiji the next time I come around.
Unfortunately, their regiment is being broken up
and that means he and Father separate. May God
124 Francis W. Leahy (1908–1973) led the Boston College football Eagles to 9-2 and 11-0 records in 1939 and 1940. He then signed as head
coach with the football program at Notre Dame, his alma mater, breaking his BC contract. Boston College contemplated a lawsuit but
did not file. Under Leahy, Notre Dame teams won 87 games and four AP-designated national championships over 11 years.
125 Consecutive Masses—rather than concelebrated Masses—were the rule prior to the Second Vatican Council.
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�bring them together before long! They climb out of
the bakery opening two-thirds of the way down the
ship. The box is lowered after them into their taxi, a
tank lighter, and they are on their way. I hope they
enjoyed their visit half as much as I enjoyed having
them with me.
Hatteras on December 18, 1942. Some of the men
complain of seasickness. We are steaming south
through the Coral Sea, sliding down the west coast
of New Caledonia. This is the graveyard of the Wasp,
127
our splendid carrier.
Friday, March 5, 1943
5:30 – We get underway once more, this time bound
for Noumea, New Caledonia. A dozen Marines and
two Army stowaways comprise our full passenger list. It seems strange to have no personnel to
carry beyond those few. Usually we have thousands
aboard. Our home is very quiet.
One of the Marines: “Where you people were is
known as Steel Bottom Bay, there are so many of
our ships and the ships of the Japs down there.”
The comedian, Joey Brown entertained the boys last
night. “Never knew I could swim so well until I tried
to navigate your roads in a jeep.” Charlie Kirby, Jr.
met him, excused himself after a minute. “We get to
go up and bomb Buna [New Guinea]; see you when
we get back.” As casual as that. Never knew when he
126
might have a rendezvous with death.
Wednesday, March 3, 1943
0510 – General Quarters. 0610 – Mass.
Cleanout of ship after the loading and unloading
operation at Guadalcanal. A quiet day without any
passengers aboard, the first time in months that we
have been without some passengers. Ship is a quiet
as a house after all the guests have departed.
Thursday, March 4, 1943
Rough weather today, the first day since we left Cape
Rough weather still with us in the morning, then it
clears beautifully about noon. At 1:30 we sight an
old friend, the postcard lighthouse on the strip of
golden sand that we first sighted on last January 18,
after our long trip from Norfolk. It is still as beautiful as ever, and the mountains in the distance and
the coral reefs with the surf breaking lacy foam over
them here ten miles off shore still fascinate us as we
stand on the flying bridge.
Beside me, Van Auken, Electrician’s Mate 1/c, says
that he intends to have some duty “round the anchor;”
in other words, to take it easy while in port. He has
been busy day and night. Says of one of his shipmates
that he is a “bit left rudder,” i.e. slightly pixilated. He
asks, “Do you remember how good the sight of this
land was about two months ago?” Now we notice
much more patrol activity. Lead destroyers are slicing the water on every side of us and a squadron of
21 planes deafens us with its roar overhead. They are
flying in beautiful formation. Six fighters, Grummans
leading the echelon, three torpedo planes following
them and two more formations of six Grummans, an
awesome sight as they streak over us lightning-fast.
Saturday, March 6, 1943
I make arrangements today to have Mass aboard ship
for men from the USS John Penn [an attack transport]
126 Joseph E. Brown (1891–1973) was a convivial, rubber-faced movie and stage comedian who during the war traveled at his own expense to
put on shows in military camps and hospitals. (The USO was at the time a domestic program.) In 1942 he lost a son in a military airplane
accident. He was one of two non-combatants to be awarded the Bronze Star for service during the war.
127 The grave of the Wasp, which was struck by three submarine-fired torpedoes on August 15, 1942, would have held particular resonance for
Foley. Among the 193 men who were lost was Commander John J. Shea, a 1918 graduate of Boston College who was last seen directing a fire
suppression unit on the stricken vessel and who left behind a powerful legacy in the form of a letter he’d sent to be held for his young son in
the eventuality of his death. John, Jr. was five when his father was killed, and the elder Shea’s “Letter to Jackie,” was published in Boston after a
family member brought it to the attention of a local newspaper. Shea offered plain-spoken counsel. “[T]ake good care of your mother. Be a good
boy and grow up to be a good young man. Study hard when you go to school. Be a leader in everything that is good in life.” A sentence that
Catholics found particularly appealing—as did the military, which assisted with the letter’s wide dissemination—read “Be a good Catholic, and
you can’t help being a good American.” Shea was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross, the military’s second highest award recognizing valor.
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�tied up on our starboard side, the USS Argonne repair
ship on her starboard side and the USS San Juan, one
of the cruisers in the task force of the USS Saratoga,
carrier. Latter is riding proudly at anchor about a mile
from us. I still marvel at the number of men aboard
“Old Sara.” Mr. Pound, Navy for 26 years, is the only
man whom I have asked who came within 1500 of
guessing how many officers and men she carries. He
guessed 3000, only 200 short.
little fellow in the front row about six years old, all eyes,
follows suit and then blesses everybody.
To the Movie Exchange Special Services where I
128
pick up The Story of Irene and Vernon Castle for
tonight’s show.
0900– Another Mass with about 150 men
Ashore at night, the sentries look like men from
Mars. They are hooded, with anti-mosquito nets to
protect them from the hordes of nature’s dive bombers; they wear gloves, and their trousers are tightly
bound around their ankles. They make a weird
sight as they step out from the pitch darkness into
the glare of the headlights to challenge the jeep in
which we were riding.
present from the ships around us, followed by
Benediction.
Wednesday, March 10, 1943
Sunday, March 7, 1943
Mass at 0630. About 40 Communions, with most
of the 150 from my own ship.
I stay aboard this afternoon cleaning up a lot of odds
and ends that were clamoring for attention.
Monday, March 8, 1943
At five o’clock I go ashore to see Fr. Frank MacDonald, S.J., B.C., who is in excellent shape and has his
little parish with the 37th CB Battalion on a straight
course with smooth sailing all along.
Tuesday, March 9, 1943
To the Convent of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Cluny to
have linens done. Sister Joseph introduces me to the
Sisters as Pere DePomes, “The Apple Father,” from my
previous visit when I was loaded with apples for them.
Into the classrooms also; about 80 little tackers, Japs,
Chinese, Javanese, Melanesians. I give my blessing to
all of them. As I extend my hands and close them, a
Ash Wednesday. I distribute ashes at Mass this morning. Fr. Fred Gehring is my dinner guest. He was on
Guadalcanal from September to February. What was
most devastating and most frightening was the naval
shelling from Japanese battlewagons below the horizon. Definition of courage framed by one of his men,
“Fear saying its prayers.” Those men on Guadalcanal
waded through blood and sweat, both their own; and
their tears flowed for the days on which Fr. Gehring
was burying 200 Marines a day for a stretch. Most effective page in one of the current magazines comes to
mind. Soldier lies on his side dead, rifle stuck in the
ground beside him, question is asked, “And You Talk
129
of Sacrifice?”
Two deserters we carried down from Guadalcanal are
taken ashore. Two rosy-cheeked boys about twenty-two
years old. Trouble? One of them told me that they were
working the Officers’ Mess; were ordered to kill flies
128 A 1939 RKO musical with a patriotic theme, in which Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers play Vernon and Irene Castle, a British couple who
made up a wildly popular ballroom dance team in the early years of the century. The movie ends with Vernon Castle’s death in a training
accident after he enlisted with the British Air Force during World War I.
129 Perhaps the most celebrated American chaplain of the war, Frederic P. Gehring (1903–1998), whom Foley had met at chaplain school,
was a Vincentian priest attached to the 1st Marine Division who became known as “The Padre of Guadalcanal.” During the campaign he
deliberately place himself on the front lines, made several forays behind enemy lines to find and rescue Catholic missionaries, and presided over and played the violin at a celebrated religious service held at midnight on Christmas Eve 1943, with 700 Marines gathered in darkness beside an open wooden church structure on the site of a previous church the Japanese had destroyed in a bombing raid. He was also
known for his rescue of a wounded Chinese child, who was found abandoned on the island, and whom he named Patsy Li, nursing her to
health and eventually bringing her to the United States for adoption. He was awarded the Legion of Merit “for conspicuous gallantry.
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�and did so. During the meal officers glared at them,
made things most uncomfortable otherwise also. Commanding officer insisted they carry on without interruption; damned if they did, damned if they didn’t. So
refused to carry out the order, went over the hill. Were
not front line troops. Such at least was their story.
During visit to Fr. MacDonald, man half-lit came in
with friend; had just received word that his wife had
dropped dead. Reproached self endlessly because in
all her letters, including the last one, she begged
him to go to church, but he still had yet to go. “Now,
if only I could write to her and make her happy by
telling her that I had gone. But she is dead.”
Sunday, March 14, 1943
First Mass at 6:30 with about 75 attending, the
majority of whom receive Holy Communion.
Second Mass at 0900. Church parties from other
vessels come aboard. Fine looking young fellows,
uniformed in their immaculate white. At the end
of Mass, five men from a net tender ask for prayer
books which I am only too happy to give them.
131
Benediction at the end of Mass.
Day passes quietly; unloading operations being carried out on a minor scale. Crew not thus engaged is
busy painting the ship a deep blue color. Movie at
130
night. The Magnificent Dope. We had movies every
night for a week. Army Special Services Department,
Major Donnell in charge, generously allows me to
borrow his films. Each morning I go ashore and surrender the old one and obtain another. Street scene:
Three coal black natives who are talking at express
speed in their own language.
This afternoon I was in the Cathedral ashore for the
Vespers Service, Rosary and Benediction. Men on
right hand side, led by the rich deep-toned voice of
one of the Marist Fathers. On left, women and Sisters sing the alternate versicles. Directly behind me
are three native women, rolling out the rich vowels
of the Latin psalms and hymns as though they were
to the language born. Universality of the Church:
In the Cathedral are these native Noumeans, black,
“Nigrae [sum] sed Formosae,” French men and
women, the French priests and Sisters, Marists and
Sisters of the Order of St. Joseph of Cluny, American soldiers and sailors. Beautiful, as the full tones
of the Gregorian chant fill the nave and echo back
132
from the transepts.
Friday, March 12, 1943
Monday, March 15, 1943
Same routine as yesterday. Restful to go to bed these
nights with no conjectures in the back of my mind.
“Wonder if we will have to get up for General Quarters
during the night.” Don’t have to rise at the peep, peep,
peep General Quarters alarm in the morning either.
I am having Mass each morning in the Junior Wardroom with about 25 men in attendance.
Word that we may be underway tomorrow for New
Hebrides. Last movie tonight: The Male Animal,
133
with Henry Fonda and Olivia de Havilland.
Thursday, March 11, 1943
Tuesday, March 16, 1943
Last trip ashore; return the movie. Send a cable
through Army PX for flowers for mother for Mother’s
Day. Also put an order in for Ed.
Saturday, March 13, 1943
Confessions aboard my own ship this evening at
1800 o’clock, then I switch over to the USS John
Penn where I hear them for an hour.
Jones, PHM [pharmacist’s mate] 3/c attempted to
commit suicide last night by taking about fifteen
sleeping pills. Stomach pumped out, he is sent
130 A thin 1942 comedy starring Henry Fonda and Don Ameche.
131 A net tender is a small vessel that maintains harbor fortifications.
132 “Nigrae [sum] sed Formosae references Song of Songs, 1:5, “I am black and beautiful.”
133 A Warner Brothers comedy of married life, starring Henry Fonda.
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�ashore. Had been brooding recently. Talked with
him about his mistake at Suva, Fiji, when he took
too much aboard on the one shore liberty the crew
had. Seemed utterly disgusted with his performance.
Since then read a good deal of Poe for whom he had
great admiration.
Wednesday, March 17, 1943
Feast of St. Patrick and Dismas. Underway
for Espiritu Santo again with about twenty-five
passengers.
Running each evening a Catechism class for four
Mess Attendants. In the question period at the end,
one of them wanted to know when Ash Friday was.
Street scene comes back to mind in Noumea. Tonkinese women with their coffee rolls doing a rushing business with our sailors. Their ice cream also
goes quickly. They soon found out that an American
sailor is always hungry.
Another street scene. On my way to the Movie
Exchange, where Major Donnell is, hear somebody
whistling the Woodpecker Song – do me sol ti re
la; turn around expecting to see one of our soldier
boys. It is a native dressed only in blue shorts, with
a green fern strung through his mop of thick black
hair. His black face breaks out in a broad smile
when I look around at him. He guessed what I
134
was thinking and said, “Me know too.”
Thursday, March 18, 1943
Making good speed with the John Penn, the
Algorab and a tanker. Stormy weather today;
some cases of seasickness. One sailor to another,
“Are you weak?” “I’m throwing it just as far as
the other fellow, ain’t I?”
Arrive at Espiritu Santo at five in the afternoon.
Dull rainy afternoon; same pungent smell, piney,
rolls down with the wind from the densely covered
hills between which this channel runs.
Friday, March 19, 1943
Back to our old stamping ground; third trip here.
Sailor remarks, “We’ll know this part of the South
Seas as well as our own back yard after a while.”
Saturday, March 20, 1943
Letter from sister, Mary, informing me that they had
received word that Ed and I had met.
Off our port side, seaplanes are tuning up their motors preparing to take off on their patrol. They spin
around and around in the water as the pilot tunes
them up to a full-throated roar, then lets them die
down to a mutter. They straighten out for the long
run between ships, trailing a white plume of spray
as they increase their speed. After a mile run, almost
imperceptibly they rise very slowly, then make a turn
out to sea.
About nine o’clock a deafening roar as I sit in my
room. Step outside. Fifteen Grumman fighters are
flying in formation fairly low, patterns of 4, 4, 3, and
4. Suddenly they peel off to practice dive-bombing
the ships in the stream. They swoop down, twisting and rolling mast high over the ship at blinding
speed. A thrilling sight but we are grateful that this is
a dry run, not the real thing.
Aboard come the soldiers of the Vermont National
Guard with their Chaplain, Fr. Mahoney. Both of us
hear confessions at night.
Sunday, March 21, 1943
Up at 5 o’clock rigging the altar for Mass at 6 o’clock.
Large number of Communions.
Fr. Mahoney says the 9 o’clock Mass. Splendid group
of Catholics in his outfit, one of the finest we have
carried. Three o’clock in the afternoon, Rosary and
Benediction; about 300 in attendance.
134 “The Woodpecker Song,” recorded by the Glenn Miller Orchestra, was a best-selling recording in 1940.
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�We get underway at 8:30, beautiful summer morning. Blue of the water contrasts sharply with the
fresh green of the shore. Set against the green
background is the little French Church with the half
dozen houses, white-walled and red-roofed clustered
around it. Outside a church party from one of the
ships stands around, sailors in their immaculate
white uniforms adding a lovely touch to the picture.
Slowly we make our way through the submarine net,
then head out for the wide stretches of the open sea.
As we steam along, one of the soldiers points out the
spot where the USS President Coolidge went down.
These men were aboard her. When the men got
ashore they had to cut their clothes off, for they
135
were covered with oil.
Today is the first day of Spring back home. In their
letters my mother and sisters are describing the fuel
shortage and how cold it is. Here we are sweating
in the summer heat. Three men aboard have heat
prostration.
Monday, March 22, 1943
0500 – General Quarters. Once again we are underway and answer the peep, peep, peep of the GQ
alarm by going quickly to our battle stations an hour
before dawn, 0430!
if it hasn’t gone already. Here’s hoping that he is a
passenger. How pleased the family would be to learn
that we had a cruise together again.
Tuesday, March 23, 1943
0330 – Up and say Mass, breakfast, then ashore at
0730 to see Ed. This time fortunately we land just at
the place desired, opposite Henderson Field. Down
over the side in a cargo net, then into the beach in
an invasion boat, with souvenirs on every side of
the attack by the Marines last August; amphibious
tanks, that are rolling back and forth with the tide;
some of them within five yards of the shore, some
overturned on the beach.
Thumb a ride with Red Miller of Granville Avenue,
Medford; learn that he is to board our ship. Within
ten minutes I am with Ed and Fr. Flaherty again.
Ed gets permission to spend the evening with me;
Father also. We drop in on Fr. Brock who is wrestling with his mattress, trying to beat it into some
normal size before it is taken aboard. He is one of
our passengers, which makes both of us very happy.
Ed and Fr. Flaherty are staying behind to be picked
up later. Ed is still trying for a psychiatric position
with Captain Peel. He and Fr. Flaherty may be in a
cadre that will be formed and then shipped back to
the States. Here’s hoping and praying.
0600 – Mass. And Fr. Mahoney says his with a good
number receiving Holy Communion.
Gunnery Officer says that they have received a report
that enemy air activity is expected today. All the gun
crews are alert, for two other convoys were attacked in
this area recently. We are within easy bombing range
of New Georgia, a Jap air base north of Guadalcanal.
Rain comes down heavily and closes in all day, so
elements help us and no planes bother us.
Captain gives me permission to go ashore tomorrow to see Ed again. We hope to take him and his
buddies aboard. His outfit is due to be moved to Fiji
135 See entry for January 30, 1943.
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Ed and I sit under a palm tree on the second fighter
strip at Henderson Field and watch the squadrons
of Lightnings and Aircobras come in, then climb
up, swing the turn, peel off and follow each other
at intervals of about three minutes. The last man
of the second four almost met with disaster; I was
just about to raise my hand in absolution from a
distance. He landed at an angle, with his port wing
almost touching the ground, then his starboard
wing dipped dangerously. He made his decision in
a split-second to swing up and come in again. Ed
tells me that a slight puff of wind coming from an
unexpected quarter sometimes causes these crack-
�ups, one of which we almost witnessed but happily
missed. Up and out he soars over where my ship is
anchored, then coasts in and makes a perfect three
point landing this time.
As we sit and talk under the palm tree, the fronds
overhead are gently waving in the slight breeze. In
the shade it is pleasant enough, but in the sun –
oh my! about 120.
Suddenly a machine gun barks sharply three times,
zing, -ng, -ng, the bullets sing as they fly across the
airport. Ed casually informs me that the aviation
mechanic pressed the wrong button on the plane and
the bullets sped out. “Dangerous?” “That’s why the
men duck instinctively around here.”
About one o’clock we make our way out to the ship,
embarking in one of our invasion boats. The three
of us, Fr. Flaherty, Ed and I, climb the gangway,
look around the ship, meet Fr. Brock who is aboard,
like everybody else surprised at the appointments of
our vessel. I leave them to themselves, scout up the
steaks for tonight, the peaches and cream. They sit
down at 5 ‘clock to a meal which only ends when they
have to admit that they can’t put any more away.
Ed leaves at 8:30. As we say goodbye, he says that
he expects me back shortly. He is not disappointed
at being left behind while the rest of his outfit goes
aboard, for there is a good chance of his being a
member of the cadre, the nucleus of a new division.
If so, then he would be sent back to the States.
We learn this morning that while we were cruising
last night, Maytag Charlie bombed Henderson Field,
destroying four big planes, one Boeing 25 and 3 Liberators, and fired an ammunition dump. Lucky hits all.
Recall the Photo Reconnaissance planes that Ed and I
inspected. He said that they were blinding fast. Their
one job is to take pictures, without a single gun aboard.
They simply outrun anything that comes after them.
On the nose of the fuselage of one was painted a
queer little fellow. He wore a top hat and tails, was
apparently flying, with four legs dangling down;
in his hands was a camera that he was pointing at
the earth below. On his face was a big broad smile.
We asked the mechanic what he was. “Shutterbug”
was the answer. Same mechanic told us that the top
speed of the plane was four hundred miles an hour.
Her best weapon when she gets in trouble, speed.
Thursday, March 25, 1943
Nightfall we get underway, cruising to get away
from the Japs. The crowd of us go topside to drink
in the beauty of the full tropical moon. We are sailing directly into it as it rises. The ship ahead of us
is directly in her path and we quietly remark on the
beauty of the setting. On our left is Guadalcanal
bathed in the soft light of the moon. On our right
is Florida and Tulagi. Ahead of us a ship, like ourselves, behind us the same, while on our starboard
our three destroyers patrol for us. Off in the distance
are remote flashes of gunfire.
En route to Espiritu Santo.
0445 – Rise; Mass after General Quarters.
Beautiful summery day. We are bumping our heads
against sunshine and tripping over fresh air as we
slide through Torpedo Junction again. Mountains
on either side of us wreathed in white cloud veils,
without a sign of habitation on them; just dense
foliage. Fr. Brock and companions enjoying every
single minute of the trip.
Friday, March 26, 1943
At 10:00 the boys retire to soft mattresses again.
0500 – General Quarters.
Wednesday, March 24, 1943
0600 – Mass, with Fr. Brock’s 182nd Regiment
Mass at 5:30 served by Ed. We offer Mass for all
the family, living and dead. The three of them, Frs.
Flaherty and Brock and Ed look fine after their restful
night. Fr. Flaherty leaves at 6:30 to say Mass ashore.
making a splendid showing, both here and also at
Rosary in the afternoon.
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�Read of controversy in papers back home started
by Rex Stout, Chairman of War Writers Board. His
gospel is one of hate, according to the article that he
wrote for the N.Y. Times in one of its January issues.
Strange, spreaders of gospel of hate are those sitting
behind comfortable desks, far from the front lines.
I have spoken with men who fought in the second
front in Africa, when soldiers from our own ship were
assault troops; I have been with Marines on Guadalcanal, with soldiers of the 147th, 164th and 182nd
Regiments and Carlson’s Raiders, and not one of
them ever said that he was motivated by blind hatred.
Yet these are men who have killed their fellow man.
Marine guarding Jap prisoners on their way to New
Zealand, “I felt like a bully standing over these fellows with my club.” Yet he had killed his share of Japs.
Attitude of Leslie McNair, General of the Air Ground
Forces, who made a speech in a similar vein, hardly
squares with President Roosevelt’s expressed wish
that this war must result in a re-Christianization of
the world. That means not when war is over, merely,
but now also. Our boys are still Christians when they
fight, not pagans. Their spirit with others is a duty to
fight but not to nurse vindictive hatred. Their spirit
within themselves is one of unselfishness, self-sacrifice, self-denial, unity, and cooperation for the com136
mon good.
Flare dropped on us by Jap plane last night at 10:45;
we ran all out, fortunately nothing happened. Arrive
at Espiritu Santo at 11:00. Word that we leave at 1430,
but stay overnight. I slip ashore and try three other
ships for 16 mm movies but have no luck.
Saturday, March 27, 1943
0600 – Awakened by roar of motors of planes
tuning up for their dawn patrol trick. There are
the big four-motored giants and the little scout
planes. Day is a wet one underfoot and a cloudy
one overhead.
1000 – We pull up anchor and start our journey
to Suva, Fiji. Day clears toward evening just before
we have General Quarters. Fr. Brock and I hear
confessions at night.
Sunday, March 28, 1943
0500 – General Quarters. 0600 – First Mass
at which about 85 boys receive Holy Communion.
0900 and 1100 Masses which Fr. Brock celebrates.
1000 – Protestant Service conducted by
Chaplain Franklin.
I must be the only Catholic pastor in the world
who has three curates like my present passengers,
a Catholic priest, a Protestant Minister and a Jewish Rabbi; the last ran his service at 1000 yesterday
morning. All told we had the following services:
Saturday: 1000 – Jewish; Sunday: 0600, 0900, 1100 –
Masses; 1000 – Protestant Service; 1500 – Rosary and
Benediction; Christian Endeavor Meeting.
Day indescribably beautiful; blue water, blue sky,
blue mountains, blue ships, all of a different shade
and all bathed in the brilliance of the tropical sun-
136 The Writers’ War Board was formed early in the conflict by a group of volunteers who offered to produce articles that would support war
aims and American morale. By early 1942, under the leadership of the writer of popular detective fiction Rex Stout, the Board had more
than 3,000 members. Stout’s views on exacting harsh terms of peace from Germany, however, brought controversy to the group. Germans,
he said, suffered from “pan-Germanism,” a political sentiment that had led to two world wars and that needed to be harshly curbed if a
third World War was to be avoided. The Foley-referenced article by Stout appeared in the Times on January 17th, and was titled “We Shall
Hate, or We Shall Fail: If we do not hate the Germans now, we shall fail in our effort to establish a lasting peace.” The article explicitly
rejected the Christian ideal of love for one’s enemy. While several liberal Protestant clergy rejected Stout’s views, leaders of the Catholic
Church were silent. Stout’s views, it’s worth noting, while radical, came relatively close to aligning with some American war propaganda,
as in a War Department orientation film, This is Germany, produced in 1945 for American occupation forces. McNair was a senior Army
staff officer who in December 1942, gave a controversial speech in which he told assembled soldiers “It is the avowed purpose of the Army
to make killers of all of you . . . . [W]e must hate with every fiber of our being. We must lust for battle; our object in life must be to kill; we
must scheme and plan night and day to kill.” He himself was killed—by American fire, it’s believed—in Normandy in 1944.
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�shine. We slide along through “Torpedo Slot” with
two destroyers, three in fact, patrolling for us. We
steam between Amboina and Pentecost Island, pass
Lopevi Island, active volcano, shaped in a perfect
137
cone; last eruption in 1883.
Monday, March 29, 1943
0315 – General Quarters. Torpedo reported fired at
us. We are at our battle stations quicker than you
138
could say “New England T and T stock”.
General Quarters for half an hour. A near miss is as
good as a mile. One more instance when the prayers
of family and friends back home assured us of the
protection of God and Our Lady.
General Quarters over, I say Mass immediately.
No sooner finished than GQ again. This sub is persistent. However, he is apparently left behind after
half an hour and we are on our way safely again.
Down in the sick bay at my battle station with Dr.
Harris and Dr. Daniel. Cooped up in the hermetically sealed compartment with all port holes dogged
down and all watertight doors slammed shut, we sit
and sit and sit. Only later do we below find out what
the excitement is topside.
At 0445 topside, on way up to flying bridge to catch
the sunrise. Five miles off our port side is a line of
low mountainous islands, with a destroyer between
us and them about half a mile away. Behind the
islands are cloud mountains, not clinging to the top
of the islands but rising up sheer as though somebody had them by the hair of the head. One of them
soars up like the Empire State Building, stately and
magnificent over those around it. The upper part all
along both sides, its pinnacle, is fringed with white
that reddens into gold. The formation changes into
two cloudlets with a deep dip between them. This
valley is now crimson, now gold and then the sun
lifts its head slowly up over the window of another
day to see if we are still afloat. Meanwhile along the
near horizon, companion clouds are purple on their
peaks as they are touched by the rays of the sun
that are arching now all over the blue morning sky.
Another one of the masterpieces of God the Divine
Architect who paints a different one every morning
and never tires of His work.
Fr. Brock says Mass at 0600 for his men and members of my crew who were not free during my Mass.
He finds the breeze blowing a bit sturdy but I tell
him it is just a gentle zephyr.
The example of the Catholic men from Somerville
and Medford, Charlestown and Cambridge, has been
139
most inspiring. They have attended daily Mass in
large numbers and have honored Our Lady with her
daily Rosary and sung out her “Mother Purest, Mother Fairest.” The sight of them kneeling on the rolling
deck stirs the heart. Young, yet men who have been
close to death, have seen their friends, over three
hundred of them, die, men themselves who have
killed an enemy who tried to do away with them by
all kinds of tactics, e.g. two men advancing to surrender with hands over their heads, then when within a
short distance of our boys, falling flat on their faces,
while the machine gun strapped to the back of the
first is operated by the second. No wonder our boys
demanded that they surrender stark naked.
137 Foley here names some of the islands in the Solomon Archipelago that run parallel to each other, forming a navigable channel —
“the torpedo slot”— through which both American and Japanese warships engaged in the Guadalcanal campaign had to pass and in
which they were vulnerable to attack. Generally, American forces ruled the slot during the day, while superior radar technology enabled
Japanese forces to command the slot at night.
138 The region’s first telephone service, New England Telephone and Telegraph, was founded in 1878 and subsumed a year later into the National
Bell Telephone Company. Foley may have been referencing a Boston colloquialism relating to the speed with which the company vanished.
139 Somerville, Medford and Cambridge are cities near Boston. Charlestown is a neighborhood of Boston.
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�Now these boys are going to Suva to engage in
maneuvers for a future attack on New Georgia!
They are due to stay in Fiji for ninety days.
At two in the afternoon we sight the lovely town of
Suva once more, as picturesque as it was on its first
appearance. The afternoon sun is bathing everything, the green of the hills is as fresh as ever and
the houses and buildings as sturdy as when we saw
them on January 26 for the first time.
It is now about six o’clock so there is no prospect of
going ashore this evening even though our big ship
has been carefully nursed through the minefield and
is safely anchored port side to the dock.
I say goodbye to Fr. Brock, Dr. Whelan, who had
Fr. [John L.] Bonn in class at B.C., and a classmate
of mine, Col. Hogan, who received every day while
aboard and knelt every afternoon for Our Lady’s
Rosary, a splendid example to his men. Chaplains
Rothschild and Franklin also say goodbye. The
182nd Regimental Band that put on a jam session
for the crew last night also leaves us, still happy
over the steak dinner and apple pie and ice cream
dinner we gave them in gratitude.
Tuesday, March 30, 1943
Peaceful night’s sleep tied up to the dock.
0600 – Mass, breakfast, ashore, after I say goodbye
to Fr. Brock who stayed aboard after all with Col.
Hogan from Wakefield. His boy was at B.C., one
of my entering class when I was first appointed
140
Freshman Dean.
Ashore where I buy two dozen bottles of Mass wine,
which should keep me going for a while now, from a
priest at the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart.
Suva still as picturesque as ever. Muscular native
policemen in their native scalloped white skirts,
knee length blue jackets and blue belts, are in their
glory as they direct traffic flowing by in English
style. Forward on the left hand side of the road and
aft on the starboard. Huge heads of wooly black hair
give them a formidable appearance.
Day is very hot. At noon everybody drops out of sight
for an hour and a half. Noel Coward’s song with the
line in it about “Only mad dogs and Englishmen go
out in the noonday sun” should substitute the word
American for English, for only sailors and soldiers
could be seen around here.
Overhead a dazzling blue sky, cloudless except for a
space directly over the mountains, rising right over
our shoulders. Those clouds are the signals of a hot
moist climate down below.
Wednesday, March 31, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Into town again, walking leisurely along the road
that leads to the Grand Pacific Hotel. There the
romantic pictures of the travel books come to life.
The hotel is situated right on the ocean front. Palm
trees lean lazily over the waters of the blue Pacific,
noiselessly rolling up on the beach. Out on the horizon
lie purple mountains drenched in the brilliant sunshine. On the water a million and one diamonds are
sparkling. Looking around the porch of the hotel are
a few strangers like myself, admiring the manicured
lawns tended by natives in shorts only. The hot sun
makes no impression on their black backs. Parakeets
and orange doves and wrens and finches are chattering away in the fronds of the palm trees overhead. One
tree in particular has been so trained that it is a big fan,
standing about 20 feet above the ground. The grass was
refreshed about an hour ago by a shower, so it wears a
wide awake look. It is as dry as a match shortly, for this
hot sun challenges anything to stay moist under its rays.
I lie down to snatch forty winks on the sacred
precincts of the lawn. The contented cluck, cluck
140 Foley’s full title at the time he entered the Navy was Dean of Admissions and Dean of Freshmen and Sophomores. He had previously
taught Greek and English literature.
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�of a maternal hen foraging for her eight chicks,
a domestic touch on the commercial lawn, wakes
me from my South Seas slumber. After a half hour
I am on my way back to the ship after saying the
Stations of the Cross for my father in the Cathedral.
Thursday, April 1, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Ashore to the Red Cross outfit. On the way I pass a
native fish market where the fishermen are selling
their early morning catches to the native women.
They are lined up together outside a square, wireenclosed space in which the seller holds up the fish
and seeks bids. The purchasers shrill out their prices
good naturedly and smile at the one who has made
a successful bid. The Mother Hubbard dresses are
something to see on these women. They are of all
colors, brilliant red, yellow, black or white or green or
plain gingham. One gargantuan woman was adorned
in a white one that housed her ample 250 pounds.
Majestically, she swept along in her bare feet, while
three youngsters clung to her for protection. Gaily
she chatted with other women, utterly oblivious of the
attention she was exciting. These people are delightful
in their childlike simplicity. They are always smiling,
men, women and children, with not a worry in the
world. Beautiful regular features mark the women.
The men are handsome also; they are black in color
but not Negro in features.
From Red Cross, Mr. Asquith, Mr. Dyer and I obtain
some gum and candy and peanuts. Clerk there asks
me what kind of a Chaplain I am. “Catholic priest.”
She tells me, “I am the wife of a priest, the Anglican Bishop here.” For a second I was flabbergasted.
What does one say when told that you are speaking with the wife of the Anglican Bishop of Fiji? It
seemed utterly incongruous to me as for a nun to
say that she has a husband. I simply spoke a noncommittal “Is that so?” and let it go at that.
Suva Street Scenes:
– Two swarthy native women wrenching away
with their teeth at a foot of bamboo, tearing off
the brown outside skin of the stalk and chewing
the white celery-like rind and then spitting it out.
Later I learn that they were munching sugar
cane, not bamboo.
– A big, handsome physical specimen taking his
morning market stroll with his wife and little
youngster. He is wearing a white blouse and a
red checkered wrap-around skirt that might have
been taken from an Italian spaghetti restaurant
back home. Sharp contrast with his outsize head
of black hair and jet black skin. Feet, of course,
are unshod. Wife is wearing a white petticoat down
to her ankles with a pink dress almost the same
length. Little girl is robed in flowing cerise dress.
– Indian woman silently pads by, on her face the
tired look of centuries of oppression, it would seem.
She is wearing a shawl of green looped around her
head, over her shoulder and down to her ankles.
A purple blouse and an immaculate white skirt
make a beautiful color ensemble.
– By the side of a store, sitting on a box cross-legged,
two East Indians are playing checkers. They are
wrapped up in their game and don’t mind the Yankee
kibitzer rubbernecking at them. He makes only eight!
However, he keeps his tongue. The others give oral
suggestions about possible moves. Both of the players
pick up their checkers quickly and slap them down
hard every time a move is made, like the flourish that
some men make when they are playing cards.
Friday, April 2, 1943
0530 – General Quarters. From Suva to Guadalcanal,
again to flirt with death.
0600 – First Friday Mass. Fine turnout of men of
this 147th Infantry outfit. Catholics have had no
priest for three Sundays. About 60 receive Holy
Communion. Busy all morning attending to these
141
men, most of whom come from Ohio.
141 The 147th Infantry Regiment was an Ohio National Guard unit that took part in the difficult island battles of Guadalcanal, Saipan, Tinian,
Iwo Jima, and Okinawa. Separated from the 37th Infantry Division in 1942, they were posted to the Pacific Theater as a “lost regiment.”
They fought alongside the Marines but, to the chagrin of some, did not achieve similar approbation for their work. They were known as
the “Gypsies of the Pacific” or the “147th Marines.”
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�Day is usual one; drenched with sunshine. Passengers are looking forward to their arrival in Guadalcanal, foolish boys, not realizing that they were well
off at Fiji. Healthy, with good blood now in their
veins, they will return, some of them, in fact the
larger percentage, with unhealthy malaria germs
in their bloodstream. The percentage has been as
high as 91% with Marines.
On both sides islands have their headdress of clouds.
1500 – Rosary
and Benediction on Boat Deck Forward.
1800 – 1930 – Confessions
in my little cubby hole.
Saturday, April 3, 1943
0530 – General Quarters.
0600 – Mass in crew’s mess hall. Temperature must
have been at least 98. I do not perspire easily, yet my
habit, alb and chasuble were all soaked with perspiration at the end of Mass.
0900 – Mass in Senior Wardroom.
1500 – Rosary
and Benediction; excellent turnout.
Monday, April 5, 1943
Chaplain took care of him. Chaplain Uphall, the
Army Chaplain travelling with the outfit.
Tuesday, April 6, 1943
0245 – We rise to bugle of reveille! What an hour!
0300 – Mass. We are arriving at Guadalcanal. As
dawn begins to break, we make out what is now a
familiar shoreline. Along the edges are the deep
green coconut trees and in the background the light
purplish blue of the mountains, wreathed as usual
in their morning mists and veils of clouds. The sun
starting to climb below the horizon and giving advance notice of its coming will soon dissipate them.
Hurrah! We are anchoring off Henderson Field, Ed’s
stamping ground. The landing nets are lowered.
Down climb the soldiers ever so cautiously. It is their
first trip over the side with or without loaded packs.
Three of them lose their grip and drop down about
twenty feet. Fortunately none of them is seriously
injured. They had landed on their buddies and the
thick pack they carry broke the force of the fall. Down
I go over one on the port side aft. In the boat are about
forty soldiers anxious to set foot on Guadalcanal. In
we make our way to our landing beach, hit it with full
speed, lower the ramp and over it the soldiers and I
step on the famous blood-soaked soil of this island.
0445 – General Quarters.
whose birthday it was. In the evening, General
Quarters from 8:30 to 9:10. Three Jap planes
headed in our direction; fortunately they were
turned back and we had a good night’s sleep.
I thumb a ride in a jeep to Ed’s location. I thumb
really well now; simply stick out the thumb and the
taxi, checkered or yellow, grinds to a stop. I pile in
over assorted cargo, gasoline cans, water containers,
picks and shovels and guns; secure a good grip on the
canvas overhead, if there is one, and then take off.
Bad accident at 3:00 p.m. Heavy ramp on tank
lighter gave way when the chain holding it snapped.
Three men struck by it. One with a fractured skull,
broken spine and severe internal injuries died three
hours after the accident. Second man has concussion with split head requiring six stitches and the
third has a shoulder that may be broken. Teeter
from Oklahoma is boy who died; was college graduate. May he rest in peace! Protestant, so Protestant
This morning within five minutes I am on the way
after saying goodbye to Chaplain Uphall, a fine fellow. Fr. Flaherty is in his tent talking with one of the
men when I stick my head through the flap. “Well,
it’s about time. Heard the ship was out there and
was expecting you at any minute.” He looks hale and
hearty, pulls out a picture of Commando Flaherty,
taken by one of the boys. As the boys drop in he tells
them that Life [Magazine] is looking for his picture.
0600 – My Mass was offered for my sister, Kay,
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�Shortly, Ed is rounded up. He looks as well as ever.
I notice that his hair is quite reddish as he stands in
the sun; in fact, some of the men call him “Red.” Ed
is now working temporarily with Mr. Gralnick, Red
Cross representative. His work with Dr. Peel, the
psychiatrist, has washed out. The Doctor whom we
visit is flat on his back with jaundice and malaria.
This afternoon Ed takes his physical for Officers
Candidate School. That decides him and Fr. Flaherty
to go out to the ship immediately so that Ed will
be back by 2 o’clock. In the meantime Fr. Flaherty
manages to get two movies for me that will come
in handy on the way back to Suva. Into the jeep we
hop and are soon on the beach, then we climb up
the long side of the ship, hand over hand on the
ladder on the port side aft. Immediately the order is
put through for filet mignons. Once again they feed
their appetites, hungry for a good steak and finish
up with ice cream and rich chocolate cake.
I pack a case with apples from the ice box, peanuts,
gum and cigars for the boys. Fr. Flaherty needs
some wine and hosts so I help him out with two
bottles and 40 large hosts and 250 small. Down the
landing net we go and head for the shore. Guadalcanal, just as the movies picture the South Seas
Islands, clear blue water, white sand on the beach,
fringed with overhanging palms and then a background of purple mountains. A remark about the
beauty of it all leaves the pair of them cold. They
want to see it from the stern on a ship shoving off
for some other place.
The ramp is let go on the front of our boat. We wait
for a small wave to recede so that we won’t get
wet and then hop ashore. There we visit “Tojo’s
Powerhouse – Now Under New Management” sign.
It furnishes the power for the airport, the saw mill,
water purificator, laundry, etc. There are two diesel engines built on a solid concrete foundation. A
little platform about ten feet in height runs around
it. Must have been small men to operate the plant.
Back of the powerhouse is the river where the men
are repairing the two bridges washed out by the
heavy rains of a few nights ago. Men in their birth-
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day suits are washing their jeeps and trucks of the
mud collected on their trips.
Back in Fr. Flaherty’s tent I meet Frs. Dwyer and
Frawley, Army Chaplains who arrived this morning
on the ships in our convoy. Fr. Flaherty passes around
the lemonade drinks to all and gives me a copy of a
cartoon, “Midnight on Guadalcanal” showing what
happens when Maytag Charlie starts the alarm. All
the incidents actually happened. One man, a Colonel
in the original story, is running in the dark plum into
a coconut tree. Two others are arguing over who is
the owner of a helmet, two more over the foxholes
they belong in. One fellow is gingerly stepping along
in the pitch dark, another is daintily carrying his two
dog tags in his hand while a sophisticated cigarette
hangs from his mouth. One moment later the driver
of the jeep will make immediate and unexpected contact with a coconut tree, etc.
While we talk, music is echoing around the coconut
grove from six loud speakers rigged in pairs. One
pair is fastened to a coconut tree with a fine head of
palms, another pair to a tall stump, souvenir of Jap
naval shelling. The sun is high in the sky; now and
then we must stop talking while a P-38 or an Aircobra roars by after taking off down the road. This
morning we saw the tragic remains of O’Sullivan,
a P-38 pilot. He underestimated the landing strip
coming in at night and cracked up. Only a shell of
the plane remains. The boy, 22, died from his injuries. He had been in 30 combats without suffering
a scratch.
On the way back to the ship, farewell till the next
time. Ed is told that his eyes are so poor that there is
little chance of his making OCS. He is disappointed.
What a waste of talent in that Army. He is typical,
I am told. College graduate, equipped for a specialized branch, psychiatry, yet he mixes unguents and
ties knots in bandages.
Off our port side, a P 38 well shot up, pancakes into
the water, plunges down immediately. Pilot, thank
God, bobs to the surface after some seconds although
it seems hours. “As many planes smashed in this
�drink and on the field as are lost in actual combat,”
comments a soldier who has just left the island.
We steam over in the direction of Tulagi at dusk.
General Quarters about 6:20, over in half an hour.
I go topside, step outside the door leading to the
deck, looking for a light here and there on Guadalcanal. Wonder if one spot that I see is where Ed
and his friends are looking at Priorities on Parade,
the movie for tonight.142 After a few minutes three
planes with their port red and starboard green lights
are landing on Henderson, its strips lit up by the
yellow smudge pots. Suddenly everything is inky
black. One searchlight reaches up and out through
the South Seas summer night and fingers the heavens, then another and another, until there are half
a dozen. They converge on one spot. The shoreline
suddenly breaks out in a sullen roar at the juncture of these lights. The Fourth of July has arrived
a bit early. Overhead five inch shells are exploding
all over the sky. They explode, blossom out into all
colors. On the shore there is an angry roar of guns
and tremendous puffs of white yellowish smoke illuminating their location for a fraction of a second.
I go to tell the doctor to come out to see the free
show. Then “Tweet, Tweet, Tweet, Tweet, Tweet.”
General Quarters. We sit and sweat in the sick bay
for one hour as the shore installations try to beat off
the four Jap planes that dropped flares just where we
were anchored two hours ago. Tulagi also opened
up on the raiders. Perhaps tomorrow we shall know
what the damage is. General Quarters over. One casualty, one of the soldiers who had just come aboard
fell four decks down into an open hatch. Back injury;
saved from death by landing on cargo nets.
Wednesday, April 7, 1943
0500 – General Quarters. 0540 – Mass.
After cruising up and down all night, we are
anchored in Tulagi Harbor. Round us are three
cruisers and six destroyers.
Tulagi is a small island ringed with the usual palms
at the water’s edge. Up the face of it rise sheer cliffs
of dark brown stone. On top of it are gun emplacements to knock off the Japs. One tip of it is a narrow
finger with 28 coconut trees lacing its shoreline. On
this are USA Army troop tents. Directly behind is
Florida Island and over to the north, Gavutu, which
cost the lives of hundreds of Marines. For here was
the bitterest opposition in the whole Solomons,
from the Imperial Marines, six footers from Northern Japan. There is just a small landing beach which
was completely dominated by Jap machine guns. As
on the rest of these islands, the growth of vegetation
is apparently overnight. The green of the trees and
coconuts has the freshness of the spring green
back home.143
At 1000 we hoist the anchor and start across the
water for Guadalcanal, one destroyer clearing the
lane for us. Although she looks close, Guadalcanal
is 20 miles away. At 1100 we are coasting along,
when the order is suddenly passed to secure for sea.
The trip ashore of the mail orderly is cancelled.
Fr. Flaherty and Ed are left on the beach. We are
underway; the Hunter Liggett has left most of her
boats ashore with their crews. Jap plane raid on the
way. “Air attack developing.” Day is now cloudy,
ideal one for the planes to cruise high and then
swoop down through.
1205 – Had
just sipped a glass of lemonade, about
to start dinner when General Quarters sounded –
“Tweet, Tweet, Tweet.” We have been running
about an hour, seventeen knots south of Henderson.
Wonder if this is it. So far we have been extremely
lucky, being either too early or too late for a date
with Tojo’s boys.
Air Attack – Guadalcanal.
2:40 p.m. – From the bridge, “60 enemy planes
over Guadalcanal.” We are about 40 miles south
of Guadalcanal.
142 Priorities, a 1942 patriotic trifle, tells the story of a struggling big band (“Jive Bombers”) whose members work in an aircraft factory.
Discovered by a talent agent, they are invited to play in New York City. They decline, preferring to continue in their defense work.
143 The Marines lost 122 men on Gavutu–Tanambogo. In re the Imperial Marines, see Note for February 11, 1943.
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�2:45 p.m. – Also from the bridge, “Enemy
planes astern!”
Dr. Harris and I go out topside to the main deck.
Five miles astern is a tanker with a destroyer escorting her. About eight planes are wheeling over them,
dropping patterns of bombs on tanker. Two seem to
be near misses. Torpedo planes start to peel off one
by one, level out, then three of them hit the water.
High up in the sky are the black blossoms of the
anti-aircraft shells. Later, destroyer reports that she
brought down four planes, three Jap and one of our
own, a Marine Captain, whose body was recovered.
Off to the west, squadrons of planes darting in and
out of the clouds look like black flies from the ship
and are about ten miles away.
ship, even though within two minutes we could have
been the targets.
Friday, April 9, 1943
0515 – General Quarters. 0600 – Mass in Junior
Wardroom.
One of the Officers aboard tells me that a Holy
Cross football guard by the name of Carroll, a
Marine 2nd Lt., with two other Marines put ashore
the other day at Munda, a Jap held island, to act as
spy and lookout. Three Sisters were evacuated by
submarine from the same island a short while ago.
They are aboard one of our ships, either the Hunter
Liggett, the Fuller or the Penn.
Saturday, April 10, 1943
No General Quarters. 0600 – Mass.
4:40 p.m. – We are finally secured from General
Quarters, an afternoon that we won’t forget for a
long time. No rest for the wicked.
10:00
p.m. – General Quarters; lasts only ten min-
utes. Destroyer astern reports to the Commodore of
the Division that she has just destroyed a Japanese
submarine. It was surfaced; she fired a broadside,
then laid a pattern of depth charges. Debris, clothing
and food came up from the depths.
We wonder how the boys on Guadalcanal made out.
This has been a hectic trip. Last night, a night attack;
today, another attack; tonight, a sub following us. Our
Lord, however, has been taking care of us. The folks
back home certainly are praying for us. Without a
doubt, prayers are winning God’s protection.
Thursday, April 8, 1943
0510 – General Quarters. 0600 – Mass on Boat Deck
Forward.
A quiet day after yesterday’s excitement; we appreciate it. Yet strangely enough, after the initial skipping
of the heart at the General Quarters alarm, one can
watch with amazing detachment an attack on another
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Navy issues the following communiqué about the
battle on Wednesday: “The Japanese, in their greatest
aerial thrust against the Guadalcanal area since last
November, hurled almost 100 planes against American shipping yesterday off that battle isle. American
fighters, rising to intercept, shot down 37 enemy
planes and lost seven, the Navy disclosed today, a ratio
of one to five.” Whether any bombers got through to
attack the ships was not made known. Here is what
happened to the force of 50 Jap bombers and 48 fighters escorting them, according to the Navy. Twenty-one
zero fighters, five dive bombers and 10 planes of types
unreported destroyed, and another Jap plane crashed.
United States planes lost were one Aircobra fighter
and six wildcat fighters. One American pilot was
rescued. The Navy communiqué at which Secretary
of War Stimson said that Jap air strength is growing
in the Lower Pacific, he added that American strength
has increased also and further increases are in prospect in China, India and the Southwest Pacific.
“Whether any bombers got through to attack the ships
was not made known.” A significant omission! We lost
six ships! Jap version over the radio. Losses: Six planes
�sunk; five medium freighters (Liberty ships?), one eight
144
thousand ton transport, one cruiser, one destroyer.
12:45
p.m. – Concert by Regimental Band, Boat Deck
Forward. Solo: “I’ve Got a Date with a Foxhole.”
145
Smash hit!
Sunday, April 11, 1943
While sitting on the Collins’ porch a party of four
suddenly came through the screen door from the
dining room with a General. When he entered, all
rose to their feet, the five of us. He looked at me and
said: “This place looks like hell; clean it up.”
Monday, April 12, 1943
0600 – Mass.
0600 – Mass. 0900 – Mass.
At ten o’clock we are heading into another port of
Viti Levu, Lautoka; much different in its approach
from that to Suva. Here are low foothills with cultivated farms along the shoreline. All over the sea
for five miles are driblets of islands, some of them
only about 1000 feet square, yet densely wooded.
Looks as though farmer scattered his seed over a
watery pasture.
Tom Keenan from South Boston comes aboard when
we anchor off the one dock in the stream with invitation from Major Jim Collins, MC, for dinner. Had Jim
in class as a sophomore at Holy Cross. Away to their
screened-in dining room overlooking the South Seas,
shoreline scalloped with a dozen inlets.
Meet Doherty, Zagami, McLoughlin, McKeon and
Misses Flannery and Downer, Army nurses from
Worcester and Cambridge respectively. Visit Church
and say the Stations for my father. Meanwhile birds
of brilliant plumage are flying overhead in the trees.
One of them with the melody of a robin in his song;
he is no red breast but green, orange and white.
We debark 1600 troops, 132nd and 182nd, Colonel
Goggin and Major Granstock.
We embark 1700 troops, 200 of whom will be
debarked at Suva. Half an hour before midnight I
go out for a breath of air before turning in. Scene
of beauty in capital letters. Moon is half size and
about one-third up in the sky over the sea horizon.
No ghostly galleon tonight, just as lazy as the clouds
which are motionless, only a handful of them. Water
is gently rippled by a South Seas zephyr. To the left
of the moon something I have never seen before.
She lights up a path along the water to the ship. Two
stars are shining so brilliantly that their star light silvers a lane to us also. The sentry and I drink in the
lovely beauty of the scene. His name, Milt Brown
from Tuscaloosa, Alabama. He reckoned, “I’s never
seed anythin’ so pretty.” Slender pencils of starlight
on waters of Fiji will not be forgotten for a long,
146
long time.
Tuesday, April 13, 1943
0600 – Mass
0900 – We leave Lautoka and steam leisurely
down the coast and anchor at Suva at three in
the afternoon.
Wednesday, April 14, 1943
Anchored at Suva. I have two movies; “Death of
147
a Champion” and “The Saint in New York.”
144 Operation I-Go, which included 350 aircraft, was a Japanese aerial offensive in the Solomons that ran from April 1–16 with the goal of
damaging American facilities, air forces and craft sufficiently to buy Japan time to strengthen defensive positions to the north. The Japanese
lost 55 planes in the operation; the Allies lost some 25 aircraft and five ships. Japan claimed to have destroyed 175 aircraft and 28 ships.
145 “I’ve Got a Date With an Angel” was a 1931 British pop hit later covered by many American performers.
146 Brown, was a member of the Army’s 147th Infantry Regiment [see note for April 2, 1943]. He returned to Tuscaloosa after the war, where he
raised a family and worked for a tire manufacturer. At the time of his death, on March 21, 2004, he was 83.
147 A low-budget Paramount who-done-it about the “murder” of a dog, and a popular RKO film about the murder of a policeman.
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�Thursday, April 15, 1943
3:30 P.M. – Underway for Guadalcanal again with
145th Regiment. Officers and men extremely
apprehensive when they learn that we were under
attack last trip. Betray anxiety in questions they ask,
remarks. “Quicker we get there and get off, better
we’ll like it.”
Soldier, as we leave harbor and slip between two
coral reefs, takes a last look at Suva and says,
“Love and mud, goodbye. How I’d like to be back
with you.”
Saw a very good appraisal of Rex Stout’s hate article in the New York Times, last January issue. “The
bloodthirstiness increases with the square of the
distance from the actual battlefield.” Would apply
148
also to Gen. McNair, of Army Ground Forces.
Friday, April 16, 1943
0555 – Mass; excellent turnout.
Soldiers and their officers are lost when they ask for
directions and receive them in Navy language, e.g.,
Starboard side inboard on the Upper Deck Forward.
One officer asking directions instructed the sailor,
“Now don’t tell me, just point.”
Captain Love: Reconnaissance problem in Fiji. For
40 miles in the hills, no road, only a trail. French
missionary and entire village of 500 Catholics started the day with Mass and ended it with night devotions, Rosary and Benediction. When this officer
and his four men on their scouting problem first
arrived, they made themselves known to the priest.
Young natives and old didn’t know what to make of
them. The five Americans decided to go swimming.
The officer emptied his pockets while the native
youngsters stood around in wondering silence. As
the contents of the pocket of the officer saw the light
of day, knife, coins, etc. came out, then a Rosary, one
of the native boys let out a shriek, bolted away and
told the priest. The priest came and told the officer,
148 See entry for March 28, 1943.
149 Four aircraft with two in front and two behind, wingtip to wingtip.
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”Youngster tickled beyond description to find that
you were a Catholic same as the rest of them.” From
that moment the boys and the soldiers were friends.
They went off down the road on the way to the
river together.
Saturday, April 17, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Our convoy is steaming ahead making good time as
we head north to Guadalcanal. With us are the USS
Penn, Fuller and Hayes, three combat ships like our
own. Sub contact but no General Quarters, for it is
off to a distance, destroyer reports.
Sunday, April 18, 1943
0600 – Mass, Boat Deck Forward
0900 – Mass.
1000 – Protestant Service. Chaplain Wearing
from Ohio.
2:30 P.M. – Rosary and Benediction. Over 250 men
present to sing Our Lady’s hymns, to say her Rosary
for the folks back home and for God’s protection on
our trip.
Planes overhead from carrier nearby give us a feeling of confidence as we come closer to Guadalcanal.
149
They are flying in square formation over us, and
their carrier floating base and protecting destroyers.
Monday, April 19, 1943
0500 – Mass.
About 7 o’clock we find we are running alongside
of Guadalcanal on our starboard side. Off in the distance is Florida with Tulagi in front of it and far on
the northern horizon, Savo, of melancholy memory
where we lost four cruisers in a sudden attack of the
enemy last August.
�The peaks on Guadalcanal are now familiar friends.
A deep purplish blue in the distance, they contrast
sharply with the green of the palm trees and coconut
groves near the water’s edge. As usual, the day is a
drenchingly beautiful one. Not once have we had a
bad day for our unloading operations.
I wonder how the boys ashore are. Last night we
150
know they had trouble, for “Condition Red” was
set on Guadalcanal all night. Shortly I shall have
the story from Ed and Fr. Flaherty.
I climb into the net over the side, drop into a
boat and we are off to shore before the ship has
stopped. We run for about three miles and ground
on Kukumbona Beach, the scene of bloody fighting between us and the Japs. Just off to the north
are beached two Jap transports, one on its side, the
other half way up on the shore. Just a shell of her
former self; apparently was a passenger liner. Was
a victim of “Slaughter Run” of our bombers from
Henderson [Field]. Dropped their eggs, then landed
at Henderson for more, repeated trips until Jap
151
transports, five of them, were pulverized.
Just behind the beach coconut trees have their heads
sheered off, grayish white trunks are scarred and
slashed by shells from artillery and naval guns.
Have steaks and candy and cigars for Ed and
Fr. Flaherty. Thumb a ride from Major Beal of the
147th. As we bump along a trail, see grim reminders
of the savage struggle. Here a hastily dug grave with
a cross over it. There a piece of Jap artillery that had
been abandoned. Alongside the road, two tremendous
bomb craters from our own flyers who were pounding
the Jap front lines at the time — November, December,
January — located in this area, which is about 12
miles north of Henderson Field.
After a half hour ride I am saying hello to Ed and
Fr. Flaherty, both of whom are in the pink of condition, though they could use a little sleep. They were up
all night. Tojo’s boys called on them and dropped his
mailing cards. Really is pouring it on these days. Said
they were worried about us a week ago Wednesday
when 98 planes came over. Fortunately, none of us
the worse for the wear.
We visit the refugees whom we are to take aboard our
ship; three nuns, Marists, and 34 assorted Chinese,
Fijians and half castes. Nuns have been through a lot.
Two months running from the Japs over mountains,
across rivers, living in the bush, with one Sister having to be assisted by the other two, ages of two about
55 and the other about 45. They say they will be happy
to come aboard after the bombing of last night.
Leave them and go to Henderson Field Cemetery,
bordered by palms. Poignant graves there. Pilots
killed have blades of propellers stuck in their cement headstones. One also has two noses from
engine heads. Another propeller blade has a hole
gashed in it about an inch and a half in diameter.
Did this kill him eventually?
Some of the soldiers have the aluminum tin tip
of their mess gear set in the cement square marker
with appropriate epitaphs by their buddies. One
of them:
“Here sleep the brave who sink to rest,
By all their country’s wishes blest.”
152
Name: Eugene Bober, Radio Gunner
Another grave has written, not in flowers as back
home, but in machine gun bullets. The name
“Eddie Grave” is ringed with clips of same bullets.
150 Slang for “Readiness Condition”
151 On November 14, 1942, a large group of Japanese troop transport ships entered waters near Guadalcanal without escort vessels. Over
the next days, 11 were destroyed, most by aircraft from Henderson Field, from which pilots made sorties, returned for fuel and ordnance,
and set out again.
152 Eugene Louis Bober, assigned to the First Marine Aircraft Wing, is listed as killed in an aviation accident on January 21, 1943.
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�Another epitaph: “A fine Marine; a fighter all the way.”
On that grave are two shell cases standing at its head.
Draped around one cross is a Rosary, rusted, weathered, but still with its owner.
Breathe a prayer that God will have mercy on all
their souls, Catholic, Protestant and Jew.
Life, March 1, 1943 edition, has picture of Memorial
Mass celebrated right here. I stand at the altar looking
over the broad acre of God’s dead who now sleep the
sleep of the just, with their arms stacked forever. Buried far from home, with their graves being tended by
two dozen swarthy natives, one wonders at the senselessness of man warring on his own kind. How many
careers here are blighted forever, how many blasted
ambitions, above all, how many broken hearts back
home. May God give these eternal rest and those back
home the courage to carry their heavy cross. These
pictures in Life will bring tears to the eyes of about
1400 mothers, the number of boys buried here. Such
are the spoken thoughts of Fr. Flaherty, Ed and myself
153
as we wander slowly around.
We leave behind the cemetery and call on Fr. O’Neil,
Navy Chaplain, who has as his guest Bishop Aubin
who is out at the time we call. Receive some palms
154
that he blessed.
Call at Port Director’s Office where I pick up two
charts of the waters here around Guadalcanal and
Tulagi and Florida Islands for the Navigation Officer.
Learn that transportation has already been arranged
for refugees to go out to our ship.
Decide not to wait but into the jeep again for the
12 mile trip, over good road for 7 miles and no road,
just a wide trail through the jungle for five. Dust is
flying as we rush along in a “hot car,” one that Moe
Edman “appropriated” on the beach one day. We pass
a number of MP’s who don’t stop us to find out what
our number is; they have an order to pick up every
unregistered car. This jeep is one that isn’t registered.
After bouncing along for forty-five minutes we
debark at my little beach. There Fr. Flaherty espies
a beautiful seashell which he gives to me. Off in the
155
water of “Steel Bottom Bay” our ship is swinging
around her anchor leisurely while the unloading
operations carry on. I say goodbye again to the boys
and board a boat for the ship. Right here just ten
days ago on our last trip four ships went to the bottom, one of them a destroyer which lost forty men,
a victim of a Jap dive bomber. One of the coxswains
of the boats picks up a skull that floats ashore, a
grim souvenir. Bloody waters, these.
Aboard once more, when the Captain calls to find out
the story of the refugees. No sign of them as he scans
the horizon with his glasses. The trip from Kukum
[Airfield] to here should take about an hour and a half.
About five-thirty, after we are underway in their
direction about 15 minutes, we take them aboard.
They are huddled in a tank lighter as they come
alongside. I introduce the Sisters as they come
aboard. The little Chinese kids are howling with full
lung power as they are carried up the ladder by our
strong sailors. They want their mamas. Set down
on the quarterdeck, they instantly quiet down when
mother climbs the starboard gangway and slings
them in the saddle, multi-colored, black, green and
red on her back. One little tacker about two years old
is screeching at the top of his lungs until his little
sister, all of four years old, swings him on her back.
Off we go, Sisters, Chinese, Fijians, myself leading
the procession to their staterooms where they marvel at their quarters. A bath, a cold drink and a
153 The Life article is: “Guadalcanal Diary,” by Richard Tregaskis. The Christmas service, described above in a note to March 10, 1943, is pictured.
154 Born in France, Jean-Marie Aubin (1882–1967), of the Society of Mary, came to the Solomons in 1909. He was bishop of a portion of the
Solomon Islands from 1835 to 1858.
155 See entry for March 3, 1942. Also referred to as Iron Bottom Bay or Iron Bottom Sound, the stretch of water south of Guadalcanal and
the Savo and Florida islands is formally known as Savo Bay, and scores of ships, American and Japanese, were sunk there, including the
light cruiser USS Juneau, whose casualty list famously included the five Sullivan brothers of Waterloo, Iowa.
112 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�hot meal make them forget their ordeal. Before long
they are sound asleep in bed.
Tuesday, April 20, 1943
0500 – General Quarters.
first time the youngsters have had it. They are pleasantly surprised at the coldness of it. After a mouthful
they rush their hands to the mouth and look around
with expressions of shocked yet pleasant surprise.
They obviously fall in love with the vanilla flavor and
chocolate syrup. And so to bed.
0600 – Mass. Three Sisters receive Holy Communion
first. Quite a cosmopolitan congregation I have.
Sisters names are Mother Ignatius, Sister Mary
Adelberta and Sister Mary Martian. They tell me that
since December 28, 1942, they have been playing
the unpleasant role of refugee. Then they took to the
jungle on Bougainville when the Japs were chasing them. From that date until April 1, 1943, they
climbed mountains, slid down trails, forded rivers,
slept in the jungle, hid in the bush, always running
from Mr. Jap when warned by the natives. Finally
they made contact with some Australian lookouts,
our spies who notified Guadalcanal by radio. Then a
submarine, the Nautilus, came up to take them off.
On the afternoon of the scheduled evening of their
departure, two Jap boats landed, in plain view of the
Sisters in hiding in the hills. Then after a while the
troops shoved off with pigs and hens in their possession. Nightfall, from every side canoes came into
the cove. The party of 37 shoved off in them, onto
the deck of the submarine and then two days and
two nights below in the cramped sub quarters until
a sub chaser took them off a couple of miles from
Guadalcanal and debarked them there.
One of the Sisters was barely able to make the
gangway. She limped badly. She tells me that she
has a sprain from sliding down a mud bank into a
river. For the youngest it is her second trip “aboard
a steamer” in 25 years! The first was the one that
brought her out here!!
Dr. Oliver and I are in charge of the big family, myself
eating with them at all meals. They spend the afternoon enjoying the sunshine and the breeze. Fortunately these are the days of summer glory, just what
these poor victims of the war of men need to build up
their strength again. At supper we have ice cream, the
113 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
Lt. Oliver, one of our ship’s doctors, had an intelligence
session with our guests. This was his report to the Captain to be submitted to Naval Intelligence Headquarters
on our arrival in Noumea, New Caledonia.
Refugees from Bougainville
As we approached Guadalcanal on April 18, 1943
we were notified that 38 Chinese and Fijian women
and children were to be sent aboard for evacuation
from the island. After we arrived the next morning
word was sent out from shore that there were three
Catholic Sisters, three Fijian women with eight children, and five Chinese women with their 18 children who would be sent out to the ship at 1300.
We awaited their arrival until late in the afternoon
when we had to get underway without them. But
had gone only a short distance when their boat
arrived so we stopped and they all came aboard
up the gangway. In spite of their long trip with
its hardships they were all in good health. The
children were all sleepy as there had been an air
raid the night before which kept everyone awake.
The refugees had all arrived at Guadalcanal on
April 2, 1943 after escaping from Bougainville in
an American submarine. They had been gathered
from all parts of the island to meet the submarine
at Tjop on the NE aspect of Bougainville. Two of
the Fijian women were the wives of Methodist missionaries and originally had been on Buka Island
where their husbands had been at the mission for
23 years. In January, 1942 the first Japanese visited
Buka but only stayed two days. A few days later
they returned to gather more information and
killed an Australian living there when he could not
or would not tell them what they wanted to know.
He was tied, both eyes poked out, his throat cut
and a bayonet run through his skull and then the
�Japanese left again. The missionaries then sent
their families to Bougainville to hide in the bush.
About this time four Australians landed at Buka
with radio equipment to report on the movement of Japanese shipping, and they stayed at the
Methodist Mission. In March 1942 the Japanese
returned to Buka in force, landing troops from
seven cruisers and one destroyer. The Australians
had started building an airfield which the Japanese
completed. Mr. Sodutu had hoped to remain on
the island and continue his missionary work, but
felt he had to help the Australian observers escape
from the island. He took them to Bougainville
and then stayed there to work with the Australian
intelligence officer as the Japanese had found out
about his aiding their enemies. They would send
native boys to work for the Japanese who would
gather information about their number and plans.
Mrs. Sodutu told of one native boy whom they discovered carrying food to the women and children.
The Japs decided to burn him and gathered wood
and benzene. Then took the native boy a short distance from the pile of wood and turned him loose
telling him to run in the direction of the wood.
Soldiers were standing around with rifles ready to
shoot him as he ran. But he was near a twenty foot
cliff and he jumped over this. Then he outwitted
the Japanese by climbing back up the cliff and hiding in a hole covered by vines and creepers. That
night he was able to reach the water and swim
to freedom on another island about a mile away.
As the Japanese brought more soldiers to the
island they used less native labor and information
became harder to get. In December of 1942 there
were over 9500 Japanese soldiers in the Buin area
and since that time little has been found out about
their activity.
American plane from Port Moresby would drop
them food. These planes also brought arms and
ammunition to the 26 Australian soldiers still on
the island. Early in March of this year the women
were notified that an American submarine would
be at Tjop on which they could leave Bougainville
on March 28th. They traveled over fifty miles
crossing a 14,000 foot mountain in the next two
weeks to reach the rendezvous area. Upon arrival
they were dismayed to find a Japanese schooner in
the harbor. However the schooner left on the 29th
and the American submarine surfaced; it had arrived on the 28th to find the Japanese present, so
had stayed submerged in the harbor. As the harbor was deep the submarine was able to get within
20 yards of the beach and the passengers were
taken out to it in canoes under cover of darkness.
There were twelve Australian men also leaving the
island on the submarine.
Living in the bush since March 1942 the Fijians
have been moving from place to place as they
would hear of Japanese approaching. They hid
most of the time along the NW coast of the island
as here the surf is rough which made it difficult
for the Japanese to land searching parties in small
boats. They obtained food from the natives and
ate the wild fruits and roots. Occasionally an
The three Catholic Sisters have been on the island
about twenty-five years. They are French Nuns of
the Marist Order. Sister Mary Adelberta and Sister
Mary Martian were last stationed at Sivii. They left
there on December 28, 1942 when they heard that
the Japanese were approaching. Since that date
they have been fleeing to escape capture, living
in the bush and native huts when possible. They
114 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
The Chinese women and children came from the
SE aspect of Bougainville and it is here that most
of the Japanese forces have landed. The Japanese
had visited the Chinese settlement several times
and forced them to trade them pigs and chickens for dry Japanese food. The women were not
molested by these first Japanese and had stayed
in their homes. Later a different group of Japanese soldiers came and they caught the women
and raped them. Mrs. Heeyou was assaulted by
a group of over fifty soldiers and several abused
Mrs. Pitts. Why they were not killed is not known,
unless the Japanese hoped to return. Following
this incident the Chinese women and children
took to the bush and stayed there until they were
notified to come to the rendezvous to be taken
from Bougainville.
�wandered from one district to another until the
latter part of March. At that time they met a party
of four Australian soldiers who arranged for them
to leave the island on the American submarine due
March 28th. They were dismayed to see the Japanese at the rendezvous area, but these left after
gathering some chickens and pigs and the Sisters
were able to reach the submarine. Sister Mary
Ignatius was last stationed at Turi Boiru in the
Buin District. She left there on October 14, 1942.
The Japanese had entered the convent earlier and
carried off seven other nuns, leaving Sister Mary
because of her advanced age. When the Japanese
left the area the natives assisted her to the point
of evacuation.
The party spent two days and two and a half nights
on the submarine, which they say has sunk five
Jap ships. When a few miles from Guadalcanal
they were transferred to a sub chaser which took
them ashore. They have been at an Army Field
Hospital since that time.
The rest of the family is doing nicely except for one
Chinese mother whose four out of six children as
well as herself are seasick. They carefully avoid
the Wardroom.
Rest of the youngsters are bouncing around on the
Boat Deck Forward, having the time of their lives.
A box of hard candy to each mother makes their
happiness complete. As they enjoy their floating
playground, they see off the port side two destroyers
zigzagging back and forth to waylay any subs that
may be lurking for us. We had two alarms yesterday,
necessitating emergency turns. God grant that if
we are to ship a torpedo, it happens on some other
trip rather than this one. On the starboard side, they
can see a big aircraft carrier sending its birds aloft
to make sure the skies overhead are safe from the
hawks that would wreck us.
Thursday, April 22, 1943 Holy Thursday
0515 – General Quarters.
0600 – Mass.
The Sisters are deeply grateful for the hospitality
given them since boarding the George Clymer.
For the first time in months they feel free from fear
of the Japs. As one of them said, “We are in the hands
of friends again.” They wished their gratitude to be
conveyed to the Captain, the Executive Officer (“the
Officer we met when we first came up the stairs.”)
and to Dr. Oliver.
Out of their poverty they bring the riches of their
prayers that “God will bless your ship and take care
of her men always.”
Wednesday, April 21, 1943
0510 – General Quarters.
0600 – Mass.
At Mass a cosmopolitan group; three French Missionary Sisters receive Holy Communion. With
them a Chinese mother and her youngster, a half
caste and her son, nine years old.
At the end of Mass I say a few words: “This morning,
men, we had a great privilege in being able to have Holy
Mass. Not every priest can say Mass on this anniversary
of the institution of the Holy Eucharist, but through a
special concession granted to Chaplains in the Armed
156
Forces, each priest is allowed to say Mass today.
“For another reason also, this Mass is an extraordinary one. Among our congregation are three
Missionary Sisters of Mary and other passengers.
Perhaps you may have heard of their harrowing
156 Foley is referencing an “exception” granted during the war, permitting individual priests to celebrate Mass on Holy Thursday, when
under normal circumstances only the Mass of the Lord’s Supper would be celebrated. Other exceptions included eating meat on Fridays,
celebrating Mass late in the day or in the evening, and the granting of “general absolution,” or absolution of sins without first hearing
confession. See entry for May 8, 1943.
115 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�experiences of the last few months. They have been
walking in the footsteps of Our Lord, yes, literally
stumbling as He stumbled on the road to Calvary.
Their road has been a bloody one. You would never
guess it from speaking with them, but the truth
shines through their humility. Our ship is blessed
in having them aboard. It is an honor to serve them
and a privilege to carry them as passengers. They
won’t be with us much longer but they go their way
attended by our prayers. We hope they will never be
the innocent victims of a war as men wage it. And
we ask God to bless and keep them always.”
Ten minutes after we finish, a sailor, Grymen, Bo’s’n’s
Mate, approached me with a bomb helmet full of bills
and change. “Some things for the poor kids. Looks
like they hit on hard times. Here’s something to buy
them shoes and clothes. That flour sack Aloysius is
wearing is funny but it is tough, too. Boys thought you
could give this to the Sisters who would know how to
take care of it for the kids.” Total: $286.00.
One little tyke was up long before the rest this
morning. He has made a hit with everybody. He is
about three years old and has an infectious smile
that breaks every time you look at him. His name
is Aloysius Chinyung. At table he stands up on his
chair the better to wrestle with the chicken on the
bone. He makes most efficient headway with intermissions, occasionally while he dries his hands on
his shorts, made from a flour sack, all he is wearing,
by the way. On the front of them are the surviving
letters, on back the brand “Perry.” He is a picture for
Life as he puts away his chicken.
My family present again. Six of them are seasick.
They spend all the time in their staterooms lying
down trying to forget their misery. The others are
topside, enjoying sunshine and slowly regaining
their shattered health. We drop anchor at 9:00 a.m.
but passengers will not go ashore until tomorrow.
Rosary and Benediction at 3:30 p.m. on the Boat
Deck Forward. First time musical voices of women
have been heard aboard our ship. They join our
men in singing of “O Salutaris” and “Tantum Ergo,”
known wherever the Church is by all her children.
(T27 V G01) Z OAF3 232231 T27 GR 89 BT
COMSERON SOPACFOR
USS GEORGE CLYMER
REFERENCE MYDIS 230521 X REQUEST YOU DISEMBARK
38 EVACUEES VIA SHIP’S BOAT WITH COMMISSIONED
OFFICER IN CHARGE AT SUCH TIME AS WILL PERMIT
BOAT WITH EVACUEES TO ARRIVE AT NAVY LANDING AT
1300 TODAY X REQUEST BOAT BE INSTRUCTED TO TAKE
COMMISSIONER OF POLICE AND HIS FINGER PRINTING EQUIPMENT ABOARD AT NAVY LANDING AND
THEN PROCEED TO NOUVILLE ON ILE NOU AND LAND
COMMISSIONER AND EVACUEES X REQUEST YOU SEND
WITH GROUP A LIST OF NAMES OF EVACUEES AND ANY
OTHER AVAILABLE INFORMATION FOR DELIVERY TO
COMMISSIONER OF POLICE REF: (230521) UNFORSEEN
DIFFICULTIES HAVE DELAYED THIS EMBARKATION OF
38 EVACUEES DUE TO THE LACK OF PREPARATION OF
THE LOCAL AUTHORITIES X EXPECTED THAT THIS
EMBARKATION WILL TAKE PLACE APRIL 24
This evening about 7:30 I get some ice cream for the
Sisters. Running around the passageway and making friends with every sailor he meets is Aloysius
Chinyung. I get him a box of ice cream also, dip the
wooden spoon into it for him, feed it to him. He no
sooner has it in his mouth than he takes it out in his
hand and puts it back in the paper cup. The coldness of the ice cream was too much for him. About
20 sailors standing around joined in the laughter
of Aloysius. We try again with a small soft dose
this time. He tastes it gingerly, experiments, rolls it
around his tongue for a moment, then he is converted, provided the spoonful isn’t too big.
116 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
Friday, April 23, 1943, Good Friday
0600 – Mass of the Presanctified and Adoration of
the Cross.
Saturday, April 24, 1943, Holy Saturday
0600 – Mass.
0900 – The Captain shows me the order that he has
received from shore:
�At 10 o’clock the Commissioner of Police of
Noumea comes aboard. He and I discuss the status
of the refugees. A man about 40 years old, quite
conscious of his own importance, he briskly instructs me that Sister Martian and Sister Ignatius
will be allowed to go to the local convent but Sister
Adelberta will be confined in the local prison. The
reason? She is an enemy alien since she is from
Alsace-Lorraine originally. Quietly, I explain to him,
that no matter what the law reads, she is no more an
enemy alien than he or I are. He takes an adamant
stand. Finally, when all efforts at gentle persuasion
fail, I tell him that if one of the Sisters goes to the
jail, the three of them go. He steps aside to talk
with his aide and agrees that the three may go to
the convent on one condition, that I will guarantee
their good behavior. I agree; sharply adding with a
gesture to our thirty odd ships anchored around us
in the harbor, “And the U. S. Navy stands behind
the guarantee.” My opinion of this local functionnaire was not improved when a priest chaplain based
ashore, told of the incident later, informed me that
the same Chief of Police had a substantial interest,
not professional but financial, in the biggest house
of prostitution in Noumea, catering exclusively to
American service personnel.
At 1230 I start out for the shore with my family, all
38 of them, in boat LCP [Landing Craft Personnel].
Although it is a calm sea, before we proceeded very
far, about 12 of them suffered with seasickness. We
follow the instructions. At the Isle of Nou, where
Pontoon Assembly Division we carried from Norfolk
to Noumea is stationed, the mother and their children
are placed in a house adjoining a hospital. Pictures of
all of us are taken by Frank Wells [a Seabee photographer], who promises to let me have some the next
time we are over. At 3:30 the Sisters and I start back
for Noumea about a half hour’s run where they are
placed in the clinic run by their own Sisters, Missionary Sisters of Mary. At last their long journey is over
and they are with their own again. Touching reunion
as they are welcomed back to their own.
157 See entry for Tuesday, January 19, 1943
117 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
Sunday, April 25, 1943, Easter Sunday
0600 – Mass.
0800 – Mass aboard the battlewagon, the USS Indiana, with confessions beforehand. At Mass about
500 in attendance with about 178 Communions.
Location, directly under the after turret, the middle
16” gun. Can’t raise host to normal height for long
rifle is directly overhead, stretching out over the
heads of the parishioners in the first rows. Ample
space. Inspiring sight as the men file up, row upon
row, for Holy Communion.
These 16” guns fire a shell that weighs 2700 lbs.,
over a ton! Back to Clymer for General Service.
Great consolation as I write home to realize that unless I were a Naval Chaplain there would be no Mass
or other service for the men today. Easter would be
drab indeed. Afternoon meet Frs. Daly and Malloy,
who dedicated their new Chapel this morning.
Monday, April 26, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Mail begins to come in, and calls increase on the
Chaplain. Bad news comes with good. One boy
learns the sad news that his mother attempted to
commit suicide. Another is notified that his wife is
suing him for divorce; a third that his wife has run
away and abandoned their three youngsters.
157
Visit Sisters of St. Joseph of Cluny again. No fresh
vegetables this trip, so bring ashore a side of beef
and a bag of sugar.
Tuesday, April 27, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Visit the Nickel Works this morning while waiting for
the boat to come in from the ship which is anchored
about three miles out in the stream. Slave labor pushing hand cars loaded with smelted ore, shooting it
down through a funnel at white hot heat. Javanese
barefooted on all those cinders and coal, walking
�along the narrow gauge tracks. One comes along, sits
down beside a friend; evidently he is on the next shift.
French foreman appears, barks at him in French, clips
him across the side of the head. Javanese meekly picks
hat up off the ground, again a clip, a stoop; then the
foreman goes his way. Indentured labor, i.e. out from
Java for 5 years on contract, then back home with the
pittance saved up.
Movie tonight; Gallant Lady.
158
Wednesday, April 28, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Frank Wells, photographer of Pontoon Assembly
Division, takes some pictures of me. Those taken
last Saturday of my family, Sisters and mothers and
children, came out excellently. Oh, to be able to send
them home. Some day, yes, please God in the future.
Thursday, April 29, 1943
Good pictures of me; send to my mother by airmail.
Hope they get through; think she will like them. Ed’s
pictures also developed, those he took at Guadalcanal.
Movies each night while we are in port. “Major and
the Minor,” “Arsenic and Old Lace,” “The Fleet’s
In,” “Yankee Doodle Dandy.”
Sign at Marine Triangle in center of Noumea where
beer and ice cream are dispensed to enlisted men:
Truk
1849 miles
Auckland 998
San Francisco 5563
Tokyo 3837
New York 9936
Beer 39 feet
We swing around the buoy in busy Noumea Harbor
until May 3, when we are underway for what we
think is Guadalcanal again.
Wednesday, May 5, 1943
0500 – Mass.
0600 – Mass; Fr. Tennyson, Chaplain of 4th Spec.
CB’s stevedores.
0700 – Mass; Fr. Carroll, Chaplain of 390 Bomber
Squadron.
Underway again at 1000 with two Liberty ships. Day
is crisp one, like a clear October day back home. Blue
sky overhead; line of horizon seems twice its usual
distance away. Islands and hills on our port all clear
cut in outline.
If we are headed north again to Guadalcanal, this
climate will change rapidly. The hot, steaming
jungles of Guadalcanal will shoot the temperatures
way up again.
Ed will be surprised to see me so shortly, for I
thought that our last meeting would be the last
for quite some time. We were due for a Navy Yard
overhaul. When and where we don’t know.
Confess to a feeling of uneasiness this trip. We
are practically dragging anchor. Two Liberty ships,
(“Submarine Bait,” the boys call them), are with us,
159
reducing our speed to 11 knots an hour. Our
normal cruising speed is 17 knots when we are
alone. Ahead of us are three APD’s, attack personnel destroyers, little craft of old World War I vintage;
don’t look particularly formidable out there ahead
of us. Rumor had that we are headed for Efate, the
southernmost island of the New Hebrides.
I write to Mrs. Hastings, 720 Columbus Avenue,
New York City:
Dear Mrs. Hastings:
Yesterday I received a copy of the New York
Times, Sunday, March 28th issue, in which a
list was published of the New York boys who
158 1933, British import. IMDB plot description: “Unwed mother gives up baby for adoption and hopes to get it back when adoptive mother dies.”
159 Some 2700 Liberty ships were built as merchant marine cargo vessels for the war. Constructed quickly and cheaply, they were underpowered
and under-gunned, and highly vulnerable to enemy attack.
118 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�died at Fort Mehida, Port Lyautey, French
Morocco. On that list was the name of your
son, Michael. Please accept my sincere condolences on the occasion of your sad bereavement. If military reasons had not prevented
me, I would have written to you sooner to extend my sympathy.
It so happened that as a Naval Chaplain I was
in a position to know the circumstances of Michael’s death. Thinking that knowledge of them
may help to lighten the burden of your sorrow, I
am writing to acquaint you with them.
On the morning of November 11, 1942, it was
my priestly privilege to bless, and later to bury,
the bodies of the first boys who died in the battle that raged for three days and three nights.
I came upon Michael lying at the base of one
of the coastal guns that had been shelling our
ship heavily. He died taking it by storm. He
gave his life that we might live. Because of his
bravery, our ship and her men were not at the
bottom two miles off shore.
About one o’clock in the afternoon of the same
day, Michael was buried a short distance from
the spot where he fell. It was a beautiful day,
clear blue sky overhead and warm with sunshine. As I started the burial service, fifty of
our soldiers flanked me on the left and fifty
native Moroccans, prisoners of war, on the
right, all of us facing Michael and his brave
comrades. When the order was given, the
entire group snapped to attention. I read the
prayers for the dead, taps were sounded and
the last blessing given.
Michael is buried on the crest of the high
hill next to Fort Mehida that looks out over
the broad reaches of the Atlantic toward
country, home, and those near and dear to
him for whom he gave the last measure of
devotion. God, I am sure, has been mindful
of his sacrifice.
May these details of the death and burial of
your boy help to console you in your loss. You
have my heartfelt sympathy and assurances
that Michael will have a constant remembrance
in my daily Mass.
Sincerely yours,
John P. Foley, S.J.
Chaplain, USNR”
Thursday, May 6, 1943
Routine at sea. Catching up on my mail; have a lot
of it to answer before we hit port again.
Started day as usual with General Quarters followed
by three Masses. Three o’clock Rosary and Benediction on the Upper Deck Aft; excellent attendance.
Offer them up for two intentions, folks back home
and God’s continued protection over us in these
submarine-infested waters.
Confessions in the evening for First Friday tomorrow.
My mother and sister write that my letter to Bishop
[Richard] Cushing appeared in The Pilot. Glad he
160
was pleased with it.
Friday, May 7, 1943
0445 – Mass, Fr. Foley
0600 – Mass, Fr. Tennyson
0700 – Mass, Fr. Carroll
Learn that our destination is the southernmost
island of the New Hebrides group, Efate. On all our
other trips we have steamed by this island wonder-
160 The editors were unable to find a letter in the Boston Pilot, which was published by the Archdiocese, signed with Foley’s name. Foley was likely
referencing an unsigned article that appeared in the Pilot early in 1943, calling for financial contributions to missionaries in the South Pacific.
119 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�ing if there were any inhabitants aboard her. Now
we shall see at close range.
Rosary and Benediction at three o’clock this afternoon, as we are passing through a narrow channel
preparatory to anchoring. Fr. Tennyson has an organ
that makes melodious music as we sing the hymns,
the “O Salutaris” and the “Tantum Ergo”.
When we finish we take a look at the country. On our
starboard is a lovely island, which is Efate. Its hills are
not very high and on the sides of them are fields that
look like good grazing spots for cows and goats. The
weather overhead is cloudy with mist rising from the
heads of the hills. With a pair of glasses we can make
out on the shore a number of Army tents beside two
native huts of bamboo. Off to the port side are three
small islands with very high mountains on them; in
fact, the islands are the mountains. As usual, there
seems to be no life on them, but Protestant Chaplain
Bartholomew, whom we just took aboard, tells us that
the natives are numerous there. When he arrived a
year ago, he was the only chaplain in these parts with
8,000 men to take care of. He found the French Missionary Fathers a Godsend for the Catholic men while
he took care of his own flock.
Here in Undine Bay we are alone, for the two Liberty
ships left us at noon today. Everybody happy to see
them go, at their speed of 11 knots, to which we had
to reduce ours. After leaving them we proceeded
immediately to shoot up to our speed of 17 knots;
one destroyer, our escort.
Saturday, May 8, 1943
0805 – Chaplain Bartholomew and Fr. Tennyson in
my room. I leave after a few minutes to carry out a
request of one of them. Go down to the Quarter
deck, starboard side aft to see Captain Shull. On way
back go up ladder to Upper Deck Aft. Suddenly a rush
of passengers and sailors to the port side. Overhead a
P-40 Army fighter is flying over us. Half a mile astern
is a blazing fire on the water. Another P-40 with
the one that just flew over us was dipping over the
destroyer. An Army Flying Major who was watching
informs us it came down too close to the surface, wing
touched, then plane end over tea kettle, now down at
the bottom. Happened just a minute ago. No sign of
plane or pilot. Smoke billows up from the deep; gas
tank evidently broken feeding the fire on the surface
like a lamp. I give the dying or dead boy absolution.
“Ego te absolve ab omnibus censuris et peccatis in
161
nomine Patris et Filii at Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”
Some time in the future, near or remote, a cold
telegram will be delivered at a front door that will
plunge a family into grief. The first intimation before
the telegram arrives will be the stopping of letters
from him. Fears will begin to arise, suspecting the
worst and then the proof. May the Lord give that
boy’s good mother the strength to bear her cross
and give eternal rest to his soul. Amen.
One of the Army flying officers just told me that the
plane that crashed was doing what they call “buzzing” the destroyer, i.e. saying hello to her and stunting for her edification.
Sunday, May 9, 1943 – Mother’s Day
0500 – Mass
0500 – Mass
0600 – Mass, Fr. Fessenden
0600 – Mass, Fr. Tennyson. I remind the men that
0900 – Mass, Fr. Carroll
tomorrow is Mother’s Day. Best possible gift is to
offer up Mass and Communion for her.
0700 – Mass, Fr. Carroll
Large number of men receive Holy Communion
in honor of their mothers. Day is windy and rainy.
Benediction in the afternoon. After it is over, one
of the men, Chief Donovan from Dorchester,
161 I absolve thee from all censures and sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Foley would have made
the sign of the cross as he offered this general absolution.
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�remarks, “Didn’t it remind you, Father, of the
Immaculate Conception Church, crowded with
men, to hear the boys singing.?” Two hundred
and fifty of them sang out the magnificent hymns
162
of the “O Salutaris” and “Tantum Ergo.”
Monday, May 10, 1843
Monday starts as usual with three Masses after
General Quarters.
It is the stormiest day we have had on the Pacific
since we came through the Panama Canal on December 26, 1942. Driving rain, swollen clouds, sullen sea,
mountainous waves, wild wind. Ship is rolling and
pitching, making many of our passengers seasick.
About 9 o’clock, five ships pierce through the fog
astern of us, three destroyers and two like ourselves,
Titania and Crescent City. We slow down to enable
them to catch up with us.
One destroyer, the USS Stack, cuts close across our
stern. A veteran of Midway and Coral Sea, in which
163
battles she distinguished herself. Her bow goes
under repeatedly as she steams along to take up her
appointed station in the convoy. Deep under dips
her nose and then she rears high out of the water
while tons of foaming water cascade over her sides.
Nobody topside on her. Everything, as on our ship,
securely lashed to the decks.
During a lull in the storm Fr. Carroll and I go up just
aft of the starboard wing of the bridge. Our signalmen are blinking the destroyer 1000 yards off our
starboard side. Conversation is one-sided; only an occasional affirmative from the destroyer. A rain squall
suddenly blots her out completely. Our topside decks
are covered with water that flows off as soon as it hits.
Signalmen are dressed in foul weather clothing, short
raincoats, rain trousers and hats. They are padding
around in their bare feet. Fortunately this is not the
Atlantic where besides being stormy, it is also cold.
Our weather is summer temperature as it always is
when we approach Guadalcanal.
In the afternoon get ready for Ed; peanuts, candy, cigars,
matches, airmail stamps and stationery and hosts for
Fr. Flaherty. Also have the pictures that Ed took some
months ago. He will be pleased to see them.
Day continues to be blustery throughout with no
letup until darkness when the wind dies down,
the sea subsides, skies clear up with a few stars
and ship only occasionally rolls and pitches.
Tuesday, May 11, 1943
Three Masses as usual these mornings start the day
after General Quarters. All hands are wearing helmets as we are in the zone where we were attacked
on our trip one month ago. Day dawns bright and
clear, a welcome change after the pounding of the
sea and the rain and wind of yesterday.
164
About 7 o’clock we sight Malaita on our starboard
side. We have never been as late as this before. All
morning we are approaching Guadalcanal.
One p.m. we drop anchor. I go over the side at Koli
Point which is about 12 miles south of Henderson
Field. Will I have the difficulty of transportation
as last time we landed at this Point? Then it took
me five hours to cover the distance. Ashore I learn
that there has been a tropical rainstorm of two days
which has wiped out the three bridges between here
and Henderson. Nothing to do but to go back to
162 “The Immaculate,” as locals called it, was a Jesuit church in Boston’s South End neighborhood, and the home church for Boston College
from its founding in 1863 until the college moved to a larger campus in 1913. The church closed in 2007.
163 The Stack was part of a Task Group that on August 6-7 1943, in what became known as the Battle of Vella Gulf, sank three Japanese battleships and damaged a fourth without incurring a casualty. The ships were carrying Japanese soldiers to reinforce positions in the Solomon
Islands. Stack would survive the war, ultimately earning 12 Battle Stars. It also survived two atomic bomb tests at Bikini Atoll in 1946 and
was then decommissioned and sunk.
164 A volcanic island northeast of Guadalcanal.
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�the ship after scouting around. A CB informs me
that Carney Field is just two miles inland, built by
the 36th Construction Battalion. [Capt. J.V.] Carney
[USN], their Commander, an old flyer, wanted to be
the first man to take a plane up off her and to put
her down on the field. Took off nicely but crashed
in the waters where we are anchored on this return
trip. Overnight, we cruise around as usual to avoid
being a sitting duck for submarines.
Wednesday, May 12, 1943
In the morning we anchor at Kukum Beach. Fortunately Ed is only a few minutes away from there. At
8:30 ashore with two big boxes for Ed; apples and
oranges in one and peanuts, chocolate bars, cigars,
a big baked ham, air mail envelopes and stamps,
matches, developed pictures, etc. in the other.
Dr. Kirkpatrick with me.
Our boat heads into the beach where the Marines
landed last August. Little surf, golden sand, coconut
palms; birds singing overhead belie the days when
men died by the hundreds on this beach and corpses floated from the 64 Jap ships and the 32 American that lie at the bottom of these waters, called
165
“Steel Bottom Bay.”
quickly dispatched for the patients; the natives munch
on the apples and candy, etc. Ed is wrapped up in the
pictures that he took. Fr. Flaherty gives Dr. Kirkpatrick and myself pictures of his Cathedral decorated
for Easter Sunday. Ed lent a helping hand to the floral
decorations. Looks lovely among the coconut palms,
fronds of which are profusely displayed everywhere.
A couple of Marines pass by with their skin smeared
with a brown solution. One of them remarks to me
that he has a case of what the boys call “Guadalcanal
Rot,” a skin infection. While we wait, Dr. Kirkpatrick
inspects a dugout that controlled the crossing of the
Lunga at this particular point.
“Honk, honk.” Our jeep, with Moe driving it, catches
up with us and we are racing by Henderson Field. We
note the tremendous number of planes visible in the
distance. Directly on our left is a palm-concealed bombgarden, where hundreds of bombs, 100 pounders; one,
five hundred; and the big 1000 babies are lying around
until lifted up by crane onto a truck, then to the belly of
the planes that are off in the distance.
As we near the beach we brace ourselves for the sudden stop when the nose of the boat will ground. She
does, we jump and are ashore once more. Dr. Kirkpatrick speaks to another Doctor. Arrangements are
made to transfer the sick Army patients from our
ship to Ed’s hospital. We bum a ride to his outfit.
Dr. Kirkpatrick all agog over evidence of the sanguinary struggle on every side. Coconut trees scarred
by shot and shell, barbed wire entanglements, signs:
“Mined Area,” “Ammo Dump.” Tops of coconuts
shot away, standing headless among their more fortunate brothers. Black muddy roads until we hit the
main stem built by the CB’s.
About 10:30 we arrive at Naval Operating Base.
Owens goes looking for his brother. We meet Bishop
Aubin, missionary of these islands who has seen
hard times at the hands of the Japs. He is dressed
in U.S. Army outfit, khaki trousers and shirt, open
collar, wearing sun helmet and around his neck the
Bishop’s pectoral cross. He is a kindly faced man,
about 65, I should say, white haired, with gentle
eyes that mirror many experiences, a lot of which
might not be forgotten for a long time, if ever. He
speaks quietly, asking my name and ship. After a
few minutes, Fr. Dwyer and a New Zealand chaplain
come along also, and there are mutual introductions
all around. The Bishop gives me his episcopal
blessing as we part. I thank him. It is not often
that one has the opportunity to be blessed by a
saint in the flesh.
In a few minutes we are shaking hands with Fr. Ed
Flaherty and Ed and Moe Enderely. Ambulance is
On our way, Moe, our chauffeur, drives us right up
to Henderson Field. We see a hospital plane take off
165 While Foley was right about losses over the long course of the Guadalcanal battle, the Marine landing on Kukum Beach on August 7-8
1942 was virtually unopposed, Japanese forces having withdrawn inland in the face of aerial and Naval bombardment prior to the landing.
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�for a southern point loaded with sick. One of these
took off last November the same way; never heard of
again. May have been shot down by a Jap plane.
Four-motored bombers, pursuit planes, P 38’s and
P 39’s, the new Aircobras, are scattered all around
the field. Some are coming in, others are taking
off. Overhead, 21 Navy fighters and torpedo planes
wheel by in formation. They may be the ones that
climbed over our ship this morning. They took off
from the field one by one, headed into the sun,
made a turn after a mile, then grouped together
information; a beautiful sight.
Lunga is a mad stream this morning, carrying down on
its bosom all kinds of debris; trees, boards, coconuts,
fronds of coconut palms, all swirling by, madly. This
two day storm wiped out a 250 bed Army hospital.
We pass a bulldozer yanking out of the ground the
stumps of coconut trees. The roots don’t go very
deep; they are stringy, swab-like, very tough. Step
into the jungle; even the bright day is dim in it.
You can see to the end of nothing. No matter which
way you look, the dank matted growth, a green hell
envelops you. Occasionally a butterfly flies by. It is
gone and the jungle focuses attention on itself again.
Back at Fr. Flaherty’s tent, Ed tells me that he heard
we were in yesterday afternoon, went down to Lunga
Point looking for us, but we were not in sight. Hence
his greeting when I called out to the nearest soldier,
“Know Ed Foley?” “It’s about time,” he yells.
Fr. Flaherty tells us that he is packing for New
Caledonia where has been assigned. Hopes to get
back to the States by rotation.
Since it is nearing 12 o’clock when we must be back
to the ship per orders of the Captain. We say goodbye again and Moe drives Ed and the Dr. and myself
down to the beach. In a jiffy Ed takes a picture of the
ship, we are in the boat, underway and wave farewell
till the next time. Aloha!
Thursday, May 13, 1943
Underway at 0400. We are convoy guide with USS
Crescent City and Moracuron. Three destroyers
166
screening us.
6:00 – Aboard we have 200 Marines and the 147th
Regiment, 2nd Battalion, whom we carried in early
February. They are happy as the day is long to be
aboard again. The day is a beautiful one, light fluffy
clouds, blue sky behind them. Men are lighthearted
around the decks, their worries left behind them on
Guadalcanal [along with] buddies killed in action
and accidents.
1230 – Seated in the Wardroom when it came. Enemy
bomber overhead, a four-motored Mitsubishi long range
bomber. General Quarters; everybody to their battle stations. A loud whistle, then a roar as the bomb exploded
off our port side. I am in the sick bay on the same side.
Another explosion. Humphries, who has been a patient
in the sick bay recuperating from a hernia, comes in
from topside; the second bomb off the stern sprayed
him with water. He is itching to get to his gun but he
must obey the doctor’s orders. Although we cannot
see the turns, our ship is changing course violently,
trying to get out of the way of the bombs. She heels
over to port, to starboard, then back again, repeating
the movement. I slip topside. One of the gunners tells
me that the Jap bomber came directly over us from
bow to stern, then withdrew into the sun; suddenly she
comes in again on us. Our whistle is blowing emergency turns; destroyer is describing circles as she obeys
the blasts. Now she boils past us at 35 knots, her forward
guns blazing skyward. Another bomb drops; geysers
all around us and Mitsubishi roars away unscathed.
Half an hour later, one of our planes flies into sight,
hovers aloft over us, cruising round and round.
About 0210 General Quarters are over and we are
free again. Meanwhile I finish my Office for today.
God’s Providence and prayers back home protected
us once again.
166 The Crescent City was, like the Clymer, an attack transport. The editors can find no record of the Moracuron.
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�Our distance from Guadalcanal is approximately
300 miles, so Tojo came a long distance to drop
his calling cards. At least an 800 mile trip for him.
Radar caught him first 18 miles astern, then he
swung ahead of us and came in straight. Afternoon
passes quietly. At Rosary and Benediction I emphasize to the men that at all times like that this noon
we are keenly aware of how intimately we depend
on God. It strikes with overwhelming force. Yet the
fact of our dependence as close is true at all times,
not merely in moments of crisis. For two intentions
we say Our Lady’s Rosary and Benediction. 1. For the
folks back home. 2. For God’s protection. Rosary has
an added meaning this afternoon.
General Quarters as per schedule this evening but
no untoward event.
Beauty in the South Pacific
Sunrise – “Qui . . . splendore mane illuminas”
“You [Who]. . . with splendor the morning illuminates.”
Stevenson, who died on British Samoa at Apia,
describes Dawn as:
“That moment when the darkness trembles
into light,
When the stars of heaven are extinguished like the
street lamps of some human city.
When the whiteness brightens into silver,
The silver warms into gold,
The gold kindles into living flame, and
167
The face of the east is bared with elemental scarlet.”
The Ocean
“Where breathless beauty lies blue-eyed,
Upon the noon-day sea.”
Colors – Violent and intense
Sky is a blazing blue
Sands of shore are dazzling gold
Blue is the blue of the Pacific,
Beautiful almost to the point of pain.
Friday, May 14, 1943
0500 – General Quarters
0600 – Mass
Day is a clear one with a brisk, cool wind that will
help clear up a case of heat rash that I have. This
tropical warmth, loaded with humidity and temperature crowding 90 degrees does make us men from a
temperate clime really sweat. Just sit, doing nothing
and the sweat rolls off us.
Afternoon about 2:30 we anchor at Espiritu Santo
again to debark about 200 Marines. Approach as
beautiful as ever. Little islands skirt the channel we
are passing up. Serene blue sky for background,
luxuriant green growth right down to the water’s
edge, golden wave-washed sand, light blue water
close to shore at this quiet little spot and then the
deep Pacific blue. Off to our port side where the
wind is whipping into the shore of a small island,
combers fringe the shore with a necklace of white
in perpetual motion. Signalmen are blinking the
shore to find out our berthing space. We coast in
slowly over the grave of USS Coolidge and are soon
168
at anchor after what has been a short trip in time.
Two days from Guadalcanal but long in experience;
nobody will forget that bombing for a long time.
Saturday, May 15, 1943
Quiet morning; starts not with General Quarters but
with Mass. In port we are free of all drills. This “port” is
nothing but a channel between two islands. Presently
there are at least 50 ships anchored here; fighting ships,
dry floating dry docks, destroyer, cargo ships, combat
transports, sub chasers, mine sweepers, etc.
1000 – Underway for Samoa. This trip should be
fairly uneventful after the excitement of the last few
days. Saturday goes off without incident. Rosary and
Benediction in the afternoon.
167 From Robert Louis Stevenson’s novel The Black Arrow: Prince Otto (1902). The passage was written as prose.
168 See entry for January 30, 1943.
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�Sunday, May 16, 1943
0445 – General Quarters
0600 and 0900 – Mass
Strong headwind today, cuts our speed down to about
13 knots, trying to keep USS Moracuron, last of the
three ships, with us. She has trouble staying up with
us. Finally she is given the word that she is on her own
with a destroyer as escort. We open up to 17 knots an
hour; should be at Samoa in about three days. This trip
from Espiritu is about 1200 miles, that much nearer
home! Home. It will be a long time before we see it
again, at least a couple of years, although we don’t like
to think the date of our trip east is that far away.
Off in the distance we see a large island, about three
miles off our port side. Protecting her shores are
coral reefs that stretch for miles in front of her.
The surf is booming across them, judging from the
spray that is being tossed high in the air by the long
combers breaking over them. Here as all along our
course that is studded with islands, the waters
“Are at their priest-like task of ablution round the
169
earth’s shores.”
General Quarters at 1000. Unidentified plane on the
horizon astern of us 30 miles away. Apparently shadowing us. Climbs high out of contact, then contact is
reestablished after ten minutes. Thirty minutes later
she veers off to the east and then we are alone.
Day is clear with a bracing wind blowing. I read my
Office up on the flying bridge, letting the sun dry out
the heat rash that broke out the other day on my back.
Monday, May 17, 1943
We lost an hour yesterday as we headed east.
0600 – Memorial Mass for one of the 147th Infantry
who learned just before he came aboard that his
mother had died in April. Another clear, bracing day,
with mild temperature.
About 5:30 p.m. General Quarters. Submarine
contact at 1600 yards off our starboard side.
Destroyer races over. Sends message to our Captain
who is the Convoy Captain, “Think I’ll drop an
embarrassing particle.” Two depth charges send
geysers of water boiling into the sky, then cascading
down from their peak like a fountain. Angrily the
destroyer steams around the spot, hovering for the
kill if the submarine should be forced to surface.
General Quarters over about 7:30 p.m.
In Chief Engineer’s room when Mr. Mills, Lt. (j.g.)
comes in and tells us that about 8 o’clock unidentified craft ahead was scouted by destroyer. Communication over TBS radio telephone must always be
in clear but unintelligible language for the Japs. E.g.,
“Guess I’ll go to the outfield.” “She bats in the same
league with us.” “Guess I’ll go back to the infield.”
Translated: “Going ahead to inspect and challenge
this newcomer.” “She is one of our own.” “Returning to my position again.”
Mr. Mills remarks that Jap submarines are now
active in these waters. Night before last they sank a
cargo ship just outside of Suva, Fiji Islands. We are
passing north of them now.
Tuesday, May 18, 1943
0500 – General Quarters
0600 – Mass
Day is a bright clear one. Men are recovering their
pep and energy now that Guadalcanal is a good
1200 miles northwest of us. Eddie Rickenbacker
called it “A hell-hole of mud and corruption.” He
was right. The boys who haven’t picked up malaria
have a skin infection of some kind. Others have yellow jaundice, kidney trouble, rheumatism and what
not. One of them told me today that their first night
169 A mildly misremembered line from John Keats’s “Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art.” The original reads “The moving waters
at their priest like task / Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores.”
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�ashore when we carried them last February was
170
spent in a marsh.
One of the soldiers aboard us claimed that he could
do something that he saw sailors doing. He had seen
them washing swobs [mops] by hitching their handles to a line and then swinging them over the side.
The threshing and thrashing they get from the ocean
while the ship is underway soon purges them of all
their deck grease, dirt, etc. The soldier got a bright
light. “Water, line, khaki pants.” It looked so easy; no
soap, no scrubbing. A minute later water, line, no
pants. They were filed away in Davey Jones’ locker.
That boy took a ribbing from the sailors and from
his buddies about the knots that he didn’t know how
to hitch. He presented himself to me girt in his loin
cloth. I managed to rustle up a pair of our dungarees
for him. The incident is one of the lighter ones that
help to relieve the grimmer episodes of our life. One
of the Catholic officers informs me that the Catholic
boy is a good fighter under any conditions, but when
a priest is by his side, he is superb. This officer was
an Army Captain whose outfit saw bloody fighting on
Guadalcanal.
5:30 p.m. – “Darken Ship.” “No smoking on the
weather decks.” “No white clothing to be worn
topside.” “Pipe down [stow below] all scrubbed bedding.” Such is the word that goes down every night
at sea. Then immediately after that we have General
Quarters at night.
ernmost island of the Western Samoan Group which
belongs to England. Long, low-lying mountains, lit up
in bright purple by the rising sun, sunrise made in
heaven. In the distance, Upolu, our destination. We
are about two hours away from it. Apia is the town on
our northern side where we will unload our cargo by
our own boats and debark our troops.
0800 – We are now much closer; make out deep purple
backdrop of forest clad mountains not touched by the
sun. In the foreground, the ever fresh tropical green of
the trees, the palm fringed shoreline. Directly ahead of
us is one high hill that is separated from the rest. It is
close down by the waterfront. Directly in front of this
hill is a twin-steepled church of white, obviously Catholic, with the long building beside it that may be a school.
Along the shoreline are white-fronted houses with red
and green tiled roofs, the whole a symphony of color. An
artist would be in heaven here.
As we get closer and closer, see a beautiful waterfall cascading down the mountains. Near this, Ens.
Littlejohn, who was on duty here for two years, tells
171
me that Robert Louis Stevenson is buried here.
At one o’clock I go ashore, blessing as usual the land
as I step on it. Wander down the street fronting the
shore, find all the stores closed, the siesta hour.
0600 – Mass. Splendid attendance as usual by 147th
Infantry. I commend them on their loyalty to their faith.
To the Church where I say a prayer for my parents
and everybody back home and Ed on Guadalcanal.
Church is big one, cruciform, with seats and kneelers
only along the sides. Two-thirds of the space in the
center is covered with mats for the natives to squat on.
Altar is a beautiful piece of marble work. Our Lady’s
“M” in blue hangs high over the middle of it and her
lovely blue color dominates the sanctuary walls.
At the end of Mass we notice that there is land off our
starboard side. We are steaming by Savaii, the west-
Onto the post office to buy some stamps for Lt. Cmdr.
Oleson who is collecting them for his little girl back
Crossed the International Dateline.
0445 – General Quarters
170 Edward Rickenbacker (1890–1973) was a WWI flying ace with 26 aerial victories, and a Medal of Honor recipient. On a government
mission in October 1943, Rickenbacker’s plane crashed into the sea in the central Pacific. He and other survivors spent three weeks
on life rafts before being rescued in the Solomon Islands.
171 An inveterate peripatetic, the much beloved Scots author spent the last three years of his life on the Samoan island of Opolu. He died
in 1894, at age 44, and is buried atop a mountain at a site that offers views of the sea.
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�home. Politely told that no stamps are sold to
American military personnel. Outside to say hello
to a couple of Marines who have been on duty for
10 months here. Tell them of my predicament. They
take me to a general store now open to meet Mr.
McKenzie, the proprietor. Informed of my wishes,
he sends out one of his Samoan girls, who comes
back with the stamps for me. Mr. McKenzie used to
sing in the choir of St. Ignatius Church in San Francisco before the earthquake. He is a kindly-faced,
white-haired man of about 75, owner of this store.
Wants to take me to meet the priests in the rectory
but I must hurry back to the ship.
On the way back, pass Marist school run by the
Brothers. Meet Brother Christopher who tells me,
in answer to a question, that he was out here before
I was born, 40 years. He is Swiss, his vigor of speech
belying his years. Tells me that first the Germans
ruled them, then the English, and now the Americans. We say goodbye and he marches away with a
spring in his step that would do credit to a twenty
year old boy.
No chance to see Robert Louis Stevenson’s grave. It is
six miles by automobile to the mountain on which he
built his home and where he is buried, then a walk of
six more on foot to reach his place. At 5 o’clock we are
underway.
Wednesday, May 19, 1943
0530 – General Quarters
0600 – Mass
We are underway alone with one destroyer as
escort. The other is left behind to convoy the Crescent City tomorrow morning to American Samoa.
Even though it is dark, we can make out a line of
mountains directly ahead of us. We seem to be passing through islands yet they aren’t, for they are not
broken. It is the mainland of each side.
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As dawn breaks, we find that we are in a sheltered
anchorage slowly cruising into Pago Pago. (Pronounced Pango Pango by the Samoans.) It is the
American Naval Station. High mountains range on
either side of us. We are apparently heading directly
for land, then make a turn to our starboard, slow
down to three or four knots, head in through the
mine net and find that we are to anchor in a narrow
“U”. On either side, high mountains, enchantingly
green, tower over us. They are covered with luxuriant
tropical foliage. The day is a bit overcast. Clouds and
cloudlets are sitting on the mountain tops that seem
ready to fall on us, they are so close. Suddenly there
is a burst of sunshine that makes the green come
vibrantly alive. Ten minutes later it is over, and then
the mountains start to steam. Same effect as dropping water on a hot stove.
Directly on our starboard is the first object we saw
from a distance while out to sea, the Catholic Church
painted white, a beautiful contrast against the luscious
green of the mountain directly behind it. As usual, the
immediate shoreline is fringed with coconut palms.
The mountains drop away so sheerly that it is surprising to find a road skirting the water’s edge. But jeeps
scooting around it prove such to be the case. Half an
hour goes by, another downpour.
1:30
p.m. – I go ashore with Glynn Jones, Congrega-
tional Chaplain, stationed here with the Marines, who
met me on the ship a few minutes ago. Glad to see
him for we were classmates together at the Chaplain’s
School in Norfolk. In jig time we are at Fr. Burns’s,
one of the Catholic Chaplains stationed here. A bottle
of beer with him, we toast the day of our return to the
States. We borrow his jeep for a run around town, visit
the Church where I say a prayer for all the family. We
bump into Fr. Frothingham, New Zealand missionary,
who is pastor of the Church. We exchange greetings
on the road. On the way we pass many native “falis,”
their term for their homes. They are circular, thatchedroofed affairs with open sides. Everything in them is
wide open to the gaze of the passerby, with mats that
fall down when privacy is desired.
�The natives are big and muscular, like the Fijians,
and like all South Seas Islanders, they are easy marks
for colors. The women are dressed in the colors
of the rainbow, not loud but beautifully blended
combinations. The outside dress reaches just below
the knees and the under dress, petticoat, to the ankles. Shoes are strangers to them. They are copperskinned with no Negro features at all. The men wear
skirts, with blouses. Some of them, however, are
American in their dress.
We buzz around the shore while the mountains
tower over us. Up we climb on the north side of the
little harbor to the fali of Chaplain Jones. The dense
tropical growth on both sides of the makeshift road
is loud with songs of native birds. A ten minute ride
and I am in the tent of the Marine Chaplain, right
where Fr. Frank Sullivan, S.J. of Boston College was
quartered until he was evacuated home for a bad
172
heart. Captains Woodworth and Aplington and all
the other officers I meet are loud in their praises of
Fr. Frank. Missed him sorely when he left.
We are sitting in a screened tent with a board floor
raised about three feet off the ground on the side of
the mountain. Suddenly another tropical downpour
and the water in a few minutes is cascading right
under us. All over in a few minutes. Outside, palm
trees shelter us and every inch of ground is covered
with a rich green growth.
There are vines and short plants that look like the
wild rhubarb back home, but have big rubbery
leaves. Vines twisting round and round and round
the trunks of trees. After a pleasant evening at the
Officers’ Mess, we start back to the ship in an open
jeep. As we begin the ride down the side of the
mountain, the rain is coming down in torrents. This
is the daddy of the rainstorms, six of them today.
It is pitch dark as we roar down. How Jones is able
to see, let alone drive, mystifies me. I can’t even
keep my eyes open in the driving rain and I have
difficulty getting my breath. Within three minutes,
raincoat, shirt, pants, shoes, everything on me is
dripping. “How do you like it?” asks Jones. “I’ll
never forget it; I’m drenched through from stem
to stern!” I shout through the rain. He shrieks that
they have been here for eight months practicing
jungle warfare in this weather. This place has 300
inches of rain a year. Back home the average rainfall is 30 inches a year.
We arrive at the dock where the Marines are loading the ship. Lakes of water all around us. How these
American boys can take it! They are struggling under
the heavy bags that they must carry aboard by hand.
On top of that they are soaked through and through.
Yet they slosh through the mud and rain and occasionally fall down under their burdens, but not a
growl out of them. They are a magnificent crowd.
Jones informs me that they have been on jungle
maneuvers for the last eight months. They are razoredge for combat. Three divisions of Marines out here,
about 50,000 of them. Means that our ship is to go
into battle again before long. Six weeks is the guess
of Jones. Mine is about three months or perhaps four.
Never have to worry about winter coming to this part
of the world to cancel operations. It is the land of
the always summer. My, how a good breath of cold,
sharp air would taste now.
173
Movie tonight for officers only. Random Harvest.
Thursday, May 20, 1943
No General Quarters this morning. Didn’t have
to put away the emergency abandon ship outfit
that I lay out every night; heavy underwear, jar of
Vaseline, pair of sun glasses, sweat shirt and white
hat. As an amateur, I think those articles would be
172 Sullivan went on to serve as head of a school for military chaplains at the College of William and Mary and then as a chaplain in London
until 1946.
173 A 1942 Oscar-nominated film from Loews about a WWI American soldier who loses his memory as a result of shellshock and goes on to
live a new life in France.
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�most useful if I have to hang on to a plank or squat
in a life raft. Survivors report that they cooked by
day and froze by night.
Ashore at 9 o’clock to return the movie and pick up
174
movie, Seven Day Leave, with Lucille Ball. Also
beg a 35mm slide projector from Col. Peard of the
Marines. Welcome addition to our ship.
Today, rain, steady downpour only, not intermittent showers of yesterday. I thumb a ride to the
other side of this U-shaped harbor where I visit the
Church, Catholic, as they always are in these far-off
places of the world.
It is a lovely place, the Church of blue, white and
gold inside. The walls are painted white with a band
of blue halfway up the walls. Gold is the trimming,
circles around the windows up in the clerestory that
keeps out the rain that is pouring from the clouds.
Directly behind the Church is the mountain called
by the Samoans “The Rainmaker.” Clouds, we can
see tumbling over it, are pierced by his high head
and then they spill their rain.
In the Church the statues of Our Lady, St. Joseph, the
Little Flower and the Sacred Heart make the visitor
from across the seas feel perfectly at home. I make the
Stations of the Cross for my father, head out into the
driving rain again, down the U, and stop at the school
run by the Marist Sisters. This is one for the boys and
girls who cannot speak English or who have a little
difficulty with it. I say a few words to them, ask for
prayers for my ship and her men. Sister informs me
that the English-speaking Samoan boys and girls are
in a school down the road a bit. I tramp down, walk in
and introduce myself to Sister Mary Florentine. She is
from Lynn, Massachusetts, and also Sister Mary Isa175
dore from Rigaud, Quebec, both SMSM. I promise
to write to their mothers, Mrs. James Joseph Powers,
170
South Common Street, Lynn and Mrs. Isadore
Chevrien, Rigaud, Quebec.
The boys and girls from six to fourteen are playing around the yard. They are called to attention
by a bell which is the signal for them to recite the
[Easter Hymn] “Regina Coeli laetare, alleluia, quia
quem meruisti portare, alleluia, resurrexit sicut dixit,
176
alleluia.”
In they file. Sister Mary Isadore introduces me to
120 dark-skinned handsome youngsters and I tell
them something about my ship, where we have been
and what has happened to us. I tell them about the
bombing last week and ask their prayers.
They sing in beautiful harmony the Samoan song,
“Tofa me feline,” “Goodbye my friend,” and then
Bishop [Richard] Cushing’s composition of “Mother
Dearest, Mother Fairest” for our soldiers, sailors and
Marines. Music is in the blood of these young boys and
girls as in that of all South Seas Islanders. Again I speak
to them, tell them how much I have enjoyed it and give
them my blessing. Before leaving, tell Sisters about
Sisters Adelberta, Ignatius and Martian whom we carried aboard from Guadalcanal to Noumea. They were
overjoyed to hear the good news of their arrival.
With “Goodbye, Father” ringing in my ears, I left
them. The setting of the school? Right on the beach
fringed with palm trees hanging over the water’s
edge. Lovely hydrangeas, roses growing in profusion, some of which decorated Our Lady’s shrine in
the little classroom that I just left behind. Directly
behind the little school, the mountain rising straight
up, covered with luxuriant tropical growth. Can see
flamboyant tropical birds flying from one treetop to
another. Crest of the mountain wrapped in clouds.
My ship just about four minutes out on the water
so that when I spoke of her I just pointed out of the
windowless window.
174 A light romantic comedy from RKO, 1942.
175 Missionary Sisters of the Society of Mary
176 A Marian hymn dating to the 17th century. “O Queen of heaven rejoice! alleluia: For He whom thou didst merit to bear, alleluia, Hath
arisen as he said, alleluia.”
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�Another unforgettable experience hearing the lilting
melody of the Samoan song and the lovely verses of
Bishop Cushing’s. And one more yet unmentioned,
how Sister Mary Florentine’s blue Irish eyes trickled
a tear when she learned that I was [raised] so close to
her home. She told me that she was the last white
person allowed to enter Samoa from the outside,
that was three years ago. Sister Mary Isadore has
been here for 11 years. Both were here a year ago
in January, 1942, when the Jap submarine lobbed
shells over these hills from the other side of the
island, which is only three miles wide here, into this
landlocked harbor. Nobody was hurt, fortunately.
more are being serviced on the long runway, 6000
feet that ends right on the ocean edge.
Friday, May 21, 1943
I buy a circular tappa cloth made by a native woman,
from the bark of a tree. The design is laboriously
worked into the material by hand. Is a lovely reminder of Pango Pango. There I go spelling it as it
is pronounced, not as it should be, Pago Pago.
0600 – Mass
Day dawns the same as the previous two, with
intermittent showers in the morning. Off in the
distance on the port side can see a little car pulled
up to the steep side of the mountain on a cable.
Three Marines in it. They are on their way to their
gun emplacement which is completely disguised
with the green growth all around. This harbor was
once the pit of an active volcano. The high mountains all around us were the lava tossed up by the
volcano in its angry moods. Here and there where
gashes have been made in the sides for the road that
runs along the palm-fringed shore reveal hard rock
that was molten fire.
At 2:13 I thumb my way out to the airport ten miles
outside Pago Pago. We are driving right along the
shore. Many sharp turns in the road, with the mountains towering right over us. On very sharp turns
we can’t see what is on the other side until we get
around them. Road surface built by CB’s is of hard,
white coral dug out of the sea that is thundering
in a few feet away, is dried out by the sun, when it
shines, and then put to work affording a hard top
for our jeeps, trucks, ambulances, etc.
At the airport the normal signs of activity. Some
planes are warming up preparatory to going out on
patrol, others circling around in the sun-drenched
sky waiting to land from their work out to sea. Still
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Sunlight this afternoon for about half an hour. Sunset
is a striking one. Right hand side of the mountains behind which it is setting is a deep dark green; left hand
side of those on the other side of the shaped harbor is
slashed in vivid green patches by the bars of sunlight
slipping through the clouds. The Rainmaker, directly
on our left, has his head in the clouds as usual, tickling them until they spill their moisture. As soon as it
lands, up it rises again from the hot, steaming earth
and he has more clouds to play with.
Saturday, May 22, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Meet Protestant Chaplain Justice who wants me to
go aboard the Crescent City for Mass tomorrow for
his Catholics. Learn that we’ll be underway early so
those boys will have no Sunday Mass.
Sunday, May 23, 1943
Mass at 0600 and 0900.
Protestant Service conducted by my Chaplains’
School classmate, Glyn Jones, Baptist USMC, at
1000. Fine fellow, about 29, who would be a Catholic if he were not married and the proud father of a
little girl two months old, whom he has never seen.
Glad to have him aboard.
About 0800 we are underway to Auckland, so scuttlebutt has it. Good old New Zealand. We will be glad to
see that again after our months in the hot tropical seas
and islands. We want to see the frost on our breath
once more and snow on the mountain tops.
This morning we saw a sunrise for the first time since
we anchored on Wednesday. Setting is the reverse of
�the sunset on Friday. Now the mountains here on our
right are barred with slashes of sunlight. However,
old Rainmaker salutes us with a parting shower as we
leave. It rains just a short distance from him while the
rest of the harbor escapes the sudden downpour.
Last night we had a movie, Pardon My Sarong,
with Abbott and Costello. The tropical paradise
of the screen was just a faint approximation of
the reality. Like “Pago Pago,” with Dorothy Lamour,
the scenario writers are miles away from the truth,
177
both pictorial and human, in their script.
Our passengers are the 3rd Marines, men who are
all set for anything the Japs may throw at them
when they make their landing operation on ?????.
One guess is as good as the next.
No mail for five weeks now. The sailors miss it.
Morale is made up of the following factors: plenty
of mail regularly, good chow and good liberty, and
movies. And work!
Tuesday, May 25, 1943
0545 – General Quarters
One of the Marines points out the Rainmaker to me.
He says that Fr. Sullivan climbed up that on Sunday,
straight up the steep face of it, with no road whatsoever, to celebrate Mass for his Marines who were
stationed there on a maneuver. No wonder Fr. Frank
Sullivan of B.C. is home with an enlarged heart.
0630 – Mass These Marines are splendid Catholic
fellows, their average age being about 19. They are
attending Mass daily in large numbers and many of
them receive Holy Communion. They are present also
for Our Lady’s Rosary and Benediction in the afternoon at 3 o’clock on the Upper Deck Forward.
Rainmaker is a sharply tipped mountain peak, the
next to the highest one around the harbor that has
clouds on top of it when the others have none. The
rain always started with him. Sometimes, as the
other day when I was walking along the main street,
sheets of rain were backgrounded against Rainmaker, coming across the harbor, but before they
travelled one mile they had spent themselves, so
we didn’t need the raincoats after all.
Wednesday, May 26, 1943
Ship scene at nightfall after darken ship. Two
Marines singing in harmony “There’s a Star
178
Spangled Banner Waving Somewhere.”
Monday, May 24, 1943
General Quarters as usual, at 0545, Mass at 0630. Very
late means that we are headed for cool climate. We are
used to General Quarters at 0445, not this late, but still
it is pitch dark at 6 o’clock. Reminds us of home.
No General Quarters! Remarkable event, for this marks
the first morning in months at sea that we have not
risen one hour before dawn to man our battle stations.
0630 – Mass
Mr. Mills, Lt. (j.g.) tells me later that we almost had
G. Q. this morning, for a sub contact was made
at 0600 and two depth charges were dropped on
Tojo’s steel cigar.
Day is delightfully cool. We feel it bracing after the
enervating heat of these last few months when just
sitting doing nothing was no cure for perspiration
rolling off us. But we plugged ahead, working as
though the temperature were about 70 instead of
100. Now instead of the hot burning sun overhead,
diffusing a warm glow over the surface of the ocean,
the sunlight is a clear, blinding light where it hits
177 “Pardon My Sarong” (Universal, 1942) is a comedy featuring Bud Abbot and Lou Costello as urban bus drivers who flee gangsters by
driving onto a ship and are then transported in their vehicle to a tropical island. And Foley seems to be referring to the 1939 movie
Hurricane, which stars Lamour—queen of the sarong films—and was filmed on the island of Bora Bora in French Polynesia.
178 A hit song for a short time in 1942, it celebrates an American Valhalla, where the flag is “Waving o’er . . . heroes brave and true”
including George Washington, Nathan Hale, and George Armstrong Custer.
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�the sea. Even the rays of the sun are cool now, like
one of those crisp, bracing October days back home,
that are now only a memory.
Beal, 1st Division, fell today on the way up to the
Crow’s Nest. Ship lurched as he was going up hand
over hand, fell backwards about 20 feet; fortunately
just a three stitch wound in the head and a bruised
right leg. Fell on another man whose lips are puffed
and teeth loosened. Beal badly frightened.
Friday, May 28, 1943
One o’clock in the morning, I am all but rolled out of
my bunk. Ship starts to roll and pitch violently. We
have hit right into a storm. Outside can see nothing,
for it is a black night and the rain clouds are spilling
their loads. Everything on my desk: vigil lights, clock,
desk blotter, three books, ash tray, small crucifix lands
on the deck with a crash. Noises all over the ship as
whatever is not securely lashed down hits the deck.
To bed after arranging the goods on the deck. No use
putting them on the desk again; they will promptly be
on the deck in a hurry. Unanchored chairs are slithering around the room and protesting in squeaky tones
at the unusual treatment.
Back to bed. Up again at three when something else
gives. One of the drawers in the desk shot out and
the bottle of ink high up on my wash stand found a
resting place with the other gear on the deck. Why it
didn’t break when it fell five feet I know not.
Back to bed but up again, unable to sleep as I roll
from one side to the other. Oh, my aching back!
Reveille at 0545. Whole ship is up anyway, so bugler
is just exercising his lungs.
Mass at 0630 topside. One Marine holds on to the
right hand side of the altar with the left secured to the
bulkhead. After Mass at which about 20 boys receive
out of attendance of 120, look at the sea, a sullen
creature this morning. Angrily raising itself to the
full height of its snowy crests. Skies are gray and the
surface of water is leaden.
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Back on the fantail, waves rise high over the side
when we slip down into the trough of the big fellows.
No breakfast this morning, just a ham sandwich to
take the edge off our appetites. Cooks can’t cook this
morning. Fortunately I am not seasick as are so many.
One of the colored messmen is telling a Marine
about the bombing of our ship on our last trip. He
remarked that he lost his appetite not merely for
that day, but for 24 hours.
Saturday, May 29, 1943
0545 – Reveille
0600 – Mass
Day is raw and blustery as it begins. Darkness still
broods on the surface of the waters as late as 6:30.
White caps still riding the crests and squally rain
drives in.
0800 – Landfall on our starboard side, jagged islands
of rocks, New Zealand from the north. May be wild,
but she looks good to us and the Marines. We are
entering the 80 mile channel through the waters to
Waitemata Harbor, meaning Shimmering Waters in
Maori, the language of the natives of New Zealand.
After half an hour of steaming, huge mountains rear
themselves up on both sides, no foliage clothing their
nakedness. Their bare sides drop precipitously into
the waters below, that are lashing their feet relentlessly, tirelessly. As yet no sign of habitation. This is
wild country.
1200 – Day clears into sharp, cold one, much like
our late October, early November days. Wind is
sweeping the bare headlands, seagulls are chasing
our wake, rhythmically, turning their heads this way
and that in quest of food.
2:15 – Still making full speed ahead. Now it is a real
football afternoon, cold clouds overhead through which
the rays of the sun slant down. Rays only visible. No
sun through the gray blanket that hides it from view.
�5:30 – At dusk we nose slowly into our berth, the last
of the four ships. On the dock is a 24 piece New
Zealand band to welcome us. Marines cheer themselves hoarse as the band breaks out the “Anchors
179
Aweigh” and “Amapola.” Their enthusiasm rents
the skies when their own Marine Hymn “From the
Halls of Montezuma” is played. Nothing is too good
for this Third Regiment of Marines. They have been
rotting in the jungles of Samoa for 8 months. A half
hour ago when a train hove into sight, they pounded
each other on the back as they called attention to the
plume of white smoke.
6:00 – Ashore down Queen Street, main street of
Auckland, which like our own [Boston’s] Washington St. or Times Square, N.Y. City, is blacked out.
Bobby, alias a cop, tells me that stores close at noon
on Saturday. Back to the other ships at the dock
where I meet Fr. Kemper, Chaplains Reeves and
Justice. Arrangements for Mass in the morning.
Sunday, May 30, 1943
0530 – Confessions
0600 – Mass
Walk over to Crescent City, our sister ship.
0730 – Confessions in Dr. Cronin’s
Dental Office.
0830 – Mass in Officers’ Lounge. Back to George
Clymer for Mass at 1015, followed by Benediction.
Ashore to have a good steak. Find that all restaurants and tea shops are closed on Sunday also. Visit
St. Patrick’s Cathedral; tall stately columns, reminding me of the Cathedrals of England. Inside half a
dozen men and women in the evening of life kneeling before Our Lord, and perhaps asking Him to
stay with them now more than ever, for “it is toward
evening and the day is far spent,” as the disciples on
180
the way to Emmaus expressed it.
Ride in a tram car to the top of Three Kings Mountain where a magnificent view of Auckland and its
houses and tall buildings, with their people spread
out before me.
In the evening with Fr. Kemper to the Cathedral
again where we meet Fr. Curran, who brings us to
the Catholic Service Club. There Bishop [James]
Liston greets us and we exchange experiences over
crumpets and a cup of tea before the open fireplace. Lord Mayor of Auckland, Mr. [James] Allum,
graces the gathering after a few minutes and we
have an enjoyable time for half an hour before
breaking up.
Auckland Street Scenes:
– Elderly man seated in a doorway off the main
street selling lottery tickets. Is muffled up against
the chill air as he sits before his makeshift desk
with his books of tickets. A kerosene lamp lights
up the deep lines on his face as he leans over to
complete a transaction with a customer who hopes
that he is the lucky winner.
– In a doorway loiter two unfortunate girls, who are
obviously catering to the “love that blights and sears.”
They are waiting for the sailor boys and their money.
– Though it is May, all the leaves on the trees are
changing from green to crimson and gold. It is the
Fall of the year here.
Monday, May 31, 1943
0600 – Mass. Ashore this morning to beg, borrow
or steal a movie that we can take with us. Succeed
through the generosity of Battman EM 1/c, who gives
181
me “Singapore Lady” with Brenda Marshall. In the
afternoon the streets are thronged with shoppers,
much like Washington and Tremont Streets in
179 A Latin song, often played as a rhumba, that became a top-hit in a version by The Jimmy Dorsey Orchestra in 1941. https://www.youtube.
com/ watch?v=4ZppcSYxL20
180 Luke 24:29
181 The movie, which was actually titled Singapore Woman (Warner, 1941), featured a heroine who, with the help of principled men, managed
to correct her life course.
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�Boston. Day is clear, cold with a sharp blue sky and
not a cloud across its face.
Tuesday, June 1, 1943
0600 – Mass
0730 – Underway. Day is sharp one with a weak
white sunrise this morning. Clean cold mist rising
from the waters of the harbor. We back out of our
berth with the aid of a fussy tug, swing around and
are underway again, regretting that we didn’t stay
long here at all to enjoy the Boston or the New York
of New Zealand.
With us the Crescent City, Hunter Liggett, American
Legion. Hunter Liggett breaks down and cuts down
our distance to 80 miles for ten hours while she makes
repairs. That delay means that instead of arriving tomorrow we will hit Wellington on Ascension Thursday.
1100 – Guns have firing practice at a sleeve towed
by a plane. The three inchers boom away while
the 20mm chatter like old hens.
Wednesday, June 2, 1943
0600 – Mass
Ship is very quiet these days, like a house after visitors leave. Then walking around the deck, young
soldiers and Marines are not having to pick themselves up out of the way of the ship’s personnel.
As I pass along the deserted starboard side of the
Upper Deck, I recall that here under this Boat #4, on
the way down from Samoa, two young Marines, with
youthful voices were trying to harmonize “There’s a
Star Spangled Banner Waving Somewhere.” As their
voices floated out on the South Pacific evening air, it
came home to me that the boys like those two were
the reason why the flag was flying in the strangest
places on the face of the earth.
Spend the day making out insurance policies. In
the evening classical music is in the air in the Mess
Hall. Mitchell, BM 1/c and Snyder, Marine Sgt. are
playing a duet, piano and violin respectively. Song, a
182
waltz in A Flat by Brahms.
Hunter Liggett breaks down. What a barge! She falls
behind for about five miles. Soon repairs damage
and rejoins us.
Thursday, June 3, 1943, Ascension Thursday
0600 – Mass
We have slid all the way down the east coast of New
Zealand. Weather, quite blustery. Seagulls keeping
us company all the way. Ship is as quiet as a morgue
since we debarked all our passengers in Auckland.
0900 – Wellington once again. From here I sent our
mother the first cable about Ed and myself.
Sight of it is just as thrilling as the first time. Steep
mountains all about the harbor, not bare but covered
for the most part with lovely homes. They are riding
right up the sides into the clouds. Shore; onto a tram
with a conductorette. Jam-packed. Instead of saying
“Step forward in the car, please,” she pleads, “Come
on now, give the others a bit of a go, too.”
Into a tea shop where I demolish a triple-decker
whipped cream pie with a couple of cups of tea.
Good to see the city again. How I wish Ed could
come down here for a change of scenery instead
of sweating on malaria-infested Guadalcanal.
Friday, June 4, 1943
In the afternoon I accompany Chaplain Bill
183
Lumkin as he makes a number of calls on
Marines at various outlying camps. Maori names
are quite musical, e.g., Papatoetoe, Kiki Wawa. Why
182 As part of his duties as chaplain, Foley was assigned to prepare life insurance policies for military personnel. The Brahms Waltz in A-Flat
Major, Op. 39 No. 15, is a brief well-known encore piece written for piano.
183 William W. Lumpkin (1910 –1969) was an Episcopalian priest from Charleston, South Carolina.
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�the duplication of syllable? As we start out here we
skirt the shore of the bay, suddenly turn in, make a
hairpin turn, three more of them and we are three
quarters up the side of the mountain where the
Marines have pitched their tents. While business is
being transacted, I look down on the harbor, a beautiful sight as it spreads itself out before us. Blue sky
with lazy white clouds drifting across them, white
houses standing out against the brown of the hills
and mountains, the high modern skyscrapers in the
business section of the town, the little bugs moving,
which we know are men and women, larger objects,
slow moving — the trams and autos. A picture that
frames itself in our memory.
ushered into the presence of Col. Laue, who was a
splendid host, made us share and share and share
his hospitality. Sat down and chatted with him for
a while before we began our return trip. Stepped
out onto the porch of the clubhouse and received a
shock. Thought we were inland but the sun is setting in an old rose sky over the waters.
Out to Hutt, an old race track, whose enclosure is
now peopled with our boys, Marines who survived
the Guadalcanal campaign.
Saturday, June 5, 1943
As we ride along with the mountains as a backdrop, I ask, “What’s behind those hills?” “You’ll see
shortly.” And we did. We started climbing and then
hit a gorge behind the first foothill and rode down it
between two high mountains. We twisted right and
left with that gorge for about ten miles. On the sides
of the mountains were dirty white blobs, the sheep
munching away on the grass. The weather here is
now supposed to be winter. It was summer when
we were here in January. This day is a bit on the raw,
damp side with clouds scudding down the sky. Here
as we ride along are clusters of houses, parked along
the side of the railroad that twists between the gorge
like ourselves. The road is a splendid one, hard
macadamized surface with a line of shrubs dividing
the two lanes. On our left we pass a native Maori
communal house where they hold their tribe meetings. It has a huge, wild-looking figure carved at the
top of the intersection of the roof beams. Maori boys
and girls are romping around, chasing each other as
do youngsters all over the world. Some of the girls
are playing hopscotch, a universal game for girls.
We slow down before what was a golf clubhouse, are
The little harbor, semicircular in shape, is guarded
by two pillars of Hercules. A sublime peace and quietness broods over the entire scene. Then from the
sublime to the ridiculous, a piglet is honking at our
feet. “Our pet,” remarked the Colonel. “When we find
an apple, no more piglet.” “Goodbye” to a perfect host.
0600 – Mass
At noon I go over to the Hunter Liggett where I have
lunch and then hear confessions of the men aboard
her. Back to the Clymer.
In my room at 1645 (4:45 p.m.) when a knock informs
me that two men from the Seamen’s Institute are
awaiting the pleasure of my presence there. Ten minutes later Fr. Noel Gascoigne introduces himself. He
is the chaplain for the ships that come in who have no
Catholic priest aboard. He is attached to the Cathedral.
Seamen’s Institute is at 11 Vivian Street.
Father was educated in Rome, then won his
master’s degree in education at Oxford. He is a big
man, dark-complexioned with keen, alert eyes, a
pleasant smile lighting up an intellectual face.
We run over to 1 Glencoe Avenue, Wellington, where
184
I meet Miss Eileen Duggan, poet of New Zealand.
With her lives her sister, Mrs. Dennehy and a friend,
Miss McLeely. They live on a street that is parallel to
the main street but is about 200 feet higher than it.
Their house is one of those that is built on the side
of the mountain. A narrow passageway leads to it
184 Eileen Duggan (1884–1972) was a popular journalist and New Zealand’s first celebrated poet, earning an international reputation and
receiving an OBE in 1937. Her work was particularly prized by Catholics for its religious themes. Though she lived a long life, she was
often ill, and the tremor Foley noted was a manifestation of Parkinson’s Disease.
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�from the street about 25 yards long when one comes
to a footbridge over a gulley, then through a green
painted latch gate, up a steep walk, a long flight of
high steps and you are in front of her door bell.
Mrs. Dennehy, white haired, about 55, with a pleasant smile, lets us in. “I am glad to meet you, Father,
and you are very welcome indeed.” With those
words she makes me feel perfectly at home.
Miss Duggan extends a warm hand of greeting also.
She is a slightly built woman, about 42 years old,
with grey hair and a pale sensitive face. Her eyes are
Irish blue, her most striking feature. There is a trace
of tiredness in them. Her face is that of one who has
known physical suffering. Premature lines crease it
and she is older than her years. A slight trembling
of her hands is a relic of a nervous breakdown some
years ago. When she speaks it is with a gentle, quiet
deliberation.
During our forty-five minutes together, she is sitting at
the right hand side of the fireplace with its red flames
throwing dancing patterns on the floor before us. On
a chair close to it, the big black cat sits curled up in
unconscious contentment. What do we talk about? The
chaplains who have passed through and dropped in
to say hello. Among them Fr. George King, who, she
quietly remarks, “would take nothing from anybody
sitting down except the Pope.” She laughingly remarks
that when Fr. Gascoigne told her my name she looked
me up in the Jesuit Seminary magazine that had the pictures of the Jesuit Chaplains. Beside me was Fr. Clancy’s
picture; “the two types, the ascetic and the opposite.” I
express a hope that she isn’t frightened by the appear185
ance of the owner of that face in person.
She is a person whose sanctity shines through her
face. It is a privilege just to speak to her. Tomorrow
we shall have another get together. However, first
she asks me to visit the Missionary Sisters of the
Society of Mary, three of whose members we
carried out of Guadalcanal from Bougainville.
Sunday, June 6, 1943
0600 – Mass aboard the USS George Clymer.
0730 – Mass aboard the USS Crescent City.
0915 – Mass aboard the USS Hunter Liggett.
Back to the ship where I have dinner and then start
out for Miss Duggan’s house again. But first I stop
at the Sisters’ convent on Aurora Terrace. They
are overjoyed at the news about the safe arrival of
Sisters Adelberta, Ignatius and Martian at Noumea.
First definite word they had had about them. Fired
questions at me one after another in their happy
eagerness to know the full story.
3:30 – To Miss Duggan’s where I had a delightful
afternoon. We talked about books and poets; found
her very sharp in her analysis. She was overjoyed
when she learned that I know something about
Heythrop College, Oxfordshire. A very dear friend of
186
hers, Mrs. Helen Parry Eden lives in a cottage at
the end of the drive in Enstone [a village near Oxford].
Had evening meal together and then off to the
Catholic Seamen’s Institute, 22 Vivian Street, where
Fr. Gascoigne introduced me to Mr. Mallia, the zealous pioneer of the house. It was crowded with men
and women dancing, playing cards, etc. Benediction
given by myself at 9:15. Visit Fr. Gascoigne’s room
where I am amazed at the marvelous collection
of pictures he has. The one of Cardinal Faulhaber
depicts his massive character. Superb courage in
every line of his granolithic square face. Determined
chin, straight eyes relay a warning not to cross him
in the interests of his flock. He has been an outspoken critic of Nazism. Gratified to see also an auto187
graphed picture of Archbishop Goodier.
185 George King (1907 –1965) was an Army chaplain and a Jesuit of the New England Province. He joined the faculty of the College of the Holy Cross
after the war, where he taught history.
186 A Catholic convert, Eden (1885 –1960) was a popular author of devotional poetry.
187 Michael von Faulhaber (1869 –1952), archbishop of Munich from 1917 until his death, was celebrated for his opposition to, and critique of, the
Nazi regime. Goddier (1869 –1939) was a British Jesuit and the author of devotional books. He served as Bishop of Bombay from 1919 to 1926.
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�Fr. Gascoigne a most generous host; heedless of
time, he gave me the use of his car with himself as
the chauffeur.
Monday, June 7, 1943
0600 – Mass
Today I have the duty watch so I stay close to the ship.
Recall that one of the Marines yesterday said that the
people here were extremely hospitable to the Americans. He was a boy who is a veteran of Guadalcanal.
A fine type of young man, clean-cut, clean-tongued,
clean-eyed. One of his friends wrote to his girl about
how nice the New Zealand girls were. She wrote back a
bit indignantly, asking what they had that the American
girls didn’t have. He answered, “They have it here.”
autographed volume of her poetry. Very gracious of
her. We talk literature.
In the evening a meeting at the Bishop’s house,
Anglican Barb-Holland, Archdeacon and Canon
Robertshaw. Canon Kilroy, a Scotch Presbyterian. Also
present Frs. Kelly and O’Neil, Marine Chaplains; Chaplains Willard, Eckhardt, Magyar, Tolafson, Lutherans,
but of different branches, and a Rabbi Katz, who is
dressed in black with a Roman collar to boot! In fact of
all the civilian ministers there of the Protestant persuasion and there were nine, only two were not wearing
188
the Roman collar.
Wednesday, June 9, 1943
0600 – Mass. On board today for duty.
Tuesday, June 8, 1943
Thursday, June 10, 1943
0600 – Mass
0600 – Mass
To the Convent of the Sisters of Mercy on Abel
Smith Street where I pick up the linens that were
left there on Thursday. As usual the Sisters are most
gracious. Set me up to a cup of tea and cakes. Their
Convent perches on the side of a mountain, one of
the many that ring the city. Made land of all of this,
a tribute to the energy of the people who were not
at all thwarted by sheer faces of mountains.
Loading 3rd Regiment of Marines and their cargo.
These 3rd Marines are an Infantry Regiment. As somebody said, “Real estate comes very high for them.”
From that Convent to the one on Aurora Terrace where
I pick up the hosts, go through the school, speak to the
boys and girls in the classes, asking their prayers. In
the last class, commercial, I ask the girls if they would
like to serve aboard the ship. We could make sailorettes
of them. The little boys and girls in the infant class
catch my fancy. They are little irresistible tackers, about
four and a half to five years old. Their prayers will help
to keep us afloat. They sing a song for me with the
greatest gusto. Before I leave I give them my blessing.
Spend afternoon with Miss Duggan who gives me an
Ashore for odds and ends, e.g., pick up pictures for
McElrath, books for Vogel, phonograph needles, etc.
New Departure. Again lowering the men in the first
wave in the boats from the ship. Hope there are no
casualties either now or in the actual operation. Overheard on deck, two Marines talking. “What wave are
you in?” “Sixth, what’s yours?” “First wave, first boat.”
“Boy, oh boy, I’ll put a blanket on you as I go by.”
Friday, June 11, 1943
0600 – Mass
Third Regiment of Marines aboard for drills preliminary to landing on a hostile shore. Many of them
are veterans of the landing on Guadalcanal last August.
188 Foley may well have been surprised to find a rabbi in a clerical collar, but in the Anglican world, clerical collars were sometimes worn by
non-Christian clergy, and the practice was well established among rabbis in New Zealand, a devotedly Anglican nation. Rabbi Katz was
Solomon Katz, who served as a rabbi in England, the United States, and New Zealand, where he led the Wellington Hebrew Congregation synagogue from 1931 until his death in 1944. Like Foley, he was a military chaplain, with a special appointment to serve JewishAmerican military men stationed in New Zealand.
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�We shove off at 0730, stand out in the harbor until
1030 when we start our run on the degaussing
189
range. That run takes about two hours. The picture
of Wellington changes each time we shift course. Now
she stands out clearly in the morning sun, her white
houses sharply backgrounded against the dark hills
wrapped in somber autumn brown. Now pale light of
the sun illuminates them feebly with a short slanting
ray before withdrawing hurriedly into the protection
of low-hanging clouds. Drill. For the first time men
go down in the boats instead of waiting for them to
come back after being put over the side first. Some
doubt whether or not the boats will be able to stand
the strain. Just in case the bottoms should give way,
lines hang down from the cross bar of the Welin davit
to save the men from drowning. Hoisting out the
boats loaded will save valuable time in the actual battle
operation. When will that be? One guess was ventured
today as of next August, to time with the anniversary
of Guadalcanal. Boy, oh boy, what a long war if we
have to take one island a year. Meanwhile Japan has
built up a string of unsinkable aircraft carriers, hun190
dreds of these in tropical South Seas Islands.
Overheard one sailor saying to another that after
this war, “I’m going to get me a wife and build a
house with portholes in it. If I don’t, I’ll get homesick.” On street in Wellington, one sailor obviously
lost, sends out an SOS to his mate on the other side
of the street whom he recognizes. “Will you give me
my bearings? I don’t know fore from aft.”
191
Receive a copy of the April 5th “Heights,” in which
I read of the death of John J. Gallagher of Framingham, the first of the many boys I had in class who
gives the last measure of devotion for his country. He
was killed in an air crash back home in Ohio.
Also read that Captain Arthur Cullen of the Army Air
Force is missing in air operations over Hamburg. The
192
war is beginning to cut into the folks back home.
Saturday, June 12, 1943
0600 – Mass
193
0730 – Underway for Paikakariki [Paekakariki] ,
thirty miles up north, for maneuvers. Day is a crisp,
clear one as we head out into Cook’s Straits, the channel between the North and South Islands that are New
Zealand. Read my Office in the room for half an hour
and then lay the keel for the Sunday sermon.
Outside for a breath of air at 8:30; then a dream of
beauty. Off on our port side, Mt. Cook, 3800 meters
[12,200 feet] high, raises her majestic snow-crowned
peaks into God’s azure blue. The color contrasts are
breathtaking. The blue sky, the white of the snow, the
slatey gray of the mountain below the snowline, then
the blue of the Tasman Sea washing the feet of the
mountains; and over all, the clear bright sunshine
flooding the crisp day.
1200 – Set
condition 1-A troop landing. Over the side
go the troops to take by storm the shore eight miles
away. This operation is just child’s play, spirit of the
game about it, but there isn’t one of those men who
doesn’t know that some one of these days they are going through the same operation; may be in this life one
194
moment and then out of it forever in the next.
189 See note, July 27, 1942.
190 “Unsinkable aircraft carriers” was military slang for islands.
191 Boston College’s student newspaper.
192 Arthur Cullen (1929–2006) was the pilot of a B-24 Liberator that was brought down by enemy fire over France on February 15, 1943.
Of the 11-member crew, four survived, including Cullen, who was taken prisoner and repatriated at the conclusion of the war.
193 Paekakariki was a large Marine base on the southwest coast of New Zealand’s North Island. It was abandoned four months after Foley
visited, when the war moved north.
194 The Second Marine Division was training for landing on Tarawa Atoll, the first central Pacific island to be attacked by US ground forces.
Some 1,000 Marines would be killed in the first three days of combat, November 21-23. (See Foley’s entry for December 1, 1943.) A
documentary film, With the Marines at Tarawa, was developed by Warner Bros and the Office of War Information, and can be viewed at
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QbX6Uvn2vME
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�Marines debarking over the side. Stand by watching and thinking that when this is the real attack,
I shall silently be giving them my blessing. Notice
one lad about 20 shivering with the cold. Ask him if
he has a sweater, but he hasn’t; bring him into my
room. “Fr. Foley is my name.” “Mine is… Sorry that
I’m not a good Catholic, Father.” “How long since
last confession?” “--“, Father.” “All right, but you’ll be
squared away before tonight, right?” “Right, Father.”
A sweater is the means of grace being given to that
boy. God works in wondrous ways.
A simulated bombing attack by the Air Army of the
RNAF [Royal Naval Air Force]. Eight of them run in
on us from all angles, strafing, wiggling, swooping
in low, then soaring up just when it seems that they
will crash into us. All the AA guns of the ship are
manned and are blazing away at the dry run.
Sunday, June 13, 1943
0600 and 1000 – Mass
Another landing drill begins today. Men go over
the side in the first operation at 1245. Look on the
map in the Chart House up by the bridge. Names
of the points of operation here are amusing; suitcase, ash tray, pencil, flat hat, chicken, apple seed
and horse radish.
After the landing drill of yesterday, a dozen of the
Marines come down with malaria. They had to wade
ashore in water up to their waist, cold water too, for
these days are bright, clear and crisp. Not cold if one
is moving, but if standing still two to three hours as
these boys must do after landing, the chill gets into
the marrow of the bones.
Monday, June 14, 1943
0600 – Mass, with Reveille at 0445!
0650 – Attack the enemy-held shore. Once again
over the side, onto the beach that lies at the foot
of these brown mountains.
Tuesday, June 15, 1943
0300 – Reveille, Mass following.
Tempo is stepping up. This attack is a coordinated
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one with the USS Hunter Liggett, American Legion
and Crescent City. Morning, but black as pitch outside; sharp reminder of the November 8th battle
in Africa. Note that we were first at Guadalcanal
on February 7th and 8th; that we were attacked by
bombing planes on April 8th. Wonder if we are
now practicing for a battle that will take place on
the anniversary of August 8th when the Marines
first hit Guadalcanal?
0815 – Simulated dive-bombing attack. Eight fighters
and dive bombers come in from all angles repeatedly, strafing and bombing and torpedoing our
ships. They wiggle as they come in to splatter their
machine guns over a wide area, i.e., their bullets to
knock out as many men as they can; then the work
of the dive bombers and the torpedo planes will be
so much easier. Were these the real thing, we should
have been at the bottom in two minutes after the
first wave came in on us. This squadron is a unit
from the New Zealand Air Force that has been doing
such splendid work in the Middle East and Tunisia.
Letter from one of my sisters in which she quotes
my mother, “It took a long time for his ship to get
started, but boy, oh boy, it is taking a longer time
for it to come back for repairs.” If she only knew
that it may be two years before our ship puts back
into a home port again, her morale, which has
been wonderful so far, would slip a bit.
Wednesday, June 16, 1943
0600 – Mass
Another dawn attack on the summer resort of
Paekakariki. Day is a miserable one with cold rain
driving down, heavy sea running. Off in the distance
the defending forces have prepared themselves for
the attack. Boats shove off dangerously from the
ship. Watching personnel boat being hoisted over
the side on port quarter. Bill Olsen from Concord is
the boat engineer. Hook lifts the boat off the hatch,
swings it too freely over the water. Ship is rolling
with the swell, causing the swing. Down into the
water, Olsen unhooks the steel circle, the ring that
carried the boat. It gently pins his head between itself
�and the side of the boat. Had there been any momentum behind it, he would have had at least a fractured
skull. As it is, he is dazed, slumps down to the deck
rubbing his head. Quickly recovers and is away.
Six miles off shore when we put off the assault
waves. Two machine gunners talk about their job.
“Secure the nearest elevated spot, Father, then spit
hot lead at the defenders.” “Any danger of hitting
your own men?” “Yes, but it is better to hit a couple
of our men and save two hundred. They expect it.”
We move in about two miles off shore. Reports come
back about abominable conditions on the beach.
Heavy surf has wrecked eight boats already. Men
have flung selves on shore through cold water,
shoulder high in places where the boats could not
get any closer. Defenders had them at their mercy
due to wretched conditions.
But where I am, I needs must be
And where I would be, I cannot.”
“The magic of sanctity is nothing but the good will
of a mortal added to the grace of God.”
Friday, June 18, 1943
0600 – Mass
Into Wellington after all those boats that were
casualties on the beach are towed back to the ship for
repairs. We pound down along the coast in a heavy,
rolling sea, dark, lowering clouds overhead, no sun at
all and white caps rearing their heads on the waters.
Finished maneuvers on this trip. Two boys killed at
Pa[e]kakariki; one a sailor who was trapped under
a ramp of one of the personnel boats. The boat
ground him under and the stern of it finished him.
The propeller cut him badly.
Thursday, June 17, 1943
0600 – Mass
Day is another cold, blustery one with half a dozen
casualties picked up from the heavy running sea;
smashed ankles, sore heads.
195
Finished “Whistles of Silver” by Helen Parry Eden.
“Devotion standeth in man’s soul
With shoes of swiftness shod,
‘Tis thy prompt will to yield thyself
To the high nests of God,
‘Tis the surrender of desire
To serve His lightest nod’.” (p. 67)
“Devotion keeps not back one grain;
She is God’s loving-cup to drain,
His managed stead to spur or rein,
His purse to spend (If He but deign)
To the last piece of gold. (pp. 67–68)
O that I was where I would be,
Then would I be where I am not
I spend the evening with Miss Eileen Duggan, Mrs.
Dennehy and Miss McLeely. As on the previous visit,
her “hearth flowers into flame” before me as we talk
of books and people and the things of the soul.
I have difficulty finding the place for it is pitch dark
when I get ashore at 7 o’clock. Pass it by; no one of
six people I met know where it is. Suddenly stumble
into it when I had given up the search as a bad job.
Miss Duggan remarks that our boys have captured the
hearts of everybody by their utter unselfconsciousness,
their open approach and their pride in their religion.
Saturday, June 19, 1943
Dark as usual until 0730 in the morning. RainRain-Rain. Beginning to doubt that Wellington
people will see the sun again. Out of total of eight
days spent there on two visits, only saw the sun
once. Rest of the time, cold, murky mists, either
riding in from the sea or blowing down from the
mountain tops.
195 Helen P. Eden (1885–1960) was a British author of devotional poems and stories whose work was praised by G.K. Chesterton and
Joyce Kilmer. These lines are from her book, A Dialogue of Devotion, published in 1922.
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�On trams, conductorettes are dressed in blue trousers and heavy overcoats of the same color. On empty
one the girl asks me how I like the country. Irishman’s answer, I made my own, “Good country if it
had a roof over it.” She says that her job as a conductorette is a tough one. Not every girl can stand
it. Public is a hard-driving customer. “However, you
tyke it and come up with a smile.” Her remark on
the weather: “An extraordinary bad spin of it we are
having lately.”
About 12 o’clock we heave up anchor for Pa[e]kakariki
again, make the run in about four hours. It is a much
shorter distance than the time indicates, but we have
to swing in and around a number of islands.
In the evening the sun tries desperately to come out
from behind the clouds, but does not succeed except
in spots. She restricts herself to indirect lighting.
Not shining down on us as we swing at anchor, but
a mile away without showing her pale features.
Sunday, June 20, 1943
0300 – Reveille!!! Those early hours, only three after
midnight.
0400 – Mass, private; no public Mass even though
it is Sunday for this morning there is full combat
attack; men are to go over the side shortly, viz. at
0430. I step out, murmur a prayer that casualties
will not be heavy. Ominous looking sea is running
high, most dangerous for invasion boats and tank
lighters. At 0430 landing postponed until daylight
for the danger is obvious.
0700 – Men start going over the side for the enemyheld shore. Some boat casualties after the first wave
hits the beach. Surf tosses them wildly about and
flings them up on the shore. They have smashed
propellers, bent screws, holes in their sides. Some
struggle back under their own power, others are towed
by those fortunate not to be casualties themselves.
Morning drags with unloading of troops; the
Marines and cargo far behind schedule. Boats available dwindling with every load. So far no men hurt,
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thank God. Day is overcast with a high wind blowing and a rough sea tossing.
Same holds for the afternoon; no attempt made to
keep up with the debarkation, for it is an impossibility. We are supposed to unload both troops and
cargo and make a getaway within eight hours lest
we be sunk. According to the plan, the Crescent City
has already gone under from enemy planes in the
simulated attack. She is nowhere to be seen. Has
been dispatched to Wellington, four hours away.
7:30 in the evening I have Mass in the Mess Hall,
starboard side, the first night Mass celebrated
aboard the ship. There are about 25 men present. I
thought I might have all Catholic men on duty, but
right after I started the word was passed, “First Division stand by to hoist in boat # 6.” That took away
some of my flock. Then five minutes later another
word passed from the bridge, “Second Division
stand by to hoist in the gig.”
Seemed strange to myself and the men to have Mass in
the evening. We were deeply grateful for the privilege.
At 10 o’clock before turning in, I step outside
onto the catwalk outside my room. Cloudy sky has
cleared, neither wind nor sea have abated. Moon
is full, sky wears windswept face, no clouds, just a
few stray slashes of white as if an artist took a huge
brush and swished it carelessly across the heavens.
Monday, June 21, 1943
Shortest day of the year.
0400 – Reveille
0500 – Mass
Underway according to the plan of the day but we
postpone the start. At breakfast I learn the reason.
Last night a heavy sea was running. Salvage parties
were trying to get the stranded boats off the beach.
All three ships, the Crescent City, Hunter Liggett
and ourselves had some on the beach.
�At breakfast Mr. Trapp informs me that the Hunter
Liggett salvage party in their boat capsized with the
loss of fourteen sailors, drowned. Seventeen men
were saved. The huge seas turned their boat over
one mile off shore. For the rest of the night until five
this morning, in accordance with orders from the
American Legion, Flagship PF Comm. Trans. Division, “Search for Survivors.” They travelled back and
forth over the watery grave of those boys. Thank God
the number of deaths has been revised downward
to eight enlisted men and one officer. Mr. Kreutzer
informs me that just before he left the beach yesterday, two bodies, one of the officer and the other an
enlisted man were washed ashore. Both of them had
nasty gashes across their foreheads, where the boat
had evidently hit them when she capsized.
May the Lord have mercy on their souls and the
souls of all the soldiers, sailors and Marines who
have died so far in the struggle.
0600 – We drop anchor again in Wellington Harbor.
Later tie up to the dock and unload the rest of the
cargo. I call up Miss Eileen Duggan to inform her
that since I have duty this evening, I am ship-bound
and cannot share her hospitality.
She tells me that they had a big fire burning last
Saturday, but I failed to put in an appearance. She
knew the reason without being told.
Picked up Auckland paper. Amazed at the details given of the casualties the other day on the
100-plane raid on Guadalcanal: 25 American Flyers
killed, 22 injured, 29 missing. These enlightening
details glaringly omitted from all American accounts. No wonder 17 men recently resigned from
the Office of War Information, complaining that
instead of news, the American People were getting
196
the product of slick salesmanship.
Tuesday, June 22, 1943
0600 – Mass
Rain-Rain-Rain-Rain again for sixteenth time in
Wellington. Happy meeting of Barrett, B.C. ’41 and
Jack Sheehan, Holy Cross ’37 on the dock here. We
shoot the breeze for a while, chasing our memories
197
back to Mt. St. James and Chestnut Hill.
Mail arrives today, as always bringing good news and
bad. Holtz, 2nd Division, learns that his mother was
severely injured in an explosion in the munitions
factory where she was working. Green, Radar man,
learns that his steady for two years has jilted him
after he lavished money and gifts on her. I will write a
letter for him that will go to the girl. A letter such that
when she receives it, she will say, “And I gave up that
kind of a man. What a mistake I made.” He signs it.
Wednesday, June 23, 1943
0600 – Mass
0800 – Off to Auckland. Heavy casualties have finally
convinced the big shots that boats and men can take
only so much punishment. Total: Ten deaths and dozens
of invasion boats ruined, either totally or temporarily.
Thursday, June 24, 1943
0600 – Mass
One year ago today I came aboard; 12 months sea
duty and still floating, thank God. May Our Lord
and Our Lady continue to take care of us during this
198
coming year.
196 Established by President Roosevelt at the beginning of the war, the Office of War Information was repeatedly accused by Congress of concealing
truth from American citizens. On April 14, 1943, a group of writers resigned from the OWI, stating that their attempts to provide an objective
view of the war was being subverted by “high-pressure promoters who prefer slick salesmanship to honest information.” President Truman
closed the office in September 1945, a month after Japan surrendered. As to the air attack on Guadalcanal on June 16, 1943, the Auckland paper
was mistaken, The Japanese lost 15 fighter planes and 13 dive bombers while the United States lost six fighter planes and five pilots.
197 The hills — 40 miles apart — on which the College of the Holy Cross and Boston College campuses, respectively, stand.
198 The Clymer was the first American ship to serve in both the European and Pacific Theaters, and it sailed 163,000 miles over the course of the war.
It was struck by enemy fire only once, when a shell damaged its radio antenna during the Africa campaign, and it acquired the nickname “The
Lucky George.” It served in the Korean and Vietnam wars and was awarded a total of 15 battle stars before it was sold for scrap on July 26, 1968.
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�Auckland, city of sunshine. Glorious sun beating
down on us in this winter month, strange to say, in
June, but overcoats in order.
Friday, June 25, 1943
0600 – Mass
Ashore look for Convent of Good Shepherd and Sisters of St. Joseph teaching, but wind up in Church
of Good Shepherd. Pastor Dean [William J. Murphy’s assistant Fr. Linehan takes me to Convent
where I first started, then to Franciscan Friary,
then to Hospital of Sisters of Mercy.
Convent on high mountain, on left side, Tasman
Sea, on right, Pacific Ocean. What a view! Purpleclad mountains falling away on the horizon, blue
ocean waters below and modern city buildings
raising their stone fingers to the blue skies above.
Our Lady’s statue on top of Hospital.
Saturday, June 26, 1943
We are anchored out in the stream for there is no
docking space available for us. Off to our port side is
a Liberty ship that had an unwelcome visitor recently. A torpedo let in daylight from port to starboard;
went clean through her.
Today we take aboard the 1500 Marines for Guadalcanal. They are the 9th Marines, all primed for
fighting. Have been in training for over a year. Scuttlebutt has it that we will ferry them to Guadalcanal;
in the meantime after we have shoved off, they will
strike somewhere; then we are fetching reinforcements back from either Auckland or Wellington.
Hear confessions aboard the Liggett for two hours.
Tuesday, June 29, 1943
0600 – Mass
Dinner today at the Church of the Good Shepherd;
Pastor is Dean Murphy, Curate Fr. Linehan. During the afternoon meet two other pastors, Shaw and
Donnelly. Stay for supper when we have blood pudding. Years since I had that good English meat.
Talking with Marine and what lies ahead of him. He
remarked that it was not the bullet or shell that had
his name on it that worried him. It was the kind that
simply said, “To whom it may concern.”
In the afternoon we tie up to the dock, start loading
Marines, not for maneuvers, either for Guadalcanal
or the real thing. Namely, BATTLE.
At night before getting into bed, set up again outfit
that I would take over the side with me if “it” happened, long-handled underwear, Vaseline, white cap,
sweat shirt, colored glasses. We are back in the old
routine again. I don’t want to cook by day and freeze
by night if I have to hang onto a plank or squat in a
life raft.
Sunday, June 27, 1943
Wednesday, June 30, 1943
0600 – Mass. Anniversary of the first Sunday Mass
aboard the Clymer at Charleston, S.C.
0600 – Mass
Still dark until 0730 in the morning, for these are
the winter months in this part of the world; June,
July and August. Spend day cleaning up office. Hear
about 25 confessions. Night, very little sleep. We
run into heavy ground swells, ship rolls and pitches,
shattering of china below in Wardroom. Everything
is adrift in everybody’s room until firmly secured.
Not more than two fitful hours of sleep all night.
0900 – Mass aboard the USS Hunter Liggett for her
men and those of the American Legion. Splendid
turnout, 500 present. Stay aboard Sunday, for I have
duty. Fr. Linehan, Auckland priest, my guest for
evening meal.
Monday, June 28, 1943
0600 – Mass
Thursday, July 1, 1943
0600 – Mass; about 25 Communions.
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�Heavy sea still running. Hear confessions in preparation for tomorrow, which is the Feast of the Sacred
Heart and also First Friday.
Operations are afoot in the Solomons again. Our men
have taken Rendova Island, five miles south of New
Georgia, and have attacked New Georgia itself. We have
pushed steadily north. Eventually hope to take Bougainville or isolate that by capturing Rabaul.
1200 – Dinner.
Had just sat down when General
Quarters peeped. All bolted from the table; unidentified plane on the horizon. Ten minutes later we
are secure; it is one of our own. Back to a good big
Sunday meal.
1500 – Rosary and Benediction; about 200 present.
After it, take names of men who wish me to inform
their mothers that they have been to church aboard
our ship.
Friday, July 2, 1943
First Friday and Feast of the Sacred Heart.
0630 – Mass; about 50 Holy Communions.
Day is warm, for we are now about 700 miles north
of New Zealand. Yesterday afternoon the cold weather
started to fade out. Now we have dropped the jackets
and the heavy socks until we hit winter months again
when we return to Auckland as scuttlebutt has it.
Radio News Release this morning reports that we
have attacked an island five miles from Munda,
Rekata. These men will either go straight on there as
reinforcements or will be left at Guadalcanal. Latter
seems to be probable for ships of this nature and big
tonnage are not normally sent within fifty miles, let
alone five of an enemy-held airfield.
Saturday, July 3, 1943
0600 – Mass; about 75 present.
Overheard on the Boat Deck, one sailor telling another
“Go take a long walk on a short deck.” On Main Deck
about an ensign, “He’s just a spare gear,” i.e., no good.
Confessions at night.
Sunday, July 4, 1943
0615 – Mass; about 200 present. 0900 – Second
Mass. 1000 – General Service.
Picked up radio telegram in Commander Olesen’s
room. “Gives position, then men in foxholes and
machine guns set up to attack immediately.” Lot of
drama packed into those few lines.
Remark at table: Captain Schaub says that the men
there on New Georgia are learning the lesson now of
actual combat. He hopes that the tuition will not be
too high. Another Marine Officer remarks that “we are
engaged in a new real estate development.”
We learn that the USS McCawley has been sunk some
199
miles north of us. She was a ship about our size.
My mother writes in her latest letter that although
her sons are not in actual combat, she knows that
they are doing their part. If she only knew! Ed spends
hours during the night in foxholes, while we occasionally are ducking and weaving and twisting and
turning as Jap bombers drop their calling cards on
us or subs tickle us.
Monday, July 5, 1943
0615 – Mass
During Mass a plane roars by at deck level so it is obviously one of our own. We have an aircraft carrier out
ahead of us that is sending her birds aloft. We are
carrying our heaviest cargo load of all our seven trips
to Guadalcanal and the precious human freight.
199 The McCawley was said to have been torpedoed by Japanese planes off Guadalcanal while delivering cargo. Nearly all the crew were saved
before the ship was scuttled on June 30, 1943. It was soon determined that the torpedoes that destroyed the ship were fired in error from
American torpedo boats. A redrafting of PT boat communications protocols followed.
144 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�These boys are highly trained Marines with the best
of equipment who are on razor edge to get into battle.
Morale in the Navy is made up of four elements:
mail, movies and meals with liberty to complete the
quartet. Officer says work should be included. He is
right. Work, something to do, is a blessing in war as
well as in peace.
Tuesday, July 6, 1943
0615 – Mass on Upper Deck Aft; attendance of
about 150.
We should anchor about noon today. Lot of wellorganized bustle aboard the ship as Marines prepare
to debark. On the decks are stacked their barracks
bags and bed rolls, 1400 of each.
0945 – General Quarters. Submarine alarm; Tojo’s
underwater express is trying to crowd us off the surface. Destroyer sows depth charge pattern. Ship shivers
slightly even though dropped a good two miles away.
1000 – Report
from bridge. “All Marines below deck;
enemy planes en route.”
are secured from General Quarters.
Thank God no hits, no casualties. “How are your
nerves, Joe?”
Beach is a long strip of smooth sand, fringed with
palms. Waves are breaking high on her, for it is apparently flood tide. Wait around for a while, bum a
ride after fifteen minutes to a Raider Camp where
Bob Laverty, whose father E. V. Laverty is manager
of Liggett’s drugstore at [Boston’s] South Station,
is stationed.
At 1:30 with Hutchins and Simmons, two enlisted
men, we start for Henderson Field from this place
called Teteri. I have to be back to the ship by four
o’clock, so time is precious. Before we start I see
some reports of the story on the action up north on
New Georgia. “Bomb hit; twenty of our men killed.”
“200 wounded.”
Visit bamboo Church of St. Bartholomew, native
church, bamboo slats tied with strips, not a nail in it,
about thirty feet high, twenty yards long and thirty feet
wide. Sand on the floor, bamboo altar, one big cross
beam in the center resting on two big beams, no nails,
bound together with wooden pegs. On this beam are
crude decorations in white paint of the Cross, a chalice, IHS, a crown of thorns. Here the natives gather
round their French Marist missionary to hear the
story that never grows old, Our Lord’s life.
1030 – We
Now I start to get Ed’s bag ready; some filet steak,
peanuts, Milky Ways, Nestle’s chocolate bars, Griffin’s Bars, fresh apples, cigars, fountain pen and
pencil, leads, matches, Wrigley’s gum, etc.
1145 – Boat
#6 is lowered to the rail. While we are
still underway she is lowered into the water and off
we are to the beach. The day was cloudy; now it has
broken beautifully and once again a hot tropical sun
is streaming down on the twenty of us in this boat,
15 Navy men and 5 Marines. We head in, ride the
crest of a wave and brace ourselves. We run into the
beach head on, drop with the rudder, down drops
the ramp and we run out through the water.
A shout from Simmons; he is set to go off. We buzz
for the fourteen mile trip along a sandy road, first
parallel with the beach, then within a couple of
miles we see and hear the four-motored bombers
200
roaring overhead, either returning from Munda
bombing or on their way out. On out to the main
stem where traffic picks up; water trailers, gravel
trucks, ambulances, jeeps, gas trucks moving
smoothly over coral roads built by the CB’s. After
about ten miles I am in familiar territory again. We
are crossing the Tenaru River, the Lunga, where Ed
and I first crouched in a Jap dugout.
Down to the Field Hospital where I hear a record
being played over the amplifying system. I wonder if
that is Ed working the machine from the Red Cross
hut. I meander down to the Recreation Tent, inquire
200 Settlement on New Georgia Island, where military operations were in progress, and the site of a Japanese airfield.
145 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�of three sick men lounging around in pajamas if Ed
Foley is around. A bellow from inside, “Where have
you been?” I explain about my wintering in New
Zealand, invite him to have a bite of an apple from
the same island. After a few minutes we retire to the
outskirts of “town” as Ed facetiously calls his new
home. There he investigates the contents of the egg
crate that I have brought with me. The Schaeffer
fountain pen and pencil catch his eye. What catches
my eye are the small rubber boots he is wearing, an
inheritance from some of the boys who have gone
back to the States for Officers Candidate School.
Ed informs me that he has received word that his
application has been duly received. I hope that such
a notice is not the forerunner of a rejection slip later.
taking off from Henderson Field and Carney Field
“like flocks of ducks” as one of the sailors described
it. I count 41 in the sky at one period. These Flying
Fortresses! They go out without any sort of protection. As a squadron of eight of them roar overhead
we can plainly see the murderous snouts of their
guns and cannons in their nose, in their tails, top203
side, where their blisters glance back at the
setting sun. But the plane that takes my fancy is
204
the P-38. I never tire watching them soar up
off the landing strip and then climb straight up,
power unlimited.
How does Ed look? As well as ever. He feels fine but
misses Fr. Flaherty who has been transferred to Australia. “Things just sagged when he left. Now Mass
is celebrated only on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday
and we miss daily Mass.”
Wednesday, July 7 1943
Marty McDonough, one of Ed’s mates, enters the
tent, and we shake hands. Now the fifteen minutes
of my visit are up and back to the ship. “So long,
Ed.” “So long, John.” A shake and we are off again.
Back to the Tetero Beach where necks are strained
upwards at an 18” dragon-like lizard that is ambling
down a coconut trunk, looks bewildered about half
way down, at the crowd of Marines that are gaping
at it, one of whom unsheathes his knife for an immediate operation. Lizard refuses to christen said
knife with its blood and goes back to roost in the
coconuts at the top of the tree.
Heavy action is taking place a short distance from
201
here. Heavy Army bombers, Boeing Fortresses ,
202
Billy Mitchell dive bombers , torpedo planes are
We continue unloading cargo all night. If I only had
known that, I could have had Ed aboard!
0600 – Mass
1000 – Destroyer
Renshaw comes alongside for
fueling. I climb down a ladder over our side, slip
across, see the Executive Officer and ask for permission to hear confessions of the Catholic men.
“Certainly.” The Catholic men come and make
their peace with God through me while I sit in the
forward ammunition clipping room just aft of the
second turret under the bridge. My chair is an
ammunition box loaded with 20 mm bullets ready
to tear into a Jap plane. This destroyer last night
shelled the New Georgia installations of the Japs
heavily. It is only a three-hour run for them from
here. They made thirty-three knots an hour.
6:00 p.m. We take aboard some of the human debris
of war, about ninety wounded, the first casualties of
the action up north. Tragic some of the cases. Some,
loss of vision; others, mangled arms and legs, victims of bullets and shrapnel bombings. This group
201 B-17 Flying Fortress bombers.
202 B-25 Mitchell bombers, named for William Mitchell, an Army officer in World War I who was instrumental in the development of American
military air power.
203 Transparent plastic mounts for machine guns.
204 Lockheed P-38 Lightings were among the fastest planes used in WWII. They accounted for more Japanese aircraft “kills” than any airplane
in the American arsenal.
146 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�205
is from Vanganu and Rendova. At latter place,
fifteen Jap two-motored bombers dropped their load
of bombs on the beachhead with twenty killed and
two hundred wounded.
the other insists that he wants to see no more blood
for the duration.
Friday, July 9, 1943
0600 – Mass
Some concussion victims whose ears were deafened
and whose eyeballs are still enlarged. Some of the
men ask, “Do you recognize me, Father?” We carried them here a few months ago. “I never thought
I would be coming back this way, Father.” Blindness
cases most tragic of all.
8:00 p.m. – Underway again, this time we believe
for Noumea.
Thursday, July 8, 1943
0615 – Mass
Busy taking care of the material needs of the
98 wounded we have aboard. They are a pitiable
lot, this sample of the human debris of war, most of
them bombing victims. One squadron of 15 bombers did this work. What must it be like over Europe
where hundreds of them concentrate on one area in
a thickly congested modern city?
McMullen, from Bangor, Maine, is stone blind; will
always be. Was a clerk in a Division Headquarters;
bomb fragment scooped across center of his face,
wrecking both eyes and leaving only the tip of his
nose. Pathetic, as he asks me to describe the Purple
Heart to him, award for Military Merit. Purple and
white ribbon, medal is heart-shaped, with medallion
of Washington in the center, is bronze colored. Some
of the concussion cases are still stunned psychologically, others deafened, others with both eyes black and
blue, bloodshot. Concussion breaks blood vessels.
Hand out cigarettes to the men. They have only what
they brought on their backs.
Two Army officers, Captain and Lieutenant, are psychoneurotic cases. One imagines he has a bad leg;
Today I am in the dry goods business distributing
shirts, sox, shoes, pants, etc. to the wounded men who
came aboard without anything literally, with nothing
but the sheets that covered them on stretchers.
Visit from Murov, Jewish boy from Louisiana, who is
haunted by the feeling of remorse that he is running
away from the zone of combat. Sight of the wounded stabs his conscience. Feels that he has disgraced
his family because he is a coward, so he says. After a
chat of half an hour he leaves, feeling better.
Saturday, July 10, 1943
0600 – Mass
Ensign Panitz leaves us tomorrow. Came aboard
only six weeks ago, thinks that he would be able to
do better work in another branch of the service rather than aboard a combat transport. Lt. Morey, “Hope
he gets reassigned [to a combat unit], Father, and he
is with us when we are making the next beachhead.”
Sunday, July 11, 1943
0600 – Mass
0900 – Mass
No General Service, for at 1000 we are anchoring
[at Noumea]. First and Second Divisions are busy
hoisting out boats. Hospital Division arranging for
transportation of wounded men; Supply Division
making up a working party to take on stores. Such
assignments wreck my plans for General Service.
1100 – Ashore to Red Cross first, where I pick up
magazines for the men, meet Mr. Mason, boss,
and Robert Atmore, assistant, and Miss Martin from
18 Pritchard Avenue, Somerville [Massachusetts].
205 Islands in the New Georgia chain that were invaded as part of a campaign to capture the Japanese airfield at Munda Point on the
central island.
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�1130 –To
Ecole de Libre where Sisters Joseph and Guy
and Mother Superior extend a royal welcome. Want
to know what my “harrowing experiences” have been
since last we met in April. Have been praying faithfully since then for my ship and her men.
General Quarters at 6:30; submarine alarm. Ship
quivers as she boils ahead at full speed, executing at
the same time evasive maneuvers. What a life!
Wednesday, July 14, 1943
0615 – Mass
1:00 – Out to Manse Vite to see Paul Doherty who
is ill with pneumonia, now well on the road to
recovery. Looks as well as ever; must have been quite
plump for he says he has lost weight. His mother
will be glad to learn that we met.
3:00 – To the USS Prometheus where I pick up six
films for later showing to the men. We must return
each one of these to the ship when we put into
Noumea again. Write to mother and sister about
the day and how it was spent.
Monday, July 12, 1943
0600 – Mass
Chief Bill Hughes informs me that he just lost his
father in Lawrence, 37 Bowdoin Street. Promise to
offer Mass for him tomorrow morning.
3:00 – Underway for Auckland, New Zealand, again.
Tuesday, July 13, 1943
0615 – Mass for Bill Hughes’s father.
Aboard we have the survivors, fifty of them, from
the USS McCawley, torpedoed by a plane at New
Georgia, ten to fifteen men in the engine room
[were killed]. Japs went straight for McCawley,
apparently aware that aboard her were Admiral
Turner and General Harmon. Passed over
206
President liners.
Speaking with members of the gun crew on port
side aft, two of them new men. They were aboard
two AK-cargo Liberty ships that were torpedoed
south of Guadalcanal at 4:45 a.m. on June 23, 1943.
Of the thirty-five soldiers that one was carrying,
twenty-seven were killed as they slept on hatch
number one. Torpedo came into hold number
one. The ships had destroyer escort but subs still
slipped in and put their fish into her.
Calloway, one of the new men, wants shore duty,
for he has a case of chronic seasickness. Has been
retching badly all day. Doesn’t seem to be feigning,
for Gorman, painter, with whom he has been working reports that he has been deadly sick all day.
Universality of the Catholic Church. Captain Ross,
Marine Corps ace, downed more planes than any
other flyer. Motor failed, set plane down near a small
island, Malaita,”inhabited by the worst natives on
the Solomons,” said the Chicago Tribune. There
Ross met a French Archbishop and four priests,
Dutch, Norwegian, Italian and American. Next Ross
went to Mass where the “worst natives” assisted and
207
sang hymns.
Thursday, July 15, 1943
0600 – Mass
Ship has been fairly quiet these days, for we have it
once more to ourselves. Morning breaks bright and
cool, clear, bright sky as the windswept headlands
206 Re McCawley: see entry under July 4, 1943. Richmond K. Turner was in charge of amphibious forces in the Pacific; Millard F. Harmon
was a lieutenant general in the Army Air Force. The presidents were a fleet of passenger ships named for American presidents. The
military purchased them in 1938 from a bankrupt shipping company.
207 Joseph Ross (1915–2003), who shot down 25 Japanese aircraft in the Guadalcanal Campaign, received the Medal of Honor from
President Roosevelt. Ross may well have sung hymns with his Catholic rescuers, but he did so as an Evangelical Protestant. He would
serve two terms as governor of South Dakota.
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�of New Zealand come into view about 9 o’clock. No
sign of habitation along these volcanic hills. They rise
brown and bare to the skies, awaiting the day of development as the places near the big cities of Auckland
and Wellington are being opened out. Only signs of
life are the ducks, little ones, scores of them that are
loafing on the surface as we steam by. Now and then a
school of porpoises arch their backs rhythmically and
slowly as they rise out of the water and quickly
dive again.
3:00 p.m. – We dock again where we were two weeks
ago. Meet Fr. [Robert] Minton who helps me to arrange a dance that eventually petered out, unfortunately, because Captain said we would not be in long
enough. Fr. Minton aboard for dinner this evening;
he hails from Indianapolis. We have a delightful two
208
hours together.
Friday, July 16, 1943
0600 – Mass
[In Auckland] we begin loading the Marines whom
we are to take to Guadalcanal. In the evening I stroll
209
down the main stem. At a corner of a street is a
fruit and vegetable store. Looking for some grapes,
I step in. “They are out of season.” Espy a bunch of
heather and some lovely flowers with small purplish
faces. Buy bouquet for 6d, ($12) each. They, the heather sprigs, really perfume the room. Dr. Walker and Lt.
Cdr. Gilchrist both remark on intoxicating odor.
Meet Jim Lynch, 57 Vernon Street, Waltham
[Massachusetts]. He tells me that he is going ashore
to see his girl, a Navy nurse. How did he pick her?
He noticed that she went to Mass and Holy Communion every morning, crossing the Pacific on
the [USS] Lurline. “That’s the kind of girl I want.”
Engineered an introduction. They like each other after
going around for a while. Now after four months, they
are engaged.
Saturday, July 17, 1943
0600 –Receive some 1200 books from the
210
Victory Book Campaign. Some good, some so so.
Weather here now in Auckland is bright and clear.
No rain since we have moved in. Unusual, for now it
is winter. Last month, twenty-five out of thirty days
were rainy. Then the last two times we were in, it
poured and poured.
Sunday, July 18, 1943
0630 – Mass aboard own ship.
0900 – Mass aboard the Hunter Liggett.
1030 – Mass
aboard the American Legion.
Chaplain Barnes of the latter detached as of this
morning at 0830. On his way home to his wife and
four children in California after sixteen months at
sea. In the evening Fr. Minton and Jack Convery
from New York City come aboard for dinner. Both
pleasant company. They stay for the movie, the
“Great Dictator” with Charlie Chaplin.
Monday, July 19, 1943
0600 – Mass with 100 Marines in attendance, about
half of whom receive Holy Communion. All young
boys about 18 to 20, anxious to be on their way to
actual combat. As yet they have seen nothing of the
horrors of war, the blood, the stench, the filth. They
haven’t seen men alongside them blown to bits,
blinded, disemboweled. They haven’t walked over
their dead bodies, they haven’t sat in the stench of
their corruption, the fellows they talked with about
home and sports and their favorite ball club, to whom
208 Robert M. Minton, an Army chaplain, served as a pastor in the Indianapolis archdiocese after the war. Posted to Guadalcanal,
he appears in six of Foley’s entries in 1943 and 1944.
209 “Main Stem” is naval slang for the forward part of a ship.
210 The Victory Book Campaign was a short-lived morale-booster program run by civilians and “designed to provide entertaining and
instructive reading” for American troops. Used books were donated by civilians—Boy Scout troops collected volumes by going door-todoor—and Foley’s complaint may have to do with the fact that the books were seldom of literary quality.
149 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�they confided their hopes and ambitions about what
they would do when they got home, when “this is
over.” One taste of all this and then they will no longer
be clamoring for action, as they are now. They have yet
to learn the face of war is a savage, repulsive one.
Tuesday, July 20, 1943
tle things that are the big things, e.g. liberty, water for
the showers; when he does grant liberty, holding them
back for hours needlessly and then bringing them back
earlier than the other ships. I share their opinion.
Friday, July 23, 1943
0630 – Mass
0630 – Mass
Men and Marines are getting restless that we have
not shoved off yet. Waiting period is always tedious
for them, especially when they have no liberty. Little
for them to do all day aboard ship. Many read, but
find that ship is rather restricting. They can’t take a
walk down the main stem.
Wednesday, July 21, 1943
0630 – Mass
21st and some of the 9th Marines aboard. Three
travelling chaplains, Fr. Joe Conway, Chaplains
Ribble and Reeves. Fr. Conway says Mass at
0800 in the Library.
No liberty for the crew!!! What a skipper! Men
211
wouldn’t go through tissue paper for him!
Thursday, July 22, 1943
0630 – Mass
Men of ship’s company boiling last night and today.
No liberty granted by the Captain. Why? No doubt
has a reason, but whatever it is, it works a hardship
on the crew. To be in port without any ostensible
reason for cancelling liberty when the other ships in
our Division have liberty and the Officers aboard our
ship have it and the men don’t does not make for
good morale.
Unfortunately, the men will be happy when he is
transferred. He is not liked by his men. He has the
reputation of being inconsiderate of his crew in the lit-
In retrospect: Last Saturday when all arrangements
for Ship’s Dance were completed and at once called
off by Captain because it was to be on Sunday night.
One hundred cases of beer that were bought for the
crew sold to the Marines aboard. When I remonstrate, he said that “They can get plenty here. If they
haven’t any money, we’ll give them some.” Suspect
his promises from past performance. If and when
men find out these things, will make them unhappy.
Later learn that Officers are having a dance on
Sunday night. When Sunday night comes, Captain
attends. Hypocrite! Told me that we would scandalize New Zealanders by Sunday dance, then Officers
have one with him there! I had an invite, supposed
to go, as usually did, to put in an appearance, but
stayed aboard with the men.
I had all the arrangements made, even to making a special call to the Lord Mayor of Auckland to
grease the way. Captain asked me, “Do you approve
of dance Sunday night?” “If they start the day right
by going to church, there is nothing wrong with a
dance on Sunday night under the circumstances, for
it is impossible to hold it on any other night.” “No,
we might cause surprise to the New Zealanders.”
1030 – Underway for Noumea, four of us, Crescent
City, American Legion, Hunter Liggett with us. Trip
is uneventful down the long channel. Passengers
marvel at the rugged scenery that flanks our port
side as we snake through the narrow passageways.
One rock, tooth-shaped at the top, stands out lonesomely about two miles off shore. It is a lava souvenir from some hot volcano long ago. It is leaning
211 As Foley elsewhere speaks well of Captain Arthur T. Moen, a 1917 graduate of the Naval Academy who had been the commanding officer
of the Clymer since December 1942, he must have been referring to Captain Frank R. Talbot, a 1921 graduate of Annapolis who briefly
served contiguously with Moen before taking command of the ship in September 1943.
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�toward the shore. All three hundred feet of it is like
a willow sapling as though it had been straining to
keep up with its mates as they made land and then
having failed, it was frozen in its present position.
Saturday, July 24, 1943
0600 – Mass
No stormy night as the last time we headed out of
Auckland. Fr, Conway sleeps the sleep of the just
and celebrates Mass at 1730 (5:30 p.m.) This evening both of us hear confessions in preparation for
tomorrow.
0600 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1000 – Protestant Worship. 1500 – Rosary and Benediction. At all the services some of the finest turnouts that we have ever
had aboard. Marines are excellent Catholics. Most
of them are appallingly young. No wonder they are
called the kids of the service.
Plane zooms overhead. One Marine remarks to the
other, “Boy, I sure like to see those babies over us.”
Feeling is shared by all. Sight of our own planes
generates a feeling of security and confidence. While
they are over us, we know that none of Tojo’s boys
will bother us.
1000 – Three
ships on the horizon, two cargo and
one patrol craft. Last joins us and others go on their
way to Auckland unattended. All passengers crowd
the rails to catch sight of strange ships at sea.
Day is beautiful one; weather has grown warmer as
we go tieless and coatless once again. Marines stand
up in the bow of the ship watching the crisp lines of
creamy spray curving over and over endlessly and
tirelessly.
Monday, July 26, 1943
0600 – Mass
We arrive at Noumea, the Dumbea Harbor area,
about 0930. I go ashore to pick up some Red Cross
gear, newspapers, magazines and comics.
Ship is loading the invasion barges that we lack. Won’t
be long before we pull out, fully equipped again. Captain Jack Delahanty of the Marines stays in my room
until midnight, telling me that he asks God for two
things every day, that he will not be a coward in
battle, and that God will spare him if it is His Holy
Will. Earnest, strongly emotional in all his speech
and gestures, manly to his fingertips, he need have
no worry about his qualities of leadership.
Tuesday, July 27, 1943
0630 – Mass
This morning bright and early we shove off for the
Canal again. These Marines are the readingest public
we have had aboard. They have over 700 books out.
One of them is John King of 1387 Mt. Auburn Street,
Cambridge [Massachusetts], who went three years to
Harvard, then jumped into the Marine Corps. Army
Air Corps was slow in picking him up, though he had
made his application, so he acted on the spur of the
moment and found himself in a Marine uniform. “Why
didn’t you try for an officer’s commission?” I asked him.
“Because my father was an officer in the last war and he
told me to be content with an enlisted man’s status.” He
said he did not want to live with his conscience if he was
at all responsible for the death of men under his command due to his own incompetence and ignorance.
Wednesday, July 28, 1943
0630 – Mass. Well attended by the Marines who, as
usual, are excellent churchgoers. Most of them are
amazingly young, some of them having yet to shave.
This is a well-drilled outfit, excellently equipped
and headed by good officers. They should give a fine
account of themselves in actual battle.
Thursday, July 29, 1943
0630 – Mass
General Quarters alarm at ten o’clock that spices
the routine of the morning. Passengers freeze to the
bulkhead while we hurry to our battle stations.
Friday, July 30, 1943
0630 – Mass
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�1430 – We arrive at our debarkation point, Teteri, which
is the same as our last trip here to Guadalcanal. However, the Captain has informed me that I will not be
able to go ashore to see Ed. A new order has just been
issued from Noumea stating that nobody may go ashore
here unless on duty. I ask if I may go over with the sick
patients, but the answer is negative.
Refusing to be stumped, I type out a letter for Lt.
Bob Laverty of the First Raider Battalion, whom I
met the last time ashore. In it I explain my plight
and ask him to jeep Ed down from Henderson to
see me if it is at all possible. At four o’clock the radio
from the beach sends the word, “OK, Laverty.”
miss out on our connections this trip. I must see that
big shot at Noumea who authorized that order.
1500 – We
receive 250 wounded and casualties
aboard. Stories: Jap pillboxes guarding airfield at
Munda difficult to take. Casualties very high. Overhead 60 planes take off from Henderson Field.
Every two and a half or three minutes a plane soars
up from the main field and from the two fighter
strips. As they roar over us, they are loaded up with
their death-dealing black eggs. There are dive bomb213
ers, mediums and escorts of fighter craft.
What a picture they make, lazy powder puffs of white
clouds are drifting across the face of the blue summer sky. The sunlight is sparkling and dancing on a
million waves. West of us the sun herself is beginning
to slip down the sky as day is about two hours from a
close. Into that sun as though they had a rendezvous
with it, fly the planes north to Munda and beyond. As
they wing their way out, a prayer follows them. “God
keep them and please bless them and bring them
back safely.” Out here the long days of training are
over, every trip they make is a matter of life and death.
From all their trips some of them do not return.
1830 – Ed and he come aboard. Bob has to return
immediately but not without a big flitch of bacon,
30 dozen eggs, filet de boeuf, a crate of apples, a box
of cigars and a box of Milky Ways. Over the side in the
dark he clambers down the net until we meet again.
Ed meanwhile digs into a steak with sides of onions,
celery, etc. with ice cream for dessert. The meal
over, he relaxed in the easy chair in the room and we
discussed the folks back home, the good word about
our brother making the grade in AA School and the
212
President’s speech. A good night’s sleep in a soft
mattress and a breakfast of bacon and eggs help to
make a new man of Eddie Boy. Unfortunately, he
received word that his OCS application was made
in a file which is presently overcrowded. However,
nothing daunted, he is applying again for the medical
administrative end of the business.
again for Noumea with our
wounded. Many of them neurotic cases, shell shock
victims, hands and legs quivering from the effects
of bomb blasts and mortars. Others a bit unsettled
by the sight of so much bleeding and dying going on
around them on every side.
Saturday, July 31, 1943
Sunday, August 1, 1943
That his application this time will be successful
is the intention of my Mass which Ed served and
received for the same intention.
0830 – We say goodbye again, grateful for the time
spent together when it seemed as though we might
1730 – Underway
0630 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1000 – General Service.
Wounded, the ambulatory cases, present in large
numbers, grateful to God for having spared them for
some special reason while their mates and buddies
were dying on every side of them. Learn from one
212 Roosevelt had spoken in a Fireside Chat on July 28 regarding the fall of Benito Mussolini, progress in Italy and North Africa, and plans
for the post-war that would include a “G.I. Bill of Rights.”
213 The battle for the airport at Munda Point, for which the American had sorely underestimated the size of the defending Japanese force
and the difficulty of the terrain, lasted from July 2 to August 5. Five thousand American troops were killed.
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�of the sailors that two of the men who were recently
members of our ship’s company and were transferred
to LST’s, were killed outright when their ship was
torpedoed on the way to Rendova. In our prayers we
make a special remembrance of them today.
forward to the attack, were slaughtered. No impression had been made by the preliminary softening up
of planes and artillery on the coral pillboxes built in
depth defense. Five hundred yards advance there at
214
Munda is equivalent of five miles on Sicily.”
Some of the wounded cases are pathetic; still
dazed expressions on their faces from the horrible
experience they have been through recently. In the
afternoon we have a small but select group at Rosary
and Benediction. Since we have only a handful of
passengers aboard, the normal two hundred of
them who would be present are conspicuous by
their absence.
Day is a lovely one, same as yesterday, warm blue
cloudless sky with occasional strips of white crowning the mountains on the islands that flank us on
either side for a while. Men we are carrying say that
the Japs are a resolute and powerful enemy and that
their flyers are excellent, almost as good as our own.
These boys are mute evidence that this war is one
of mechanized might and high explosives in which
human bravery and the strength of manhood count
for very little against monstrous instruments of
destruction.
One of our officers tells me a story about that destroyer, the Renshaw, that we fueled on our previous trip
to Guadalcanal. From destroyer flotilla commander
came the order, “Run into X anchorage and shell
the Munda Airfield.” Skipper of Renshaw replied,
“According to my charts, sir, X anchorage is mined.”
“According to mine also, area is mined. Execute
orders.” “Aye, aye, sir.”
She made a run through the mine field at 33 knots
per hour, with all her guns blazing away, not knowing whether or not the next second would find her
blasted into eternity. Yet she lived to tell of it, with
only one transfer the next day for nerves.
Monday, August 2, 1943
0630 – Mass after General Quarters.
Wounded and convalescent soldiers of the 150 we
have aboard are rapidly becoming themselves again.
Many shell shock cases among them. Some come
to, to find that soldiers around them were corpses.
Have the shakes, no control of their hands. Some
have lost power of speech, others stammer and
stutter. Even so, decided improvement among them
since they boarded us last Saturday. “Casualties
heavy?” Infantry officer answered, “Heavy barrage
was laid down for half an hour, then dive bombers
did their work. When hour broke, men swarmed
Tuesday, August 3, 1943
0530 – General Quarters. 0630 – Mass.
Sea is a glassy mill pond this morning. Ships make
excellent headway. What ships? The Crescent City,
Hunter Liggett, American Legion, Algorab, Libra,
and our old friend, the John Penn. Later the John
Penn breaks off for Efate in the New Hebrides. The
Algorab and the Libra, both cargo ships, slip into
Espiritu Santo and we four remaining continue to
Noumea.
Day is another delightful one. Passengers have picked
up remarkably; good food, a long sleep and rest will
bring them back to themselves eventually. Blue on
every side of us. Blue of the sky; battle blue of the
ships, seven of us; purplish blue of mountains; deep
blue of ocean shined up into light marine blue by our
propeller; all shades of my favorite color.
Sunset this evening is a quick one. Cloudless blue
sky all day at sunset, line of the horizon is razor
sharp; sun slips down rapidly creating an optical
illusion. Even though she was partly below the
horizon, it was still round; suddenly it is gone.
Within ten minutes no trace of it. Darkness came
214 The fighting for Munda was notable for the 700 men who were removed on account of “battle neuroses.”
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�very quickly; may have seemed quick because there
were no clouds to catch the rays below the horizon.
In “The Cross of Peace” by Philip Gibbs I come
across his description of Armand Batiere’s reaction
to the scenes of normal life after he had looked long,
215
yet dry-eyed at the frightful harvesting of war.
Unit. Are a quiet, subdued group as they sit in their
serried lanes. Hope that all will be themselves shortly.
A wave of the hand from our men lining the rails and
we have said goodbye to another crowd.
Thursday, August 5,1943
0630 – Mass.
He was looking at some youngsters, little girls, playing at crowning a Queen of the May in a field covered
with wild flowers. He was surprised to find that his
eyes were wet. Why? Because he could only figure that
here was a sharp reminder of the happiness and joy
of childhood and the boyish memories that contrasted
with the bloody memories of his days in the line.
Wednesday, August 4, 1943
Another beautiful day here, after their mild winter;
never see [the mountains] blanketed with snow but
only rain, and rain, and rain, and more rain. We swing
around the buoy expectantly hoping to up the anchor
[drop anchor] at any moment but we don’t. I’m sorry
that I miss the good Sisters again. Am afraid that I
will miss the ship if I go ashore. That would never do.
0530 – General Quarters. 0630 – Mass.
Friday, August 6, 1943
Hit a heavy ground swell today for about five hours;
we and the other ships rise and fall sharply. As I get
up from the breakfast table, almost fall back on the
deck when the ship suddenly pitches sharply. Mess
Attendant Gore remarks, “Almost came loose from
yourself that time, Chaplain.”
Another day like yesterday, both for weather and
shoving off. It seems that we have no escort available so we wait and wait. Meanwhile some Gold
Braid [senior officer] comes aboard. We are to be the
flagship of Admiral [Theodore S.] Wilkinson until
his vessel, the Appalachian, now being built in the
States, puts in an appearance.
Soldier to whom I give an outfit of clothing tells me
that he laid in his foxhole for five days and nights
without being able to move. Japs controlled position. Didn’t dare sleep at night. One night watching
nervously, sensed that something or somebody was
out ahead of him. Let forty-odd bullets rip along the
front of his foxhole. In the morning about fifteen
feet away three dead Japs.
Uh, uh; means that we old timers will be dispossessed and shipped down below to the Main Deck.
Gold Braid only will be topside.
In the evening movies as usual, “Roxie Hart,” the
picture which does little credit to the author of the
216
story, the producer or the star, Ginger Rogers.
Saturday, August 7, 1943
4:30 – We slide between the coral reefs guarding the
entrance to Noumea. Waves are boiling over them on
both sides of us as we single up to the slide around
Isle Nou and then to safe anchorage again, thank God.
Passengers debark about 5:30. All squatting on a big
pontoon barge, fashioned by a Pontoon Assembly
Scuttlebutt. Was decided at conference of the big
shots the other day that we would not go back to
the States for some necessary repairs but would go
to New Zealand; there to be remodeled at Auckland
and, if possible, to have our fouled bottom scraped of
all the accumulated growth of the last ten months.
215 Gibbs (1877–1962) was a British, Catholic journalist and writer. His The Cross of Peace (1931) drew from his experiences as a reporter on
the Western Front in WWI.
216 Based on “Chicago,” a 1926 stage play about showgirls, murder, and civic corruption, the movie would be revived as a hit Broadway
musical in 1975 and an award -winning film in 2002. It is easy to see why Foley didn’t find it to his taste.
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�1030 – We
shove off with a destroyer and a President
liner cargo ship. We are hitting 17 knots, with the
other ship following us.
At 9:30 p.m. I go out topside just in time to catch
the crescent moon, about to slip below the rim of
the night horizon. The moon is in her lowest quarter, and the moon really is what the poet calls her
217
somewhere, a Ghostly Galleon. Slowly she slips
below the horizon, a perfectly outlined ship until
only the tops of her bow and stern are visible, then
a dull pale glow marks the spot and black sablevested night is in complete charge again.
Sunday, August 8, 1943
0600 – Mass Upper Deck Shop Area.
the buoy won’t disappoint us at all for a while, then
we’ll begin to itch to put out to sea again. One bad
feature of it all, this new duty means that I won’t be
seeing Ed for some time. I do hope his application
for Officers Training School is acted upon favorably.
Ed is beginning to get sick of Guadalcanal. Who
can blame him after being on that island since last
December? Ducking into foxholes and bombings
gets tiresome.
Very rough today. Night is no better. We always,
with one exception, have struck bad weather a short
distance north of New Zealand. Here are in it again.
We roll and pitch all night long until General
Quarters. No sleep.
Tuesday, August 10, 1943
0900 – Mass Junior Wardroom.
0600 – General Quarters. 0700 – Mass.
1000 – General
Sea is a heavy rolling one; wind is strong as we sight
the headlands, now familiar, of New Zealand on
port side. They are wild and rugged and stern, and
the ocean waves are lashing angrily at their feet. We
anchor in the stream at 4:30 p.m.
Service Junior Wardroom.
This morning we are no longer three ships together.
President liner leaves us to break off for Australia.
Destroyer heads back to Noumea. Now we are on
our own again. May God be with us as we head for
way down under. Just learned at table that tanker
that was in our convoy on our last trip to Guadalcanal has been torpedoed. Day is bright with
occasional squalls.
Monday, August 9, 1943
General Quarters as usual to start the day when we
are alone on the wide open seas. Day passes quietly,
though I am putting on the last drive for insurance.
Campaign that got started in May ends tomorrow.
Having executed over $300,000 in insurance policies
218
since May, must be at least a million since last year.
Wednesday, August 11, 1943
0630 – Mass.
We move into the dock at Devonport across the
Waiamata Harbor, which word in Maori means Placid
Water. In the one dry dock is the New Zealand
cruiser Leander with a gaping hole amidships port
side where Jap torpedo hammered home and killed
28 men. At the time one of the officers counted 31
torpedoes in the water. Two of our vessels were also
hit, but not so seriously. One had her bow shot off,
the other a small piece of her stern.
We lose an hour today, so that daylight doesn’t begin
now until about 7:20. Back in the land that is like
our own at home.
Thursday, August 12, 1943
A lot of remodeling must be done to equip us for
the Gold Braid coming aboard. Swinging around
Ashore this morning to clean up some odds and
ends. In the evening spend some time with Jim
0630 – Mass.
217 The traditionalist poet Alfred Noyes (1880-1958) in his popular “The Highwayman” (1906).
218 In an interview with Steven O’Brien in 1995, Foley estimated that he had sold $3 million in insurance policies during his service.
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�Grant and Jack Convery, both of them Naval Officers
living at the Grand Hotel. Visit MOB [Main Operating Base] 4 to see Fr. Riedel, but missed him; also
called up MOB 6 where Fr. Minton is, but no reply;
both away on business.
Back to the ship where I find letters from my mother
and brother waiting for me.
Friday, August 13, 1943
This morning I went over to the USS Relief Hospital
ship where I met Fr. Joe Lynch, S.J. He has another
chaplain with him, Schonz, to take care of the men
of the Protestant faith. It was good to meet both of
219
them again.
0630 – Mass.
Sea gulls here looking for their usual feast. Have
beautiful color scheme. Some have white bodies and
black wings with a white piping around the borders;
others have an all white body and wings, but a black
stripe across the tip of their wings.
Saturday, August 14, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Work is proceeding apace in the Yard. It seems that
we are after all to be the Admiral’s temporary flagship
and then when he departs, we shall carry the Commodore of our division of ships. Radar equipment to the
tune of $400,000, from Raytheon, Newton, Massachusetts, is being installed aboard. All officers topside
except me and the Communications Officer who have
been moved below to the Main Deck.
Sunday, August 15, 1943
Monday, August 16, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Tuesday, August 17, 1943
Fr. Furlong’s remark in sermon last Sunday, “God
never gives suffering for suffering’s sake,” still
sticks with me. How true. He gives us suffering to
help us to become saints. “He learned obedience
through suffering,” as St. Paul says of Our Lord.
Wednesday, August 18, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Out to Mobile Hospital #4 to see Fr. Riedel, Chaplain. Dinner with him and then to the boxing bouts
there in their recreation hall at 7:30. Interesting two
hours watching the lads box, some of them New
Zealanders, all the way down to nine years old.
Mass at 0630 and 0900. Feast of Our Lady’s
Assumption. Protestant Service in the Yard Chapel.
Thursday, August 19, 1943
Today I have been twenty years in the Jesuit Order.
Offer up my second Mass in thanksgiving to God
for all His blessings of all those years. Later in the
morning I visit Fr. Furlong at St. Leo’s Church in
Devonport. He has been here for 38 years. In the
afternoon to Papatoetoe. What a name for a town;
Maori as usual.
Commander Olesen looks at the paper, remarking
about the fall of Sicily that it was quick work. Points
out the channel three miles wide separating Sardinia from toe of boot where he used to take his ship in
the Merchant Marine.
Then later to Fr. Shore and Fr. Fahey in Otahuhu,
who are in charge of the little station chapel that I
saw early in the afternoon.
219 Lynch and Schonz had trained with Foley in chaplain school.
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0630 – Mass
Reflection on the religion of the men. Many experiences serve to prove the basic goodness and deeply
religious spirit of all the men and the strong faith
and solid piety of our Catholic men.
�A catchy ditty, quoted in a letter home: “While sitting at
the table, he needed elbow room. He looked at Dad and
said, ‘Say, Mate, rig in your starboard boom.’”
FRIday, August 20, 1943
0630 – Mass.
42 years, before I was born! In the afternoon to
MOB [Main Operating Base] 4 to see Fr. Bob Minton. We have dinner together, then repair to Mechanics Bay for movies, both pictures of the class B type.
Monday, August 23, 1943
0630 – Mass. Routine day.
Out this afternoon to Fr. Maurice Hunt’s parish
where we visit the Maori College run by the Mill
Hill Fathers of England. One of them, a Hollander,
remarks that the Japanese just could not exploit the
East Indians worse than did his own Dutch. The 18
Maori boys put on a Maori Battalion song and some
dances for me. They were quite energetic during
their war dance. I thank them at the end and ask for
a remembrance in their prayers.
Saturday, August 21, 1943
0630 – Mass.
We are still tied up at the Navy Yard dock here in
Devonport just across the Waitemata Harbor from
Auckland. Workmen are busily engaged in transforming us, putting new equipment aboard, hoisting the cradles for our attack boats, putting in a new
fire main to help extinguish the bomb fire that will
not start aboard us some day, with the help of God
and Our Lady. However, we soberly think of our predecessor, the USS McCawley that went to the bottom a short while ago. May ours not be a like fate.220
Sunday, August 22, 1943
0630 – Mass. 0900 – Mass.
Tuesday, August 24, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Learn that Crescent City and Hunter Liggett
suffered hits recently. There but for a reassignment of
orders go we. First it is said that what the John Penn
had to do was originally our job. She was sunk. Now
our division is plastered with bombs.
Trust that our day of reckoning isn’t merely being
221
postponed, just hope it isn’t on the books at all.
Wednesday, August 25, 1943
0630 – Mass.
In the evening to the boxing matches in the Town
Hall where one of our men, Dale Spar, boxes an exhibition match of four rounds with a local boy. Since I
have two tickets I take along Ivan Robinson, one of the
NZ Air Force who lives 30 miles north of Wellington
at Johnsonville. We have a pleasant evening together;
fine Catholic boy about 22 years old who was returning home from Canada; accident in his flight training.
Thursday, August 26, 1943
0930 – Mass.
Dinner today with Fr. Furlong, pastor of the
little church around the corner. His home is located
about a fifteen minute walk from the church. It
is a lovely spring day. We have good food, good
wine and good conversation. He has been here for
Routine day aboard the ship, after securing movie
for tonight, “Arise My Love,” with [Claudette]
222
Colbert and [Ray] Milland.
220 See entry under July 4, 1943. Foley mentions the loss of the McCawley four times in his diary. Like the Clymer, she was an attack transport.
221 An attack transport mentioned 20 times in the diary that sailed with the Clymer and on which Foley had said Mass many times, the
Penn was sunk in an airborne attack on August 13, 1943 while off-loading supplies near Guadalcanal. A list of the dead and their ages,
hometowns, and survivors can be found at https://www.wrecksite.eu/wreck.aspx?107884. Also, see entry under September 23, 1943.
222 A 1940 Paramount production that featured Milland as an American pilot who flies for Republican forces during the Spanish Civil War,
the film advocated for American intervention in what was then a European conflict. Foley may (continued on page 158)
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�In the afternoon to Boys’ Orphanage run by Sisters.
Bring them chocolate bars and hard candies; all glad
to get them. Range in age from 2 to 13, fine healthy
group of lads who find in the Sisters the motherly
affection which has been denied them. They give me
a rousing cheer when I leave them.
Later in the evening to Dean Murphy’s where I have
supper, leave some cigars and cigarettes for him
and for Fr. Linehan. On the way home, stop off at
theater to see Snow White and Bing Crosby in the
223
Starmaker.
Friday, August 27, 1943
No word piped down for bugler is ashore. I visit
with the Captain!! What an interview. What a man!
Lovely Spring day, like those preceding. We are leaving here at the wrong time. Tomorrow we leave for
Wellington where our bottom will be scraped. Walk
along the Devonport beach where many folks are
strolling along, taking a look at the beach where they
will be swimming when summer waltzes in, spring
having tripped north again.
Monday, August 30, 1943
0630 – Mass.
At 0730 ashore to return movies.
0630 – Mass.
Movie tonight, “They Knew What They Wanted
[RKO, 1940],” fine sermon on the remorse that
224
sin breeds.
Harding of the 1st Division comes in with Gomez to
the office. He is all but bursting into tears. Finds the
going rough; wants a transfer to another ship. Is 16
years old; falsified his age to get into the Navy. Boatswain’s Mate, he says, seems to be picking on him.
A good piece of cake after he had talked himself out
makes up for the chow that he missed.
Saturday, August 28, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Fr. Linehan calls that he will ring me on Monday to
cook up something for a day’s outing.
Sunday, August 29, 1943
0630, 0900 – Mass.
At 1000 underway for Wellington where Eleanor
Roosevelt is hibernating. What a woman.
Tuesday, August 31, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Day is a dull, cold one. Read this today; worth
remembering. A quotation from the diary of an
American soldier, Martin Treptow, written shortly
before he died for his country at Chateau Thierry
in 1918, for those flaming words of his should
constitute a guiding torch that every red-blooded
American should take up and carry with proved
determination to victory: ”I will work; I will save; I
will sacrifice; I will endure; I will fight cheerfully
and do my utmost, as if the whole struggle depended
on me alone.” Quoted by Joseph C. Grew in Introduction to Report from Tokyo: A Message to the
225
American People [Simon & Schuster, 1942].
Mr. Mays, Warrant Machinist, when he saw in the
Press Release from the Radio Shack [shipboard room
have felt a special appreciation for a scene in which a priest is sent to comfort Milland’s character on the eve of his execution. “This is
my first execution,” the priest confesses. “Don’t worry, it’s mine too,” is Milland’s cool response.
223 The Star Maker (1939) is a wholesome Paramount production in which Crosby plays a would-be song-writer who, with the support of his
wife, gives up his job as a clerk and founds a children’s chorus.
224 Foley’s approbation is understandable. The plot features Charles Laughton as a well-off vintner whose young wife (Carole Lombard) has
an affair with an orchard worker, but who is persuaded, by “Fr. McKee,” to take back the remorseful woman and her young child.
225 Grew had been the US ambassador to Japan when war broke out. Treptow, who Foley must have known was a Catholic, became latterly
famous in 1981, when President Ronald Reagan quoted the young private’s diary during his first inaugural address, on January 20, 1981.
158 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�housing radio communications] about promise of a
tremendous offensive in the Pacific, “Halsey is the
226
fightingest man I have ever seen.” Mays is a quiet
fellow with a very pleasant disposition who has seen the
horrors of war close up. The Lexington went down under him with many of his friends trapped below in her.
Received 30 new books today; clipped jackets and
posted them on the forward bulkhead of the Library.
Sun goes down in flaming gold, with mountains
on starboard side wrapped in haze of light purple.
Promises well for tomorrow.
Wednesday, September 1, 1943
0546 – General Quarters.
0646 – Mass.
Clear, crisp day as we head through Cook’s Straits
led on by two distant shore lights that look very
friendly in the early morning darkness. Anticipate
with pleasure seeing Fr. Gascoigne and Miss Eileen
Duggan and her friends again: her sister Mrs.
Dennehy and Miss McLeely.
0930 – We dock at Wellington, back to our first love.
Why? I think that the reason we love Wellington
more than Auckland is not that we like the latter
less, but because this was the first really civilized
place we struck after being up in the Solomons.
I call up Miss Duggan who has just received the first
227
copy of Commonweal, to which I subscribed
her. When liberty is given, I go ashore and immediately head for Glencoe Court where I have evening meal and then tea about ten o’clock. All sorts of
ugly rumors had been heard about my ship, e.g., had
been badly torpedoed, etc., all of them utterly without
foundation, thank God. Fr. Gascoigne is away on his
holidays without any school worries to bother him, for
the youngsters have their six weeks of holidays now.
Thursday, September 2, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Ashore at 11 o’clock to arrange for movie, “Tin Pan
228
Alley,” with Jack Oakie. Then to a café where I
have a steak. No greens, so I go out to a vegetable
store where I buy a head of lettuce and a bunch of
celery. Back to the restaurant where they clean them
for me and I bore into the steak.
Chaplain Vernon of the Marines introduces himself.
He is just in the Navy, fresh from Chaplains’ School.
When he leaves, Mrs. Sepia of Wakefield-Nelson,
17 miles by bus, introduces herself with her girl
who goes to convent school. Wants me to visit them
some time. If I can, will take perhaps a bus trip out
there Sunday if we are in that long. Out to the street;
overhear two young Marines in conversation. One
says to the other, “This reminds me of home.” Main
thoroughfare is crowded with thousands of shoppers
flowing past in both directions. Note a good sign
in a souvenir store window: “Don’t trouble trouble
until trouble troubles you.”
Take a Wadestown tram just for the ride and start
to make hairpin turns until we have ridden right
over the crest of the mountain [Mount Victoria] that
commands a marvelous view of the harbor. Can look
down and see our ship nosing her way cautiously
into dry dock. Scene is breathtaking in its clear,
clean beauty. Houses are perched, it seems precariously, on the sides of the mountains all around us.
Below are the deep blue waters of the harbor, ringing it are the mountains, the highest wearing clouds
and cloudlets on their heads. Off in the distance
hugging the shore line a white plume of smoke
226 Admiral William (Bull) Halsey was commander of the Pacific Fleet.
227 The American magazine of religion and culture published by lay Catholics and established in 1924.
228 A 1940 musical by 20th Century-Fox, featuring Betty Grable and Alice Faye as sisters and vaudeville singers, and Oakie and John Wayne
as their romantic interests . It received an Academy Award for Best Musical Score. The movie concludes with the male leads returning
from WW I to find that Grable and Kaye had been faithfully awaiting their return.
159 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�from a fast suburban train floats lazily skyward on
the horizon. Behind the crest is a little town in the
fold of the hill, Wadestown. Houses as though somebody had set them down by hand.
Make arrangements to say Mass aboard the Crescent City and the USS Feland, new arrival from the
230
States just across the dock from us.
Sunday, September 5, 1943
Back to Miss Duggan’s where we leave after tea for
a visit to the House of Parliament where I also meet
Mr. [Rex] Mason, Minister of Education, and his
secretary, Mr. Smith. The latter with a delightfully
ironical twist of wit.
Friday, September 3, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Wild, blustery day with rain pouring down. It is
blowing from the southwest in sheets, smack into
the side of the mountain on whose sides so many
houses seem to have such a precarious hold.
Good day to stay on board ship. Every now and then
she rocks a bit in her cradle as we watch the full
force of the wind sweeping across the harbor.
Read this today by Belloc in book loaned to me by
Eileen Duggan: “There is about the Catholic Church
something absolute which demands, provokes,
necessitates alliance or hostility, friendship or enmity.
That truth you find unchangeable throughout the
ages, and therefore it is that on the first appearance
229
of the Church, the challenge is already declared.”
Saturday, September 4, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Day is just as mean as yesterday. No sign of wind
abating. One of the dock workers says, “Normally
we suffer this weather for three days.”
0700 – Mass aboard the Crescent City.
0900 – Mass aboard the George Clymer.
1000 – Mass
aboard the USS Feland.
Another day unfit for man or beast to be abroad.
Paper says that many new born lambs have suc231
cumbed to the wild stormy weather. People hug
their fireplaces except those who have to be abroad on
business. Rain is still smashing relentlessly into the
sides of the mountains in back of us. On the shore
line, spray is flung high as it crashes on the artificial
seawall that protects the narrow gauge railway that
skirts the shoreline at the base of the mountains.
These mountains are so steep that right in the center
of the town just fifty yards off the main street behind
one of the department stores is a cable car that pulls
folks living up on the precipitous sides to their homes.
Weather abates a bit toward 4:30, so I wend my way
ashore to spend the evening with Eileen Duggan,
her widowed sister, Mrs. Dennehy, and their friend,
Miss McLeely. Delightful evening before the open
fireplace, talking about literature, the Liturgy and
things Catholic with an occasional story about
our American boys. Dinner of chicken, mashed
potatoes, vegetables and dessert, fresh pineapple
and whipped cream.
Monday, September 6, 1943
0630 – Mass.
I make arrangements for tomorrow to pay my
movie bills to Fox Films for all the pictures we have
232
been having, the latest, Sun Valley Serenade.
229 From Hilaire Belloc’s On Patmos. The borrowed book was most likely Places: Essays by Hilaire Belloc (1942).
230 Like the Clymer and Crescent City, the Feland was an attack transport.
231 Wool was New Zealand’s leading export in terms of value.
232 A 1940 20th Century-Fox musical comedy about a band (Glenn Miller Orchestra), a ski resort (Sun Valley, Utah), a pin-up girl, and an
exotic ice skater (Sonja Henie).
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�Story is that now we are out of dry dock and get
underway for Lautoka, Fiji, tomorrow.
report, the last to be submitted by this Captain
233
before he leaves us at Lautoka, Fiji.
Meeting with Mrs. A. C. Scott, 13 Raukau Road,
Haitaitai, tel. 55230, whose sister, Nellie, 25, asserts
that one of our men has gotten her in trouble. Who
is he? Only knows his nickname, Fritz, has a tattoo
mark, “Mother,” on right arm and two others on left
arm. Wears silver ring with initials FLR. With her to
doctor; report no definite signs of pregnancy. Another
report in a month. As I shook hands with the doctor,
who glared at me, he said in a cutting voice, “Are you
the man behind all this?” Would have laughed if the
situation was not fraught with possible tragedy.
11:15 – Voice
over loudspeaker. “Attention, please.
Word has just been received that Italy has surrendered unconditionally to the United Nations and to
Soviet Russia.” The silence is suddenly broken by
a loud, wild burst of cheering all over the ship and
shrill whistling. The first sailor I meet who is chipping rust off the deck remarks, “Well, Father, that’s
strike No. 1. Now we’ve got to get the other two.”
Receipt of this word merits a fervent prayer of thanksgiving to God and a renewed plea to Him that the end
of all fighting will come as quickly as possible.
Tuesday, September 7, 1943
Saturday, September 11, 1943
0630 – Mass.
0515 – General Quarters.
A rush down to Fox Films in Courtenay Place to
pay the movie bill of one pound for “Sun Valley
Serenade” and then at 1000 we are underway once
more on a dull, raw day. We swing out around
Wellington to travel up the east coast of the North
Island. Two Captains aboard, Moen, old, and
Talbot, new, until arrival at next destination.
0615 – Mass.
Wednesday, September 8, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Day is much warmer as we head north. In a few
days more we will strike tropical weather again after
our month’s sojourn down under.
Thursday, September 9, 1943
0537 – General Quarters again. We are in dangerous
submarine waters, so we are once more at our battle
stations one hour before dawn. A little chilly this
morning as we head directly north. Looks as if it
will be a gray, overcast day.
Communications Officer, Lt. Cdr. McRae comes
into my room at 11 o’clock to hand me my fitness
233 The “fitness report” is an evaluation document for Navy officers.
234 The Marist sisters founded a mission school in Levuka in 1892.
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2:30 – Through reef channel about 20 miles from
Lautoka, Fiji. On both sides of us waves breaking
over the coral in dazzling blue and white colors.
4:30 – Anchor about a mile from the narrow
dock. Make arrangements for Mass aboard the
USS Sampson, destroyer, for tomorrow.
Sunday, September 12, 1943
0330 – Mass on George Clymer. Since today is
loading day, we have to get an early start.
0900 – Mass on USS Sampson. Out to her, anchored
about two miles away. Mass in crew’s mess hall
where it is so hot that sweat just pours from priest
and congregation.
3:30 – Marist Convent. Sister Fabian and Sister Geraldine, Marist Sisters, who had heard of me from
Dick Collins and Chief Callahan of the John Penn,
of pious memory, now at bottom. Met Sister Geral234
dine when she was visiting in chapel.
�6:00 – Meet Lt. Tom Keenan who informs me that
Jim Collins is now Lt. Colonel in the Medical Corps.
Fr. Flaherty is in Suva and Fr. Brock is doing his
priestly work up and down the island.
Like last night, the moon is full and when I go out
on deck at 10 o’clock to see it, it is straight overhead.
Night is one of peace and beauty. Star-filled sky,
moon lighting up the ridges of the mountains, all
their harsh lines softened by her mellow rays. Water
is calm as a mill pond. Not a sound breaks the stillness of the tropical night. We are in a backwater of
the world where all the feverish activity of big cities
is as unknown as an Eskimo, except through movies.
Monday, September 13, 1943
0445 – Up before dawn for a shave and a shower
before leaving the ship to go to destroyer Sampson.
Still dark when I reach her, two miles out. Hop
aboard, set up altar on the fantail, directly between
the after-gun turrets. Altar is framed between the two
long rifles, projecting on either side. I hear confessions, facing aft on port side. Sun comes up brilliant
gold over the shoulder of the mountains. Men kneel
down on the deck, one after another, while I raise
my hands in absolution over them.
Mass at 0630 with the skipper of the ship, Lt. Cdr.
Flick, whose father is German and mother Irish,
giving fine example to his men by kneeling in the
first row and receiving Holy Communion.
Back to the ship, then down the gangway to visit the
Convent again, where I go through the school with
its three castes, European, half-caste and Fijian and
Indian. Just a handful of Catholics, perhaps one in six
among the boys and girls. School is situated right on the
curving shoreline with overhanging palm trees leaning
down to the blue water rolling in gently from the sea.
In the afternoon Fr. McInnis and Tom Laurence
from Elm Street drop in to say hello. Happy to meet
another S.J. He leaves with two crates of eggs, a side
of beef and six large hams. In turn he hands me a
235 A fire-extinguishing chemical substance.
162 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
box of foamite
of the same.
235
in its cardboard carton and a case
Troops coming aboard all day. We shove off to
anchorage five miles down stream.
Tuesday, September 14, 1943
0600 – Reveille. No Mass, for I decide to have it this
afternoon for the benefit of the passengers. Say my
Office early and Rosary also.
Beautiful sunrise from the boat deck forward. We
are anchored about two miles off shore of Viti Levu,
largest of the 250 islands of the Fijis, of which about
80 are inhabited. Directly off our starboard side is
shore with a ridge of mountains rising and falling
away to a slope.
Off our starboard side is a cluster of three islands, two
small ones, one of fair size. Last has about six mountain peaks. Sun hidden behind the mountains suddenly illuminated the east side of these three islands
with lovely bluish purple while their other sides are
still dark; color is whitish also. Lovely contrast, blue of
the sea, verdant green of the shore and the clean, white
blue of the early morning sky overhead. God paints a
masterpiece every morning. Higginson, sentry from
Washington, remarks about the beauty also.
Underway at 12:30. Mass this afternoon at 2:30;
excellent attendance of about 150 men. Inform them
of writing letters to their folks if they wish me to do
so, letting them know that they have been to Mass
and received Holy Communion aboard the ship.
Night is again a warm tropical one with full
moon rising slowly and majestically over the rim
of the sea, huge as it pokes its head up onto the
world; gradually secures a hold and then rises
easily and steadily.
Wednesday, September 15, 1943
We are ploughing ahead with a mixed crowd aboard.
Soldiers and sailors of all sorts and descriptions,
�among them a commando outfit that has volunteered for a particularly dangerous piece of work in
236
Burma. Merrill’s Marauders.
Thursday, September 16, 1943
Ashore to purchase some beer tickets for the men
and to make arrangements for a recreation party
this afternoon at Acre Park, the Fleet Rec. Center
here. A hundred men go over there this afternoon
for swimming, games, etc.
0615 – Mass.
Off our starboard side is a task force with the aircraft
carrier, Enterprise, two AA cruisers and two destroyers. They are cruising leisurely on an AA run; sleeve
is being towed by a plane across the early morning
sky. We are sliding between two islands, with ourselves and that task force filling in the gap between.
About 1000 we pass a smaller force of the Montpelier, the cruiser that helped to escort us out here, the
Denver and two destroyers.
1100 – We
approach the channel, Espiritu Santo,
and about 1130 gingerly pass over the grave of the
Coolidge again, feel our way to our anchorage and
marvel at the transformation that has been effected
since we were here last.
While waiting for a pickup down to the dock,
Dr. Conway from Milton and Bill Wright, Supply
Officer from a CB Battalion, rescue me from my
stand. Dr. says that at last he caught up with me. He
had instructions from Fr. George Murphy to keep his
eye out for a Fr. John Foley on a combat transport here
in the South Pacific. Had a great chin fest for an hour.
Movies at night, boat deck forward.
1000 – Conference of Chaplains aboard the Saratoga. Meet [Robert] Metters. [John] Mitchell, [John]
237
Sheehy, etc. What a large ship. 3200 men aboard
her, 2 Chaplains, Sheehy and Minister Cole.
Tremendous length of flight deck, like a football
field. Meeting in ready room. Board gives all necessary information to the pilots about to take off, e.g.
nearest land-bearing district, nearest airfield-bearing
district, alternate field-bearing district, return to
carrier by 12 degrees.
New docks have been built, ships are moored to
them, traffic is heavy along the well built roads.
There are 18,000 Naval personnel alone on this
island and perhaps three times as many Army.
Scenery is beautiful as ever, long sloping hills with
their coconut groves, lined up in martial array, not
one out of line. Sun is blistering hot, as usual.
Grumman planes, scouts, dive bombers, torpedoes,
etc. Amazing arsenal; hanger deck with tremendous
elevators.
Friday, September 17, 1943
Sunday, September 19, 1943
0630 – Mass.
0630 – Mass, Clymer.
0900 – Mass, Clymer
1015 – Mass, USS Cleveland, Chaplain Bob Metters.
2:00 p.m. – Dance Orchestra aboard for an
hour’s concert.
4:00 p.m. – Rosary and Benediction
5:30 p.m. – Confessions
6:30 p.m. – Movies
We note that this channel is choked with shipping,
all kinds. Three aircraft carriers, anti-aircraft cruisers, destroyers, escorts, cargo ships, combat transports and the other auxiliary ships needed to fuel
and recondition the Navy.
236 The Marauders— formally known as 5307th Composite Unit (Provisional) and named for their commander Brig. Gen. Frank D. Merrill—
comprised some 3,000 volunteers who fought behind enemy lines in the Burmese jungle. Following their five-month, 750-mile campaign,
only 150 remained “combat effective.” Their story would become the subject of a book and a 1962 film.
237 Fellow students at the Norfolk Chaplains School,
163 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�Met Chaplain Ben Brown yesterday, toured the
island for an hour, then visited his air strip. Met
youngster, Baker, redhead from Tennessee, who
took a passenger’s hop with Navy pilot and radio
man. Crashed into mountain; he, the only survivor,
made beach from crash after six days, picked up,
now 54 pounds lighter. Was lost for 43 days after
crash into the jungle here on Espiritu Santo.
USS Souflee sank a sub a few nights ago that had
sunk four ships in two weeks. Sowed four patterns
of depth charges. When Tojo’s boys were forced to
surface, they were smashed to Kingdom Come.
Five destroyers: DeLevy, 162; Phelps, 498;
240
McCall, 488; Bennett, 473; Sampson, 394.
9:10 p.m. – Sitting in my room when ship shivered
two or three times as though we were dragging anchor. Everybody rushed topside, bearings were taken,
soundings also. Hadn’t moved a foot. Report came
that a slight earthquake caused the shivers. So we
have shivered with an earthquake even on water.
No alarms or excursions as yet on the trip. Learn
that 93 men were lost aboard the USS John Penn
when she was torpedoed last month at Guadalcanal,
as yet unannounced, because the Japs don’t know
whether she was sunk or not, unlike the Macauley
that they saw go down.
Monday, September 20, 1943
First day of Fall back home, but we sweat like stuck
pigs out here. This trip is the worst yet for heat. One
reason, wind is a tail one; doesn’t clear ship during
the day as head-on one always does. Holds stuffed
with troops, smell heavily of human bodies. These
boys give up a lot of comforts and the little but better
things of life every day in this war, yet never complain.
0450 – General Quarters.
0600 – Mass, with excellent attendance. Am writing
about 125 letters to parents of men informing them
that they have attended Mass and received Holy
Communion.
Underway at 1000. We swing out through the
mined channel alone, with no escort, but outside we
pick up five other ships and five destroyers. Since
238
the Nips have been prodigal with their torpedoes
in this area of late, we have the maximum protection, more than we have ever had before.
Ships in convoy: USS Typhon, Crescent City, Morma239
curom, Carlson and the Alcheeba. Last was torpedoed twice last November, but is still sailing the ocean.
Lovely sight as we steam ahead, riot of blues all
around us. Some of the shades: cobalt sky above,
deep blue of the Pacific, battle blue of the ships to
blend with the ocean, light marine blue of our wake,
the deep purplish blue of the heavily wooded islands
on our port and starboard and a sullen, blackish
blue on some thunderheads on our port side, where
we hear the distant rumble of the ninepins. Overhead blistering tropical sun shining down on us.
Tuesday, September 21, 1943
0500 – Mass.
0600 – Mass. Last one for these men, one of whom
is cousin of Fr. Pat Cummings of Holy Cross.
Caught just before Communion by rain, finish
Mass, then distribute Holy Communion forward.
0700 – Guadalcanal on our starboard again.
Passengers are all crowding the rails to glimpse
the most famous of this group.
238 From Nippon, a Japanese word for Japan, and a derogatory term.
239 The editors can find no record of a USS Typhon prior to 1944. Nor is there any record of the Mormacurom or Moracuron—as Foley had it
in his May 13, 1943 entry. The Mormacgull was a small cargo ship and the Morachawk was a cargo and combat ship. The latter is known
to have served in the South Pacific. The Carlson was a destroyer, and the Alcheeba was an attack transport.
240 The editors can find no record of a USS DeLevy.
164 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�1130 – Over
the side and down the net to thumb a
ride in a jeep to Ed, “Long time no see.” Out to the
ship with his three mates for dinner of steak and all
the fixin’s; aboard for four hours, then back to the
tent where he lives. Letter to our mother, trying to
recapture some of the happiness of these visits so
that she may share it by proxy.
Wednesday, September 22, 1943
0445 – Reveille.
0600 – Mass.
Thursday, September 23, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Island Mail leaves us to slip into Efate while we slide
around the end of the New Hebrides after travelling
through the famed Coral Sea, where Commander
241
Shea met his death aboard the Wasp.
High over the smoke stack one radar is operating,
the whiskers twitching, feeling tentatively for any
craft that may be on the surface or up in the sky.
The other radar, the coffee grinder, so called because
of its whirring noise, is silent atop the searchlight
deck, topmost deck of the ship.
0450 – General Quarters.
0600 – Mass.
Sunday, September 26, 1943
Day is almost unbearably warm, blistering sun
beating down on us. Last trip up to Guadalcanal was
about the hottest of the ten. Reason? A favoring tail
wind that didn’t benefit the ship at all.
0530 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1000 – General Service.
Communique day’s news. “John Penn sunk while
returning to Guadalcanal from an advanced base.”
Why this report about the location of the sinking?
She was sunk right at Guadalcanal at anchor. Effort
to save somebody’s face?
0600 – Mass.
Friday, September 24, 1943
0450 – General Quarters.
0432 – Rise and shine for General Quarters.
Monday, September 27, 1943
0445 – General Quarters.
Overhead even early, dive bombers, our own, shrieking down with their high-pitched, down-scale whistle
as they lay into us and then peel off and up and
over and then into us again. Anchor about 1000
at Noumea, then ashore to get a movie, “Stage
242
Door Canteen.”
Tuesday, September 28, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Lovely day, a bit cooler as we slide along down the
slot away from hot steaming Guadalcanal. With us
the USS Margaret Fuller and the Island Mail. Our
speed, 16 knots. General Quarters each night for
an hour after sunset which, as usual, is beautiful
this evening.
Amos, Mess Attendant, catches 18 pound fish off the
fantail, like a big mackerel. Javins hooks a 12 pounder. Have fish for supper; meat of it is delicious and
snow white. They start a fad. We are anchored in
Dumbea Bay. Fish in abundance, for all who throw
a line over the side catch something.
Saturday, September 25, 1943
Wednesday, September 29, 1943
0442 – General Quarters. Getting up earlier every
morning! We never get used to it!
0630 – Mass.
241 See note under March 4, 1943.
242 A 1943 United Artists release with appearances by nearly 70 Broadway and movie actors who serve food and entertain in the legendary
club for servicemen in a basement in New York City’s theater district.
165 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�Ashore in morning for movie. Meet Fr. MacDonald
and spend the day with him at MOB [Main Operating
Base] 7. Lovely setup. Native grass compound, huts
constructed of dried palm branches and reeds.
Thursday, September 30, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Friday, October 1, 1943
0630 – First Friday Mass.
Ashore with John Manoski and Marvin Irving
Metzger where I baptize Metzger in the Cathedral,
St. Joseph’s of Noumea. He is a very happy boy. Later
we purchase some lithographs of the Cathedral.
Meet Fr. Foley of the Jackson with Cdr. “Pug”
Crawford, former Gunnery Officer aboard our ship.
Word from the Crescent City for Mass Sunday.
Saturday, October 2, 1943
0630 – Mass. Metzger makes his First Communion.
“Happy beyond words,” he tells me. “Happiest day
243
of my life. Will my wife be happy, too?”
Sunday, October 3, 1943
0630 – Mass.
0900 – Mass aboard the Crescent City.
Afternoon return movie to exchange. Javanese
parading around the town in the coconut park. Do
they love colors. Men and women dress in the colors
of the rainbow, e.g. one little tacker about 21/2 years
old toddling along with a firm grasp of mother’s
green skirt, is wearing a blazing orange little
blouse, green long trousers, and a white straw hat.
A native woman of gargantuan size sails majestically by, rigged out in a Mother Hubbard dress
that is a light blue with a white border around it.
Our military men do some serious thinking. They
are puzzled. They wonder what kind of deal they
are getting out of life. Sometimes they feel that they
have been let down badly. Those who are old enough
remember the farce of Prohibition days and what
excesses it led to. All of them are old enough to have
suffered through the depression of the early Thirties. And now they have to go to war. Feel that there
must be a reason for the handicaps that have dogged
their footsteps. Are bound, as far as they are concerned, it won’t happen again.
Monday, October 4, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Our boys will be mission-minded after this war.
In fact, they are now. They now realize as they
never did before, the universality of the Church.
At the Communion rail, native Solomon Islander,
Fijian; beside him a native priest, black as the ace
of spades. They have seen priests and Sisters from
New England and other parts of the country putting their sickle into the harvest. They have seen the
remains of churches destroyed by the fortunes of
war, work of years gone in a second. The word mission is no longer a foreign word to them. It is home,
even if only temporarily. Tremendous respect for the
missionaries. If they don’t get to heaven, no hope
for the rest of us. What they have given up and what
they received in exchange for their sacrifice! We
think it is tough for a few months; they have been
here for years, 15, 30, 36, 44. They will carry their
memories back with them to civilian life. Instead of
giving a dime, they will give paper. Collections, $10
and $20 bills, several thousand to Bishop [Jean M.]
Aubin and Bishop [Thomas J.] Wade here 20 years,
14 of them as Bishop; spontaneous collection.
Tarpaulin collection for refugees we carried during
the Holy Week. Generosity of Chief Callaghan of the
USS John Penn, “The $100 Chief,” as the Sisters in
Fiji, Latoka called him. The two Sisters from England,
New Zealand and from Ireland.
243 Apparently, yes. Metzger, a Nebraska native, returned to his wife Helen after the war. A successful rancher and noted horseman, he died
in 2011, leaving six children, 25 grandchildren, and 19 great-grandchildren, according to his newspaper obituary.
166 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
�Tuesday, October 5, 1943
I am a wholesale liquor dealer, purchasing 600 cases
of beer for use at our future recreation parties. Spend
day at Ducos Peninsula [Noumea]. Mr. McLanahan
arranges the necessary deal; price $1.55 a case of
24 bottles.
Wednesday, October 6, 1943
Movie exchange.
Mass at 3:00 at which I tell the 1500 passengers
about daily Mass.
Thursday, October 7, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Underway for Guadalcanal with all our passengers,
among whom is Bob Power, B.C. ’41 from Waltham
and a medical outfit that has at least one-third Catholic
officers among its personnel. Hear confessions
at night.
Friday, October 8, 1943
Uneventful; following usual routine.
Saturday, October 9, 1943
Today it begins again, i.e. the heat to close in on us.
Sunday, October 10, 1943
0423 – General Quarters.
0600 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1000 – General Service.
1500 – Rosary
and Benediction.
Excellent attendance at all the exercises, even
though the men are preparing to unload the ship
tomorrow.
Monday, October 11, 1943
0630 – Mass.
Over the side and down the net to see Ed who is
20 miles away, for we are anchored at Tassaferonga,
just south of Cape Esperance. Captain Ellis, Medical
167 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
Officer, gives me a jeep to take me down; have ten
minutes with Ed who informs me that tomorrow or
the next day he leaves by plane for New Caledonia,
109th Station Hospital, APO 502. He is as happy as
a lark to be moving out after being marooned here
since last December.
Back to the ship, passing hundreds of mules and
horses that should shortly see action. Through a
river about three feet deep, about 20 yards wide as
its bridge is being repaired.
On the way to Henderson Field this morning, we
passed a Liberty ship burning furiously in the number three hold. We learn that she was one of two hit
this morning at 0400. Now this evening she is still
a bonfire. Her cargo consisted of gasoline in drums!
Ed remarked the thunder that they heard last night.
Jap planes blasted them again.
Last Saturday in the morning the gunners had AA
practice with live ammunition. Star shells were shot
into the sky. Even in the bright sunlight they stood
out brilliantly. Down they floated slowly for about
30 seconds after the shell carrying them exploded.
First, three-inch guns emitted their dull roar, the
angry lick of orange flame leaped from their mouths
and their big shells exploded around the star shell.
Then the chattering of the 20 mm began. Some of
the marksmanship was good, some of it was poor,
e.g. the shells exploding behind the star.
We lift anchor about 6 p.m. to cruise round all night
lest the same fate happen to us as happened to the two
Liberty ships last night, both torpedoed. All four of us,
the three President ships and ourselves run Indian file,
ahead of a sharp black silhouette and astern the same.
Overhead a most unfriendly full moon that is the
bosom friend of bombers. Orders from the beach
are, “Shoot down any and all aircraft within a radius
of 40 miles. Our planes all grounded tonight.” Everybody nervous after last night’s raid; too successful.
Tuesday, October 12, 1943
Columbus Day back home, but not out here.
�0445 – General Quarters. 0600 – Mass.
We steam back after running around for about
100 miles. Still a blazing pyre is the Liberty ship,
26 hours after she was hit. We speak of 24 hours
as a long time, yet Hell burns forever! A toothache
lasting for five minutes seems interminable, etc.
Out we steam at night to be on the safe side.
Standing in the forward boat deck right after dinner
when Army transport plane takes off from Henderson. Can it be that Ed is aboard her? Must ask him
in the next letter. Wonder if he could recognize
us below?
Thursday, October 14, 1943
0453 – General Quarters. One of the men of the
beach party told me an amusing story today. A new
man, a boat-hook fresh from the States five weeks
ago, had his first air raid alarm two nights ago. He
was on the beach at the time, worried sick. He heard
some CB yell, “Make for the woods!” So he ran as
far as his legs could carry him; in fact, till he came
out of the other side of the woods. Then he decided
that the only thing to do was to go back to the boat,
which he did and found the old experienced
coxswain, sleeping by his wheel.
12:10 – General
Aboard the destroyer, USS Buchanan, lashed to us
for fueling, for confessions at 3 o’clock when General Quarters goes – dee-dee-dee-dee-me-me-meme-me-do-sol-sol-sol-me- as quickly as the bugler
can play. Officer aboard breaks into my stateroom;
informs me that General Quarters is on.
I rush out with habit in one hand, cincture in the
other, stuff them and stole into my budge, inside
shirt, then up the rope net on side of Clymer, into
our sick bay, losing on the way my cincture and
stole. Destroyer casts off all lines. We are both underway. General Quarters is over in 15 minutes and
I start retracing my steps to find cincture and stole,
succeed, then aboard the Buchanan for more confessions. This time uninterrupted to the end.
Wednesday, October 13, 1943
0445 – General Quarters. 0600 – Mass.
0800 – Aboard USS Tracy, mine sweeper, for
confessions. Afterwards into the wardroom for a
glass of fruit juice when General Quarters goes
again; once more out and clamber up the ladder
alongside of our boom, monkey style. If I slipped,
it would be a 30 foot splash into the drink.
Quarters; unidentified plane.
3:30 – Mass, with attendance of about 35; very good
for the first afternoon.
4:10 – General Quarters; that makes the third time
today. This is getting monotonous! Will the enemy
ever take a rest?
6:00 – “General Quarters. All hands darken ship.
The smoking lamp is out on the weather decks; no
white clothing will be worn topside, keep silence
about the decks.” This goes over the loudspeaker
every night just before General Quarters.
“Sweepers, man your brooms. Clean sweep down
fore and aft.” These poor men travelling aboard a
ship. They sweat, they smell, they suffer.
This evening full moon over our port side. As
Mr. Townsend and I stand on starboard, can clearly
see the silhouette of the ship outlined on the foam
tossed back from our flanks. A beautiful sight as
shadow moves along speedily, a perfect outline of
our shape. A beautiful night above, but a bad one
for us. The subs can now get us between themselves
and the moon and then we make a perfect target.
Loading 2nd [Marine] Raiders aboard for maneu244
vers. [Co. Evan] Carlson’s men! Makin veterans.
244 On August 17, 1942, Marines took Makin Atoll, one of the Gilbert islands, in a night raid launched from two submarines. The Japanese
returned in force and would be driven off the island by Army and Navy Forces in a costly battle that ran from November 20-24, 1943.
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�Friday, October 15, 1943
0423 – General Quarters. 0600 – Mass.
Today I learn that our next operation is against Bougainville. These Marines we have aboard are to go
secure the beachhead, hold it for two weeks until the
Army takes over. Presently it seems the Der Tag [the
245
day] is November 3rd.
We are going on maneuvers at Vila Bay at Efate, one
of the New Hebrides Islands. About the ship men are
cleaning their rifles as they haven’t cleaned them for
months, say the officers. I see a young officer with
a cluster of 20 of his men around him, listening intently to something he is telling them. He is liked by
them. He is a tall, sandy-complexioned fellow about
25 years old. Most of his men are 18 to 20.
Dog Platoon! Up forward on the port side is the
strangest cargo that we have carried yet, 24 dogs,
that are scouts and messengers. They are all
Doberman Pinchers with the exception of four
German Shepherds. They should do valiant work
246
in Bougainville.
This day like all others recently is blistering hot. Sun
is beating down from a blue, cloudless sky. One of
the Marine officers informs me that Bougainville
has eight airstrips that must be neutralized to assure
us of escaping from the Jap bombers. They will be
softened up for days prior to the push.
We drop about 8 a.m. in the harbor of Vila, Efate
Island, a lovely South Seas place with deep blue and
purple and light marine blue waters all around us.
Vendors come gliding out in their outrigger canoes
selling their coconuts and their grass skirts for “un
dollar” to the boys left aboard while their mates are
on maneuvers on the other side of this little island
that is just off our port side.
Saturday, October 16, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Men go out in boats at 0800 for maneuvers, steaming for the enemy-held beach which is 4200 yards
away, just about 6 nautical miles. They are laden
with their combat gear.
We are located in a semi-circular harbor which has an
island in it on the sea side of arc. It is the kind of South
Seas island that you read about. The water where we
are anchored is the Pacific blue; 600 yards in, close to
shore, where the white coral is the bottom, the water
is the lightest of light blue, turquoise; then there is
the white sandy beach fringing the shore and leaning
down over the water’s edge the fronds of the coconut
trees. Hid in beneath them are the huts of the natives,
swarthy blacks. They are trying to barter their goods,
grass skirts for money and clothing. Learn today purpose of making beachhead at Bougainville: to secure
sites for airstrips to neutralize Robaul, enemy stronghold in New Britain, Naval Base particularly, and staging area for the Solomons. Purpose was put inelegantly
by a Marine Commanding Officer, “To secure that lousy
piece of real estate so that we can get the hell off it.”
Sunday, October 17, 1943
0515 – Reveille.
0530 – Mass with Fr. Camler, celebrant.
0630 – Mass with self as celebrant, with two
parties from destroyers attending.
6:45 p.m. – Mass for those who missed
this morning.
245 The battle for Bougainville, the largest and northernmost of the Solomon Islands, would not go as easily as Foley imagined or had been told.
The Marines Foley referred to would not be replaced until December 15, and while American forces moved on to the north after airfields were
constructed, the island would remain a battle zone until the war ended, the action eventually engaging 174,000 American and Australian troops.
246 The First Marine War Dog Platoon brought messenger and scout dogs to Bougainville. The dogs were reported to have worked well in the
field and were later utilized in other Marine engagements in the Pacific. https://www.historynet.com/a-few-good-marines-dogs-in-wartime.htm
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�One boy came to me this afternoon who was
desperately homesick. He sat down and we talked,
i.e. he did most of the talking. When we were parting, he remarked, “Father, did I feel good when I
heard that there was a priest aboard.” He is worried
sick about the invasion that is ahead. Learned this
afternoon the D-Day is the Feast of All Saints. If we
are to die, good day to go home to heaven.
Monday, October 18, 1943
0615 – Mass.
he says with a wry smile. We are “sunk” by five of our
bombers that spilled out of bank of white clouds.
I wrote my final letter to Sister Flavius to be given
to my mother in case anything happens to me.
Wednesday, October 20, 1943
0600 – Mass aboard the USS Anthony with
USS Wordsworth men also aboard at gun turret
in foc’sle. White sunrise, white sky, sun shining
in full glory on Host and Chalice, blinding me as
I turn around for “Dominus vobiscum.”
Ashore in the morning where I met Fr. Sculley,
secular, from Westport [Massachusetts], who used
247
to go to Keyser Island frequently. Town has a
lovely church and a convent staffed by Marists. All of
them are French with the exception of Fr. Libelle, an
American who was on Bougainville, but skipped the
clutches of the Japs by evacuating on a submarine.
Messer, always knelt down morning and night
for prayer, says mate asked another sailor, “I don’t
know how to pray; will you say a couple for me?”
Tuesday, October 19, 1943
Admiral Halsey comes aboard at 3:30, a man of
63 years, slim build, who looks his years, weatherlined face, of an officer carrying tremendous
responsibilities. Gold Braid conference on impending battle, going over battle plans.
1:15 – Reveille.
1:30 – Breakfast for the troops and crew.
2:30 – Breakfast for the Officers.
248
0330 – Set condition 1:A.
0345 – Man all boats.
0400 – Lower all boats.
0433 – First wave; first section leaves
rendezvous circle for the beach.
0439 – Second section, first wave leaves.
0448 – Second wave leaves.
0453 – Second section of second wave leaves, etc.
Beach being assaulted. At daylight we are viciously
strafed on dry run by our own dive bombers; then following them, the torpedo planes roar in, shrieking, to
deliver their fish into us. Blinding speed and descending, they head in the ascending whine, as they climb
out after their operation, makes the practice all too real.
Officer from recently torpedoed and sunk John Penn
is extremely nervous, “I don’t like that kind of music,”
Movie: Men of Boys Town, with Spencer Tracy.
No hint of spiritual life of the institution, of Mass
249
or other exercises.
Thursday, October 21, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Marines return from their maneuvers that they
enjoyed. Our ship receiving a commendation from the
CONTRANS GR for speed in unloading. First time
he has ever complimented a transport in the SOPAC
[South Pacific Fleet]. Fr. Foley from Philadelphia
comes aboard from the USS Jackson. Also one priest
at least aboard each transport in our attack division.
Friday, October 22, 1943
We are underway at 4:30 p.m. The thickly-forested
mountains all around Vila and her environs slip
away onto the horizon and we are headed for our
247 A Jesuit vacation house and retreat center in Connecticut.
248 Condition 1 is Navy jargon for general quarters; Condition 1A calls for all personnel responsible for a safe embarkation to be in place.
249 A sequel to the popular Boys Town (1938), the MGM film starred Spencer Tracy (Fr. Flanagan) and Mickey Rooney and was one of the
most popular movies of 1941. That it featured no Mass or “other exercises” was likely one of the reasons for its wide popularity.
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�next destination, so much nearer the day of attack.
Flag officers leave us for the Hunter Liggett, which
has just arrived for her maneuvers with the Crescent
City, the American Legion and the Margaret Fuller.
Overhead this afternoon 18 torpedo planes circle in
squadrons of three sixes, describing a circle of about
five miles. A Marine looks up and says to the man
beside him, “Brother, I hope they put layer after
layer of those birds over us at Bougainville.”
Saturday, October 23, 1943
0418 – General Quarters.
0615 – Mass, Upper Deck shop area.
We steam along under a lovely blue sky in company
with the Presidents Hayes, Adams, Jackson, bound for
Pakkelulo Bay, 20 miles north of the usual anchoring
place at Espiritu Santo. Bay is a channel between a
small island standing out to sea and the main island
of Espiritu Santo.
Sunday, October 24, 1943
Latest song hit: “Don’t Sit Under the Coconut Tree
with Anyone Anytime, and I Ain’t Fooling You.”
Jewish boy visits me in the office, asking me to see
his friend, Nick, another dog handler who has not
gone to church since he ran away from home when
he was 14. “Father, he is 18 now and I know that he
is unhappy because he is not doing the right thing.”
Straighten him out with confession and Communion. Jewish boy, 17, overjoyed when he meets me.
“Nick’s a new guy.”
0615 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1530 – Rosary and
Benediction.
Tuesday, October 26, 1943
Recreation parties are organized to relieve the
pre-battle strain for both the 2nd Raider Marines
we are carrying and our own crew. All realize the
exceptionally dangerous nature of the mission
we are embarked upon. The more they have to
take their minds off it, the better they will be the
moment of strife and stress arrives.
We are told at Quarters today that there will be a
simulated bombing attack at 0915 this morning.
At 0815 the planes start taking off from the field on
the south side of the channel. They take off with a
clock-like regularity for 30 minutes, one every few
seconds. They come roaring out over our heads, one
after another head out to their rendezvous area, the
dive bombers and the torpedo planes. They wheel
into formations. High above over us majestically
speeds along a squadron of 18 torpedo bombers.
What a beautiful picture they make against the clear
blue morning sky. Then they disappear below
the horizon.
The dog platoon goes ashore also for some
tactical exercises. I should hate to meet these
dogs unleashed. They scared the life out of me
the other night when I had to go by them in the
dark. In their pens topside one started to bark
viciously at me. The others joined in the chorus
and made the night wild with savage snarling.
Monday, October 25, 1943
0615 – Mass.
Still anchored here in Pallkulo Bay with swimming
parties going ashore to the island on our starboard
side both morning and afternoon to help relieve
the tension of the men who will shortly be engaged
in battle.
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0615 – Mass.
At 0910 General Quarters alarm is piped down,
“All hands to General Quarters.” Peep-Peep-Peep
all battle stations are manned. Since this is only a
dry run, I go to the flying bridge deck to watch the
show. Suddenly as from nowhere, torpedo planes
are skimming over the surface of the water. As they
get within 100 yards of us, they open their torpedo
bays, then swing up over us. The roar is deafening
and frightening. Everywhere, from every side they
come in on us. The gunners are training the guns
on one plane when another is on top of them. Then
�suddenly there is a whine straight over ahead; no, it
is a few hundred yards away. Six dive bombers are
plummeting straight down on us, with a zing-zing
noise that makes us happy that they are our own. As
they drop their eggs, dry run, they zoom up and over
us, vapor streaking from their wing tips. There is a
lull for about ten minutes, then the fighters, strafing
the gun crews, come in over the low hill straight for
the ships. We are all being sunk, the four of us. The
other three are the President ships. We automatically duck as we think they are going to crash into us,
then they gun her up and away they have gone. For
one hour intermittently, these attacks go on. When
they are over, we know what to expect when D day
arrives next Monday. We learn also from scuttlebutt
that we are to have 18 destroyers and 6 battle wagons,
plus four aircraft carriers with us, meaning 8 attack
transports and four cargo ships.
Wednesday, October 27, 1943
0615 – Mass.
Swimming party as usual both morning and afternoon at the little island that lies off our port side. I
take it in the afternoon. The sand is yellowish-white,
amazingly fine, the finest I have ever seen. It is of
that color and fineness due to it being coral originally but washed away by the sea. There are about 500
of us swimming in this man’s paradise.
To see the Marines and sailors making human
pyramids on the beach and then tumbling the apex
man into the water, to see them chasing each other
up and down the beach, one would never think that
within five days these men will be locked in mortal
combat with the enemy. While I’m floating lazily
on my back looking up at God’s blue sky, I catch a
glimpse of four planes about two miles up. They put
on a show for my pleasure. They flip over and over,
turn on their backs, sweep down and up while I
lazily take it in with my head cradled in my hands.
A short distance down, the 44th CB’s are working
with a couple of bulldozers, tearing down the jungle
primeval to make the land clear for a recreation park
for the men of the fleet and the shore stations who
will be stationed nearby.
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A further distance down in the stream a floating dry
dock is being slowly built. Judging from the long
term preparations being made here, the brass hats
expect the war out here to last for a long time.
One Marine reads to his mates a joke from a magazine. Colored soldier in England playing poker. Picks
up four aces. One of the Englishmen bids a pound on
his very good hand. Colored boy, “I don’t know what
you use for money over here, but I’ll bet a ton!”
I notice that as day for attack approaches, all of
us become sensitive to the simplest experiences.
Things that we have been taking for granted have
their attractiveness infinitely enhanced by the
thought that we may be looking on them for the last
time. The sun over head, its rays slanting down on
the ocean, the intense blue of the water, the green
of the trees. What if I should be blinded like that
soldier McMullan. All these impressions stored in
the memory, with almost conscious effort to freeze
them for use.
Thursday, October 28, 1943
0615 – Mass.
This morning there is another swimming party over
to the small island on our port side. This will be the
last one for quite some time. The plan of the day has
us shoving off at four this afternoon.
1600 – We are off on the big adventure to pick up
Admiral Wilkinson at Guadalcanal, then on to Bougainville which we attack on Monday, All Saints Day.
Men are glad to be on the way. There is an attitude of
expectancy but at the same time, one of relief, for the
long months of preparation and training and monotonous maneuvers are over for these Marines. Now
\they are about to go into the real battle operation.
With them is also a group of CB’s whose job it is to
build as quickly as possible an airport for immediate
use. Two weeks is the time they have been allotted to
have it built and planes taking off from it. “Can’t be
done? We’ll do it!” typifies their spirit.
�Friday, October 29, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Around the ship junior officers are holding meetings with their men clustered around them, telling
them the details of the coming operation. I listen in
on one, who is instructing his men that when they
take prisoners, to separate the men from the officers
immediately, for the men have been known to “sing”
when the separation has been effected immediately.
Another Lt. tells his men not to shoot everybody and
anybody out in front, for it may be a friendly patrol.
The men are cleaning their rifles, oiling the machine gun parts, straightening the clips of bullets so
they feed into the gun smoothly. Others are sharpening their trench knives on the pocket whetstones.
One Marine down in the galley tells me that “It is
the third time for me, Father. Boy, how I sweat as I
crouch in that boat waiting to hit the beach. I lose
ten pounds on each trip.” Col. Shapely informs
men over the PA system of the coming operation:
“Bougainville is the place, Monday is the day,
coverage air and sea; battlewagons, carriers, cruisers, destroyers, and planes. Also destroyer escorts
and mine sweepers. Operation will be preceded by
a barrage laid down on the beach. It will be a tough
job. That’s why they picked the Marines to do it.”
Regret: No mention of God in this whole talk except as
an expletive. “For God’s sake, don’t get trigger happy.”
Saturday, October 30, 1943
0600 – Mass.
We drop hook at 4 p.m. off Lunga Point where we
pick up Admiral Wilkinson and General Vandergift and Air General Harris and staff, among them
Captain Sullivan, formerly of the Crescent City.
Also 200 more Marines who will sleep on the deck.
Learn that cargo ships have gone ahead of us; also
four other attack transports. Underway for the attack
250 Tank Landing Ships.
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point at 0900. Fr. Camler and I hear confessions
for hours.
Sunday, October 31, 1943
Feast of Christ the King.
0600 – Mass. 0900 – Mass.
1000 – Chaplain
McCorkle’s Service.
At five-thirty I count four cruisers and 14 destroyers
with us, not to mention sundry destroyer escorts
and mine sweepers, a total of 36. Also pass ten land250
ing craft. The LST’s have barrage balloons tied
to their top deck to drive off attacking planes. They
move very slowly.
0830 – High overhead are black specks, 16 of them,
patrolling “among the sun-split clouds, high in the
sunlight-silence, topping the windswept heights
with easy grace.”
We hear them before we are able to see them. Over
the TBS, “Bogie overhead,” i.e. Jap plane. May be
high altitude reconnaissance plane. Later P 38
knocks him down. We are twelve ships in the convoy
at this hour when I’m typing. It is now 11 o’clock
and we are just off New Georgia Islands, hoping
Japs haven’t spotted us.
At 1 o’clock I count 24 destroyers, two for each
[transport] ship. Also a couple of ocean-going tugs
in case any of the vessels run into trouble, going
aground, etc. Learn that our code name is DESTINY.
Other ships in our column with names, Barber,
Half-Moon, Palmer, etc.
One of the Australians aboard remarks, “I wouldn’t
miss this bloody mix for all the tea in China.”
3 p.m. – Rosary and Benediction and Consecration to
the Sacred Heart. Confessions in the evening with
Fr. Camler.
�6 p.m. – Twenty planes fly overhead as we head into
the lion’s jaws. Tomorrow morning the DAY! I hear
confessions till almost midnight.
Monday, November 1, 1943
fire for the destroyers that are aiming to knock out
anti-aircraft and shore batteries of this rugged
terrain. Jungle seems to come right down to the
shore. Mountain rises thousands of feet about
five miles inland.
Feast of All Saints.
Bougainville.
The very first thing to do before putting down a single line about this day is to speak a fervent “Thank
You” to God for having brought us safely through
this historic day. Today we attacked Bougainville,
west side, Empress Augusta Bay.
0315 – Reveille. I distributed Holy Communion as
Viaticum for 25 minutes immediately after Reveille to
these boys who would be in battle shortly. Breakfast
following immediately for them, while I offered the
Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.
0550 – All boats were hoisted to the rail as we made out
in the dark the outlines of high mountains ashore. I go
out on deck at 5:15, no moon shining down, only a star
sending its peaceful beams down on a scene that will
shortly find all hell breaking loose over it. We are nosing
cautiously into a big U-shaped bay.
251
One minute after six, word is passed over the TBS ,
“Stand by to synchronize watches.” All ships in the
attack, the cruisers, destroyers and the rest of us are
now on exactly the same second.
A couple of minutes later the destroyers open up a
terrific bombardment on the shore. The sun is reddening the east directly behind the mountains on
our starboard side as we swing into the shoreline.
It is a morning made in heaven and man is making it a hell. We see the angry flames leap from
the mouth of the guns of the destroyers and then
14 seconds later, timed by one of the sailors, we
get the noise of the explosion from the guns. What
happens on shore we don’t hear, but we see earth
thrown up and then lazy smoke drifting skyward.
Three planes high up, ours. They are spotting the
251 Talk Between Ships radio network,
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0615 – Glorious sunrise. 0616 – Crescent City, the
first one to make the turn broadside to the beach,
lets go with all her port guns, 20 mm and threeinchers. Tracers spurt out angrily from former to
shore. Can see them ricochet off the water onto
the beach. Meanwhile in the background is a coneshaped mountain [Mt. Baranga] that resembles
a lazy active volcano, for it has a big veil of white
cloud spiraling slowly heavenward from her top.
0620 – Destroyers angrily sending salvo after salvo
into the beach, way in, rather than on the beach,
and the thunder reverberates in the valleys and hills.
Boats in water.
0650 – Communion to Captain Sullivan of the
Admiral’s staff.
0713 – Five dive bombers fly high in formation, our
own, until they are just directly over the approach
to the beach when they let go their messages, black
messages of death that we can see hurtling earthward, then a tremendous explosion that we can feel,
even three miles off shore, and they are away again.
0720 – Six destroyers astern open up in bombardment
again on the shore. Makes me skip a few breaths. Glad
to be on the giving and not the receiving end.
0721 – We swing into line parallel to the beach
which is now about a mile away and then we open
up with all our port guns; ship is shivering. Roar is
deafening as they spit fiery death at the shoreline.
How anything can survive is a mystery. Two ships
ahead of us have done same, and so do all the ships
after us. Meanwhile all the boats have put off from
the ship an hour ago. They are circling in the rendezvous area, ready to hit the beach at 0730-H hour.
�0725 – Twenty-one dive bombers, ours, come over;
then all hell breaks loose. They are torpedo bombers loaded with twelve clusters of bombs each, 100
bombs. They come roaring in over the beach, open
their bomb bays and then are gone until they return
at another level and strafe. One of the sailors remarks that the way they ease the “dusters” out of
their bays reminds him of pouring rice out of a cup.
0730 – The assault troops, first wave of second battalion of the 2nd Raider Regiment storm ashore and
some crumple immediately; in fact, the machine
guns from the well dug-in positions are spitting at
them as they make for the beach.
and beach which slopes steeply. Through the glasses
I see complete disorganization. The surf is so high
that the boats are broached as soon as they hit and
the men and their gear are spilling out. It was later
decided to abandon this section of the beach after
we lost about 90 boats.
0745 – Enemy planes on the way. Ten minutes later
four high altitude bombers drop their loads and
scoot. We cruise around until 0930. In the meantime our P 38’s appear in the sky, lightning fast as
they fly over us in protection. We are occasionally
under savage air attack.
1005 – Underway
First wave of third Marines, ninth Marines and Raider Bn. moves in. Here things stop going according
to plan. As raiders on right pass two small islands,
Puruata and Torokina, lying a couple of hundred
yards off shore, they come under heavy machine
gun and small arms fire, bullets spitting into boats.
A raider outfit debarks from the USS Fuller and
starts to clean up the two little islands which are
only about two hundred yards long. The boats make
for the beach, but these boys on the right flank run
into small arms fire again from the shore with artillery now and mortars lobbing shells in and around
them. Learn later that Japs had moved 300 men into
the area after our amphibious scouts had visited it
sometime previously to gain an idea of the strength
of the enemy installations.
again; big formation of Jap planes
14 miles away. In five minutes they are over us. We
execute evasive maneuvers frantically. Two peel off
for us, one comes in, then catches the full load of
hot steel in the face of his plane, drops his bomb,
then starts to climb up, bursts into flame and then
plummets straight into the ocean. Other frightened,
runs away; broke off run.
Destroyer nearest the shore attacked by six dive bombers; they let go stick after stick at her but all miss her,
miraculously so, and she knocks down three. Into the
anchorage area again, with Deo Gratias once more.
Unloading continues. Meanwhile, ashore.
1100 – First
wounded return to the ship.
1255 – Lt.
The noise of the intermittent cough of an enemy
machine gun winnowing the ranks of our boys is a
chilling noise. In the face of withering fire the boys
press forward.
On left flank of the beach, boys are luckier. They have
no opposition from the Japs, but plenty from the surf
Col. Joe McCaffrey dies with a bullet in his
shoulder and one in his back that cut his spine,
paralyzing him from his hips down. Give him the
252
Last Sacraments.
1:20 p.m. – Studer dies with a badly mashed left leg
and other severe wounds; caught full force of hand
grenade, front view.
252 McCaffery, 37 when he died, was a native of Chester, Pennsylvania. He was awarded the Navy Cross posthumously. The citation reads, in
part: “When the initial assault wave under his command landed out of position and became momentarily confused, Lieutenant Colonel
McCaffery, realizing the danger of immobilization by enemy fire, immediately organized his command, fearlessly exposing himself to
heavy fire from mortars and automatic weapons while proceeding from unit to unit in order to direct the disposition of his troops for
maximum effectiveness. Initiating a daring attack, Lieutenant Colonel McCaffery personally led his men against Japanese positions until
he was mortally wounded.” https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/92741011/joseph-patrick-mccaffery
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�2:30 p.m. – Small island, Puruta, just before coming to the beach still being cleaned up by the Third
Raider Battalion. Machine guns are still barking
death. Japs don’t surrender.
3:30 p.m. – Bullet from that island hit man aboard
the USS Fuller; she moves further out.
American Legion is aground on a shoal; tugs pull
her off, but only after she had been peppered by
bombs from a 40 bomber squadron of Japs, most of
whom decide to pick on her. Fourteen Lightnings
break up their formation. They jettison their bombs
and run. Meanwhile, we, after running out again,
move in. Shall we pull through? Good folks back
home know nothing of all of this.
4:00 p.m.– Sullen, black clouds move down from
mountains, nature in an angry mood. Black clouds
hide the sun, then thunder and lightning, tropical
storm of severe intensity. Thunder growls and growls,
then sharp cracks split the silence, as if she was saying, ”I can make noise also.” Our man-made thunder
of the morning was much harder on the ears. Lt.
Mills says that the Japs were just getting their breakfast when they looked out to see us. Some of the kettles with hot water were still boiling as our men went
through the dugouts and the bivouac area.
6:00 p.m. – Underway again, Deo Gratias, with instructions that ships that did not finish loading will
return tomorrow morning to finish the job.
Tuesday, November 2, 1943
talking with his flyers. “Homer, don’t get into
a fight and find out that you haven’t enough gas.”
“What’s the matter, Beaver?” “These ships are
taking cracks at me. Tell them to cut it out.”
“Get up higher where you belong.”
Lt. Callaghan, censoring reporters’ dispatches in
the Executive Officer’s office, remarks that flyers
did a wonderful job. On one occasion there were
40 Jap bombers with 60 fighters on the way to
attack us. Our boys intercepted them and they
never got through.
Boat from USS Adams, which has the worst beach,
suffered a direct hit from a mortar which killed most
of the Marines and the boat crew. Our two wounded
men were in our boat #5 when a mortar hit directly
behind the coxswain on the wooden stern of the boat.
Wood took most of the shrapnel, so explaining the
light wounds of Cox, Foster and Richardson.
Puruata Island, 11 o’clock. Turn glasses on the
beach; signalman says Marines are stalking along.
Can’t see them at first, they blend so perfectly with
the background, then catch them. They are separate,
five of them, cautiously jumping from one coconut
tree trunk to another over the ground.
See one Marine crouched down behind an uprooted
tree; intermittent barks of a machine gun. He peeks
up, ducks down as gun spits out at him again. Three
or four times he looks up and then reached for a hand
grenade, pulls the pin and lets it fly through the air.
All Souls Day.
0445 – General Quarters. 0530 – Three Masses.
Everybody is dog-tired today. Recollections of yesterday: Two Jap bombers parachuting out of their
planes; one floats down slowly and settles on the
water, machine-gunned to death, other tangles
self in his chute and falls like a stone to his death.
General Harris, Air General of the Marines
176 | chapter 5: south pacific task force
Dr. Connor went ashore with the beach party. We
lose 60 good men to Boat Pool # 11. These men will
be in for a rough time of it for a few days until reinforcements come in.
Coughing of a Jap machine gun is a chilling thing to
hear. Immediately wonder how many boys it knocks
over. These guns cough for a minute or so, then follow it with a spasm at the end, as if to finish whatever is in front of them.
�Wednesday, November 3, 1943
0615 – Mass.
Anchored in this little haven with the other ships of
our convoy with the exception of those that had to
stay, the Crescent City and the Hunter Liggett.
Four heavy cruisers come in at dusk, battle worn and
scarred. Fr. Steve Hannon comes aboard at 8:30 p.m.
from the USS Columbia that suffered three hits, all
minor; two on gun barrels and one forward on starboard bow that took the heads of some canned hams
in the storeroom.
Battle was Sunday night; sank two destroyers and
one cruiser. Battle raged at ten miles distance for two
hours in the early hours of the morning. Cruisers
Denver, Columbia, Steves, Cleveland and Montpelier, the flagship, patch their wounds, refuel, rearm
themselves, lie to during the night.
Thursday, November 4, 1943
0615 – Mass.
Press report this morning states that a Jap cruiser
and four Jap destroyers were sunk in a naval battle
on Tuesday morning with slight material damage to
our ships and some casualties to personnel. Action
took place 40 miles from Empress Augusta Bay
[where the Marines from the Clymer had landed ].
One of our destroyers limps in today, the Foote, being
towed by a tug. Her stern was shot away. In the naval
battle the Japs lost 17 out of the 67 planes they sent
over to help their surface units in their attack.
Four cruisers steam out this evening at sundown,
the place of the Denver being taken by the Nashville.
They are lean and hungry, looking for another kill.
Friday, November 5, 1943
0615 – Mass.
This little hidden away Bay used to harbor the Jap
fleet until Marines captured the surrounding islands
last August. When Tulagi and Gavutu fell, then this
anchorage was available for our ships. In the taking of both of these small islands, the Marine losses
were very heavy.
This little scooped out harbor is U-shaped with a
right angle approach to it. It is completely screened
from the sea.
Low mountains ride up from its shores on which
are not half, but wholly hidden oil and ammunition
dumps. Coconut trees lean down to the water’s edge
on the sides of the small mountains, fresh wounds
in the red earth give away the location of the dumps.
Camouflage will shortly disguise them.
Half hour ride to Tulagi to pick up a movie for
253
tonight, “Rio Rita,” with Abbott and Costello.
Meet Fr. McGowan, OMI, from Lowell who expects
a change of duty shortly to Noumea. Also there is
Chaplain Blackwood.
Saturday, November 6, 1943
0615 – Mass.
Make arrangements for Sunday Mass aboard the Liggett.
Two task forces of cruisers operating out of this anchorage. They burn up fuel very quickly, for after being out
for only three days, they return for another long drink.
Sunday, November 7, 1943
0615 – Mass. 0915 – Mass aboard the Hunter Liggett.
Quiet afternoon; another recreation party goes
ashore with a couple of bottles of beer for each man.
Monday, November 8, 1943
0615 – Mass.
0830 – To Hunter Liggett; discover they are about
to get underway, hastily beat retreat, not knowing
where I might wind up.
253 Comedic duo fights and defeats Nazi spies on the Mexican border. (MGM, 1942)
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�Tuesday, November 9, 1943
Committee visits American Legion to report on her
need of Navy Yard overhaul. Back to Tulagi, ashore
for movie, meet Fr. McGowan, have him aboard for
dinner tonight. He stays for the movie.
Wednesday, November 10, 1943
0600 – Mass.
We anchor outside the nets at 0700, see task force
limp in. USS Birmingham fresh from the States on
her first mission has her port bow shot away and
her stern badly damaged. In this battle area only two
days when she catches it. Daylight visible through
her bow at her waterline.
Thursday, November 11, 1943
To Tassafaronga, Guadalcanal where we load up the
129th combat team for actual fighting duty in Bougainville. Finish loading at 5:00. In the meantime I went
ashore to put through a call for Ed at the 52nd Field
Hospital; learn he has been transferred to Noumea as of
a month ago. Confirmation of the transfer pleases me.
Underway at 6:00; down about 30 miles where we
anchor for the night under a bomber’s moon. No
trouble, Deo Gratias.
Friday, November 12, 1943
0600 – Mass. Excellent group of Catholics, about
100 at Mass.
0800 – Underway. Six ships in convoy, Liggett,
Legion, Crescent City, Alhena, and the Alchiba, with
seven destroyer escorts and plane protection overhead. As usual, sun is a scorcher overhead. Hear
confessions morning and afternoon.
Cruise north slowly for most of the night and then
in the morning will head north to Bougainville,
into the jaws of the Japs again. May Our Lady, Star
of the Sea, protect us as she has in the past.
6:38 – General Quarters. Looks as though it might be
a bad night for us. There is a bomber’s moon overhead, bursting with fullness. Easy to read a paper on
deck, I pull my notebook out of my pocket and read it
254
with the greatest of ease. Passengers loll on decks,
drinking in the silent beauty of the tropical night. Sea
is hammered silver. Other ships are no longer dark
silhouettes on the ocean; they are as brightly lit up
as we are. A short distance away three cruisers and
five destroyers come up on our port quarter going the
wrong way, then they turn around and steam ahead to
intercept any Jap task force that may be trying to annihilate us. Report on battle yesterday, results satisfactory. Operations hampered by bad weather. Aircraft
carrier Essex radioed that she was being attacked by
dive bombers; managed to get away from them.
Ten o’clock to bed with instructions to call me
at four. I want to give Viaticum to the men going
over the side. Will be large number, judging from
the confessions heard both this morning and this
afternoon.
Saturday, November 13, 1943
12:30 – General Quarters. Enemy planes overhead.
Moon lighting us like a Christmas tree. Destroyers
open up with their guns on our starboard side.
General Quarters lasts for half an hour.
1:55 – General
Quarters again. “Prepare to repel
enemy planes,” word is passed to all ships through
TBS. In distance see angry red flashes of gunfire.
Our task force is engaging the Japs. We are not molested. Lasts for half an hour. I celebrate Mass and
consecrate hosts.
254 That Foley used a pocket notebook to take contemporaneous notes for his diary would explain the sharp detail in many entries. At the
same time, one must wonder why, if he was seen to take notes, no one reported him to a senior officer, since the keeping of journals
by servicemen was for security reasons forbidden under military law. As with what seems his easy access to communiques in the ship’s
“Radio Shack,” the explanation may lie in his status as a priest and chaplain.
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�0400 – General Quarters again. What a night!. Or
rather, morning. Kip Morey tells me that there are
four enemy planes tailing us and four cruising overhead. Cruiser Denver was hit by a torpedo plane that
has left her dead in the water. An ocean going tug is
dispatched from our task force to help her. She also
asks for fire support, thus indicating that her guns
have been put out of commission. We stay on GQ
until 0715.
Out on deck for another look at Bougainville. Much
different approach this trip. No tenseness, we know
our men are on the beachhead, no firing of our
guns, no bombing by our planes. Still as beautiful as
ever, sun comes up blood red behind the mountains
on our starboard. This land must make for hard
fighting. Growth of jungle down to water’s edge.
About two miles back a level shelf of plateau about
a mile high, then a comforter of clouds sitting on it,
snow white. Directly behind them, a ridge of four
mountains, about a mile higher. To the right the
plateau breaks off sharply into a gorge, then rises
again. Directly behind this section of it, is a 10,000
foot volcanic cone. Once again the clouds are spiraling up from it and trailing off on to the horizon, like
a white scarf on a girl’s head streaming in the wind.
Beauty beyond description, yet there is hell below,
for the thunder and crack of gunfire are breaking
the morning peace and silence.
0800 – First troops go over the side and in to the
beach. Dr. Connor comes aboard looking decidedly peaked. He has been a busy man attending the
wounded. Says the Japs gave them hell at night with
their bombing, whereas we plaster them with our
bombs during the daytime. Casualties among our
boys are high, but Jap’s are astronomical.
Beach is littered with our landing boats that were
piled high by the surf, over a million dollars worth
in the one day, November 1st. Beachhead is now six
miles long and about three miles deep.
Unloading of ship proceeds satisfactorily until 11:30,
when air attack begins to develop. However our
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interceptors keep them off and we are back at the
transport area in half an hour.
Kip Morey informs me the reason for the long and
numerous General Quarters alarms this morning.
The Jap planes would come in, say from port quarter, [compass] bearing 215 first, 14 miles out, then 8,
6, 4, 2, when destroyer on the line of attack would
open up, then Japs would veer off and out again to
20 miles, then start to slide in again, 16, 13, 11, 6,
[compass] bearing 175, two miles off starboard beam
and destroyer there would open fire. So it went for
all the early hours of the morning, the Japs trying
to slip through the cordon, attempting to find out
where there was an opening.
3 p.m. – Heavy firing off our port side where the Japs
are in command. They are being shelled by our artillery, who, according to Marine Officers aboard, have
been doing a murderous job on the Jap concentrations
of men. Have taken aboard about a dozen wounded,
none of them seriously wounded except for one Jap
pilot who was shot through the right cheek. The bullet caused his left eye to disintegrate and the swelling
from the wound has puffed his face up and closed his
remaining eye tighter than a drum. Men who brought
him aboard inform us that when he first was questioned, he refused to talk, but he was killed with kindness. Amazed, he spilled all the information that his
questioners desired, an interpreter helping them along.
4 p.m. – General Quarters again. Jap planes on the
way once more. We leave behind two boats and head
for home again.
6:37 – General Quarters. Bombers’ moon again.
Hope for the best, expecting the worst. Fortunately
clouds come up and they promise to escort us home
in darkness. Admiral Halsey should be safely back
in Guadalcanal from Torokina Pt. [on Bougainville]
in a PBY escorted by six fighters, where he left
this afternoon.
�Sunday, November 14, 1943
Tuesday, November 16, 1943
0515 – Mass. 0615 – Mass.
Mass starts off each day. We are quietly anchored
as before with movies at night to refresh the crew.
Fr. McGowan and Chaplain Markley aboard tonight
for dinner.
0900 – Mass. 1000 – General Service.
1100 – We
sight on the horizon the cruiser Denver
being towed by a tug. In the battle of two nights ago,
that we could see about 20 miles away, she was hit
by a torpedo from a plane. Casualties, 19 killed and
one critically wounded. We come abreast of her and
pass by quickly, for she is making only five knots;
hit was on her starboard side aft. Major Kenneth
Neville, USMC, informs me this morning that
we are bound for New Zealand after we get into
Guadalcanal. Cheers.
Monday, November 15, 1943
0600 – Mass.
We anchored last night at midnight; moved in this
morning to the shelter of Tulagi Harbor. I visited
the hospital ashore where I pass a cemetery where
there are buried about 300 American Marines and
sailors. Nearby the dock overlooking the anchorage
is a sign:
“Admiral Halsey says:
Kill Japs, Kill Japs,
Kill more Japs.
You will kill more yellow Bastards
If you do your work well.”
Wednesday, November 17, 1943
0615 – Mass.
Tom Quinn, editor of the Boston College Stylus for
’38 and ’39 comes aboard from the Titania for a visit.
We chew the fat for a while about events at B.C.
Thursday, November 18, 1943
0615 – Mass.
Wally Boudreau, B.C. ’43, aboard for the evening. No
accommodations ashore so he uses us for a hotel for
the night. His roommate is Bubber Ely of Tulane, both
bound for PT boats around the corner of the Bay.
Friday, November 19, 1943
In the afternoon put up graveyard markers in the
Tulagi Cemetery for “Lt. Col. J. P. McCaffrey, USMC
wounded at Empress Augusta Bay, November 1, 1943.
Died aboard the USS George Clymer November 1,
1943.” Also for PFC. J. S. Studer.
About 400 men buried in the cemetery ashore; 19
more to go in today from the USS Denver, hit protecting us a week ago tonight by torpedo plane.
Comment: Chinese are yellow also.
We send ashore the Jap pilot who was our prisoner
shot down from out of the skies over Empress
Augusta Bay by our anti-aircraft fire on the shore.
One eye has been completely destroyed by the shell
that lodged behind it; the other is swollen tight.
He leaves after kind treatment, looking better than
when he came aboard. War is so senseless. He is a
pleasant enough boy, about 25; would make a good
companion, but is now a deadly enemy, one of the
yellow Bastard Rot! The spirit evidenced by that
sign is what brought on the war and will hinder the
peace. Are we Americans still color conscious?
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Learn that the campaign is going along well, but
that it has its bad drawbacks as well as good features. Here are some of them:
1. The rain is terrific. It is described by a Marine
combat correspondent “With commendable understatement” in a brief three word dispatch: “Bougainville, November 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, it rained!”
These torrential downpours handicapped operations
unimaginably. Everything bogged down. Men living
in sheer, wet misery.
2. During attack on enemy positions, some of our
light tanks, confused, attacked our own men.
3. Just when our men were about to jump off to the
attack, enemy artillery ranged in perfectly, opened
�up fire at virtually the exact minute of jump-off with
heavy accurate fire that inflicted the worst casualties
of the entire campaign up until that time.
4. Koiari Beach Raid. This place was about ten miles
south of our beachhead, seemed to be main communication center of the enemy and had a lot of supply
dumps established here with perhaps 900 men.
Same number of our men went on raid to wipe it
out. Went ashore in early dawn, but probably never
would have made it except that they were mistaken
by Japs for their own. They had been expecting
reinforcements. A Jap officer sauntered out of the
jungle, began conversation with the first man he
met, to their mutual astonishment and his “ultimate
mortification.” Their initial surprise over, the enemy
reacted violently. They had almost 2500 men in the
area. Our boys were penned in on the beach perimeter only 350 yards long and 1800 feet deep with the
sea at their backs. By noon it was obvious that attempt was doomed to failure and they would have to
get off. Japs killed first two attempts by mortar fire.
After dark invasion boats finally made it, got last
man off at 2100, with dead and, unhappily, some of
the wounded left behind.
Today the Hunter Liggett and the American Legion
ships from our transport division leave for home.
They steam slowly by us. We line our decks, they
line theirs, everybody waving. “Lucky birds, “ we
all remark. For ourselves, we say that our motto is
“Frisco in’48.” Both ships are badly in need of repairs; job will take about four months, then they will
come back to help us seize Rabaul [on New Guinea].
Saturday, November 20, 1943
0615 – Mass.
Today we take aboard the 8th Field Artillery veterans
of Guadalcanal and New Georgia. They are bound
for a vacation in New Zealand, which they have so
richly earned. With them is Fr. McGoldrick, their
Chaplain. Fr. McGowan, Navy, relieved at Tulagi,
also is a passenger bound for Noumea where he
will be stationed at the hospital.
Sunday, November 21, 1943
0600 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1000 – General Service.
One of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever
seen last night. Went ashore at Tulagi to pick up
Fr. McGowan’s typewriter which he forgot in his
packing haste. Tent on the crest of the hill overlooking the bay to the west down below; directly below,
Navy tents along a palm-fringed shore. Across the
bay, a chain of lovely mountains. Sun had set half an
hour before. Sun was reflecting its glory from beyond
the horizon. Palm fronds etched vividly against the
lavender skyline. Clouds of all formations like cathedrals with pinnacles and arches suffused with dark
lavender. Not a sound broke the tropical stillness. The
day’s work was ended, the men were sitting patiently
below on the level ground for the movie, “Here We
Go Again,” with Charlie McCarthy and Edgar Bergen
255
and Fibber McGee to begin. If an artist could have
caught the rich warmth of that lavender in the sky, its
reflection on the waters of Tulagi Bay, the dark purple
of the mountains and the black silhouettes of the
coconut trees, he would approach genius.
2:30 – Underway for Noumea with the Jackson,
256
Hays, Adams, Alhena and Titania and six escort
vessels. If we all go to New Zealand, it will be a
mighty invasion on their hospitality. Signalman on
sub on port side signals “Good Luck.” Must think
that since we are fully loaded, we are on our way to
another invasion.
Monday, November 22, 1943
0436 – General Quarters.
0600 – Mass.
255 The salt-of-the-earth couple “Fibber McGee” and “Molly”—stars of radio and vaudeville—were the featured players in this RKO comedy
(1942) about a man who believes, incorrectly, that his wife is in love with an old flame. Antics ensue.
256 All, like the Clymer, attack transport ships.
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�Once again we are up at the unearthly hour for
General Quarters, as we steam south in convoy
bound for Ed’s new home. Weather is still very
warm, but passengers have been out in these
parts for almost three years, some of them, so
they don’t mind it too much.
Forgot to mention that last Saturday the USS
McKean, APD, was lost. Attacked 20 miles away
from Empress Augusta Bay. With her went down
one-third of her passengers and crew, well over
100 men. Her squadron came in with their colors
dipped, one less than they went out. “We were
257
four, are now three.”
Tuesday, November 23, 1943
0416 – General Quarters. We’ll be up at midnight if this keeps up.
0600 – Mass.
Passengers are enjoying every moment of the trip.
They are veterans of two hard campaigns, Guadalcanal and Munda, New Georgia. Are regular Army
except for a handful of draftees. Outfit is the 25th
American Division. Like all the other outfits, they
have a low opinion of Americal; can afford it, not
258
knowing the hells those men went through.
Wednesday, November 24, 1943
No General Quarters.
0600 – Mass.
This noon we had our Thanksgiving Day dinner.
Today rather than tomorrow because men will be
very busy bringing the ship into port and then,
when we have dropped anchor, in collecting out
standing requisitions. No turkey, but very good
beef steak.
Thursday, November 25, 1943
0900 – I speak over the loud speaker on Thanksgiving Day and end with a prayer.
Once again, officers and men, we find ourselves
on board ship on Thanksgiving Day. Those who
were members of our ship’s company a year ago
will recall that on this day we were one thousand
miles out of Norfolk on our way back from Casablanca. Our passengers were survivors. A year
later we are steaming in convoy on another ocean
under the Southern Cross, making our way into
harbor. Our passengers now are veterans of
two hard campaigns against a savage and determined foe.
Looking back over the twelve months that have
gone by since last Thanksgiving, it is safe to say
that there isn’t one of us who wouldn’t agree that
we have much to be thankful for to Almighty
God. We made the 10,300 mile cruise without
mishap or incident. Month after month we have
operated in enemy submarine waters yet we have
never been the victim of a successful attack. We
have been bombed from the air and the bombs
have fallen wide of their mark. As last November
so also this, our ship participated in a major offensive action. Shortly after we returned to court danger and again we escaped unharmed while other
ships suffered hits on their second trip. For the
entire year’s operation our sum total of casualties
of the ship’s crew is two and those were of a minor
nature. Happily, both men are again on active duty
with us, none the worse for their wounds.
These facts are reviewed simply to show how fortunate we have been. Of us the words of Scripture
are eminently true: ‘The lines have fallen to us in
259
goodly places.
257 A destroyer, the McKean was sunk by airborne torpedoes, on November 17, 1943, in Empress Augusta Bay.
258 Composed shortly after December 7 of “orphaned” National Guard regiments from North Dakota, Illinois, and Massachusetts, the Americal Division—named for its first posting in New Caledonia—fought on Guadalcanal and in the Bougainville and Leyte campaigns, and then
took part in the occupation of Japan. It was later named the 23rd Infantry Division and was active, under the Americal name, in Vietnam.
259 Psalms, 16:6.
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�Our passengers also, as some of you have told
us personally, have abundant reason to be grateful to Almighty God. There were many occasions
when His Providence watched over you in your
operations. Each man alone knows their number.
We are glad, then, to have you join with us in our
prayer of Thanksgiving.
‘O Almighty and Everlasting God, You who stand
by to protect those who put their trust in you,
with a full heart we offer a prayer of thanksgiving
for the blessings visited upon our ship and upon
us, soldier and sailor, since last Thanksgiving
Day. For the future we ask you, through your Son,
Jesus Christ, true God and true Man, who stilled
the stormy sea, to keep watch upon our bridge, to
protect us windward and lee. Teach us to be generous and strong in serving you and our country
with courage. Teach us to give and not count the
cost, to fight and not heed the wounds, to labor
and ask for no reward save that of fulfilling your
Holy Will in all things, through Jesus Christ our
260
Lord. Amen.’
Go ashore at 1000 to dig up Ed who is at Hospital
#109 at St. Louis about 15 miles outside the city of
Noumea. He and I meet at 2 o’clock on the Navy
landing with Charlie Bushois, then out to the ship
where they spend the night after a good dinner and
261
a movie, The Road to Singapore.
Friday, November 26, 1943
0600 – Mass at which Ed attends. Unfortunately,
although Ed looks well, his looks belie his condition.
He has had a long and serious bout of malaria. It
finally emerged from its suppressive state when he
changed climates from hot and tropical to cool and
comfortable.
Saturday, November 27, 1943
0600 – Mass.
0700 – Underway for Auckland. With us in convoy are
the President ships, the Jackson, Adams and Hayes
and three KA’s — Libra, and two others whose names
262
escape me presently. The men who are our passengers find that the now beginning to cool a bit is
a decided change from what they have been used to
for the last 18 months. They are looking for blankets!
Blue sky, blue sea, blue ships, lovely contrasts.
Gorgeous sunset this evening. As sun slanted down
the sky about fifteen minutes before it set, it was
hidden from the eye in a cloud bank that stretched
straight across the sky. Between it and the horizon was
clear blue. This was gradually changed into pink, then
amber, then gold and then into a lovely lavender. Mr.
Racey and I stood on the flying bridge and marveled at
the masterpiece that God was painting in the sky.
Sunday, November 28, 1943
0615 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1000 –
General Service.
Passengers are eagerly asking questions about New
Zealand. Our men eagerly praise it very highly, both
the people and the country (and the food.)
One of our PhM’s [pharmacist mate], Roy, has a bad
case of rash still plaguing him. The rest of us have
had ours cleared by the change of climate. “What are
you taking to cure it?” I asked him. “Only one thing
will cure this, Father, and that is the hills of New
Hampshire.”
Monday, November 29, 1943
0600 – Mass.
260 The last sentence is an adaptation of St. Ignatitus’ “Prayer for Generosity.”
261 Musical comedy in which Bing Crosby and Bob Hope vie for the love of Dorothy Lamour. It was the first of what would be seven popular
“road films” featuring the three stars.
262 KA is an abbreviation of the acronym AKA, which designated an attack cargo ship.
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�Fr. McGoldrick enjoys every minute of the trip,
relaxing after his 18 months of combat with
this artillery outfit. He is from Los Angeles;
excellent priest.
Tuesday, November 30, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Men are very talkative in breakfast line. Have the
spark that sight of land always generates in everybody after some days at sea. Since half past five, we
have been passing land on our starboard side, the
headlands of New Zealand. They are as rugged looking as when we first saw them months ago. Strange
rock formation, the very first we saw, still standing
guard out in the water about three miles off shore. It
is an inverted U with its feet in the water forming an
arc, with one prong of the arc much thicker than the
other. Looks like the upper tooth of a giant that fell
out and stuck in the bottom of the ocean where it
fell. Only trouble is that it had a big cavity in it that
now lets us see daylight on the horizon.
3 wounded. We had those men from the Second
Marine Division aboard last June for maneuvers
at Paikakariki, north of Wellington. It was a mass
sacrifice on the part of the Marines; in fact, massacre of them. One correspondent counted 105 dead
Marines is a space of 20 yards, which is 60 feet or
263
that is two to a foot.
Thursday, December 2, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Dance beginning to assume some shape; all
arrangements practically completed.
Friday, December 3, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Dinner with Fr. Linehan at Telford Ave., Balmoral.
Dean Murphy is on retreat. Rectory is lovely, for it
is summer here.
Saturday, December 4, 1943
0600 – Mass.
We steam along the long 100 mile channel in single
file, four ships, the others having left us for Wellington. About two o’clock we sight the first houses on
the shore. Trim, neat, multi-colored. Overhear one
soldier say to another, “Say, doesn’t the sight of a real
house make you feel like a million dollars?”
We dock at 2 p.m., then down the gangway to
arrange for ship’s dance at the Metropole Ballroom.
Wednesday, December 1, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Statistics revised on the Marine casualties. At
Tarawa: 1026 killed; 2557 wounded. At Makin:
65 killed; 300 wounded. At Apemama: 1 killed;
Visit five other ships to inform them of Mass
aboard Clymer tomorrow.
Sunday, December 5, 1943
0630– Confessions aboard the Crescent City,
followed by 0700 Mass. Then back to the FFF for
0900 Mass, attended by many men from nearby
ships. Altar looked lovely with fresh flowers,
264
gladioli and jebras.
At 1230 out on a Mt. Roskill car to the end of the line
and then a four mile walk out to the crest of the hill,
on one side the Tasman Sea and on the other, the
Pacific. It was a beautiful summer day, corresponding
to about the third week of June back home.
263 Marine deaths on Tarawa are now counted at 1,009, and wounded at 2,101. These were incurred over the course of only 72 hours. The
Makin Island figures for the Marines are 51 dead and 14 wounded. Foley may have conflated Army and Marine wounded. The report
of Marine bodies tumbled together on beaches at Tarawa is borne out by photographs. Foley would have known many of the dead
and wounded.
264 A tropical sunflower.
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�Flowers in profusion on every side, luxurious beds
of pansies, geraniums, trellised roses, seven foot
high, sweet peas, Easter lilies. At the end of the car
line, concrete road led out onto section that finally
ended in wide open summer meadows with pine
trees bordering the road. Lovely summer afternoon.
Off in the distance a plane visible and faintly audible, so far away seems to be drifting lazily across the
sky. On my left a skylark is pouring forth its soul “in
265
profuse strains of unpremeditated art.” I cannot
see him overhead. In the distance the mountains fall
away, fold upon fold, and a green house in the distance catches the full brilliance of the sun and gives
it back a thousand fold.
Wednesday, December 8, 1943
The sharp, fresh green of early Spring is upon the
fields, contrasting with the dark green of the pines.
Along the road ride a young couple on a bicycle,
singing in harmony, “I’ll see you again,” beautifully
rendered. On the other side of the road, sheep are
grazing on the side of a hill and at the foot cows are
266
munching away.
Friday, December 10, 1943
One house I passed has the father of the family
playing with his two youngsters, about four and five
respectively. They climb up on his back and then
tumble off onto the lawn and shout their happiness
and laughter.
A rooster far away crows his tune with no echoing
reply. The summer wind is sighing in the pines. The
whole scene breathes of peace and happiness. I can’t
help thinking of the boys up north, pouring out the
red sweet wine of their youth on Bougainville and
those others who died in Tarawa recently.
Monday and Tuesday,
December 6 and 7, 1943
Dance at Metropole for ship’s complement.
Feast of Our Lady’s Immaculate Conception.
0630– Mass with confessions preceding.
Church parties from the Crescent City and the flagships alongside. Visited Fr. Linehan at Good Shepherd Church. Telford Avenue. Had dinner with him,
then visited the House of the Good Shepherd.
Thursday, December 9, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Tried to send mother flowers for Christmas but was told
that the practice had been discontinued by the bank.
0600 – Mass.
Ashore first to the Little Sisters of the Poor with a
case of Baby Ruth bars, then to the orphanage at
Northcote with another case for the boys there, and
then to the pastor of Northcote Church, Fr. Hunt,
with cigarettes for himself and Norine, his housekeeper. Visit with Fr. Hunt to one of his excellent parishioners, a florist. He tells me, “You will enjoy his
family. They are the salt of the earth.” We approach
the white farmhouse. “Hope he is in,” says Fr. Hunt.
No answer to our knock. “Perhaps he is out working
on his flowers.” We make our way around the back
of the house into a big cultivated garden, through
beds of flowers, some in blossom, others just seeded
in neat, trim rows. Down in the far corner of the
field, four figures, industriously working by hand a
horizontal screen back and forth, are sifting loam.
Wave of hand from Fr. Hunt is reciprocated by Geraldine, the gardener’s daughter, big girl with auburn
hair creeping out from under a boy’s cap. About
28 years old, ruddy-faced, with sparkling blue eyes,
contagious smile, wearing a faded blue sweater and
265 From Shelley’s “To a Skylark.”
266 “I’ll See You Again” is a melancholy waltz written in 1928 by Noel Coward. One of his most popular songs, it’s been recorded by pop,
opera, jazz and rock performers. The lyrics Foley heard sung on the road to Auckland’s Mt. Roskill might have included “I’ll see you
again / Whenever spring breaks through again / Time may lie heavy between / but what has been / Can leave me never.”
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�five gifts, three foot statue of St. Patrick, lovely lace
alb, pen and pencil desk set, a clock made of kawhri
wood, with three kiwis perched on top, and an order
for $25 worth of photographs. Grateful to the men;
tell them I hope that I will prove worthy of the spirit
267
behind the gifts.
trousers, dusty face, streaked with lines of honest
sweat, strong hands, barefooted, beautiful face even
beneath the grime, completely unconscious of it.
Would make a debutante jealous of her beauty. Will
make a fine wife for some lucky man. Introductions,
“Happy to meet the visitor from overseas.” “Where’s
your dad?” “Just a moment, Father, think he is in the
greenhouse.” We make our way to it. “Dad?” “Hello.”
“Have a surprise for you.” He comes around a corner
of the greenhouse, is about 68, stoop-shouldered,
originally from Alsace-Lorraine. Lived on a farm
all his life. Bowed graciously as he shook hands.
“Honored, indeed, to have as my guest an American
Priest.” All the old-world courtesy is in his voice and
movements. “Sit down, please, Fathers, and have
some of my home made cider.” We sip it seated in
his greenhouse without any panes of glass. “Too
expensive, Father, these days.”
In the afternoon went to the zoo with Fr. Minton,
then had dinner with him at Albert’s and later we
ended the day with a visit to the Christian Brothers
College. We parted and he boarded the Rixey for
transportation to Lunga Point.
Son, about thirty, comes in, just released from the
Army. Strapping man with complete absence of
pretense, just like his sister. What a contrast
between them and the Back Bay [Boston] couple
wasting their time and their youth in overheated
night clubs, getting their pictures in the papers,
as they nurse their fifth cocktail or lead their Afghanistan hound on a leash down Commonwealth
Avenue. Over to the city again to see Mrs. Keenan,
70 Richardson, to tell her about her daughter,
Sister Geraldine at Latoka, Fiji.
As we stand topside, one of the men, Abe DiBacco,
informs me that yesterday during Mass, there
were three Sisters on the ferry that was standing in
its slip during the Mass. The ferry like all the others
was jam packed with folks on their way to the beaches to spend a lovely summer day. When the blessing
came at the end of the Mass, the three Sisters stood
268
up and received Our Lord’s blessing a longinquo.
Saturday, December 11, 1943
0600 – Mass.
One of the men still missing since last Monday
night, J. W. Castle, BM1c.
Sunday, December 12, 1943
0900– Mass with Church parties present from other
ships. After the Mass, word passed down, “All hands
not on watch report to the Boat Deck Forward.”
There Grymen delivers a speech, presents me with
Monday, December 13, 1943
0600 – Mass.
0800 – Underway. Ferries crowded with people going to work are crossing the harbor as we shove off,
a beautiful sight with our long lines and our fresh
coat of paint.
Funeral of Castle, BM1c, today at 1300 ashore. Yesterday viewed the body and said some prayers over it
at Morrison’s Funeral Parlor, Parneel St., Auckland.
Since the body had been in the water of the harbor
since last Monday night, Castle was completely unrecognizable. Body decomposing after week in water.
Happened when drunk; fell overboard?
Steam out of Auckland Channel without escort.
Tuesday, December 14, 1943
0600 – Mass.
267 Native to the North Island, Kauri’s are New Zealand’s largest and longest-living trees, analogous to the California Redwood.
268 Longinquo: Latin for at a distance.
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�Underway on this beautiful day when we hate to
leave the city and its hospitable people. Christmas
with them would have been delightful; had three
invitations to spend the day with different people,
however we have grim business up north with Tojo.
side of these shore mountains are a deep dark green,
lovely contrast in this world of contrasts.
Steam in slowly to our berth and are greeted by the
natives shouting “Boula,” their native hello greeting. Immediately we start taking aboard cargo of the
164th Infantry Regiment, outfit which distinguished
itself on Guadalcanal last year.
With us are the Crescent City, the Libra, and the
Fuller. Rixey brings up the stern; aboard her are
Paul Goode, B.C. ’32 and Galvin, also B.C. She
leaves us when we turn to the headlands of New
Zealand, about 100 miles north of Auckland. Once
again we are on our own. One of the flag officers
informs me that when we were coming in here,
we altered our course on receipt of the word that
269
a Jap sub was directly athwart our path.
Meet Fr. Flaherty in town; we dine together aboard.
Later meet him and Fr. Tracy and the three of us
have dinner in the evening at the Sisters’ convent.
Bring Sisters two crates of oranges and two hams
to help replenish their larder. Also say hello to
Fr. Dooley out at the hospital in Sanamboula.
Wednesday, December 15, 1943
Saturday, December 18, 1943
0600 – Mass.
0600 – Mass.
Am packing the clock the men gave me last
Sunday, hoping and praying my mother receives
it unharmed. Send it fourth class, cost $2.80.
Wonder when she will receive it.
Ashore to wander around the town for a couple of
hours, absorbing local color. Go out to a Mr. Turner’s
half-caste, [who was] recommended by Red Cross for
purchase of flowers. I buy gorgeous golden roses and
pink baby roses, and deep rich crimson, and Pentheus,
a big blossom of red, and a flower that resembles Sweet
William, lavender and white colored blossoms, two
bouquets of them for $.50! Half a crown in his money.
Natives throng the streets as they did on our first trip,
big outsized heads of hair, half-castes, Europeans, Indians, child-mothers. All nations under the sun and our
American soldiers in their khakis; quite a mélange.
Send cables home for Christmas for the men, about
180 of them.
Thursday, December 16, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Uneventful trip so far; have plane coverage now as
we near the Fiji Islands.
Friday, December 17, 1943
0600 – Mass.
A year ago today we left Norfolk to start our 10,300 mile
trip out here. It has been an eventful year, but none of
us is any the worse for the wear, thank God. We have
much to be thankful for to Almighty God.
We are approaching Suva, as lovely as ever in the early
morning. The hour is six o’clock. The town seems to be
still asleep from ten miles out as I train the long glass
upon it. On our port side, the sun has hit the mountains
behind the shoreline mountains, and they present a
vivid washed green color under its rays, while the near
Sunday, December 19, 1943
0615– Mass. 0900– Mass. 1000– Protestant
Worship, Chaplain Byrd.
1500 – Rosary
and Benediction.
Lovely morning for Mass topside. We heave up anchor at 1130. Lovely Suva fades gradually out of view.
Red merges into the white and the green into the
blue of the sky as we head out to sea.
269 The USS Rixey, a former ocean liner that could accommodate 1,000 passengers, served as a floating hospital or “casualty evacuation” ship.
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�Train long glass on the Church and the school and
the convent. Sisters said that they always know
when we arrive and leave. Notice that one of them is
at the third window from the front. Convent on high
ground gives them a commanding view of the sea
and the approach to Suva. We have the blessing of
their prayers as we make our way north again. Their
holy prayers will keep us safe, we are sure.
4:00 – Topside; green dumplings of islands on our
starboard side as we head to sea again with the
Crescent City, the Fuller and three escorts. Bright,
shining expanse of the waters around us, blue sky
overhead, white combers breaking over the coral reefs in
the distance on our port side. Scenery made in heaven.
Music on the foc’sle by the 164th Infantry Band; one
trumpet, one sax, two mandolins, one violin, accordion
and the piano. Fine group of boys. Everybody enjoys
their songs and their solos. They are good.
Monday, December 20, 1943
Each one of these days starts as usual with Mass excellently attended by these boys. They are a splendid group.
A sub scare today. One of the escort vessels drops
half a dozen ash cans sending shafts of water high
to the heavens. Soldiers cluster on the weather decks,
a subdued group as they watch the destroyer stalk
back and forth over the area in which she picked up
Tojo’s undersea craft.
Tuesday, December 21, 1943
0600 – Mass. At table we have music furnished by
Sid Feldstein of 15 Michigan Avenue, Dorchester.
They are an excellent outfit with an accordion, a
trumpet, violin, bass viol and piano.
3:30 p.m. – Sub contact; shafts of water mount to the
skies suddenly as one of the vessels drops her ash
cans on the marauder of the deep.
At dinner, soloist Bucky Connors sings in the wardroom. Among other songs, “When the lights go on
again all over the world.” When he finishes, notice
many of the officers, Army and Navy, blinking back
270
the tears.
Thursday, December 23, 1943
Make arrangements with Chaplain Byrd for services
tomorrow for the Protestants.
Friday, December 24, 1943
0500 – General Quarters. Dangerous waters again.
Late yesterday we hit Guadalcanal and then lifted
the anchor sometime during the night.
We have left behind the “four pipers,” old World War
I destroyers and taken on the new destroyers for
271
our escorts. Now we are ready for the men of Tojo
as we start to go up the slot once again to Empress
Augusta Bay, Bougainville. May the Lord be with us
as He has been in the past.
Gore makes me laugh. A mess attendant, he informs
me that his father is a blacksmith back home. When I
asked him why he didn’t follow in his father’s footsteps, he replied, “Ain’t no mule gonna kick me.”
1000 – Protestant
Church Service.
Day is rainy one, with squalls intermittent.
Slide down the Russell Islands where Elizabeth
Brennan’s brother died. RIP.
Wednesday, December 23, 1943
0600 – Mass.
270 A soulful 1942 hit record for baritone big-band singer Vaughan Monroe, the song concludes “When the lights go on again all over the world
/ And the boys are home again all over the world / And rain or snow is all that may fall from the skies above / A kiss won’t mean Goodbye
but Hello to love.
271 Replaced by newer battleships as the war went on, the “four pipers” were named for the distinctive outline of their four smokestacks.
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�Hearing confessions afternoon and evening in preparation for tomorrow. This is an excellent Catholic
272
outfit, the 164th Infantry.
Saturday, December 25, 1943
Christmas Day.
0300 – I get up and rig the altar in the Mess Hall.
No lights topside prevents me from having it under
the stars.
0350 – Mass with the organ Fr. Flaherty gave me at
Suva, being used for the first time by soloist, Bucky
Connors, one of the soldiers. Hot, sticky and sweaty
in the Mess Hall with the entire ship buttoned up,
but men are close to Our Lord.
Setting is stark in its simplicity, but it helps us to recapture the spirit of the first Christmas very easily. Right
after Mass they go to breakfast, preparatory to going
over the side to face the enemy before the day is out.
Immediately following the first Mass, I celebrate
the second in the Library. Then, after thanksgiving,
topside, still dark. Men are at their battle stations
with helmets and guns all ready for firing. Streaks of
light, faint in the east behind the long black ridge of
mountains. We are now in single file, with destroyers still deployed on scout patrol on either side of us.
0620 – Sunrise; a very weak yellow sun trying
honestly but fruitlessly to break through the clouds.
A heavy black cloud crossed the horizon a short
while ago and emptied its wet cargo. Now the sky is
washed white in the east and the sun’s light is white
also. Still it makes the trees on an island between it
and us stand out like matches. Soon the clouds ride
into another tropical shower.
0655 – Two squads of Hellcats, one six and the other
273
seven, are overhead.
0710 – Sky cleared of all the storm clouds and we recognize familiar territory on our starboard side. Background of the mountains and the volcano with a cloud
wrapped around its head like a scarf in the wind, as
before, streaming south for about ¼ mile. See the
airport and gasp with astonishment. It is crammed
with planes. Where six weeks ago our dive bombers
were pounding, it is now a smooth strip with planes
roaring off at a dizzy pace.
0725 – Lower all boats is the order from the bridge.
They head in after debarking the men over the side to
the beach with none of the tenseness that filled them
on November 1st when the enemy was waiting on the
shore. Day follows routine of all unloading operations.
These boys we put to shore will be in the lines before 24 hours are out. Aboard come the men we put
ashore on November 1st. They are a tired, dirty lot,
with sleep-less nights taking their strength and their
weight. Many of them wounded and bloodstained.
Most of them just barely make the nets on the way up.
I spy Fr. [Alfred] Kamler and his mate, Chaplain Duplessy from Stoughton, Mass. We have a great reunion.
Unlike our first days here, we have no bombings from
Tojo. We have air control here– definitely. All the
Marines are loud in their praise of the CB’s. They
built an airstrip in 19 days with the worst conditions
confronting them. Either the elements or the Japs
opposed them unceasingly at first. But, “If it is impossible, we do it.” They live up to their motto.
No dinner, just sandwiches. Christmas dinner next
Tuesday. At 4:00 p.m. we are underway again without
any casualties, thank God.
6:00 p.m. – Mass in the shop area with about 300
Marines present and some of my sailors. They raised
the roof with their singing of the Christmas carols.
“Bougainville and Vigor,” Father Kamler called it.
272 Foley was with the 164th Infantry Regiment—a North Dakota National Guard group—from his first days at Guadalcanal to the
Bougainville Campaign. He praises the unit several times.
273 The Grumman F6F Hellcat was a carrier based fighter plane introduced during the second year of the war and widely used in the Pacific
Theater, where, unlike its predecessors, it competed well with the Japanese Zero.
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�Sunday, December 26, 1943
Tuesday, December 28, 1943
0600 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1000 – Protestant Service.
0600 – Mass.
1500 – Rosary
Quiet ship again with only ourselves aboard. Press
release says today the Marines have made two more
landings on New Britain, really beginning to close
in on the Japs in Rabaul; will further make untenable the plight of the Japs on Bougainville and speed
276
their evacuation.
and Benediction.
Quiet day with everybody relaxing after the work
of yesterday.
Monday, December 27, 1943
0600 – Mass.
The Marines leave us this morning for we have arrived
at their destination, the Canal [Guadalcanal]. They are a
tired group; would much prefer to be going on to New
Zealand or some other place than the Canal.
Two memories stand out in my mind most vividly
of this trip besides the one mentioned of the Christmas Masses. 1. The airfield with the fighter planes
stacked like peas in a pod. 2. The same fighter
planes dive bombing a hill about three miles back
of the strip. They swooped in and down and then
soared up again after dropping their black messages
of death. Two attempts had been made before to
take this hill, both ineffectual. Now after the dive
bombing another attempt will be made. Hope that
the boys succeed this third time and so lose no more
men. Plan seems to be not to attack beyond this
beachhead, to force the Japs to evacuate their men
who are south of this point as they did at
274
Kolombangara.
We are underway again tonight at 6 o’clock for Nandi, Fiji, to pick up another Army outfit for service in
275
Bougainville.
Wednesday, December 29, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Days are hot; sea is smooth as a millpond today. Men
are chipping rust and re-leading the decks. Lost some
good men on Monday by transfers to other ships.
Received some in turn from them. They are beginning to find their way around.
Thursday, December 30, 1943
0600 – Mass.
Quiet routine day at sea, which is so smooth that
there isn’t a ripple on the surface. Only indication
of movement is the breakers being thrown back by
our prow.
Friday, December 31, 1943
0600 – Mass.
We will see the old year out here about six miles
south of Latoka where we have been before. Drop
the anchor in the afternoon; start to load the 132nd
Infantry Regiment who are slated for Bougainville.
That means we go north again.
274 One of the Solomon Islands, and the site of a Naval battle 14 days earlier.
275 The Bougainville Campaign, which had an immediate goal of placing an airfield closer to Japanese headquarters in the South Pacific,
began on November 1, 1943. Fought in two stages, it would not conclude until August 21 1945, fifteen days after the atomic bomb was
dropped on Hiroshima and six days after the Japanese surrender was announced.
276 Rabaul was a port on the island of New Britain in the then-Australian territory of Papua New Guinea. The Japanese seized it early in the
war and made it a major garrison. As with Bougainville, and in accordance with an American strategy of “cartwheeling” through the
South Pacific toward Japan and leaving behind isolated, if still potent, Japanese forces, Rabaul did not come under the full control of the
Allies until the end of the war.
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�Confessions this evening in preparation for the holy
day tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 4, 1944
Saturday, January 1, 1944
Steaming north on convoy with four other ships of
which we are the flag. Our new Commodore is our
ex-Captain Talbot, a distinct loss to our ship. He is
succeeded by Captain Farrar who has a tremendous
277
pair of shoes to fill. Talbot was 4.0 in everything.
New Year’s Day
0600 – Mass. 0900 – Mass, with many Church
parties from the surrounding ships. To the convent
about noon with a turkey, two hams and some
oranges. Not having met for six months, we are
glad to see each other again.
Sunday, January 2, 1944
0600 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 2:00 p.m. – Rosary and
Benediction, then to the Libra and Fomalhault for
confessions.
5:30 p.m. – Confessions on board the Clymer again,
followed by movies at 7:30 p.m.
Day is lovely one, hot as the hottest day back home.
Bright sun in blue sky flecked with clouds; on the
shore a mile away, green clad mountains with a
crest of white clouds.
I heard confessions on the fantail of the Fomalhault
directly alongside their six-inch guns. Lovely panorama
as I looked into shore, blue water, yellow beach, green
clad mountains, white-tipped combers breaking over the
coral reef in rainbow sprays, all of this bathed in golden
sunlight with an occasional lazy cloud drifting across
the sky. Off in the distance could be heard the drone of
a lone seaplane returning from a long patrol at sea. The
afternoon was ominously peaceful.
Monday, January 3, 1944
0600– Mass.
Underway at 1 p.m. for Guadalcanal again with the
132nd Infantry Regiment.
Excellent attendance at Mass. Confessions at night
at 7 p.m.
0600 – Mass.
Day is a blustery one, hot and sticky as usual in this
land where it is always summer. Word comes in that
a patrol plane out of Fiji scouting for submarines
has failed to return to her base. We make one of our
intentions at Rosary this afternoon that the men will
be picked up before they starve to death.
Wednesday, January 5, 1944
0600 – Mass.
New Captain believes in far more drills than the other. He seems to be regulation also, for orders have
been issued about uniforms, jackets, etc. All will be
well, provided he is generous to the men with liberty
when we hit a New Zealand port. He stands or falls
there with the men. They will slave for him if he is
considerate of their desires in a liberty port.
Rosary this afternoon as usual with about 175
men present.
Thursday, January 6, 1944
Feast of the Epiphany.
0600 – Mass. About 200 Communions.
Today two more men of the ship’s company
approach me for instructions in the faith.
Friday, January 7, 1944
We continue to slide through the slot with no air
opposition as yet. Weather fortunately is foul; heavy
driving rains with low clouds, poor flying weather.
277 Captain Murvale Talcott Farrar (1902–1974) was a 1923 Annapolis graduate. He commanded the Clymer from January 1, 1944 to
September 5, 1944.
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�Bless the Russell Islands where Ed Brennan is
buried, as we steam by them.
from Syracuse.” “Hello, Father. Syracuse is a great
place, suburb of Boston.”
Saturday, January 8, 1944
Letter to my sister Kay informing her of the
happenings of the day.
0600 – Mass.
Confessions tonight as usual with big business
tomorrow; will be the last chance for some of the
men to go to Holy Communion. As usual, I am
writing letters to their folks informing them of
the fact of Confession.
Sunday, January 9, 1944
0345 – The bugler sounds Reveille, “You got to get
up, etc.” Ten minutes later, 0355, Mass starts on the
starboard side of the mess hall while the men begin
breakfast on the port side. I praise the men who are
about to leave us for their splendid attendance at
daily Mass and Rosary and promise them a remembrance in my Mass that God will be with them now,
when they will need Him most, for they are where
we were on November 1st, wherever that is.
(Bougainville)
0500 – Breakfast, after which I sandwich in a half
hour sleep before we all take our battle stations. I
slip out topside and watch an old maneuver now for
us, men going down over the side, this time none of
the tenseness we have known on other occasions.
0700 – I read the Office for a while, then go topside,
look out at all the big ducks with their ducklings
around them, scooting here and there, apparently
without rhythm or reason, yet all following a definite
plan. Oh’s and Ah’s on all sides on the flying bridge
up next to the stars as our planes, dozens of them,
form an umbrella over us that is constantly changing shape but is always over us.
0745 – A stranger with a cross approaches me,
“Fr. Foley?” “That’s right.” ”Fr. McNeil is my name;
Well, Kay, he was sorely in need of a priest to offer
Mass ashore, so in about fifteen minutes I was on
my way down the net with my kit having preceded
me and Fr. McNeil had his shirt stuffed with two
boxes of cigars rustled up for him. In we bounded,
braced ourselves as the boat hit the beach, then
to his tent, meeting some Captain on the way. In
about ten minutes we were ripping along the road.
Yes, that’s right; the road had been a marsh but
the CB’s do the impossible. A sharp right turn, the
ocean on our left, just ten yards away; on our right
an airstrip and at the end of the mile run, a little
cemetery bordered with coconut trees. A makeshift
altar rested against a coconut tree for it slanted
right in on me very graciously. It wasn’t a thing
of beauty for we had just punished it and those
around it on November 1. It was just a long stem
with no head of fronds waving in the breeze. Can
you picture the setting, Kay, the bluest of blue water
is boiling in, in mile long breakers just about 30
yards on my left as I begin the Mass? On my right,
just ten yards away, planes are intermittently taking
off, not on any picnic either. Under my feet is sand;
three feet away on the Epistle and Gospel sides are
the first graves. My congregation that numbered
fifteen when I started is fifty when I turn around to
read the Gospel.
Shining down on the whole scene is the hot sun
from a cloudless sky. I start to preach a few words
on the Gospel despite the competition. As I casually look around the congregation, I am distracted
by the face of a boy whom I spot immediately as
Terry Geoghegan, who graduated from B.C. year
278
before last. He is disguised behind sun glasses
278 Terrence J. Geoghegan was a Navy ensign and a 1942 graduate of Boston College who studied physics and played on two of most
successful football teams in the school’s history. Following training at Harvard he became a mobile radar operator in the Pacific Theater.
An engineer and business executive, he died in 2006 at age 85.
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�but I still know him. I am just winding up the
talk when there is a roar on my left as a plane
takes off into the morning sky. I pause for I know
when I am licked; let her roar down the strip and
soar up and then I close.
Mass over, Terry comes up and half a dozen other
young fellows and a priest with Fr. McNeil. The
only boy you know is Bud Hines from Brookline.
We had a grand reunion; said his mother was
pleased beyond words at your last call and the letter. When you call this time, Kay, tell her that Bud
looked marvelously well, although I accused him
of wearing a disguise. He had a beautiful handlebar moustache that blossomed red. The priest
was none other than Fr. Brock, none the worse
for the wear since I last saw him. I unrigged my
altar, piled into his jeep with Terry and out we
bounced in one of our boats to our ship. Up the
side like three bugs, over the rail, up to my room,
where they sat down to two cups of ice cream and
a glass of coke.
While they feasted on what they thought “they
would never see again,” I rustled up a sheep,
two hams, four boxes of cigars, five boxes of Oh
Henry’s, etc. Then I told them to get off the ship in
a hurry unless they wanted to take a trip for which
they had made no provisions with their commanding officers. So over the rail and down the side they
slid again and were on their way with the duffle
they picked up. Our visit was short and sweet on
both ends. Well, about this time it was high noon
so I snagged a couple of sandwiches, for you see,
we eat on the fly on days like this. Said goodbye to
the last of the men leaving us and then snatched
40 winks. The afternoon was taken up with the account of the exploits of the men we had put ashore
on November 1st somewhere out here; you guess
where. A session with the Office, then at 6:00 p.m.
my third Mass with about 150 boys fresh from the
shore and happy to be moving away. There they
were boys on October 31st. Now every one of them
is a man. Since it is still the Christmas season, they
sang the Christmas hymns, as on Christmas Day
so also today these boys raised the roof. How Our
Lord must have been pleased with their songs.
7:00 p.m. – Have a good fat steak and potatoes
and asparagus, the regular meal saved for me by
the cook. 7:30 p.m. – Confessions for these boys
just aboard until nine o’clock. A coke bought on
the way up to my room and here I am finishing
this letter to you at 10:30 p.m. – Are you tired? If
you aren’t, you should be because I am, as this
abominable typing indicates. It has progressively
gotten worse, and SO, SO, SO, as Ed Wynn used
to say, I am going to say my prayers, thanking
Our Lord and Our Lady for letting me do another
day’s work for them, and then fall asleep. You
have good reason for thinking that I typed this
279
with one eye shut.
Other features to be added, thrilling sight of bombers
flying in close packed formation and fighter escorts
above and below and alongside of them both port
and starboard; I count 74 of them as they roar north
to Rabaul. They are all heavily loaded with bombs
for their job. They return overhead at 3:30 p.m.,
51 of them. May those boys rest in peace who came
hurtling through the skies to their deaths or to
something worse than death.
A few days ago these bombers went north, our Liberators, with a heavy escort of fighters, and met no opposition. Then, two days later, went north again without
an escort. Apparently no need for it. Then, in the
meantime, about 150 fighters had been rushed down
from the Dutch East Indies by the Japs. The score was
16 Liberators shot out of the skies. Jap losses were
undetermined, but not nearly as heavy as ours. Bad
mistake in judgment on somebody’s part. Tragedy is
that mistakes by Brass Hats are paid for in lives.
279 Ed Wynn (1886–1966) was a popular comedian and actor, whose exit line, which Foley pastiches here, was “Be back in a flash with
more trash.”
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�Captain Jack Delahanty of the Marines comes
aboard to be moved south, apparently in excellent
health. A brave man, was put ashore in a rubber boat
with five Fijian scouts at Empress Augusta Bay, five
days before D-Day, November first, from a submarine. Scouted Jap’s position and strength. Met 150
natives, saw crucifix, medal of Our Lady around his
neck; “Catholique, Catholique,” they exclaimed with
joy. Every one of them knelt before him, kissed his
hands, thought he was a priest, tears of joy in their
eyes. He said he couldn’t let them down, gave them
all an Irish blessing. Knew he was safe in their hands
then. Had been touch and go, said his Rosary for five
intentions. 1 – Thank You for protecting me. 2 – To
St. Joseph for the grace of a happy death. 3 – Souls in
Purgatory. 4 – Men dying now. 5 – Mother’s intentions.
280
Recited the “Memorare” at night,
“Remember, O Most Gracious,” very slowly, “never,” etc.
Back on Guadalcanal Lt. Kelliher was saying the
Rosary for him every night. Splendid fellow. Day
before attack, moved the natives two miles so they
wouldn’t be massacred by the bombardment that
we would make.
Monday, January 10, 1944
0600 – Mass. Marines present who had done the
fighting on Bougainville since November, fine group
of Catholic lads among them. Day is lovely restful
one after the hectic moments yesterday. Mass in
the morning, Rosary in the afternoon, Confessions
at night.
This evening Captain Jack Delahanty and I have
a toast together. Then we go out on the boat deck
forward when we hear planes overhead. We are anchored again about a mile off Teteri, Guadalcanal.
Night is a cloudy one, with occasional raindrops falling. Moon is making a brave effort to break through
but just can’t. Over on the shore, tremendously powerful searchlights flash on and off down the runway
for the Liberators taking off into the night. They roar
over our heads, their running lights on. As they go
by, I bless each one of the eight, asking God to bring
them back safe. They douse their lights in a couple
of minutes, soon are swallowed up in the darkness
of the night and are away on their long distance
bombing mission.
Many a prayer is being said for the ten boys in each
plane by mothers, wives, sisters and sweethearts
back home that God’s blessing will also be with
them every mile of the way. There is something melancholy about the whole setting and the atmosphere
as we stand out on the deck and watch them disappear into the night. Young men, in love with life, to
whom killing is alien, bound for a mission whose
sole purpose is to wreak death and destruction on an
implacable foe. They are gone and the silence of the
tropical night wraps everything again. We are alone
with our thoughts.
I think of what Terry Geoghegan told me at Torokina [an Allied airport on Bougainville]. One of these
bombers couldn’t make her base, she was riddled by
anti-aircraft over Rabaul, struggled back to Torokina,
made a belly landing, pilot and co-pilot dead; gunner
brought her in.
Tuesday, January 11, 1944
0600 – Mass.
We are hidden away from sight of friend and enemy
here in this anchorage that used to harbor enemy
craft a short 18 months ago. We are in the midst of
the rainy season. Small mountains rise up on every
side of us. Rain spills out of the clouds, then shuts
off after ten minutes or so and steam rises from
the earth. Everything is hot, soggy and steamy here.
Sun burns even from behind the clouds. Rash starts
to pester us again. Need another trip to cure us.
Advantage of hideout is also a handicap, cuts off all
air, no breeze, just motionless surface of water and
warm air.
280 A modern version of “Memorare,” a Marian prayer dating to the 15th century,
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�Wednesday, January 12, 1944
0600 – Mass.
Movies tonight as usual.
Sunday, January 16, 1944
Today we take aboard about 200 members of Standard Landing Craft Unit #16. These boys will form
Boat Pool 3-12 at our next landing point on enemy
held territory. We expect another invasion about
March first, either one of the small islands to the
north or New Ireland itself.
0600 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1600 – Mass aboard the
USS St. Louis, cruiser, anchored like us in Purvis
Bay. Sixteen destroyers here, about four AK’s, four
merchant ships, one repair and four oil tankers;
tremendous concentration of shipping. This is our
Advanced Naval Base.
Presently the Japs are south of us on the Shortland,
where one of our task forces bombarded them last
Saturday night as we were steaming in at 11:00.
How about their airfields, Ballale, Buin, Faisie,
Kahili and Kieta still in their hands? Still doing
some damage but not what they used to, thank God.
St. Louis had her bow shot off in the battle of Kula
Gulf last July. Same happened to cruisers Honolulu
and the Leander, a NZ cruiser. Caught her torpedo
amidships and had 29 men killed. Honolulu has
a queer camouflage job, blue gray paint like ours
with black in between two shades of it. Huge sevenshaped daubs of it that run from the waterline right
up to the turrets. Captain is an individualist who
282
likes a paint job that is Daliesque in design.
Thursday, January 13, 1944
0600 – Mass.
Every night the crew has movies and
enjoys them.
Friday, January 14, 1944
0600– Mass.
Still swinging around the buoy here in Purvis Bay [off
Florida Island] with the men practicing boat, division,
flotilla and group maneuvers. We should go out before
long for AA drill. Report has it that plane attacks on
ships at Gilbert Island were severe and prolonged. May
be the same at our next attack point, New Ireland???
Happy surprise this afternoon. Tom Quinn B.C. ’39
shows up again from the USS Titania; write to his
281
mother to tell her that he is well and happy.
Saturday, January 15, 1944
0600 – Mass.
Excellent group aboard the St. Louis for Mass.
They listen attentively while I tell them the story of
Cana and speak of devotion to Our Lady. Mass was offered in the Mess Hall since both of her planes were
stacked in the hangar below, the norm for Mass.
Monday, January 17, 1944
0630– Mass.
Today is the same as all the other days we have
experienced here, intermittent rain showers all
day long. One result is that when we try to have
movies topside, the rain drives us below. Sudden
rain squalls that blot everything from view; when
it blows over, hot steam rises from the earth,
forming thick white clouds.
Alongside the water’s edge are camped half a dozen
anti-aircraft units, utterly cut off from civilization.
281 Quinn also appears in entries for November 17, 1943 and January 25 1944.
282 The Honolulu was struck by enemy bomb or torpedo three times during the war: once at Pearl Harbor, once in the battle that Foley references, and then again during the Battle of Leyte, in October 1944. The distinctive paint scheme that Foley references consisted of three
sets of steps, one black and two in shades of grey, running from below the water line on the bow up to the midship superstructure. The
design appears to have been applied when the Honolulu was repaired after Pearl Harbor. Foley’s entry here and under January 30, 1944
would indicate that captains determined how their ships would be painted.
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�Day in and day out nothing but the gray monotony
of what must seem to them a purposeless existence.
I go topside up to the flying bridge deck between
starboard and port batteries, just aft of smokestack
and can look down on five other batteries aft.
Tuesday, June 18, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Today the ultimate in contrasts of shipping. A native
canoe, without any outboard rigger, filled with three
Solomon Islanders, paddled by us, an 18,000 ton
modern 20th century steamship.
Wednesday, January 19 to Saturday,
January 22, 1944.
Still anchored at Purvis Bay.
Sunday, January 23, 1944
0630 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1000 – General Service.
We lifted anchor this morning at 0700 so I had to
cancel arrangements to offer the Holy Sacrifice on
the USS St. Louis and the USS Honolulu, two cruisers that have anchored here for some time.
Sleeve comes into view, guns start to chatter, flame
spurts angrily from mouth of guns at canvas sleeve,
black blossoms fill the summer air from the three-inch
guns, tracers make a line of red fire as they head into
the target. Air is filled with acrid smell of cordite from
three-inch guns. Tom Quinn comes aboard at 5:30 and
informs me that he is going back to the States.
Wednesday, January 26, 1944
Mr. McRae, Communications Officer Cmdr. of
Mobile, Alabama, informs me that tomorrow he
leaves to report to his new ship in Boston after, he
hopes, 30 days leave. Day is another one of antiaircraft firing practice for the men on all the guns,
all the ships taking part in it, as well as practice on
surfaced submarines with five-inch and three-inch
guns. USS Libra knocks sleeve down on first shot.
Thursday, January 27, 1944
Out we go to the Iron Bottom Bay for fleet maneuvers
with the other five ships in our transport division. We
zig and we zag, we have emergency turns, we run full
steam astern to avoid imaginary collisions, we execute
evasive actions to avoid bombers, imaginary, coming
in on us at all angles and so Sunday passes.
Monday, January 24, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Dry runs today on imaginary attacking planes. All
ships “fire” as planes come in on us. Is wearisome
for the men; they like to fire live ammunition.
Tuesday, January 25, 1944
Fleet maneuvers as usual today. At 1:30 p.m. live ammunition runs, sleeve being towed by a plane. Lasts
two hours, during which three sleeves are shot down
by our five ships steaming in Indian file.
283 Lavery was an award-winning playwright and screenwriter.
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0630 – Mass for Mrs. Townsend who died a year
ago today, mother of Mr. Townsend, Electrician’s
Warrant Officer.
Again fleet maneuvers and firing practice. This afternoon our men knock down the sleeve towed by the
plane on the first burst; cheer from the men topside.
Read article today in an issue of Commonweal, in
which Emmet Lavery stated that man was part hero
and part heel, he had one foot in the mud and the
other in the stars; in other words, he was a being
283
made up of two elements, body and soul.
Friday, January 28, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Fleet maneuvers again today. In the afternoon invasion of Malita shore by all boats in the task force.
�Read in a book today that swearing is made up of
emotional expressions of inarticulate people with
284
small vocabularies. “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn”.
Saturday, January 29, 1944
0300 – Reveille for pre-dawn invasion. Last day
grand dress rehearsal goes off very smoothly without
a single casualty. But in the real thing, how many?
Sunday, January 30, 1944
0630 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1000 – General Service.
We are underway at 6 o’clock so I had to forego my intention of having Mass aboard two other ships this morning.
Out we venture with our escorts leading the way.
Day is a lovely one as usual with blue sky overhead,
blue water under our keel, ships on both sides of
us; a newcomer, the USS Rochambeau, a straight
transport running between here and the States. She
presents a striking contrast with the other grayish
blues of the ships for she is many-hued. The skipper
must be a rugged individualist.
Off in the distance is a long island that has tier upon
tier of mountains rising up from it. Then tier upon tier
of cottony clouds, like Alps themselves, rise over the
land mountains and over all the blue canopy of God’s
sky. How He scatters beauty with a lavish hand.
Monday, January 31, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Sgt. Snyder, Marine attached to the ship, informs
me, when we are speaking about the firing practice
of last week, that he was frightened almost beyond
endurance. Once when we were being bombed and
his station was on the 5” gun aft, the first bomb just
missed the stern. His first inclination was to run for
protection. But he mastered the desire and stood his
ground the same as the rest of the men.
Tuesday, February 1, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Aboard we have a PT Squadron and Lt. Commander
[Robert] Kelly, [the subject] of “They Were Expendable”
fame. Quiet blond Irishman who is fearlessly brave
285
from his repeated encounters with the enemy.
Also have Argus 5 Radar outfit with Terry Geoghegan
aboard. We chat about times gone by on the Heights
and about my Mass on Bougainville on January 9th.
That jungle! Thick wall of trees, clotted vines, hanging branches, slimy marsh and rotten tree trunks
and everything colored a sickly green underfoot, the
rays of sunshine filtering down, having lost all their
strength and bright brilliance in making the journey
down from the sun.
Wednesday, February 2, 1944
0630 – Mass.
This morning we cut through Havana Straits never
before traversed by a ship our size. A small canal,
New Caledonia mountains on either side of us; a
cut of about two miles we slide through, zigzagging
here and there; bare mountains, no vegetation on
them, only at water’s edge where is square of flat
land. Occasionally a clump of palms bravely raise
their heads.
284 The 1943 novel by Elisabeth Lillian Wehner (she published under the name Betty Smith) concerns the life of an impoverished, striving family
in Brooklyn, New York, in the early part of the 20th century. A story of hope, the book struck home with an American public that had been
through the Depression and was now involved in a draining war. It was a best-seller and was widely distributed by the Armed Forces.
285 Published in 1942, William White’s best-selling They Were Expendable: An American Torpedo Boat Squadron in the U.S. Retreat from the
Philippines followed the ultimately tragic fate of a Torpedo Boat squadron during the disastrous Philippine Campaign, from December
8, 1941 to May 8, 1942, when some 78,000 American troops surrendered to Japanese invaders. It was later made into a movie directed
by John Ford and starring Robert Montgomery and John Wayne, who plays the Robert Kelly role but under the name Rusty Ryan. Though
critically acclaimed, the movie, deliberately released on December 7, 1945, did not find an audience in a nation weary of war.
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�At 2:30 p.m. we drop anchor; ashore to see Ed,
no contact. Tomorrow better luck.
Saturday, February 5, 1944
7:30 p.m. – Received mail, among the letters one
from the Bureau of Naval Personnel, informing
me that my orders were on the way. Letter is dated
December 15th, so before long I should be pulling
up my anchor for a new duty. Where???
Rough sea today head on and a strong wind. We pitch
quite a bit making some of the sailors a bit seasick. In
the morning the freighters, AK’s Titania and Libra,
leave us for Auckland. Now we are on our own without any escort. We are making good speed. Day is
sunshiny without much warmth, a white sun and sky.
Thursday, February 3, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Ashore at 0800 to see Ed. Put through a telephone
call. We make a date at 1045. Wander around
Noumea until ten, call Sister Joseph, then later meet
Ed at the Navy Landing. We walk down to the park
in the center of town and sit on a bench where we
chew the fat about persons, places and things back
home. I inform him about my change of duty on
the way. He is happy and looks forward to a return
home himself at the end of six months when his
two years out here will be over.
We leave at 1200, have a coke and an ice cream by
the side of the road, then I hop into the boat for the
ship at 1:30. Shake hands, “So long, Ed.” He walks
away, the dead image of our father in his walk. As
we move out into the harbor, he waves his hand in
a final salute and we have parted for good? Hope
that when we finish our stay in Wellington that we
return to Noumea so we can meet again. I want to
get Ed a radio if possible.
Underway at 4 p.m. with the Formahault, Libra,
Crescent City, Titania and three destroyers, our
escort. We head directly south into a smooth sea.
As we go out by the lighthouse, I try to pick out
Ed’s camp ashore but have no luck. He can see us
but not we them.
Friday, February 4,1944
Aboard still have PT men, Squadron #19 and some
New Zealanders being evacuated home for sickness.
Day is much cooler and sea is rolling a bit.
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0630 – Mass.
USS Formahault can’t keep up with us, so she drops
behind while we go on our own, with the Crescent
City hitting 16 knots against a strong head wind and
a running sea.
1145
– Pay a visit to the Captain, which has some
startling consequences. Showed him the notice I had
received that my orders were on the way. Remarked,
“Well, we were just about to get to know each other
when you leave.” “Yes, it looks as though I shall be
leaving before long.” Then handed me three typewritten sheets with liberty regulations for the men in Wellington. One section was headed as follows:
“Venereal Disease: Overlooking the after-effects of
Venereal Disease on your life and health, a man
on the sick list due to not taking the necessary
precautions during and after sexual intercourse
is a damned slacker. He becomes a burden to his
country in time of war instead of pulling his own
weight in the war effort. A green box with a red
cross painted on it will be handy to the gangway and
will contain sanitubes. If you feel that there is any
possibility of exposure, take a couple with you. This
is not to encourage intercourse but to provide you
with some protection. In addition you must report
to the sick bay on return to the ship, sign the book,
and take supervised treatment.” I handed back the
sheets to the Captain and said I could not give my
approval to that section.
“Why not?”
“What you intend is an insult to every decent
clean-minded man aboard this ship, besides an
�encouragement to vice.” “Be practical.” “Not by
flying in the face of God’s law.” “Fornication is
not forbidden in the Bible!” “Shocked by your
ignorance.” “State law doesn’t arrest a man for it.”
“State doesn’t make morality, God does, etc., etc.
You don’t encourage stealing. ‘If you’re going to
steal, here’s the way to avoid being caught.’ I have
friends in Wellington, Captain. What you are doing
will get around to these people. They will ask me, ‘Is
it true what I hear about your ship and that box on
the quarterdeck?’ I will hang my head in shame and
say ‘yes’ and they will say, ‘Well, you have some
Captain.’ I had intended speaking on this very subject tomorrow, Sunday, to the men. Now I must speak
on it. I send letters home to parents of these boys
informing them that they have been attending
Church services. Suppose I send a copy of what
you have written to them and to higher authorities,
what do you think their reaction would be?”
“Parents would approve.”
“I disagree with you there most emphatically. Fifteen girls pregnant in Wellington on last trip from
Marines. You know that those Marines are now lying
at Tarawa. You will be the means of bringing the
same tragedy into other lives if you carry out your
intention. Furthermore, you will have to answer to
Almighty God for your action.”
“Have a lot to answer for. Further, I did this on
other ships.”
“That does not make it right. Captain, had it been
done without consulting me, I would have been up
here immediately, for I have a solemn obligation to
oppose it. You put this in the notes and it will be the
talk of the ship and men will ask, ‘I wonder what the
Chaplain thinks of this.’ I shall publicly proclaim
my opposition to it and the immorality of it. Now
I register my most emphatic disapproval of it.”
Captain retorted, “Registered.”
This interview confirmed previous observations
of officers and men. This new skipper, one month
old, is tainted with a most undesirable streak of
sarcasm. What I did not know is that his moral
ignorance is so appalling.
Later inquired of senior medical officers if there
were a high rate of venereal disease aboard. Did not
ask Captain, for whether high or low, still, suggested
actions immoral. Doctor reported four cases on our
last liberty of two weeks at Auckland, four out of
529 men. If it had been a large percentage, could
understand but not excuse his distorted reasoning.
Sunday, February 6, 1944
0630 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1000 – General Service.
At all services spoke on subject of man’s sexual relations with women. Topic an urgent one in view of
what my Captain’s professed policy is, should my
orders come through shortly. Gave right and wrongness of sexual relations, obligations of single men,
abstinence of married men, fidelity to their wives.
286
And words of St. Paul, 1st Corinthians, Chapter 6.
“Men, if anybody speaks differently, counsels differently, makes it easier to act differently, makes temptation easier by putting in your path the means of
avoiding the consequences of misdeeds, no matter
who that man is, whether he is low or high, whether
seaman second class, whether wearing two stripes
of gold braid, or four, or an admiral’s, that man is
going against God’s law. Have nothing to do with
him or his doctrine which is hot from hell.”
Aftermath: 1. Captain not present at Church.
2. Just before dinner at noon, Dr. Walker came into
my room, said that he was pleased with the sermon
at the General Service this morning. He has been
sick at heart seeing the way some of the officers carry
on. “It took courage to deliver that sermon. I admire
you for it.” “My obligation is to deliver it, Doctor.”
286 “Keep away from sexual immorality. All other sins that people may commit are done outside the body; but the sexually immoral person sins
against his own body. Do you not realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you and whom you received from God?”
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�3. Navigation Officer Paul Myers in Dr. Walker’s
room that night remarked that he went by Captain’s
emergency cabin yesterday while I was in there. Saw
look of amazement on Captain’s face; wondered what
I was saying to him. “Straightening him up on his
morals.” “You are the first man who has talked up
to him. He came into the chart room after you left,
highly indignant, remarked, ‘Chaplain is opposed
to a prophylactic box on quarterdeck. I wanted to
throw him out of my room. He said it was opposed
to his beliefs.’” “Opposed to my beliefs, which are
God’s also. They were God’s before they were mine.”
Myers, “He’ll be glad to see you leave the ship.” Self,
“’I told him that if the President contemplated such
action, he would have to be opposed.”
Monday, February 7, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Not much sleep during the night, for we were bucking a 54 mile headwind. It killed our speed to about
two knots and made us pitch badly.
Day is like a November football one at home. Clear
blue sky with a cool but not cold wind blowing. Giant seagulls are following us, have tremendous wing
spread of four feet overall, with black bands marking the tip.
Islands begin to appear on starboard side. Ninety
passengers, New Zealanders, overjoyed to see their
homeland again. Some of them have been away for
over three years. They are Vella Lavella veterans and
Treasury Island men as well. Their average age is
about 43, rather high for soldiering in the Solomons.
Saw some statistics on the rainfall at Bougainville
today; is 124 inches a year. Their seasons: wet, wetter,
wettest. We can vouch for the storms we had on three
of our four trips we made to Empress Augusta Bay.
Visited the M.S. convent with some linens to
be washed. Mother Theophile informed me that
Bishop Wade wrote her informing her that both
Frs. Lebele and Fluitt were back at Noumea, thanks
to the machinations of the Australian overseers
who wish to have complete charge of the native boys.
Resent the good influence of the priests, missionaries.
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They prevent exploitation of the natives. However,
he intends to see Admiral Halsey to endeavor to
have the situation straightened out.
Visited Miss Duggan this evening. She and her sister, Mary and Mac are fine. Eileen has a letter which
she intends to write my mother through me. I took
it on condition that I send it unread.
Start making arrangements for another dance for
the men. No corsages this time, according to Captain
M. T. Farrar.
Good to be in the city again, to hear the sounds of the
streets, the policemen’s whistles, the car horns, the clang
of the tram car bells. Good to walk down the streets, to
go into the stores, to linger over a counter, to look at the
ads. Good to be part of the brisk rhythm of the city again.
A light today about sanctity. “A saint is one who suddenly finds that something he may have been taking for granted suddenly blazes up inside him, and
that something is the love of God and the fire once
started is never extinguished, but grows in intensity
as long as the saint lives.”
Tuesday, February 8, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Took the tram to Wadestown this afternoon; tram
U’s its way around these shores. Rises over the top,
then leaves one with a short mile walk into a “scenic
reserve,” as it was called. Here native shrubs and trees
abound, such as blistered myrtle, honeysuckle trees, etc.
It was late afternoon as I pursued the devious windings of the path down in the gorge between the rugged hills. The scenery was very soothing. One side of a
gorge would be shrouded in shadow, the other bathed
in the late afternoon sun which sets at quarter of
eight here now. One stand of pines is amazingly
thick. It was a hand and knee operation to navigate
up its thick carpet. A green cathedral was the impression it created; so thick was the umbrella it put up
that only an occasional shaft of sunlight penetrated
through. The brook running along the gorge was for
�the most part, quiet, except when a stone objected to
its forward progress; then said brook became quite
voluble as it forced its way past. The only ones sharing the afternoon with me were the birds that silently
flew here and there with an occasional fantail cheeping like a chickadee back home.
pick me up, slipped his mind. “Happens in the best
of families.” He rushed down after I had my dinner,
drove me to his house, failed to see the Archbishop.
Housekeeper much put out with Dr. Gascoigne.
“Her splendid meal went untouched by American
naval chaplain.”
Peace and happiness were in the air. As Eileen Duggan writes, “The green calm flowed in and around
me.” Such a lovely contrast to the scenes we were
witnessing of late up north in the Solomons.
Arranged for Mass aboard the Formahault and the
LST for tomorrow. Heard confessions aboard the
Formahault.
Sunday, February 13, 1944
The climate here now is late summer. Days are
delightful, evenings on the coolish side, people as
hospitable as ever.
0530 – Mass aboard our ship. 0615 – Mass aboard the
Formahault.
0730 – Mass aboard the LST.
Wednesday, February 9, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Finally manage to book the Majestic Cabaret for our
ship’s dance next Wednesday and Thursday evenings.
Thursday, February 10, 1944
0630 – Mass.
In the evening, dinner with Frs. Blake and Kennedy
288
at St. Patrick’s College in Wellington. Ten other
priests joined the recreation for a couple of hours.
Good to be among priests again and to relax among
them swapping yarns about seminary days.
Monday, February 14, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Trying to extricate Sailor Escudero from trouble;
breaking and entering. Drunk again!!!
Friday, February 11, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Made preparations to baptize three Mess Attendants
on Wednesday at St. Mary’s Church. Dance details
being attended to, printing of programs, flowers, etc.
Tuesday, February 15, 1944
Dinner this evening with the Duggans. Later
Fr. Blake and Fr. Kennedy dropped in. Former had
attended Campion in Oxford; we had met many
mutual friends over there.
Saturday, February 12, 1944
0630 – Mass.
287
Date with Fr. Noel Gascoigne for lunch with Archbishop [Thomas] O’Shea at his Episcopal Residence.
Time 12:30. Dr. forgot all about the date, supposed to
0630 – Mass.
Out to Fr. McGlynn’s St. Columban’s residence, ten
miles outside the city for a delightful dinner with him
and Frs. O’Shea and Cunningham and Fr. Seward,
an Anglican convert with his lay brother. We walked
around the lovely grounds before dinner, admiring
the profusion of flowers, rhododendrons, hydrangeas, lilies of the valley, roses, etc.
287 Gascoigne was a diocesan priest and director of Catholic schools in Wellington.
288 A Marist secondary school
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�Wednesday, February 16, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Men today agog with preparations for the dance this
evening. Confusion with Fr. Maurice Foley finally
ironed out to the satisfaction of both parties.
Thursday, February 17, 1944
0630 – Mass.
drinks, he stopped me as I was maneuvering around
the Officers’ table and said, “Chaplain, when we had
that talk, I was thinking of the fighting efficiency of
the ship.” I said nothing, but gave him a non-committal smile. That was no place to reopen the discussion. If he wants to see me later aboard ship about
289
it, fine, “Barcus is willing.”
Friday, February 18, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Dance again tonight; just as pleasant as last night,
no untoward incident of any kind, thank heavens.
Management and men and officers enjoyed themselves. Captain at his table, “Chaplain, it does my
heart good to hear the men say to me, ‘Good evening, Captain.’ I love all those men,” he says, “They
don’t know it yet, but they will one of these days.”
Poor man doesn’t know how they love him. Reminds
me of what the Rector, Gomez, wrote to St. Francis
Xavier. He was head of the Seminary at Goa, a sprig of
a lad brought out from Portugal to head it. Thought
St. Francis a bit on the slow side, not new enough
in his methods, etc. Ruled with an iron hand; had to
be censured by Xavier. Gomez wrote back, ”I’m not
interested in learning that you love the men, but in
finding out whether or not the men love you.”
If the Captain only knew!!! Some of the men of the
1st Division managed to obtain hold of his gin bottles. They emptied them of three quarters of their
contents and poured water back in!
Man sidled up and said [of Foley] to the Captain,
“Great guy, Chaplain; now we are losing him. Never
get another like him.”
Captain, “Nonsense, son, we’ll get another and he
will be a lot better.” Good thing I’m not sensitive! I
smiled and answered, “I sincerely hope so, Captain,
for the sake of the men.”
He is still smarting from the interview of February
5th about venereal disease. After he had a couple of
Aboard ship this afternoon, Miss Duggan, her sister
and Fr. Gascoigne for about an hour, then went for a
drive and had tea at their residence.
Saturday, February 19, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Arranged for Masses aboard the Formahault.
British aircraft carrier attended to by Fr. Gascoigne.
Sunday, February 20, 1944
0630 – Mass aboard the Formahault tied up
forward of us. Mass aboard our ship.
1200 – High
noon. Lovely summer day. Alone I
decided to take a train out into the country, one hour
ride all the way to Upper Hutt, a lovely valley nestling between mountains towering on either side of
it. A day when the world is completely at peace.
We twist and turn and finally arrive at Maidstone
Park where the ticket taker asks me if I am a member of the Lower Hutt Workingmen’s Club who are
having their annual picnic. Lovely afternoon; hear
the shrill ring of the bagpipes. Under each tree are
parked families with the inevitable pot of tea; youngsters running races, men playing cricket on three
different pitches. I wander around enjoying the
scene of happiness far from the maddening flashes
of modern warfare.
In the evening to Miss Duggan’s and to 22 Vivian
Street, the Catholic Seamen’s Club where I met
Fr. Noel Gascoigne.
289 “Barkis is willin” is a phrase often repeated by the ever-accommodating “Mr. Barkis,” a character in Dickens’ David Copperfield.
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�Monday, February 21, 1944
Underway about noon for Auckland with the PT-19
with us again, their period of recreation and liberty
over once more.
together. She collects some fare from me, chocolate
rations for her poor.
Tuesday, February 29, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Wednesday, February 23, 1944
0630 – Mass. Distribution of ashes for it is
Ash Wednesday.
Ashore to see Fr. Hunt and Fr. Murphy of Church of
the Good Shepherd.
Thursday, February 24, 1944
0630 – Mass.
0730 – Underway. Have aboard the 7th and 161st
Infantry with Frs. Scannell and McGoldrick, Chaplains. We have three Masses in the morning. Men are
a tired group after their three weeks of recreation and
liberty in New Zealand. Once again they will go on
maneuvers before engaging in another attack.
Friday and Saturday,
February 25 and 26, 1944
Not much to report save the sea is unusually calm
for this stretch of the ocean. Customary for us to
roll and pitch in these parts. Temperature is mild,
too; a sudden change from the cool weather below.
Sunday, February 27, 1944
0630, 0730, 0900 – Masses. 1000 – General
Service. 2:00 – Moored to Nickel Docks, Noumea.
Monday, February 28, 1944
Quiet day with taking care of odds and ends for
men. Insurance, brothers ashore who want to make
contacts, marriage papers!! Two men want to marry
two girls from the Pitcairn Islands whom they met
in Wellington. They are daughters of Englishmen
settlers there, both cousins and very lady-like. “After
the last war it was Nordhoff and Hall. After this one
290
it will be Arnold and Stroud,” I tell the two boys.
Wednesday, March 1, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Ed and his party of Army nurses and Joe Walsh
come aboard this afternoon. Take them over the
ship. They evidence particular interest in the sick
bay. Are fascinated with our ship’s excellent appointments. They would like to be aboard it for permanent duty. They invite me out to their camp.
Thursday, March 2, 1944
630 – Mass.
Fr. [Patrick] Duffy, CB Chaplain, comes aboard about
1100, stays for dinner. We leave together at 1230 for
shore, in the meantime having slipped down the
harbor four miles to our old anchorage. Just as we
are about to leave, Fr. Curnane from the USS Biddle
comes aboard. He also goes to town with us.
0630 – Mass.
I called up Ed last night and made a date with him
for today. He comes aboard and looks splendidly,
thank God. He wants to know if he can bring a party
aboard Wednesday; Misses Burns, Kissege, and
Bradford, Army Nurses. Sure thing! Ed and I visit
Sister Joseph, who enjoys the presence of both of us
Fr. Duffy takes me to country to St. Louis Mission
where I meet native Sisters studying in postulancy and three Marist Sisters. Approach along long
coconut-palm lined road. Straight ahead almost
at the end of it, mountains rising sheer, so much
so that it seemed that they were about to take off.
Intense green color contrasted sharply with deep
blue of the sky. Went through native village, houses
290 Charles Nordorf and James N. Hall were American soldiers who settled in Polynesia after WW I and together wrote three popular novels centered
on the Bounty mutiny. Presumably, Arnold and Stroud were the surnames of the American soldiers who sought “marriage papers” from Foley.
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�of mud, men work in rice paddies, women take care
of house, all barefooted and smiling as we make our
way through the compound. Tropical flowers growing in profusion all around us; purple bougainvillea,
gorgeous orchids by the hundreds and half a dozen
other flowers whose names I couldn’t find out. After
a pleasant hour visit, then out to see Ed. His camp
is pitched half way up a mountain bare of trees that
is very steep. Red mud in abundance and row after
row of cots for sick patients’ wards. Ed and I and
Joe Walsh and Charlie Bushwah have some pictures
taken together. As we look around we catch a glorious view out to sea. From our vantage point we can
look out to sea and catch five huge ships riding in
from the horizon. Off in the distance almost lost
in the haze is the white pencil of a lighthouse that
guided us in from the sea. To the left of us and
right of us and behind are mountains, before us
the ocean, luxuriant growth of green hillocks with
their shrubbery.
After leaving Ed and Fr. Schenler, chaplain, we motor down the road. Lovely sunset has made cerise
sky in the west and lazy clouds are drifting across
the face of the sun, flushed through and through
with color. Mountains on our left are purple in their
twilight glow. We turn in at the Bishop’s Residence,
a narrow lane, make another sharp turn, mount the
steps and find Brother Paul, a Marist, on the steps.
In a couple of minutes Bishop [Thomas S.] Wade
291
comes out. We kneel to kiss his episcopal ring as
he greets us all smiles. He is a small man in stature
but what he lacks in stature he makes up in character. His face has the quiet strength of a man who has
known suffering yet he is remarkably young looking.
I had expected to meet a man about fifty or fifty-five,
a man aged by the suffering of his flock like Bishop
Aubin in Guadalcanal, yet Bishop Wade hardly looks
more than forty. Instantly he put me at my ease. He
was wearing a long white Bishop’s cassock with red
buttons and a silver pectoral cross. I told him that I
would be going back to Boston and wanted to know if
he wanted me to carry any message to Bishop Cushing. He answered, “Tell him to do what he can to end
my exile. People up there need us badly, yet the Australian government will not allow us to return. Forced
me out. Head of their Intelligence Service invited me
to leave; said I wished to stay. A few days later two
officers came early in the morning to my hideout,
inquired if I had made up my mind; said that I would
like to talk it over. They said the time for talking was
ended, so I went with them and came out by a submarine at the appointed rendezvous. They did not want
anybody left on the island after they themselves left, so
removed us. Have been to see Admiral Halsey, but he
asserts military reasons prevent his granting permission to return.
“Furthermore, Seventh Day Adventists, Latter Day
Saints are pestering him to go back. Grant permission to one of them, then must to all. Why the opposition of Australians? They resent the good work
of the missionaries who are the sole protectors of
the natives against exploitation by the whites. In
any kind of trouble, the natives always come to
the priests.”
Friday, March 3, 1944
First Friday.
In this harbor are portents of busier days ahead.
There are 19 PA’s [attack personnel transports]
swinging around the buoy as we are; there are
numerous KA’s [attack cargo transports] and small
escort craft. Presage an invasion in the not remote
future. We wonder where the Hunter Liggett, the
American Legion and the Fuller are, ships in our
division that went home last November. We have
heard that the first two may have been condemned
for further attack work because of their poor condition. Scuttlebutt has New Ireland, Kavieng, Ravaul,
Nauru and Kapa, etc. as our next attack point. One
guess is as good as another.
291 Thomas S. Wade (1893–1969) was a Rhode Island native and missionary who served as bishop of the Northern Solomon Islands from 1930 to
1960. He was imprisoned by the Japanese in the fall of 1942, but later freed. He was then evacuated by submarine on the orders of American and
Australian military authorities who believed that the Japanese would execute him and his fellow clergy as spies..
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�Saturday, March 4, 1944
Day is spent getting ready for church services tomorrow. I visit the Sumpter with Chaplain Brown
and the Leedstown with Chaplain A. A. Reed, who
exchanges with me. He is a Congregationalist.
Sunday, March 5, 1944
0630 – Mass aboard the Clymer.
0900 – Mass aboard the Clymer.
1030 – Mass
aboard the Leedstown, the ship taking
the place of the Formahault, ship too slow for our
division. Coming back to ship in Leedstown’s gig, I
hear confessions of three Catholic members of gig
who expressed regret that they had not been able to
make either Mass or Confession.
Ed had a pair of binoculars, he would be able to pick
out our ship very well. Our long glass picks up his
camp from behind the island which girt the coast
line. When shall we meet again? One guess is as
good as the other. I venture the following: Around
the latter part of April, after another major invasion.
My relief will not have shown up by that time, for
our new supply officer informs me that he was one
month sitting in Frisco before he was able to obtain
transportation. I hope to be able to get down to New
Zealand again before shipping for home. One more
visit with Ed and then eastward bound. Yesterday the
West Point [a troop transport ship] and a Dutch ship
pulled in and out with big loads of personnel aboard.
Former makes Stateside in 14 days, very, very fast.
Thursday, March 9,1944
0630 – Mass with Marines present.
Monday, March 6, 1944
0600 – Mass.
Out to camp to see Ed. He makes date to see me on
Wednesday aboard the ship.
Tuesday, March 7, 1944
In the afternoon we have Stations of the Cross with
Confessions immediately following and Confessions
again in the evening at 1900.
Friday, March 10, 1944
0630 – Mass.
0630 – Mass.
Call up Ed to inform him that date tomorrow must be
cancelled; we are shoving off for the Solomons again.
Wednesday, March 8, 1944
0600 – Mass.
Morrow is a quiet one as we embark 1000 Marines
who comprise the 14th Defense Battalion and 600 of
whom are casuals on the way north as replacements.
They barge out on pride of PAD’s a good two hours
trip from the Quai Grand at Noumea for we are out
anchored in Dumbea Harbor. They re hot, thirsty
and tired as they come aboard and flop on the nearest open part of the deck.
About 4:30 p.m. we get underway. I can catch sight
for the first time of Ed’s camp at 5:30. I identify it by
the circular officers’ clubhouse with its grass roof. If
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Same routine as yesterday with promise to write a letter to folks of men who attend Mass and receive Holy
Communion. Fr. Zachar is chaplain of these men.
He is now aboard the Leedstown, one of our convoy.
Others are Crescent City, Fomalhaut, Libra, with
our escorts up front sniffing back and forth across
the ocean for any lurking submarines. We have AA
practice against a sleeve. Open mouth and stop ears to
lessen force of concussion on eardrums; lasts for two
hours, 7–9 a.m. Early morning sky pockmarked with
black bursts of hundreds of exploding shells. Not long
before they dissolve and sky is intense blue again.
1415 – Stations
of the Cross, Shop Area;
excellent turnout.
Saturday, March 11, 1944
0630 – Mass, with the usual excellent turnout
of Marines.
�In the afternoon at half past two we have Stations
of the Cross in the Shop Area. Men turn out handsomely. Hear confessions after and then also in
the evening.
Sunday, March 12, 1944
0445 – Mass.
Unloading day again on Sunday; wrecks Church for
remainder of day.
3:30 p.m. – Across Steel Bottom Bay to Lunga, Gua293
dalcanal in 500 ton APC.
7:30 p.m. – Billeted at Lunga in Quonset hut. Meet
Fr. Bob Minton who has lost 40 pounds since
Christmas at Auckland. What a hell-hole this is!!!
Thursday, March 16, 1944
0715 – Mass.
1000 – Ride
I hit the deck at 0430; rig Church, beautiful full moon
lighting up surface of the ocean. Over off our port
side, Guadalcanal is sound asleep, with a few streaks
of pale light behind the shoulder of one of the high
mountains, harbingers of a day that will soon be born.
Write a letter to my mother about half past eight. Pack
typewriter in sea chest, hence will now scrawl.
Monday, March 13, 1944
0630 – Mass.
Still unloading 14th Defense Battalion.
Tuesday, March 14, 1944
0630 – Mass.
0800 – My relief, Chaplain W. Woolard comes
aboard. A “Disciple of Christ” from Texas. I have
word passed to Catholic men about my last Mass
tomorrow. Confessions tonight.
Wednesday, March 15, 1944
0630 – Mass. Say goodbye to men at end of Mass.
292
Not easy after being 21 months together.
1200 – Dinner.
Kip Morey delivers farewell
greeting at dinner for Officers. I respond.
1:30 p.m. – Leave ship. Strange feeling to pull away from
her for last time. Go over to dock at Tulagi.
around periphery of whole coast line of
Guadalcanal in SBD-Douglas dive bomber with Navy
pilot, Joe Costigan, B.C. ’40, Sachem Street, Roxbury.
Jeep to revetment on Henderson Field. Two AMMs
[dive-bombers] stand by. Don parachute, helmet. “All
clear. Contact crank engine.” Aim of trip: discover
traces, smoke, etc. of pilot lost two days previous.
Roar of engine mounts. Taxi out to runway. Joe talking
into phone to me. “Two balls on Control Tower; use
runway #2-one.” Cloudless blue sky. Down turn into
one, then gives her the gun. Up, up over the coconut
groves laid out in perfectly straight lines. Go east,
south, north, west.
Joe, over the telephone, “Dense jungle there, Father.
Hate to get lost in that.”
Self: “Smoke over there, Joe?”
Joe: “We’ll take a look.” Takes her over, down. Just a
native hut. We meet a Liberator from Carney Field, all
guns manned, topside blister gunner sitting facing aft
ready for business; 19 or 20 years old. We exchange a
wave of hand; lot of meaning in that exchange. Bless
plane that it may return from mission. We fly wing tip
for about three minutes. “Great ship, Father,” says Joe
over telephone to me. We slip under it, drop down. She
is directly over me, like an elevator going down.
We buzz a destroyer. Into a dive. “All set, Father?”
“Let ‘er go.” Rocks her over. Down, straight down;
292 Of all the understatements in Fr. Foley’s diary, this may well be the champion. He was far more open about the emotional weight of war years
later, in his spring 1995 interviews with Steve O’Brien for Blackrobe in Blue.
293 A cargo-transport ship used in the Pacific Theater.
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�stomach saying “hello” to mouth. Swoops in and
over, then up; felt like a sack of lead.
“Take a look at that mission.” Red corrugated tin
roof. Circle it for look. Half a dozen houses cluster it.
Mission Center.
In over jungle, high up. Down to shore; natives wave
294
to us, we drop wing in return. To Cape Esperance;
two Jap subs, one large, one small; five transports
beached. Then over to Tulagi; buzzed ships, Clymer,
back to Henderson. What a thrill.
0715 – Mass. Visiting old shipmates at Boat Pool.
Saturday, March 18, 1944
0715 – Mass.
0900 – Confessions. Eight Solomon Islanders, red,
yellow hair, large loin cloths.
Sunday, March 19, 1944
0645 – Mass. Lunga-NOB145. 0900 – Mass.
Kukum – 4th Spec. Sea Bees.
USS Tryon
295
Feast of the Annunciation. Navy Band Concert.
Park in Noumea.
Monday, March 27, 1944
Ed and I out to beach again. Meet Fr. Barnett, S.J.,
and McGowan. Dinner together.
Friday, March 31, 1944
Ed and I have a swim at Anse Vata [beach]. Dinner
aboard Receiving Station at 5:00. Aboard ship at 10 p.m.
Saturday, April 1, 1944
Friday, March 17, 1944
1330 – Aboard
Saturday, March 25, 1944
for Noumea trip.
Wednesday, March 22, 1944
Arrive Noumea. Receiving ship. 6000 men. Chow
line mile long before Mass, same after. Movies on
side of hill, lights stabbing darkness.
Visit with Ed. His victory garden. Radishes, tomatoes, carrots, cukes, nasturtium, azaleas, sweet peas.
His radio plays “Red Sails in the Sunset.”
Friday, March 24, 1944
Ed and I go out to beach at Anse Vita. Then dinner
with Frs. McGowan and McLeod at MOB [Main
Operating Base] 5. Fr. Mac, “Kiss cobble stones of
Boston for me.”
294 Site of a major naval battle on October 11-12, 1942.
295 An evacuation transport ship.
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0600 – Underway for Golden Gate, Frisco!!
Sick passengers. Physically. Mentally, e.g., Marine
clutched men piteously when shells mangled men near
him. Boy whose nerves shattered again by barrel dropping near him. Wounded, spinal, cerebral, syphilitic.
ITINERARY
March 15, 1944 – Detached from USS George Clymer.
March 15, 1944 – On Guadalcanal as guest of
Fr. Bob Minton of Indianapolis.
March 17, 1944 – Flight over Guadalcanal in Douglas
dive bomber with Costigan from Sachem Street, Roxbury. Buzzed destroyer; purpose of trip, which consumed two hours, was to try to sight some signal from
a pilot who crashed in the jungle or on the beach two
days previously. We cruised along the shoreline and
over the jungle but no sight of the downed pilot.
March 18, 1944 – Heard confessions of eight Solomon Islanders though could not understand a word
of what they said.
March 19, 1944 – Left on USS Tryon for Noumea, New
Caledonia, where Ed and I had nine days together.
March 22, 1944 – Arrived Noumea.
April 1, 1944 – Aboard USS David Shanks,
Army Transport.
April 17, 1944 – Arrived in San Francisco. Under the
Golden Gate at 0930. Passengers delirious at the
sight; 500 of them, 125 psycho patients, 100 of us
sound in mind and body, rest wounded.
�chapter 6 | for god and country
Naval Medical Center and
USS Vella Gulf
On Tuesday, May 30, 1944, following a one-month leave
in Boston, John Foley began a seven-month tour of duty
as a chaplain at the National Naval Medical Center,
today’s Walter Reed National Military Medical Center,
in Bethesda, Maryland. He may have found the work
unremarkable as compared with his experiences on the
Clymer, and he made only a handful of undated entries
while at the facility, including a list of “Experiences in
Naval Medical Center.”
Remark of Protestant—“Some of my best friends are
Catholic, not just one day a week, but seven.
Apgar, wounded aboard the bridge of the
USS Texas off the Normandy Coast, lost one
leg below the knee, other in bad way also. Asked
him how many blood transfusions he had.
“Wish I never had any.”
Jensen, dying of cancer of the bronchial tubes, listed
as a Catholic. Asked if he wanted to go to Confession
and Communion. Puzzled expression, said he wasn’t
a Catholic. Checked with mother; mixed marriage,
that boy brought up by an uncle, a Lutheran. Trying
to catch the last word; hardly strength to whisper
message. “Give my best to everybody.”
Russian member of Soviet Embassy broke neck
swimming. Introduced self as priest; I inquired
what he was. Although he understood and spoke
English up to that point, answer, “Sorry, I do not
understand.” Same of two of his friends whom I
met in the passageway.
WAVE loaned $166 to two sailors for liberty,
and to one who wanted “to buy flowers for his
wife’s grave.”
Foley lobbied to be returned to sea, and in January 1945
he was assigned to the USS Vella Gulf, an aircraft carrier that was being built in Washington State. Named
for an American Naval victory in the Solomon Islands
in August 1943, the Vella Gulf carried 34 aircraft comprising torpedo bombers and fighters, and a crew of more
than 1,000. She was commissioned on April 9 and, with
Foley on board, was engaged in sea trials off the coast
near San Diego when word of the German surrender
was received.
Tuesday, May 8, 1945
Service of Thanksgiving for Victory in Europe
aboard the USS Vella Gulf.
0800 – General Quarters. Emergency drill.
0930 – Bugler sounded attention before ship’s
company was dismissed from General Quarters.
ATTENTION ALL HANDS: This is Fr. Foley,
ship’s Chaplain speaking. This morning official confirmation was received that the war in
Europe is over. In accordance with the wishes
of our Commander-in-Chief, President Harry
S. Truman, and in prayerful union with millions of our fellow Americans ashore, we stop
for a few minutes in our busy lives aboard ship
to thank God for the victory that has crowned
our arms.
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�First we shall say a prayer, then pause for a
minute of respectful silence in tribute to the
men who have died ashore and afloat in the
Army and Navy and end with a blessing.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and
of the Holy Ghost. Almighty and everlasting God, Lord of battles, mercifully hear the
prayers of us, Thy servants, who turn to Thee
in gratitude in this hour of victory for our arms
in Europe. We thank Thee that the scourge of
war, the blood, the sweat, and the tears will
no longer wrack and agonize Thy people and
our brothers in arms in that part of the world.
Grant that we, who have stern tasks ahead,
whose duties call us to the fighting line in
another theater, may be strengthened by Thy
grace for their courageous execution. May we
continue to place our trust in Thee, mindful
of Thy words, ‘In vain do they build unless
the Lord builds with them.’ Finally, we ask, O
Lord of Mercy, to remember the souls of those
who made this victory possible by pouring out
the red sweet wine of their youth on the altar
of our country’s freedom that others may live.
Eternal rest grant to them, O Lord, and may
perpetual light shine upon them, through
Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
On May 11, at San Diego, aircraft loading was completed, and on the following day, pilots began their
trial runs for qualification for carrier duty.
Saturday, May 12, 1945
Mass as usual at 0600 with attendance of about 50.
1515 – Our first plane is catapulted off successfully.
Everyone breaks out in a broad smile of relief that
she made it, an F4U fighter that sails off directly
into the teeth of a strong wind up into the blue of
the sky, with the sun glinting off her steel skin.296
Second makes it without a hitch also, with men in
colors of the rainbow running here and there on the
windswept flight deck, all about their assigned tasks.
They are wearing red cloth helmets, green, yellow,
white, blue, brown with jerseys to match, all indicating their special job. As yet I don’t know what that
is, but will learn shortly. Plane director, an officer,
speaks a sign language to the pilot as he sits in the
cockpit, tunes up his motor with a crescendo that all
but deafens, then he swings his hands down vigorously and the war bird is flying.
Plane number three is jockeyed into position on the
catapult. The flight officer director goes through his
gestures; she spins down to the edge of the flight
deck, rears up like a charging horse, turns over,
lands with a crash right side up and then drifts by
within 15 feet of the port side forward sponson [gun
platform], where I am. She is slowly sinking with
the cockpit half under water, the pilot slumped over,
and blood staining the water around the area.
We feel so helpless, a man slowly sinking under
with the cockpit just fifteen feet from us and we are
powerless to help. The only part that shows as she
drifts by the stern is the tip of her rudder. A young
man, 2nd Lt. Edward Groves, USMC, son of Mrs.
Susan Groves, 205 South 20th Avenue, Maywood,
Ill., has gone to his death. May the Lord have mercy
on his soul.297
296 Favored by the Marines in the South Pacific, the F4U Corsair was capable of flying at 400 miles per hour, and adaptable for both land
and shipboard use. It was particularly effective against the Zero—the most capable of Japanese fighter planes—for which its kill ratio
was 11:1. Its main flaw was a long nose which could interfere with pilot vision during shipboard landings. When taxiing the planes, pilots
would make “s” turns to improve their ability to see what lay ahead.
297 Edward Clifford Grove was 25 years old. He’d been an inspector in a tractor factory prior to joining the Marines in 1942. He was survived
by his parents and three sisters. His body and his plane were never recovered, and he is listed as Missing in Action. As in other cases,
Foley noted a mother’s name and address so he could later write a letter of condolence. See entry for May 5, 1943. In one of his interviews with Stephen O’Brien, he recalled that he’d said a Mass for Grove—who was not a Catholic—on the deck where the planes were
garaged, the pilot represented by an empty chair. See photo page 237.
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�Destroyer races over behind us, but search is useless. This boy failed to qualify. Later learn that these
boys must take off from catapult once, then land and
take off under their own power four times more for
final qualification. Trials must go on. Next man lines
up, next, next, etc., without mishap, thank God. Only
casualty for the rest of the afternoon is a plane handler
who ran into a cable barrier and cut his face, much
the same as running into a clothesline in the dark.
Sunday, May 13, 1945
Mother’s Day. Masses as usual. Ship still saddened
by death of Groves. Memorial Mass at 0900.
Monday, May 14, 1945
Into San Diego.
May runs out with trial runs and qualifications for
the flyers with happily no more accidents. At the end
of May we went into the Naval Repair Base at San
Diego for a yard overhaul of 14 days, during which
some minor changes were made to some of the
ship’s installations.
Official business is heavy when men find out that
leave will not be granted. They concoct many reasons for excuses to go home. However, policy is
settled by Executive Officer that only leaves granted
will be for emergency.
One boy came for straight information on marriage to
a Catholic girl in New York. He was already divorced
after a valid marriage. She failed to let him know
that she could not marry him at the time of their trip
before a Justice of the Peace. He cried quietly when I
told him that he would have to give her up.
Another man wanted to get a special liberty in order
that he might obtain some meat for his baby in
Mexico. That was the latest wrinkle for me. I wound
up down in the butcher shop, carrying out two
pounds of hamburg and a pound of liver.
Lost my garrison cap with insignia over the side
when propeller wash seized it and whipped it off my
head. I’m learning.
Sunday, June 17, 1945
0600 – Mass aboard ship.
0730 – Mass at Lowery Annex at Naval Air
Station, San Diego.
1900 – Mass aboard ship.
Today was the day. We got underway for Pearl Harbor at 1000. I dropped into the Pilot’s Ready Room
on the way up to the flight deck where our war birds
are lashed to the deck. One of the pilots was playing “Oh, What A Beautiful Morning,” on the record
machine. He turned to me with a smile and said,
“Don’t you think that is a good song for this morning?” Another pilot answers very quickly, “We ought
to put on the one entitled ‘I Got A Funny Feeling.’”
Last night I went over to the San Diego Cathedral
to go to Confession. Walking down the street was
a peculiar sensation, realizing that it would be a
long time before we would see a city, an American
city, again. You were aware of a conscious effort to
impress scenes of the busy rhythm on memory to be
stored up for a future day when you tried to fix faces.
You were tempted to go up to some people, “This is
my last walk down a street like this for ages. I’ll be
thinking of this for a long time. I’ll miss the store
windows, the busy throng of shoppers, the lobbies
of crowded hotels, the lines of people in the restaurant. In other words, I’m going to be missing you,
even though I don’t know you.”
Friday, June 22, 1945
Talk with Seiss, one of the TBM pilots.298 He was
looking down at the marvelously blue waters of the
298 A torpedo bomber manufactured by Grumman, the TBM or TBF Avenger was a torpedo bomber widely used in World War II. It was
crewed by a pilot, a turret gunner, and a bombardier, and could carry 2,000 pounds of bombs. President George H.W. Bush was flying
an Avenger when he was shot down in the South Pacific in September 1944. Its stout appearance as compared with other airplanes,
earned it the nickname “Turkey.”
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�Pacific for the first time. Twenty-four years old, he
spoke from three years experience Stateside training for pilot. Would not marry because he did not
think it fair to the girl. Loved flying, but it has its
heart-stopping moments, e.g., This morning he was
up 5000 feet, started down when his engine died on
him. Apparently bubble in gas line, but had some
anxious moments until she started up again. Worries
about other two men, radio gunner and bombardier.
Hates idea of responsibility for lives of those two
men. “But one good feature, the three of us
are single.”
Now and then we see a plane on the way from Frisco
to Pearl or vice versa. They make the 2300 odd miles
in a few hours whereas we take seven days. Our
flight operations hold us up.
Monday, June 25, 1945
We sight Diamond Head about five o’clock. Flight
operations began early with reveille at 0400. Mass
was at 0630. Espy in distance Royal Hawaiian Hotel.
We cruise up and down off Diamond Head following
our flight operations schedule, then about 11 o’clock
we start for the channel off Ford Island, scene of the
holocaust on December 7, 1941.
We discover that Ford Island is a small island in a
bay just about eight miles from Honolulu. On one
side where battleship row used to be is one capsized
ship, the Arizona on which Fr. [Aloysius] Schmitt
met his death.299 Just off our side is the Utah,
training ship mistaken by the Japs for a carrier. No
land around bears any scars of the damage wrought
by the surprise attack four years ago. Hundreds of
ships are anchored here, which will be a jam-packed
harbor when troops are deployed from the Pacific.
Wednesday, June 27, 1945
To Honolulu, eight mile ride in bus from Pearl Har-
bor. City itself is a bit on the dumpy side. Straggling
houses, in the way which Hawaiians and Chinese
and Japanese of all shades and castes live. Continue
in bus to Royal Hawaiian Hotel which is now a
recreation place for the submarine men back after
a long cruise of duty. Buff colored walls, awninged
windows, lovely foyer, then outside golden sands,
long breakers curving in on a curving shore help it
to live up to expectations.
Learn that one of our fighter pilots was seriously
injured last night while practicing night land carrier
landings. Lt. William R. Winn from Georgia.
Thursday, June 28, 1945
Night carrier landings at midnight, eerie setting.
Landing Signal Officers are dressed in luminous
outfits that reflect back in orange, green and black
colors. Paddles in hands with which they wave on or
off the pilots, also luminous. Incoming planes look
like giant bugs with purple flames leaping in angry
shortings from exhausts on both sides of the engines, much like the two eyes on a giant bug.
Then wing lights of green, red, and tail of blue light
up the plane for all to see. Long, slender pencils of
light from little fountain pens along the deck help the
pilots to make the hazardous landings. Fortunately we
have no accidents as they fly on and off all night until
dawn. Sleep, naturally, was intermittent.
We learn that Lt. Winn died yesterday. Executive
Officer desires memorial services after we complete
night flying exercises.
Sunday, July 1, 1945
Plane brings mail out from land; everybody rejoices,
but some sad news. One man from hills of Kentucky
visits me to tell of grandmother’s death. Can he get
to see her? Impossible. Tells me how he was her
favorite grandson. Grandfather used to drink heav-
299 Schmitt, a diocesan priest from Dubuque, Iowa, is believed to have drowned after the ship foundered while he was helping other trapped
men to escape through a lower deck porthole. He had a short time earlier declined an offer to climb through the porthole to safety.
Thirty-two, he was the first American chaplain to be killed as a result of hostile fire since WW I. His remains were identified through
DNA testing in 2016 and returned to his family.
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�ily until one day when he was seen to take a jug of
whiskey, leave the house to go up to the brow of
the hill, tie the jug to a bent branch of a tree, pull
back and send it crashing down the hillside. Never
touched a drop after that. Grandmother always
gave this boy hot corncakes and buttermilk when
he came into her house. Boy cried as he said how
he would miss her. At the end of the visit we said a
prayer for his grandmother.
Monday, July 2, 1945
Back again at Pearl Harbor late this afternoon, too
late for shore leave. We moor again to the same dock
and note that the Utah is aft of us, one of the ships
the Japs sank at the time of their attack on December 7, 1941.
Thursday, July 5, 1945
Joe Cummiskey and I tour the town, visit the
5 & 10, Kresges, big banana split. Counter girls as
alert as at home, only difference color of skin, brown,
yellow, shape of eyes, straight, almond, etc. We also
visit a Buddhist Temple; big golden casket-shaped
affair before the altar on which an open tabernacle
affair housed statue of Buddha. Incense was burning perpetually before the altar in a big urn, thin
wisp of it rising to the ceiling.
Tuesday, July 10, 1945
Gunnery practice for gun mounts with drone up in
the sky, a radio-controlled small plane that successfully eludes all efforts of our gunners to shoot down
in the morning. It simulates all attacks, approaches
on the ship, diving in on us out of the sun, making
port and starboard runs, as well as coming in from
forward and aft. It is controlled in its operations
by radar on an LCI, Landing Craft Infantry, that
cruises directly behind us. In the afternoon two of the
drones are shot down, but are recovered by the LCI.
From Pearl Harbor, the Vella Gulf was dispatched 3,800
miles west, to an area from which its planes would be
dispatched to attack Japanese position in the Marina
Islands, 1,500 miles southeast of the Japanese mainland.
At the conclusion of the voyage, Foley, the inveterate
observer, made these undated notes, which he called
“Carrier Sidelights.”
The Landing Signal Officer, LSO, is the man who
flies the planes aboard. His is an important post and
dangerous, too, as the emergency net beneath his
platform witnesses. In each hand he holds a gridded wire paddle, somewhat larger than a ping-pong
paddle, strung with brightly colored strips of cloth,
his signal flag.
The ritual of landing aboard a carrier is a fascinating
one. At its best, it is a virtuoso performance of perfect coordination, quick-thinking and split-second
timing. An Army aviator who watched his first carrier landing said, “I see it but I don’t believe it. How
can a plane land in that space without spinning in?”
Something out of Walt Disney. Picturesque lot,
plane-handling sailors. Deck, battle-gray, many-hued
jerseys and helmets: 6 yellow for plane directors;
5 green for arresting-gear crew; 1 red for armament
and fueling; 3 blue for plane pushers; 4 brown for
plane captains; 2 white for hospital corpsmen; 2
white for firefighters and 2 men in asbestos suits.
At night, luminous suit worn by LSO can’t be
missed by pilot. He swings paddles in hands at
night, too, while the flight deck men wave illuminated wands, long slender pencils of orange and red.
Blue flame, blue and incredibly clean spurts from
exhausts as planes make night landings.
“Stand clear of propellers.” “Start engines.”
Aboard a carrier you have what other ships lack, the
intimate contact with the offensive blow, the conversations with the pilots and air crew before and after
the strike. You hear the thunderous, climactic roar
of the engines in the gray dawn; you see them quivering with tremendous power as they strain to
get airborne.
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�Then, too, you experience the constant heavy apprehension over the fate of each pilot and you participate in the daily routine of flight preparations.
Anti-aircraft practice – terrible, deliberate rhythm of
the 5” guns, resonant boom of the 40 mm’s, and the
staccato extraordinary precision.
will be sitting up there with them. “I’ll drop smoke
on two of the targets to mark them, so you fellows
can do your stuff. By the way, on these two positions
here, make one pass, then go rendezvous for altitude and advantage, then make a second pass, if you
haven’t met with much fire on the first pass. If you
have, forget the second pass, pick out some other
target for what you have left.”
Monday, July 23, 1945
2000 – First briefing on the mission tomorrow.
Flyers will make strike on Jap-held island of Pagan,
one of the Marianas north of Saipan and Tinian.
Questions are answered about strafing shipping;
answer negative, may be our B-29 men being helped
by natives. All ships will be our own.
Ready Room is crowded with extras, like myself,
four newspaper correspondents, two of the flight
deck officers, etc. Flyers are reading booklets,
“Meet the Marianas,” just in case they are shot
down. Others are reading maps, some sharpening
their pencils for note taking. One says, “I hope
I get me a good target.”
Somber reminder that trip is not a pleasure venture
by Lt. picking up mike, instructing men, “Remember, fellows, leave your wallets behind and all identification; you won’t need any of that.”
Lt. Col. Koln opens by saying, “We can’t begin the
show yet for we haven’t the photographs, but should
have them from the lab in a few minutes. From
what I have seen of the prints, we ought to be able
to cook up something for tomorrow.”
Mr. Royce, Combat Intelligence Officer, takes over
for a few minutes with remarks on a slide map that
he shows of the island to be hit, Pagan, pointing out
some features of the terrain. When he steps down,
men relax in leather-upholstered chairs, lighting up
their cigarettes for a while. Then all are galvanized
into attention by Lt. Koln.
“We’ve got the pictures, boys. Here they are.” Lights
are dimmed again and photos are flashed on the
screen. He talks quietly, like a college prof., as he
points out each target for the six strikes. “Strike Able
has a juicy white building here on the tip of this
jetty. First four fighters will go in strafing bombs.
When you do that there shouldn’t be much left.
Strike Baker, two big white houses sitting up on top
of this cliff. No scruples about hitting them, for natives don’t live in houses like that.” Remarks that he
Tuesday, July 24, 1945
Pilots return from strike agog with excitement as
intelligence officers question them for information
that will be of assistance to men making the later six
strikes. Report meager fire, sight no Japs, all of them
being under cover. Pictures taken will make later
strikes immeasurably easier.
0430 – Reveille. Ship was up early to get in pre-dawn
launching of first strike. Planes are all armed and
ready to go with bombs and rockets, for armament
men have been up since 0300, earliest on ship to rise.
Strikes launched and landed with rhythmical regularity, each one. Report from one of the early ones
states over the radio that she, TBM, has picked up
AA fire in one of her wings.
At the end of the day happily all planes and men
return with no casualties except TBM mentioned
above and one bullet through one of the window
shields of a fighter.
Wednesday, July 25, 1945
Another strike scheduled this morning, but only
2 knot wind across the deck prevents planes from
taking off. Sea is glassy calm with not a ripple on its
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�face as far as the eye can see. Only planes launched
during the day are the ASP, anti-submarine patrols,
early morning and afternoon.
Thursday, July 26, 1945
Another strike; this time on Rota which is situated
between Saipan and Guam. Both strikes are
launched before seven o’clock, which means that
we had to be up again at 0430, an early hour! Again
happily no casualties except to the elevators of the
planes that went down too close and caught some
flak from its own bomb blast or the bomb blast of
the plane ahead of it.
We are operating off these islands of Tinian and
Saipan, the homes of the B-29’s, the monsters of
the sky lanes.300 We see them as they are returning
in the early morning from their night attacks on
Japan’s home cities and we see them starting out at
night as tonight.
For over one hour they are flying over us on their
way north as the dusk descends on the ocean. When
they began their flight over us the sun was just sinking in the Pacific Ocean. When it is dark, they are
still winging their way north to write their blazing
message across the face of Japan for the rulers of
that unfortunate country to read. It still holds that
there are none so blind as those who won’t read.
We stand topside on the flight deck and watch the
endless procession across the night sky with their
lights showing clearly, to be extinguished later on,
somewhere during their fourteen hour trip when
they are over enemy territory.
Though they number hundreds, they look lonesome
up in the sky with their precious cargo of eleven
men for whom families, wives, children, mothers,
sweethearts are praying back home. What does the
night’s venture hold in store for them? Which will
be among those whose trip will be characterized by
that simple, short but tragic word, “only” one plane,
two planes were lost. I bless them as they leave us,
swallowed up by the night sky, their lights growing
dimmer and dimmer in the distance until they are
lost to view. May God be with them, every one. We
shall have our night’s sleep and yet they will be just
returning to Saipan and Tinian, their work completed for another two days when they must fly again. I
think back on the day I saw two of them flying out
of San Francisco over the Bay on the first leg of their
long hop to engage the enemy in combat; now they
are in it with capital letters.
Friday, July 27, 1945
Today we entered port that is open water behind
the anti-sub nets off Tanapoag, Saipan. It is about
150 miles north of Guam, with a temperature much
cooler and, for that reason, more comfortable than
Guam. Harbor has no men of the fleet. Ships are all
at sea or another anchorage, preparing for the big
strike against Japan.
Saturday, July 28 to Wednesday,
August 1, 1945
We have qualification runs for shore-based pilots
who land and take off immediately. Weather closes
in frequently with rain and fog so days are not as
profitable as expected.
Mass, as every morning, starts the day in the hangar
deck. Being Saturday, I visit the USS St. Olaf nearby
to arrange for Mass aboard for the Catholic men
and nurses since she is a US Army Hospital Ship.
Find aboard Fr. Halloran, S.J., Missouri Province,
who informs me that Frs. Jimmy McLaughlin and
Jimmy Dolan, fellow New Englanders, are ashore on
300 Introduced into the war in June 1944, and used almost exclusively in the Pacific Theater, the Boeing B-29 Superfortress was a highaltitude bomber with a range of 5,600 miles. First deployed from China in bombing raids on Japanese targets, the aircraft were shifted
to the Marianas in November 1944. From there they were capable of reaching all major Japanese cities. The firebombing of Tokyo on
March 9-10 1945, which engaged 279 B-29s from the Marianas, is considered the most devastating air raid of the war. An estimated
100,000 Japanese were killed, more than died at Hiroshima. As the war neared its close, 65 B-29s were specially fitted so they could
carry atomic bombs.
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�Saipan.301 Arrange for Protestant minister to come
aboard for my Protestant men tomorrow morning.
I find that Lt. Greenwood, an old shipmate from the
George Clymer, is a member of the ship’s company.
USS Woodford is the name of his ship.
Ashore early to Saipan in the afternoon to 121st CB’s
where I wake Jimmy McLaughlin out of a sound sleep
to say hello when we have not met for four years. He
looks well, was on Tinian, moved here a few weeks
ago with his outfit. Has a lovely chapel that his men
built for him out of spare time and scrap lumber.
Monday, August 6, 1945
Early rising as usual for General Quarters, followed by Mass. Marine Stan Glowacki, 19, wishes to
become a lay brother when the war is over. Lt. Bill
Massey is puzzled by the “meaningless universe” in
which we live. Wants some assurance that truths of
religion were not manufactured by an overheated
imagination.
Thursday, August 9, 1945
on this night the atomic bomb, man’s latest
instrument of destruction, was dropped on
hiroshima, population 375,000, and destroyed
most of the city and 40% of the people. man’s
inhumanity to man.302
One of the fighter pilots aboard remarked that he
should hate to have the burden on his conscience
that he personally was responsible for sending that
number, 225,000, of people into eternity, “even if
I were carrying out orders.”303 Lt. Hall remarks at
breakfast that Jap plane approached within 30 miles
of our anchorage last night. Sixteen fighters were
vectored immediately to him and he crashed
in flames.
Friday, August 10, 1945
2140 (9:40 p.m.) – General Quarters. We all bounce
to General Quarters, hear a lot of firing; ships have
opened up all around us. Learn later that it was an
impromptu celebration at news, premature, that war
was over; that six men were killed and thirty wounded by our own anti-aircraft fire. Lack of discipline
responsible for their deaths as well as unauthorized
celebrations.
0000 – Midnight. Footnote written to rumor about
end of war when we have a raid approaching at this
hour; no damage done to us, just a lot of night fireworks and thunder.
Sailor’s sister, Army Nurse, comes aboard for a
short visit. Their mother will be glad to hear the
good news. Another man’s brother also makes
contact aboard.
Saturday, August 11, 1945
Underway again for Guam with a load of 60 planes
to be serviced at Guam by A. and R. shops there,
most of them fighter ships, a lot of them with Jap
flags painted on their sides.304
Sunday, August 12, 1945
Two Masses today and Rosary and Benediction
in the afternoon. We learn that a Jap submarine
launched a human [manned] torpedo at an LSD
[Dock Landing Ship] four hours astern of us passing through the same area. Explosion of torpedo
occurred about 1830 (6:30).
Monday, August 13, 1945
Pilots going up on Combat Air Patrol had instructions not to molest a Jap hospital ship on the way to
Wake Island. Two of them on return reported that
they had sighted her. Later we learn that she was
301 James D. McLaughlin (1918 – 1977) was a priest of the New England Jesuit Province, as was James J. Dolan (1903-1952) who later served
in a Jesuit mission in Jamaica that was administered by New England.
302 The atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima on August 6.
303 An estimated 80,000 people were killed as an immediate consequence of the bomb.
304 American personnel would stencil a rising sun symbol on boats or planes to indicate “kills,”
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�intercepted by one of our destroyers, claimed immunity from attack under the Geneva Convention. On
her way to evacuate sick Japanese personnel from
Wake [Island]. Allowed to proceed with stipulation
that she report back for inspection on her return
voyage. Did so; inspection party found in her sick
bays nearly 200 of the Island’s garrison, “so decrepit
from malnutrition and disease that the destroyer’s
doctor doubted whether half of them would live to
reach Tokyo, even under the best of care.” Just a
sample of what happened to the by-passed Japanese.
Wednesday, August 15, 1945
Feast of Our Lady’s Assumption.
We are steaming on the way to Guam from Okinawa
about 10 o’clock with Guam lying low on the horizon when word is passed down the Public Address
System to stand by for a special announcement.
Perhaps this is the one we have been waiting for so
long. Three times before we have bounced to the
speakers, hoping rumors of peace would be settled
once and for all by the word of peace. The day itself
has been an unusual one at sea. General Quarters
about 5 a.m., followed by Mass.
Bugler sounds attention; all hands uncover.
This is the Chaplain, Fr. Foley speaking. You have
just heard the official pronouncement in the form
of an ALNAV from the Secretary of the Navy that
the war is over. It is only appropriate that the arrival of this moment which has been the object
of so many prayers should be commemorated by
an act of thanksgiving to Almighty God for the
blessing of victory. So we stop for a minute in our
shipboard duties to pray.
O Almighty and Everlasting God, Father of Mercies, Whose treasures of goodness are infinite, we
raise our minds and hearts to Thee in thanksgiving that this day the nations of the world are no
longer locked in deadly strife and that Thou has
crowned our arms with victory. Grant, we beseech
Thee, that in our moment of victory, we may not
forget to walk in the way of Thy Commandments
and so merit Thy blessing upon ourselves and
our great country in the days of peace that are
ahead. We ask Thee, in Thy mercy, to be mindful
of our comrades in arms, who made this victory
possible, the Marines and soldiers who reddened
the beaches from Casablanca to Iwo Jima, and
the sailors and pilots who brought their ships and
planes to a flaming end. To them, O Lord, and to
all who place their trust in Thee, grant a place of
refreshment, light and peace, through Our Lord
and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
that announcement. it was the alnav
from secretary forrestal that we had all
been waiting to hear. an authoritative
statement that the war was over. a roar
of joy went skyward from all over the
ship, and a prayer of thanksgiving that
god had at last harkened to the prayers Later in the afternoon I tried to phone Ed on the
beach, but this was his day off so failed to get in
that were storming heaven for the end
touch with him. Better luck tomorrow.
of the horrible conflict.
1015 – I approached the Executive Officer for permission to say a prayer of thanksgiving over the PA
system for the day of days arrival. At the time we
were almost at the entrance of Guam harbor waiting
for the pilot to come aboard. He said that I couldn’t
have it then. Then I asked him what would be a
good time. He referred me to the Captain standing
nearby on the bridge. “Captain, I’d like permission
to say a prayer over the PA system, etc.” “Fine; now
would be a good time.”
1600 (4:00 p.m.) – Another Mass in honor of Our
Lady in thanksgiving for the end of the war and for
the repose of the souls of those who had made the
victory possible.
This evening in the harbor the men are shooting
off rockets celebrating in a mild way compared
to the tragic premature celebration at Okinawa
last Friday.
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�Thursday, August 16, 1945
Mass as usual started the day.
Set out in the afternoon to see Ed. Thumbed my
way along the four lane highway Sea Bees and Army
Engineers built until I reached Ed’s hospital where
he was not at home. Off on a beach party with some
of his rehabilitation cases. Shows up about four
o’clock, then we return to the ship where he sits
down to a good meal of roast beef and all the fixings.
He tells me of his hectic night last night and why
his fellow officers have started to call him “Salty.”
Yesterday, his day off, he and a dentist went out in
a sailboat and were marooned about five miles off
shore. They were steadily drifting out to sea when
they were spotted by another officer on the beach
who was supposed to pick them up in a jeep. He
saw them in the distance, immediately got in touch
with air-sea rescue and before long a plane was
circling over the drifting sailors. Then a Dumbo
dropped flares all around them when it got dark. As
they drifted helplessly, they suddenly saw this big
hull bearing down on them out of the smoke caused
by the flares. Sailors lined her with drawn guns and
rifles primed to fire. When they shouted not to fire
and identified themselves, the tension was broken.
At 1 a.m. the two unwilling sailors finally got back
home. Later on the same evening, a Jap was picked
up in the same area, apparently a radio man, who
learned of the surrender over the radio and decided
to turn himself in.
Ed won’t forget August 15th for two reasons, the end
of the war and his saga of the sea.
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�chapter 7 | for god and country
Destination Tokyo
Monday, August 20, 1945
We are underway at 1400 for some unknown
destination. Speculation rife on what it will be.
Tuesday, August 21, 1945
This afternoon we catch up with a convoy of seven
fat-bellied tankers and one PA [attack transport],
whose escort duties we take over from the USS
Makin Island.
Destination still unknown. Morning meeting with
speech by Executive Officer and Captain on opportunities for staying in the regular Navy. When show
of hands was called for from 45 officer reservists
on how many intended to stay in, not one raised
his hand.
Wednesday, August 22, 1945
We are steaming on a course dead north off Iwo
Jima where so many Marines paid the last full measure of devotion. Weather has happily taken a change
for colder with the face of the ocean green again,
exactly like the Atlantic. Waves are riding high with
tremendous crests and deep troughs. Day is one of
the roughest we have had but it is a normal Atlantic
day. Some of the men are sick, but most are able
to act like sailors, even though we are rolling and
pitching a bit.
Press release is full of information about conditions of
surrender dictated by MacArthur. We only know that
we shall be very close to the Island of Honshu.305 In
case the Japs perpetrate a piece of treachery, we shall
be on hand for action. The landing will be a full scale
invasion, with skies black with land-based and carrier
planes, numberless combat transports, destroyers,
battlewagons, cruisers, destroyer escorts, etc.
A typhoon is brewing that grounds all our planes
which have been flying anti-submarine patrol. Sea
grows nasty, sullen clouds blot out the sun, waves
increase to a mountainous size as we continue to
plow north.
Friday, August 24, 1945
We are slowly steaming along behind the tail of one
typhoon [Typhoon Ruth] and just ahead of the nose
of another [Typhoon Susan]. Newscast reports that
day of surrender has been postponed due to the
fact that Tokyo airfield has been turned into a sea of
mud by the typhoon which is hitting it.
Our planes are lashed down with normal lines, plus
four steel cables where there would normally be
one. Such is the insurance against the effects of the
typhoon. Wind is racing across the deck at a high
speed and all hands are told to keep off flight deck
forward of the barriers and away from the palisades
which are perpendicular steel staves inserted in the
security tracks on the deck to break the force of the
wind as it howls into the planes lashed down topside.
Looking out on the horizon, we discover that we have
grown considerably since yesterday. Instead of eight
ships, we now number 24, being increased by five
other carriers, destroyers and destroyer escorts. Cruiser,
Detroit, is command ship with an admiral aboard.
305 Japan’s main, and most populous, island. The major industrial cities of Tokyo, Yokohama, Osaka, and Nagoya were on the island, as
was Hiroshima.
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�Saturday August 25, 1945
Sunday, August 26, 1945
0400 – Reveille! Followed by General Quarters as
usual. Even though we put the clocks back last night
we lose out this morning. We are sleepy.
0355 – Reveille. 0500 – Mass. 0900 – Mass. 1000–
General Service.
1600 – Rosary and Benediction.
0500 – Sunrise.
I poke into the navigator’s chartroom to find out that
we are 300 miles from Tokyo and headed straight for
it. However, we shall probably reverse direction, for
we are still trying to keep away from the typhoons
lashing the island off our port side, Japan itself. If we
were here one month ago, we would be sweating
blood, with Jap planes diving in on us and the submarines trying to file us in Davy Jones’ locker. We
learn today that the battlewagon hit the night before
we left Okinawa two weeks ago was the Pennsylvania, with twenty men being killed by the torpedo
that holed her. Fr. Burke, ex-Bethesda chaplain with
me, aboard her. Hope he is all right.306
Discover that we now total 52 ships with new carriers and cruisers joining us. We are a formidable
fleet now, ready for anything if the Japs should
suddenly change their minds. We are now running
at will up and down outside Tokyo just waiting for
the day of surrender. I remove my dog tags.307 Only
worry now is floating mines which destroyers that
are our picket line occasionally explode with their
5” shells. The doughty DD’s [destroyers], they always
have the dirty work and receive not too much credit.
Day dawns bright and clear like an early September
day back home. Late leavers among the rain clouds
are hurrying to get away across the sky, as though
they might be picked up for stragglers by the sun.
Beautiful sight of 52 ships, with seven carriers
among them, the biggest being the Intrepid which
is fueled by one of the tankers. Small DD’s also have
their tanks filled again by other tankers of which
there now ten with us, the most important unit of
the fleet. All these have come from Eniwetok where
they were standing by for just an occasion like this.
Temperature is mild, although when the ship is buttoned up for the night, she heats up again as if she
were still down south.
One of the Marines has this remark to make to one
of the sailors this noon in the chow line, “Say, you
must clean your teeth with gunpowder, you shoot
your mouth off so much.”
At table tonight one of the flyers tells me that they
start to fly again tomorrow morning, with the menace of the typhoon having disappeared. They have
instructions not to molest a Jap hospital ship which
is on its way to Marcus Island to pick up the remnants of the garrison there.308
306 John Burke, CSC (1903-1957), escaped without injury and was later celebrated for writing personalized letters to survivors of each of the
men who died on the Pennsylvania. Following the war, he became a senior administrator at the University of Notre Dame.
307 A flat declarative sentence, but a significant moment for Foley, as for all servicemen and women. Dog tags were worn by all military
personnel for identification purposes. The Navy tags were oval and debossed with first and last name, middle initial, identification
number, blood type, month and year of entering the service, and religion: P or C or H (Hebrew). Two identical tags were worn on a
necklace: one to be removed so a death could be reported, and the other left behind so the body could be identified when it was retrieved.
308 Marcus Island was a small, arrowhead-shaped Japanese atoll that American forces bombed through 1943 and 1944 but never invaded,
moving past it to engage targets closer to the Japanese mainland. The island’s decimated Japanese force surrendered to the U.S. Navy
on August 3, 1945. The bombing of the island is a focus of one of the most remarkable propaganda documentaries produced by the War
Department. More than an hour long, The Fighting Lady, released in 1944, treats a year on the aircraft carrier Yorktown. The filming, by
gun-mounted cameras, of an aerial bombing attack on Marcus Island occupies 11 minutes of the film, beginning at 13:50. It may be viewed
on C-Span at https://www.c-span.org/video/?327301-1/reel-america-the-fighting-lady-1944. For more on the state of “garrison remnants” on
by-passed Pacific island,” see Foley’s entry for August 13, 1945 in regard to soldiers removed from Wake Island by a Japanese hospital ship.
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�Sunday, September 2, 1945
Copy of letter to my mother:
This great day [V-J Day] is now part of history, but it is one that all of us will not forget
for a long time. I don’t know whether or not
you heard the description of the signing of
the peace treaty over the radio, but we had a
first hand report of it, there about 250 miles
off Yokohama. The time was a reasonable
one for us, Sunday morning at ten-thirty, but
for you folks it was, unless I am mistaken,
about eleven o’clock Saturday night. You
see, we are ahead of you way out here where
we are closer to home by way of India, Suez
Canal and the Atlantic than the way we came
out here.
I heard the speeches of President Truman,
General MacArthur and Admiral Nimitz in
our wardroom which is directly under our
flight deck, aft part of the ship. A little door
in the bulkhead, through that, and you could
see the planes landing while the speeches
were being broadcast. In that particular
corner of the wardroom, about ten of us
officers were clustered around the radio
eager for every word that was being said.
What I liked particularly about Truman’s
speech was his gratitude to Almighty God
for crowning our arms with victory. Judging
from his utterances so far, he is a religious
man, and is not afraid to proclaim his
religion.
Again, what he has to say seems to have the
ring of sincerity. His next reference to the
dead and their families struck a responsive
chord in the hearts of all of us. I had remarked to a Marine officer that I would like
to see the First Division of Marines march
down Tokyo’s main stem and then have
them shipped back to the States to New York
and parade down Fifth Avenue. They were
the boys who fought first on Guadalcanal,
all the way through the bitter and bloody
Pacific campaigns right up to the door of
Tokyo itself.
The Marine officer remarked that the boys
who should do the marching wouldn’t be
there. His own brother was one of those who
fell in the taking of Peleliu, north of New
Britain. Truman didn’t omit a single group
in his expression of thanksgiving.
He did a good job.
MacArthur was very good also. He didn’t forget the men who forged the victory for him
as he said, “I speak for the men who lie on
the beaches, along the jungle trails, and for
the sailors who are buried in the depths of
the sea.” It wasn’t surprising to see one of the
officers who was a survivor of the sinking in
the Coral Sea unashamedly wipe away a tear.
He had seen many of his shipmates killed
aboard ship and drowned in the water.309
Nimitiz who followed MacArthur struck
the same notes as the rest of the speakers.
He showed how universal the sacrifice was
when he ran off the list of names of the
men who are buried in the cemetery near
his headquarters on Guam. Every nationality was represented. On my way to see Ed
I passed a number of times the cemetery
he mentioned. The row upon row of white
crosses stand out most prominently against
the blazing tropical green of the surrounding acres. Some day perhaps the government
will make it possible for the mothers of those
boys to come and see where they are buried,
just off the beach that they died to win.
309 Four American ships were lost on May 4-8, 1942 in the Battle of the Coral Sea. Foley is likely referring to most prominent of them, the
carrier Lexington.
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�Yesterday the more fortunate boys who had
lived through it all started the sweetest trip
they have made in their naval career, the
long trip home. Men who had the required
forty-four points left us yesterday as we
marked time off Yokohama, as we have been
doing for the last week. They won’t forget
their departure nor shall we.310
A big tanker came alongside of us, as we
both steamed at about eight knots. A breeches buoy was made fast and then the fortyfour men who left us were swung across the
open water, about twenty-five yards of it, two
at a time. Just as the first men were hoisted
out over the side, our bugler played, “California here I come!” Their sea bags followed
them over.
They all clustered together on the well deck
of the tanker, waving to us left behind and
making remarks about what they would
do to remember us to God’s country. Then
we pulled away and we went back to our
position in the task force while the tanker
steamed off to rendezvous with a carrier to
which she would transfer the men again
and then “HOME!” These were the men
who deserved to go first, for they had gone
in right at the beginning of the war, most
of them were married or if not, had dependents. When told that they were to leave us,
they said that they pinched themselves to
help realize the good news was true. I lost
some fine members of my Catholic congregation; a couple of boys were daily communicants, one in particular as fine a man as
I have met in the service. His name is Bill
Malloy; he is married to a lovely Irish girl
and steps into a job with the New York Fire
Department. Funny how men turn out. It
just occurred to me that we have another
Irishman aboard, not first generation, as
Malloy, but straight from Cork, who would
do anything for me personally but never
goes to Mass. ‘I’m an atheist, Father,’ he
tells me. He is about the same age as Malloy, twenty-eight, comes from an excellent
Catholic family in Brooklyn but, ‘I just can’t
see it, Father.’ What are you going to do with
a man like that? A hard blow of misfortune
may bring him to his senses sometime. Yet
even though he won’t go to church, he would
knock a man down who would say anything
against me! Figure that type out.
Even though the war is over, the danger is
still as great as ever for our pilots. It is no
easier to take off or land on our floating
airstrip. That was brought home to us this
afternoon about five o’clock. As one of our
fighters was curving in for a landing, he lost
altitude quickly, his engine died out and
he made a water landing. Our hearts were
sick with anxiety as the plane spun in. Then
about three seconds later a figure was seen
to swim away from the sinking plane and
everyone breathed easier. You should have
seen the destroyer that tails us always during
operations for just such an emergency. That
sea behind her boiled furiously as she closed
in the two hundred yards between her and
the pilot. He was pulled aboard by willing
hands and there he is, still aboard the tin
can as I type this letter at eight o’clock. He
celebrated V-J Day in his own special way!
Just this minute a copy of tomorrow’s press
release, a three page mimeograph stint was
handed to me by my yeoman. There I read
about the signing of the peace treaty that will
take place Sunday!
310 The Adjusted Service Score was used to calculate which military personnel would be repatriated first. Devised in anticipation of the
European victory, the formula, which was several times revised, awarded points for months in the service, months overseas, combat
medals, and children under age 18, among other factors. American soldiers were generally pleased with the system, but, along with
their families at home, sometimes angrily protested the slow pace at which repatriation was accomplished.
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�Before closing, one more item. Tomorrow
we intend to shoot one of our Bosun’s. He
had the bridge watch this afternoon and announced just as I was about to start Rosary
and Benediction, “First Division stand by for
receiving mail from destroyer on starboard
quarter.” A roar of joy went up on the ship,
for we have had no mail these two weeks we
have been at sea. I told the men they could
write to the folks about the happy interruption to my remarks about the two intentions
for which we were saying the Rosary, in gratitude for the peace and in remembrance of
the dead. Then we found later that the mail
was a couple of official letters from the Admiral of the task force to our skipper. That
Bosun! He should have said “Guard Mail” in
his announcement.
Wednesday, September 5, 1945
For the first time since the war was declared, our
ships are lit up at sea. It is indeed a sight for sore
eyes tonight topside. All around us, our sister ships
have their running lights showing, red for port,
green for starboard. Those that are fortunate enough
to have portholes have them wide open, letting out
their circles of light to pierce the inky darkness of
the ocean off Japan.
Today also the censorship is removed so that we can
now tell everything about where we have been and
what we have been doing.
Saturday and Sunday,
September 8 and 9, 1945
Copy of another letter to my mother:
At his very moment of writing, your oldest
boy is practically sitting in the shadow of
Fujiyama, world-famous mountain that greets
all visitors to the capital of Japan.
This morning about five o’clock through the
mist of a watery sunrise we caught our first
glimpse of “enemy” territory on the home-
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land when our task force entered Sagami Bay
outside of Yokohama. An island appearing
high on our port side and there we saw our
first Japanese trees growing on the soil of a
country that we were fighting just one short
month ago. Naturally everybody was anxious
to drink in every single object on the shore but
not until the sun rose higher in the sky was
that wish fulfilled.
About eight o’clock we dropped anchor after
maneuvering slowly up the bay and getting
closer and closer to the mainland. The sights
that met our eyes might have been any part of
our northern coastline on the Atlantic Coast
back home. There was a beach that stretched
for miles, slate-colored, with a big sea wall
to keep back the fury of the ocean when a
typhoon starts whipping it up. Back from the
beach were substantial houses with solid tile
roofs, none of them pagoda type except two or
three. Then above all things, what should we
see but a trolley car making its way along the
rim of the shoreline, a trolley car with brown
sides, yellow-trimmed windows and silver
roof. Shades of Revere Beach!
However, this was no amusement center or
a refuge for the oi polloi on a hot Sunday
afternoon. Only occasional groups of houses,
clan-like in their huddling together, broke
the density of the trees that climbed up the
mountains directly behind the beaches.
As the day grew older and we could identify more and more of the shore contours,
we echoed over and over what one officer
said when we caught sight of land early this
morning, “Thank God we didn’t have to fight
our way in here. Acquisition of real estate is
always a costly proposition on beaches, especially when there is determined opposition to
your intentions.” On the face of one cliff, we
could make out two gun positions and a number of narrow slits that must have had some
�pieces of military effectiveness behind them.
But not a sound of any kind came from those
beaches, happily, very unlike our landing in
North Africa when we were heavily shelled
by shore batteries after dropping anchor off
Port Lyautey.
opposition from the anti-aircraft batteries.
There is an airport just over the brow of the
hills behind the beach nearest to us, and
judging from the planes that are constantly
in its traffic circle, that place is as busy, no,
busier, than LaGuardia airfield in New York.
It was a fascinating game picking out objects
of interest all around us. White flags, of
course, flew in abundance over gun positions we find out later. One particularly, on
top of a high hill caught the eye as it flew
straight out in the strong breeze that gave us
a temperature for the day of about 68 or 70.
Well, there are some hodge-podge impressions of this eventful day way out here where
history of the best kind, peace history, is
being made these days. Tomorrow I shall
add a few more lines, for I haven’t said a
word about something you must have gathered already that the news censorship has
been released on our end now.
Flags could also be seen flying from some
of the houses along the beaches. We don’t
know what the inhabitants thought of our
task force of fifteen ships when they woke
up this Sunday morning to see the American flag streaming from each one of Uncle
Sam’s men-of-war. Naturally, during the day,
we didn’t have a chance to interview them,
either, although we could see them walking along the beach and looking us over. We
would have given not a penny, but a dollar for
their thoughts. You know that next Friday is
the day of their national humiliation. On that
day, they will hear the tread of a conquering
army as it marches down their main street in
Tokyo. Imagine how we would have felt had
we been defeated and the Japs staged a victory
parade down Tremont Street, Fifth Avenue,
or Pennsylvania Avenue. That might give us
some idea, if only faintly, of how these people
will feel, come Friday.
Now I have said nothing about the planes
that have been filling the sky over us, all
transports, C-54’s, B-17’s, B-24’s, and even
B-29’s, all engaged in ferry work, taking soldiers in and departing with full loads of
released war prisoners. They are a magnificent picture as they fly across the face of the
blue sky, their sleek silver sides glinting in
the sharp sunlight and, best of all, with no
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One more word about this mountain, Fujiyama. It was a breath-taking sight to see
it flinging its snow-crowned head, twelve
thousand feet high, up into the blue sky. The
contrast of colors was beautiful. The green of
the waters as the eye travelled toward it, the
deeper green of the trees that clothed it until
the snow began, three-quarters of the way up,
and then the clear sharp blue of the heavens.
These colors didn’t have the blazing intensity
of the tropics at all. Perhaps that’s why this
area reminds us so much of home. I just
went up to the flight deck to get a breath of
fresh air before turning in at this hour of ten
o’clock. The only lights visible are those on
our ships, for we are all lit up like Christmas
trees. But that’s another story that must wait
for tomorrow.
Monday, 3:30 p.m. In again after just coming
down this lovely afternoon from the flight
deck where everybody on the ship who is not
actively engaged is rubber-necking topside
at what is to be seen in Tokyo Harbor. That’s
right. We have moved since this morning at
eleven o’clock. We pulled up the hook as the
sailors phrase it, and made our way up the
rest of the Bay until we anchored right here
in Tokyo’s front pond. As we headed directly
into the harbor, both shorelines were flanked
�with white flags. Again the land was moderately mountainous, with plenty of industrial
activity evident from the huge smoke stacks
belching their black messages. By the way,
just before we got underway this morning,
there were dozens of fishermen out early for
the catch in their small rowboats that were
sculled from the stern. They didn’t cast a
single glance at us as they went by. Perhaps
their wounded pride wouldn’t let them dignify us, even with a look of recognition.
Putting you back in Tokyo Harbor for the
sights, all around us is melancholy evidence
of the damage done by our Navy planes in
their repeated attacks. Imagine how Boston
Harbor would look with Castle Island,
Deer Island, Governor’s Island, and all
the rest being bombed and bombed by
enemy planes.
These fortified islands here were supposed
to guard the approaches to the city, but
what could they do against planes moving
at the rate of three and four hundred miles
an hour?
You can just imagine the might of the American Navy that is stationed here for the edification or the intimidation of the Japs. Every
conceivable ship is here, from the little tugs
to the giant battlewagons and carriers.
Monday, September 10, 1945
Into Tokyo Harbor where we join forces with a
mighty armada of assembled naval might, every
conceivable type of ship. And all around melancholy
evidence of the destructive force of naval aviation.
Three forts guarding the entrance to the harbor
have been reduced to rubble; the biggest has its big
concrete blocks pointed at weird angles into the sky
and the smallest is leveled at the water’s edge. Off to
one side is a Jap destroyer that was driven aground
and on the other side a big Jap battlewagon has
been badly gutted by a fire, apparently strafed by our
bombs. Smaller craft lie sunken in the waters, but
fortunately not in such a place that they impede the
steady flow of American shipping.
Today is the anniversary of Bl. Charles Spinola and
Companions. Mass in his honor today. An Italian
from Genoa, he labored twenty years here in Japan
and then was executed in 1622 together with 19 other
members of religious orders; 12 Jesuits altogether, 2
priests, 7 scholastics, 2 catechists and one lay brother.
Thirty laymen and women were also executed in the
presence of 30,000 Catholics at Nagasaki.311
Coincidence that this should be the day that we
make formal entrance into the harbor of Tokyo.
Tuesday, September 11, 1945
Off in the distance we can make out the smoke
stacks of Yokohama; some of the factories have
been badly gutted by fire. One big gas tank remains
standing, two have only their charred frames left. A
forest of smokestacks dots the horizon, making this
area another Pittsburgh.
Movie this evening, “Rhapsody in G” by Gershwin.312
Wednesday, September 12, 1945
Copy of another letter:
What a day this has been! For the first time,
I set foot on Japanese soil in the city of Yokohama. I thought that instead of writing you
individually I might chronicle the experiences of my first “liberty” in Japan in the form
of a circular letter. This form will at least
save Kay some time and labor, for knowing
her from the past, she would sit down at her
trusty machine and proceed to multi-copy
this effort.
311 Spinola, a Jesuit who came to Japan in 1602, stayed on after missionaries were banned in 1614. He was captured, imprisoned, and burned
at the stake on September 10, 1622.
312 Foley meant “Rhapsody in Blue,” a Warner Bros. biopic released in June 1945.
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�To begin at the beginning. About half past
eight this morning we shoved off from our
carrier in an LCI (Landing Craft Infantry),
fifty of us for a day in Yokohama. We had
been equipped with yen for spending money
in exchange for our good American dollars.
Yours truly also carried about thirty packages
of cigarettes which he knew he would get rid
of somewhere. One person he had in mind,
and that person received half of them
before noon.
After about an hour’s run, very slowly, due
to the tremendous amount of shipping
anchored and moving in the Bay of Tokyo,
all ours with the exception of a few sampans
fishing for crabs or something. We nosed
our way by two big cylindrical cones about
fifty feet in height, one colored red and the
other white, that guarded the immediate
entrance to the docking area.
The area around the docks was much the
same as that in any seaside port, long warehouses, high cranes and railroad spurs. Off
to our right, we could make out three Navy
hospital ships engaged in their work of mercy
of bringing our prisoners back to health. Just
before we stepped onto the dock, somebody
remarked that reports about the damage done
to this second city of Japan were certainly exaggerated. The B-29’s were supposed to have
written it off the map.
A walk from the dock of about ten minutes
brought us to the first signs of the bomb
devastation. One huge office building was
completely gutted by fire. When the three
of us travelling together, a Marine flyer by
the name of Jack Massa and an ensign,
Chuck Daniel, looked inside the entrance
and up through the six stories to the sky,
all we could see was twisted steel girders,
blackened timbers and scarred walls. “That
was one place that caught it,” somebody remarked. As we walked along, here and there
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would be another building whose walls were
leaning at crazy angles while its insides were
strewn all over the ground, but still hardly
seemed to have been a city “written off” by
the Air Force.
In front of that skeleton one of the ship’s
combat photographers asked me to step up
and say hello to a group of Japs who were
waiting for a streetcar, the first intimation
we had that they were running. The three of
us gathered around the Japs. They looked at
us and we looked at them and I asked one
of them in good English what I meant as a
baseball question, “How did the Yanks make
out?” One of our Marines who had come
said, “That’s a beauty of a question you asked
them, Father.”
That street we were walking on didn’t seem
particularly damaged until we turned a
corner sharply. Then a landscape of utter
desolation met our eyes. We were on the
edge of the business section of Yokohama.
That area of about four square miles was
completely destroyed. Acre after acre was
leveled to the ground. As if to point out the
devastation, here and there by some quirk of
fate a building would be left partially standing, a melancholy survivor of the holocaust
that consumed its neighbors.
While we were looking over the dismal scene
three women, obviously English by their
dress, were about to pass by us after saying
a cheery “Good morning,” when I asked if
they knew where the Catholic Church was.
They indicated a white church standing on a
hill about two miles away, saying that it had
been one of the few structures to escape
the “terrible day,” May 26th, “that you boys
came over.”
One of the Marines had asked her where the
main business street was, with all the stores.
She smiled as she said, “You left nothing of
�it.” On the “day” she said that all the destruction was done in a period of two hours as
hundreds of B-29’s roared in at broad daylight about eight o’clock in the morning. The
three women were overjoyed to see us. Two
of them had just been released two days ago
from a concentration camp. The third who
told us about the bombing had not been
imprisoned because she had been married to
a Japanese. Her house near the church had
been spared the destruction that ravaged the
city below her.313
When she found out I was a Catholic priest,
she insisted on taking me to a Catholic hospital with an Irish superior. However, she
was away and the acting Reverend Mother
was a French Sister. The hospital also had
been untouched by the bombing, but it was
as bare as the deck in my cabin. The Japanese Navy had taken it over and when they
moved out a short while ago, took every
single bit of equipment with them. They left
only the walls and the floors. Even the mirrors were removed from the bathrooms.
She and another Sister were living in one
bare room wondering when they could start
the hospital functioning again.
After a visit with her, the three of us mentioned earlier dropped in on the pastor of the
church. He was a Frenchman who had been
in Japan for twenty-two years. What he had
to say about the Japs was enlightening. “You
Americans must do two things, drive the
military class out of public life and take his
divinity away from the Emperor.” He also
told us that the Japs despise people of white
skin, no matter what the nationality. After a
visit with him for half an hour, we dropped
in to say hello to Our Lord in the church
which could have been the Sacred Heart
Church in Medford Hillside for size, but St.
Catherine’s on Spring Hill for beauty with
its marble columns.314 The statues were Our
Lady, the Little Flower, and St. Stanislaus
with a Japanese cast to his features. But it
was a Catholic church and a Catholic felt at
home immediately in it.
Our visit over, we walked down a road, came
to a turn and were amazed to see a valley
about three miles square that had once been
a residential section completely burned out.
No, there was no exaggeration about the thoroughness of the work of the B-29’s.
Back to the city we went and walked through
the devastated sections. Over everything was
the hand of death. Water and gas mains had
been broken and the smell of decay hung
heavy in the air.
What of the Japs? The few thousand we saw
were poverty stricken. Men, women and children were clothed in rags, literally, that had
been patched over and over again. They were
quite friendly with their smiles and anxious to
pick up any scraps of food they could. The life
of the city was practically paralyzed, the only
semblance of activity being the trolley cars that
ran intermittently. But here and there in what
used to be downtown Yokohama, a trolley car,
now just a gaunt burnt-out skeleton, had been
pushed over to the side of the cleared street to
allow some form of traffic as well as its own
living brothers to move. War had visited these
people in its more horrible forms. Now four
months after the ‘terrible day’ they were still
trying, and not succeeding, to recover from
its effects.
313 On May 29, 1945, 454 B-29 Superfortress aircraft engaged in an incendiary bomb attack on Japan’s second largest city. Nearly
seven-square miles of the city’s business and industrial areas were destroyed. The raid actually took one hour and nine minutes.
314 The Sacred Heart Church was in Medford, Massachusetts, while St. Catherine of Genoa Church was in neighboring Somerville.
Both municipalities were ethnic, working-class industrial cities north of Boston, where Foley was raised.
226 | chapter 7: destination tokyo
�Saturday, September 15, 1945
Near the South Dakota. a big Jap battlewagon, superstructure bridge area charred skeleton. Must have cremated all
the Japs topside when she was hit by our flyers. Sign on
one of her forward gun turrets, “NO VISITORS!” Navy
hopes to take her home as biggest souvenir of the war.
Men aboard trying to get her in shape.315
Monday, September 17, 1945
Letter to mother:
It is now eight o’clock this September evening and a movie is being shown on the
hangar deck below by the name of “Tomorrow the World,”a propaganda picture featuring anti-Nazism.316 Since I have a constitutional dislike for all propaganda pictures of
all stripes, I have passed this one up also.
If I had any temptation to attend this one,
it would be overcome by my desire to write
you something of my experiences today.
Today was another one of those red-letter
days I have been mentioning of late. It
seems all these later days are red-starred.
This one was the latest, for today I visited
Tokyo itself. As usual, a Landing Craft Support Ship, more familiarly known as an
LCS, came alongside us about ten-thirty this
morning and we hopped aboard her to begin
the hour ride out of the harbor into Yokohama. You are fairly acquainted with that city,
or rather with what is left of it, from my last
letter. This trip our group decided to waste
no time on a city that was dead, so we made
for the train station and boarded the rattler
for Tokyo. Believe it or not, but this railroad
was exactly like the New York, New Haven
and Hartford out of New York. It was electrified all the way.
We had to wait for about ten minutes for the
train to pull in and then found out that we
were accorded a conqueror’s privileges. Not
only on his gestures did we ignore the ticket
taker, but we stepped into a coach marked in
English, RESERVED FOR THE U. S. ARMY.
The Navy had no objections to availing
themselves of Army accommodations since
there seemed to be no soldiers around. So
we made ourselves comfortable in cars that
were exactly like the Boston El coaches, no
better and no worse, just in case an El director might read these lines and get a swelled
head about his sardine tins.
Still to give the devil himself credit, there is
a limit to the capacity load of the El coaches.
There was none to these. The one next to
us had reached capacity about ten stations
before we reached the main station in Tokyo,
but still they managed to pack them in. Being in the last car of the ten car train, we had
a good chance to see how many people were
jammed into the cars ahead. There always
seemed to be room for one more.
Also, our coach gave us a good opportunity
to see the damage done by our B-29’s in
their bombing raids. It took us about fortyfive minutes to make the run from Yokohama to Tokyo. Both sides of the track were
lined with blackened and rusted evidence of
the truth of the claim of the Air Force that
Tokyo and Yokohama were no longer targets.
Japan is highly industrialized, surprisingly
enough. For mile after mile, where there had
been factories, there was only chimney after
chimney that stood against the skyline, like
giant cement pencils that had been frozen
in the act of writing some message across
315 Likely an instance of scuttlebutt. The editors can find no record of any plan to bring a Japanese war ship to the U.S. after the war.
316 “Tomorrow, the World!” was a United Artists production released in December 1944. It tells the story of a teen-age German boy who,
after being adopted during the war by an American family, learns to shed his Nazi beliefs.
227 | chapter 7: destination tokyo
�the sky. Where the factories had not been
leveled, their walls stood at crazy angles,
ready to topple, it seemed, with the slightest
breeze.
Here and there along the road bed, some
groups of houses were untouched and the
people were bending over their victory gardens, trying not to improve their vegetable
yield of the country but to keep from starving.317 On the waste lands left by our bombers others had managed to nail together
some corrugated tin for a roof over their
heads to keep out the rain as they eked out a
miserable existence. These hovels continued
right into Tokyo itself. A train barker shouting out the names of the stations was the
first intimation that we had arrived.
Out we piled about half-past two with myself
trying to head for the Jesuit University run
by Fr. [Bruno] Bitter, S.J., Sancta Sophia.
Outside of the station which had also been
gutted by our fire bombs, without damage,
however, to the right of way, I separated
from my group who headed into the downtown district to purchase some souvenirs.
You can imagine how much I felt at home
in a foreign land, knowing nothing of the
language and to top it all, in a country where
we were regarded as conquerors. It’s a funny thing, though I doubt if any American
can feel as a conqueror should. The sailors
walked down the streets on their best behavior, almost a little self-conscious, it seemed,
as they passed one ruined building after
another.
Tokyo itself, like Yokohama, was hard hit.
Building after building is just a hollow shell.
One in particular looked ghastly. It must
have been a beautiful twelve story office
building in its day, constructed of white
bricks, our red construction size. Fire had
consumed the vitals of the building and
then licked at the exterior until, as I saw it,
it seemed almost like a human being whose
face had been horribly burned. An effort had
been made to clear away the debris marked
by some success, but it will be years before
any appreciable impression is made on the
devastation that scars the city.
Walking down the street for about ten minutes, I came to a bank and figured that there
somebody must be able to talk English. As
soon as I stepped into the entrance, a porter
very graciously took me in hand to answer
my question by escorting me to somebody
who could speak English. I file through
the main office where about fifty girls were
busily engaged in typing, and about twenty
tellers, until I met one of the big shots who
spoke perfect English. Yes, he knew of the
University, but how to direct me there was
another question. He finally drew a map,
explaining it very carefully, while I mentally
figured that I’ll never be able to make that
and get back to the ship on time. When he
finished, I thanked him and gave him a
package of cigarettes, about which, incidentally, the Japs are wild, literally.
They wave their money in front of us in the
streets offering fabulous prices for even one
cigarette, let alone a package. That is how
some of the boys manage to pick up their
souvenirs without spending money. They
simply pay in cigs and then go on their
American way, better equipped than before,
especially when you remember that we
pay only five cents a pack aboard ship for
cigarettes.
317 Victory Gardens on suburban lawns and in city yards and parks were vigorously promoted in the United States and other Allied countries with the aim of supplying vegetables for home use so that commercially grown produce could be directed to the armed forces. By
mid-war in the U.S., an estimated one-third of all available vegetables were the product of Victory Gardens.
228 | chapter 7: destination tokyo
�I stepped out into the street again, started
to walk aimlessly when a Jap who evidently
must have been a good mind-reader took in
my predicament, so he stepped up and said
in perfect English, “May I help you? I speak
your language.” I told him my story again.
Very graciously he offered to take me to Fr.
Bitter, but reluctantly I had to decline when
my watch pointed to quarter past three, indicating that the return trip to Yokohama was
imperative.
Back to the station then, where I bumped
into six of our flyers on the platform. We
stood there for about ten minutes when a
yell about four tracks over brought sharply
to our attention that if we wanted to make
the boat back to the ship on time, we should
shift gears for our train wouldn’t leave till
four and the one on the other track would
go in ten minutes. American-like, instead of
going down the ramp that led to the other
track where some other Marine flyers were
who had yelled at us, we hopped down into
the train beds, up onto the platforms until
we had covered the intervening distance.
When we arrived, we were told that the Japs
had a good time laughing at the tallest of us,
a flyer about six feet three who negotiated
the lift from the train beds to the platform
with the ease of a giraffe while the rest of us
were obviously laboring. The station, incidentally, was jammed with Japanese leaving
their capital city.
Since that train was due to pull out in five
minutes, we were late for seats. One of the
flyers had a bright idea, the baggage car.
There the seven of us rode on the small
pieces of baggage, wrapped not in boxes but
hemp and rope, all the way to Yokohama.
Just to sooth the conscience of the three baggage smashers and their boss, we gave each
of them a pack of cigarettes, about a month’s
normal wages for them as far as we could
229 | chapter 7: destination tokyo
make out. As with all the Japs, these reacted
the same way. They were the very essence
of courtesy. They bowed from the waist as
they mumbled in heavily-accented English,
‘Thank you.’
We enjoyed the relative comfort of the
baggage car until we got to Yokohama, we
thought. At that station was the Oriental
counterpart of the stationmaster who was
singing out the name of the station. When
we checked with the train guard, he bowed
smiling, to our question, “Is this Yokohama?” Then we found ourselves on the street,
one station earlier than we should have
been. A trolley, with Japs hanging from every
strap, came along at the amazing speed of
about three miles an hour. However the
back end outside was unoccupied and there
the terrible conquerors draped themselves.
The girl conductor looked around, ventured
a furtive smile at us and then turned back
soberly to her work of collecting the fares as
her countrymen left the trolley.
Meanwhile these wild Americans were
enjoying the ride, so much so, that when
the car stopped about three times, about six
pictures of us were snapped. What a life!
We finally got back to the dock where our
old friend the LCS ship picked us up and
brought us back to the Vella Gulf. By the
way, I forgot to mention that I gave the
girl conductor the equivalent of about a
month’s wages with a bar of soap and a
package of cigarettes just before we
hopped off for good.
Tuesday, September 18, 1945
Today all liberty parties were cancelled due to the
wind that raced across our flight deck at 65 knots,
the edge of the latest typhoon. Sea lashed angrily at
all the ships and the anchors strained as they tried
to hold the big men ‘o war in place. Lasted from
3 a.m. to 4 p.m. when the wind died down and the
�face of the water was calm again. This evening there
is almost a full moon looking down on the ships
again riding peaceably at anchor.
On a big wooden door alongside of the sign was
another, “Business For Closed.”
Thursday, September 20, 1945
Fortunately only casualties were some small boats
that were shaken loose aft of some of the ships.
Ours were hoisted in. All hands were cautioned to
wear life belts while they worked on the flight deck,
so powerful was the force of the wind.
Wednesday, September 19, 1945
Press Release: Nine hundred killed in Japan
by typhoon.
Ashore at noon today to seaport town of Yokosuka
to attend Chaplains’ meeting at the Officers’ Club.
Resolution was passed commending the Naval authorities, American, for closing the public houses of
prostitution here in Yokosuka. We thought they closed
them.318 Walking through the Navy Yard noticed all
the big steel presses and cutters were produced in
Glasgow by T. E. Smith and Company.
Big work sheds were much the same as those at
Navy Yards in Charlestown, Mass. or Bremerton,
Washington; completely deserted as were the navy
barracks. Here was the training ground for the KK
[Kamikaze] boys, the suicide pilots, for the air station is just around the corner. They were terribly
effective, sinking 32 ships of the Navy during the
Okinawa campaign and hitting 223 others; a lot of
good men died.319 Before, we could walk down the
main stem of this dingy town with its ramshackle
houses and red light district with its so obvious
signs, in English, “Welcome House” and Jap letters
underneath; another “Geisha Girls House.” “For
Naval, Flyers and ‘miyatary.’”
Once again we left the ship anchored in Tokyo Bay
for liberty in the big city of 7,000,000 Japanese,
the capital of the Japanese Empire. We steamed on
a ship’s boat all the way into the docks in Tokyo
proper instead of going to Yokohama as before and
then taking the electric train into the city. We docked
about half-past twelve when I started out to find out
where our Jesuit University was. I didn’t have the
foggiest notion, but I intended to deliver a piece of
baggage that contained about a dozen filet mignons,
half a dozen cans of corn, the same of beets, a jar
of jelly, peanut butter, beef broth mixture, three
cartons of cigarettes, etc. The place was somewhere
in the vicinity of the Imperial Palace, I was told
by Fr. Sam Hill Ray, S.J., of the New Orleans
Province.320
Just as soon as we stepped off the ship a Jap truck
driven by an American sailor started to leave the
dock. Carrying a black bag and a shoe box loaded
with what sailors aptly term loot, I didn’t relish
tramping all over the city looking for the college, so
I hailed him immediately, hopped aboard and asked
where he was going. “Nowhere.” “Whose truck?”
“I don’t know.” “Where did you get it?” “Right here
on the dock.” “Ever driven one of these before?”
“Nope.” “Well, you’ll learn. Drive me to the
Emperor’s Palace.”
We headed out there, in the meantime having picked
up a full load of officers and men who were going
downtown also. As we hit the Ginza [shopping] area,
they dropped off with only six staying aboard. We
318 As Foley intimates—and as he relates a few paragraphs later—while the American military publicly banned brothels, prostitution openly
thrived during the occupation. Some brothels were run under private auspices and others under a quasi-government Japanese agency—
the Recreation and Amusement Association—out of concern, the association said, that the safety of Japanese women generally would
be put at risk if prostitutes were not available for American occupiers.
319 Present-day estimates vary from these figures, but not greatly. Some 5,000 Americans are said to have perished by Kamikaze attacks
during the three-month Battle of Okinawa.
320 Ray would gain notoriety not many years later for publicly standing against the integration of student organizations at the University of
New Orleans, where he was director of counseling services. The New Orleans Province formally rejected segregation in 1952.
230 | chapter 7: destination tokyo
�drove on and on until finally we stopped and asked a
Jap man where the Palace was. Pantomime with his
hands pointed to the ruined buildings and making
believe opening a door didn’t help at all. So we passed
him along until we met a crowd of kids who gave us
general directions which we followed and got more
hopelessly lost. Finally I wound up in a police station
with an interpreter who turned out to be a Catholic.
He couldn’t help me either but he did take me down
the street to a Protestant church pastored by a Jap
minister who was unfortunately away on a “very busy
day.” Then back to the police station and then to the
truck while a million kids clustered around the conquerors lost in the conquered city.
We then headed back in the direction we came from,
and I went into a bank, got directions anew from
the clerk and following these, we were able to sight
the Imperial grounds. The Palace itself we could
only see by climbing to the roof of a six story building next across the main highway from the Imperial
grounds, which were surrounded by a moat.
A boy about fourteen spoke English in that building
and he offered to send a boy with me to the Morning Star school, a convent! Well, I figured from the
Sisters I could find the Jesuits so we started again.
By this time we had been travelling through the
waste lands and ruins of Tokyo, 56 square miles of
it, burnt out, for over two hours and were apparently
no nearer to my destination; the six officers in the
rear of the truck were seeing the city from a travelling van but they didn’t mind.
Our driver didn’t mind either, but he did confess to
a bit of uneasiness when I asked how much gas we
had. We never knew when we might run out for the
gas gauge was broken. The truck was a good one,
but took the holes in the road to the ultimate depth.
We bowled along merrily.
Around the Imperial grounds we drove [and] my
guide brought us into a school where there were a lot
of youngsters. The teacher was dressed like all other
Japs, couldn’t speak English any more than I could
Japanese, but we did manage to get along in French.
He identified himself as a Marist Brother, I as a
Jesuit, then we had another handshake. I told him I
wanted the Jesuit University. He said he would bring
me there himself. He got in alongside of [our driver];
I hung on the outside of him and away we jounced
until after fifteen minutes of riding by the usual rubble and neatly piled corrugated tin and the shacks of
a thousand dumpvilles where the homeless were trying to get a shelter, we saw a big brown building that
looked something like Loose Wiles factory on Causeway St., Boston, with more windows than brick, and
there was St. Sophia University. There I met half a
dozen priests and then Fr. [Bruno] Bitter of Heythrop
College, England days. A French Jesuit brought me
to him who, incidentally, said that the school numbered about 1500 during peace time; their enrollment had slumped badly, but now was picking up.
Catholics in Tokyo numbered about 10,000. Most of
the enrollment was non-Catholic.321
The corridors of the faculty residence were much
the same as any Jesuit house all over the world.
Long and high as any and the room of Fr. F. X.
Bosch, S.J. like any other priest’s in a college; books,
prie-dieu, bed, crucifix, Office and picture of Our
Lady conspicuous, a simple room, simply furnished.
Fortunately the fire had not touched the new building of the University, but the old. Miraculously it
seemed, for in front of the college there was nothing but devastation. The French Father said that if
it had not been for the Emperor pressing the issue,
the Military would have fought to the last man. He
insisted on peace and happily he had his way. In
fact, he said, it would not surprise him if some day
he became a Catholic; he is very favorable.
321 The Loose-Wiles biscuit company occupied a brick warehouse on Causeway Street in Boston’s North End. The building still stands and
is today part of a condominium complex. Sophia University, founded by the Jesuits in 1913, is today a selective private institution in
Japan, with some 12,000 undergraduate and graduate students. As was the case when Foley visited, the majority of students are not
Catholic. Bruno Bitter (1898-1988), a German Jesuit who Foley had studied with at Heythrope College, was Sophia’s rector from 1942 to
1948. He served during the post-war years as the Holy See’s envoy to the American occupation forces and was an informal advisor on
Japanese culture to General Douglas MacArthur, who administered the occupation.
231 | chapter 7: destination tokyo
�The visit with the priests was over in ten minutes
when I found that my Marist friend had deserted
me, having done his kind deed.
head are innumerable dogfights in the sky as our
men playfully tangle with each other, now that the
war is over.
We started back through the debris on both sides
of the fire-bombed city and dropped off our Jap boy
with five yen and a package of cigarettes.
Tuesday, September 25, 1945
A visit to a department store outside of which
we had our picture taken didn’t reveal anything
but 5 and 10 goods, except for some prints, three
of which I purchased.
Then we started back for the docks, picking up sailors and officers along the way. Just as we were about
to get into the dock area, we ran out of gas, coasting
to a stop in front of another Jap truck, smacked it
gently, and then answered the smiling question in
English of the Jap, “Where did you get the truck?”
“On the dock here, thank you.”
Friday, September 21, 1945
We shove off for Okinawa today at half past eight
in the morning, with about forty passengers aboard
for further transfer to home and to Leyte and way
stations via Okinawa. We learn today that we are
to remain in commission as a major war vessel.
One third of the fleet will be kept in an active
status, another third in reserve and one third will
be de-commissioned.
Sunday, September 23, 1945
We cruise around outside the nets off Buckner Bay,
Okinawa, waiting for a berth to be assigned to us,
when finally the Captain goes in and picks his
own berth.
Monday, September 24, 1945
Ashore to contact men who are brothers of men
aboard ship. Failed but met Arthur Doyle from
Chestnut Hill, B.C. graduate, now pilot aboard the
USS Antietam with Fr. Zimmer as Chaplain who still
can’t say Mass occasionally on Sunday due to the opposition of his Executive Officer and Captain. Over322 Equivalent to an Army rank of Major.
232 | chapter 7: destination tokyo
Up anchor to Pearl Harbor with a total passenger
complement of 656 who are berthed in cots on our
hangar deck. They are a mud-stained group, cold,
dirty and wet as they come up the gangway, but a
shower and a clean up of their gear make them new
men. On the way music from band of USS Arkansas
who have been chasing their ship for four months.
Jam sessions at night, songfests and movies.
Tuesday, October 2, 1945
Second Thursday, since we are crossing the 180th
meridian. Smoker on Hangar Deck; boxing skits,
orchestra of USS Arkansas boys. Are they good!
Friday, October 5, 1945
Learn that they have made me Lt. Cmdr.322
Saturday, October 6, 1945
Four P.M. – Arrive Pearl Harbor.
In an interview with Steve O’Brien on March 7, 1995,
Foley said, “In the Navy, when you went in as a priest,
you went in as a man, and you were a complete stranger
to the people with whom you associated, and the other
way around, too. . . . There was no deference or respect
for you except as a Naval officer. But as a priest you were
Joe Zilch, and only when they sized you up, when they
said what kind of person is he, then you were accepted.
How you would stand up under very trying situations. In
wartime the word would be passed around, how did soand-so stand up. That helped me to grow as a man. Being
placed in a completely strange situation, no different from
the other men. And they finally found out just by the way
you behaved. I grew. And I am very happy that I did it.”
Asked in the same interview if he’d had difficulty adjusting to civilian life after the war, he replied, somewhat
equivocally.” “Thank God I was never disturbed psychologically . . . maybe later.”
�photographs
Left to right: Foley, his sister Mary, his mother Catherine, and his brothers Francis and Joseph in the backyard of their home in Somerville, Massachusetts.
Foley’s youngest brother, Lt. Edward C. Foley, U.S.,
Army, who was posted to Guadalcanal for much of
the war and whom John visited as often as the Clymer
weighed anchor off the island. John supplied his
brother with such valuables as steaks, oranges, ice
cream, and cigars from the Clymer larder. Edward
Foley would graduate from Boston College in 1966.
233 | photographs
John Foley with his father Francis Foley, Sr., at
“Shadowbrook,” the Jesuit novitiate in Lenox,
Massachusetts, c. 1923.
Photo credits: Pages 233 and 234, Foley Family. Pages 235
and 236, United States Navy. Page 237, Foley Family (top)
and United States Navy.
�Fr. Foley, in late April or early May 1943, with three French missionaries and two of their wards who’d been rescued
from Bougainville by a an American ship and then transferred to the Clymer. The women’s names, which Foley recorded at the bottom of the photo, are Sr. Martian, Sr. Ignatius, and Sr. Adelberta. The children are identified as Dorothea
Solutu and Aloysius Chinyung. Charmed by the children—particularly the indefatigable Aloysius—the Clymer crew
presented Foley with “a bomb helmet full of bills and change” to be given to the sisters for the benefit of their charges.
234 | photographs
�Fr. Foley saying Mass on the deck of the Clymer while anchored off the island of Espirtu Santo just prior to the
Bougainville invasion on November 1, 1942. The men before him are mostly Marines. On the night before the invasion
Foley heard confessions until past midnight, and on the next morning “distributed Holy Communion as Viaticum for
25 minutes immediately after Reveille.” The landing took place at 7:30 a.m. By late morning, Foley was offering Last
Sacraments to the gravely wounded who’d been returned from the beach and whose confessions he’d heard the previous
evening. The battle for the island eventually engaged 144,000 American troops and would not conclude until Japan
surrendered.
A 1952 photograph of Foley at a ceremony in New York
City, where he was presented with a print of a painting,
commissioned by the Navy, that draws on Navy photographs of Foley saying Mass on the Clymer.
(See photo above)
235 | photographs
�The USS George Clymer, an attack transport, on which Foley served from June 1942 to April 1944.
236 | photographs
�Foley presides at a memorial service on the lower deck of the Vella Gulf in memory of Marine Lt. Edward C. Grove, a
pilot who died in a take-off accident on May 12, 1945. Grove, the ship’s first casualty, is represented by an empty chair
in the front row, and his fellow pilots are seated in the first four rows. In one of his interviews with Steve O’Brien, Foley
recalls that he said a Mass for Groves, who was a Protestant.
The USS Vella Gulf, an aircraft carrier on which Foley served
from April 1945 until war’s end. His note at the bottom edge
of the photograph reads “Our ship — spanking new.”
237 | photographs
�for god and country
Acknowledgements
The editors are indebted to William P. Leahy, S.J., President of Boston College, for his support of our work
on “For God and Country,” Jesuit Fr. John P. Foley’s diary account of his life as a U.S. Navy chaplain in the
North African and Pacific theaters of war during World War II.
We are also grateful to David Winkler, Archivist at the Naval Archives; to David Miros and Ann Kanke, of
the Jesuit Archives at St. Louis University; to Alice Howe, retired Archivist of the New England Province
Archives at the College of the Holy Cross, who provided us with the transcript of the diary, and to Dennis
P. Foley and Maureen Dwyer, nephew and niece, respectively, of Fr. Foley. We are grateful, too, for the assistance of Associate Vice President Jack Dunn and Senior Associate Director Brock Dilworth, both of the
Office of University Communications.
And we are in particular debt to our Graphic Designer Bobbi Bloom.
The Editors
Joseph P. Duffy, S.J., served in various capacities at Boston College for 42 years, 20 as Secretary of the
University. He is the editor of three other on-line books based on the 20th-century military and diplomatic
service of New England Jesuits. These can be found at the Joseph P. Duffy Collection of Digital Works at
the Jesuit Archives and Research Center. (https://jesuitarchives.omeka.net/collections/show/3)
Ben Birnbaum is a writer and editor in Brookline, Massachusetts, and was the editor of Boston College
Magazine from 1982 to 2018.
238 | acknowledgements
�
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Joseph P. Duffy Collection of Digital Works
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<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85021043.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Catholic Church</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh87004995.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Jesuits--History--20th century</a>
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Duffy, Joseph P.
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Reproduced with permission of the Northeast Province of the Society of Jesus
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eng
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JA-Duffy
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Northeast Province Archive
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Northeast Province of the Society of Jesus
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This collection contains publications edited by Joseph P. Duffy, S.J. regarding histories of New England Province Jesuits.
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2016-09-06
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3 items
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1939-1945, 1968
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2016
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2020-07-21
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For God and Country: The War Diary of Lieutenant Commander John P. Foley, S.J., Navy Chaplain, 1942–1945
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Jesuit, History, WWII, World War 2, Chaplain, Navy, Diary, Foley
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Between 1942 and 1945, a Boston College Jesuit named John Patrick Foley (1904-1995) kept a diary of his experiences as a Navy chaplain in the North Africa and Pacific theaters of war. He wrote about the soldiers and sailors he came to know and minister to; of his first walk on a battlefield; of war news and rumor; of the striking beauty of the battle-ravaged Solomon Islands; and of the ruins of Tokyo. Transcribed and typed by Fr. Foley’s secretaries after he returned to his administrative post as a dean, the diary was in the New England Provincial Archive at the College of the Holy Cross when Joseph P. Duffy, S.J., a retired BC senior administrator with a deep interest in 20th century Jesuit history, came upon it and determined to develop it as a public document. Edited by Duffy and former Boston College Magazine editor Ben Birnbaum.
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Duffy, Joseph P.
Birnbaum, Ben
Foley, John P.
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Jesuit Archives & Research Center
Joseph P. Duffy
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JA-Duffy
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PDF
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eng
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Text
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JA-Duffy-godcountry12132021
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2021-12-13
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1942-1945
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Joseph P. Duffy
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Joseph P. Duffy
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LIFE
UNDER THE
JAPS
STORIES FROM A PRISONER-OF-WAR CAMP
�Table of Contents
1 FOREWORD
23 CHAPTER SEVEN
Everybody in Camp Seemed Ill;
Worst Cases Hospitalized
111
INTRODUCTION
From Bataan’s Fall to Miraculous Rescue
at Cabanatuan by Yanks
26 CHAPTER EIGHT
Sometimes Japs Put Flowers
on American Graves
1 CHAPTER ONE
24 Hours of Chaos and Mystery
Preceded U. S. Surrender of Bataan
29 CHAPTER NINE
“No Atheists in Foxholes”
Saying is Largely True
7 CHAPTER TWO
Captors Seized Food and Medicine;
Left Patients on Bataan Only Rice
31
Fear of Death by Torture
Was Always in All Minds
11 CHAPTER THREE
Nips Did a Brisk Business
in Stolen U. S. Cigarettes;
How Yanks Starved on Rice
33
as Prisoners Start Trip to Cabanatuan
17 CHAPTER FIVE
Handed Ball of Rice and Sent with
Corregidor Men to Notorious Cabanatuan
20 CHAPTER SIX
Survivors of Death March
Didn’t Want to Remember
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Burial Detail Left Camp
with Dead at 4 Each Day
14 CHAPTER FOUR
Sympathy Shows in Faces of Filipinos
CHAPTER TEN
35
CHAPTER TWELVE
Christmas Midnight Mass
for 6000 in Moonlight
38 CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Prisoner Farm Workers
Often Brutally Beaten
�Table of Contents (continued)
40 CHAPTER FOURTEEN
9 Threatened With Death
If One Prisoner Escaped
42 CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Red Cross Shipments
Exposed Jap Lies
45 CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Shaving Became Problem;
Japs Grabbed Razors
48 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
American Navy Bombers
Flew Directly Overhead
50 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Japs Suddenly Pull Out;
Leave Prisoners Unguarded
53
End of Long Trip Was Like
a Triumphal Procession
59 SERVICE BIOGRAPHY
Dugan, S.J., John J. (New England)
60 ASSIGNMENTS
Dugan, S.J., John J. (New England)
61 BOSTON GLOBE, APRIL 15, 1943
Maj. J. J. Dugan. S.J., Boston,
Jap Prisoner in Philippines
62 WOODSTOCK LETTERS
The American Spirit
64 BOSTON GLOBE, FEBRUARY 2, 1945
Fr. Dugan was Chaplain
at Boston City Hospital
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hearts Pumped Like Mad at Cry,
“We’re Americans”
55
57 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
65 BOSTON GLOBE, APRIL 1, 1945
Maj. Dugan to Talk
at Patriot’s Day Service
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Alarm” Rescuers Heard Was 7 Bells,
Navy Time
66 NEW ENGLAND PROVINCE NEWS, 1965
Fr. John J. Dugan, S.J.
1897 – 1964
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
Forew0rd
“L
IFE UNDER THE JAPS” IS A STORY THAT WAS TOLD 70 YEARS AGO
OVER A THREE WEEK PERIOD, APRIL 1-21, 1945, IN THE BOSTON GLOBE
AFTER WORLD WAR II. It is the story of a young Jesuit priest, Fr. John J. Dugan,
S.J., who in 1936 left his assignment as chaplain at the Boston City Hospital to join
the United States Army.
He became a chaplain at the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) Camp at Fort Ethan Allen in
Vermont from November 1937 until June 1940.
(During the Great Depression the CCC was a public
work relief program for unemployed, unmarried
men, ages 18-23, and later ages 17-28, of whom only
11% had completed high school. The camps were
operated by Reserve Officers from the U. S. Army.)
He was called to regular Army service in 1940 and
served at Fort Riley, KS from June 1940 until September 1941, where preparations were being made
because of war clouds gathering over Europe and
Asia. During this time Fr. Dugan wrote an article
about the role and duties of a chaplain serving in
the military that he was substantially able to carry
out in the relative peace and quiet of Fort Riley. But
that was to change dramatically after his transfer to
the Philippines in October 1941, two months before
the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the United States
declaration of war on Japan, and just four months
before his being taken as a prisoner of war in April
1942 by the Japanese. For the next 34 months Fr.
Dugan would be carrying out his priestly ministry
under incredibly harsh conditions both for him
personally and the young men with whom he suffered and struggled and among whom he was one
of those who survived. I believe that you will be
both appalled and inspired by what you are about
to read. Appalled by the brutality with which the
prisoners of war were treated and the tragedy of the
far too many who made the ultimate sacrifice in the
fight for freedom. Inspired by the honesty, courage
and high level of morale of the American prisoners,
their care and support for one another throughout
their imprisonment and the generosity of the Filipino people who sacrificed their lives and freedom
to provide our men with gifts of food and medicine.
For his heroic and selfless service to all the U. S.
prisoners, especially the sick and dying, Fr. Dugan
was awarded the Bronze Star and the Army
Commendation Ribbon.
After receiving much needed medical attention
upon his return to the States, Fr. Dugan’s next assignment in May 1945 was as chaplain at Cushing
General Hospital in Framingham, MA, where still
recovering from his ordeal during which he had
I | foreword
�lost all his teeth and weighed less than 120 pounds,
he was regarded as much a patient as a chaplain.
In August 1946 he was relieved of active duty with
the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. But just a little less
than two years later in June, 1948 he was recalled to
active duty with chaplaincy assignments in Texas,
Georgia, Michigan, Guam, Manila and Japan until
his final separation from the Army Reserve as
Lieutenant Colonel in May 1954.
Over the next ten years Fr. Dugan carried out his
priestly ministry in various parishes and later as a
member of the Jesuit Mission Band. It was after
returning from eleven weeks of giving missions in
late November 1964 that he suffered his first heart
attack. After two more in the following two weeks
he breathed his last and returned to the Lord whom
he served so faithfully and well. At his request,
Fr. Dugan’s funeral was, like that of this brother
Jesuits, simple and plain, with no military honors.
But his is a story of faith and courage in the service
of his country that should never be forgotten. How
proud St. Ignatius, the soldier-saint and founder of
the Jesuits, must be of his faithful son!
joseph p. duffy, s.j.
II | foreword
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
Sunday, April 1 – Sa
turday, April 21, 1945
“LIFE UNDER THE
JAPS”
By
, S.J.
Major John J. Dugan
Chaplain, U.S.A.
Lue
As told to Willard de
All rights reserved.)
Newspaper Company.
opyright 1945, Globe
(C
From Bataan’s Fall to Miraculous Rescue
at Cabanatuan by Yanks
an introduction by willard de lue
O
VER THE LAST FEW DAYS, HOUR ON HOUR AT A STRETCH, I HAVE HEARD
ONE OF THE GREATEST STORIES OF HUMAN EXPERIENCE that has come my
way in nearly 40 years of newspaper life.
It is the story of 34 months under the Japs, as
and then served in the CCC camps of Vermont,
told by Maj. John J. Dugan of Boston (of South
has an amazing memory. Again he has recorded
Boston, if you insist on complete localization), a
the whole story of his prison experiences while
Jesuit priest of the New England Province, for some
they are still freshly seared in his mind.
years an Army chaplain. He was captured on Bataan
He reached Boston a week ago last Tuesday,
April 9, 1942 – and from that day until night of the
scarcely six weeks after he and 510 others were
30th of last January spent his days as a captive in
rescued from Cabanatuan prison camp by
Japanese prisons in the Philippines.
Col. Mucci’s Rangers, aided by a group of Alamo
Never before has the complete day-by-day,
Scouts and bodies of Philippine guerrillas. Boston
month-by-month story of the lives lived by our
gave him four hectic days – receptions, dinners,
men as prisoners of the Japs been told in any such
meetings, questionings by reporters, posing
4John McElroy,will find infor the Dugan’sWar – 1846,” Woodstock photographers. Then he was kidnapped.
detail as you “Chaplains Maj. Mexican story. To
for Letters, 15, 200.
5 Ibid., with, this blue-eyed priest of 47, who for four
begin 201.
It was realized that if his story was to be
years was a chaplain at the Boston City Hospital
recorded in its fullness Maj. Dugan must be
III | an introduction by willard de lue
�freed from all distractions. So we carried him
to the peace and restful surroundings of Poland
Spring, Me. – dragged him away even before
he had an opportunity to visit members of his
own family.
plain, unadorned story
At Poland Spring, in long sessions (often running past midnight) in our convenient sitting room,
in long walks through the pines (where touches of
still-remaining snow made sharp contrast with the
scenes he had known under the blazing sun of
Luzon), at leisurely meals at the Mansion House,
Maj. Dugan told me his story.
You will find it a plain, unadorned story, told
without a touch of rhetorical decoration. It is not
a horror story, though you will find in it accounts
of Japanese brutality. There’s nothing sensational
about it; it wasn’t told to “make a point.” But if you
want to know what life in Japanese prison camps
was like, here it is in its every aspect.
The story runs chronologically. It opens with the
day of surrender, a day that no man in it will ever
forget, but which to Maj. Dugan in a special way was
a day of fantastic adventure. Things happened which
left him dizzy; evening found him a prisoner of war.
That story is printed in today’s Sunday Globe.
From here on it is a story of prison life – first
as a patient at Field Hospital No. 1 at Little Baguio,
on Bataan itself; then at Bilibid, once the criminal
prison of Manila; next in Japanese Military Prison
No. 1, near Cabanatuan, north of Manila; again, at
Military Prison No. 3, also near Cabanatuan, and
finally back in Prison Camp No. 1, where he
remained more than two years.
Its outstanding feature is its detail. It will
answer almost every question you might raise about
prison life. Did they have to eat rats? Maj. Dugan
tells you the answer to that one. How did they make
out on footwear? How much did the Japs molest
them? What were the sleeping quarters like? What
did they read? How well did packages and mail come
through? How about the weather? Did they have
money, and could they buy anything with it? How
did they get it, and how much? What were their
amusements, if any?
The story contains some baffling contrasts. Here
you’ll meet Japanese guards who beat prisoners for
IV | an introduction by willard de lue
seemingly no reason at all; and then you’ll meet
guards with another work detail who act more like
human beings. You’ll even meet Japs (but not many
of them) who pick flowers to lay on the graves of
American dead. How come? Fr. Dugan doesn’t
pretend to know.
After I had heard the entire story of 34 months
under the Japs, I told Fr. Dugan that I thought it
somewhat reassuring to the families and friends of
those men still in Japanese hands. He didn’t agree
with me. Yet I still think that it is reassuring. For
Fr. Dugan’s story shows that all through the period
of his imprisonment conditions improved. True,
the improvement was perhaps scarcely perceptible.
But to me the very fact that things did not deteriorate in this one case brings the suggestion of hope
for the many men still held in prisons in Japan
and Manchoukuo.
Fr. Dugan is now back in Boston for a few days
before reporting at Lovell General Hospital, Fort
Devens, for medical checkup. He looks well and has
regained much of the weight he lost while on a rice
diet. He picked up several pounds while at Poland
Spring. But it will be a long time before he and
those who were with him will get back to normal; I
noticed that he tired easily and was glad of a rest
after what was to me a short walk. But Fr. Dugan
certainly doesn’t consider himself an invalid. He’s
already talking about the day when he can get back
into active service with the boys he loves so well.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter one
24 Hours of Chaos and Mystery
Preceded U. S. Surrender of Bataan
F
OR THREE YEARS I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THE DAY OF SURRENDER ON
BATAAN, STRUGGLING TO CLARIFY THE CHAOS OF EVENTS AND EMOTIONS that
made it perhaps the most amazing day of my life. Only those who were there, crowded into
the lower end of that peninsula, physically worn out by weeks of unequal struggle, nerves taut
from steady bombing, against which there was no defense, shaken by the report that the Nips had at
last broken through and that the end was near – only those who were there can understand the terrifying
confusion of the last hours in which I played a very small but active part.
I was convinced that somewhere there was
few days after that I was assigned to Fort McKinley
treachery. Not in the surrender itself, for that, we
as chaplain of the 12th Medical Regiment of the
knew, was inevitable. But strange things happened
Philippine Division. I was at Fort McKinley when
in the collapse of resistance down the peninsula.
the Japs struck, and shortly after that was made
Perhaps treachery, perhaps just trickery, perhaps
assistant chaplain of the division. But I continued
just imagination. After three years I am still
to make my headquarters, until the very end, with
wondering for I know what fantasies the strain
the medical regiment.
of war and the poignancy of defeat and utter
Our outfit had been forced down the Bataan
disappointment can conjure up.
peninsula by gradual stages, but for some time
Throughout the days of the Bataan defense I
before the surrender we had been at Lamao, which
was assistant chaplain of the Philippine Division,
lies on the east coast (that is, facing Manila Bay),
the famed outfit known as the Philippine Scouts.
perhaps 12 or 15 miles above Mariveles, which is at
Though its officers were men of the United States
the extreme southern tip.
Regular Army, the rank and file were entirely
native Filipinos – fine living, loyal and courageous
chaos begins
soldiers. I look upon it as one of the blessings of
Bataan was surrendered April 9, 1942. Late
my life that I was privileged to work among them
in the night of April 7 our clearance company
and with them and to have known them as
and the headquarters service company were or4John McElroy, “Chaplains for the Mexican War – 1846,” Woodstock Letters, 15, 200.
dered to fall back under cover of darkness through
close friends.
5 Ibid., 201.
Cabcaben, past Field Hospital No. 2, and to bivouac
I had served with the Scouts almost from the
alongside Field Hospital No. 1, at Little Baguio,
day of my arrival at Manila, Oct. 24, 1941. Just a
1 | 24 hours of chaos and mystery preceded u.s. surrender of bataan
�not far from Mariveles. Our collecting companies,
whose job it was to bring in the wounded, were stationed with the various tactical units of the division
on both sides of the peninsula. We moved out of
Lamao at 2 o’clock in the morning of the 8th, of
course carrying with us all the wounded then in
the clearance company’s temporary hospital. By
daylight we were at Hospital No. 1.
Hospital No. 1 lay on a piece of rising, wooded
ground on the west side of the East Bay road
that runs along the shore of Bataan. There were
four or five wooden buildings that had been used
at one time as a maneuver center for the 14th
Engineers. These were used mainly for service
units and as quarters for doctors and nurses.
The patients were in wards with open sides in a
clearing among the trees. About a week before
we moved down alongside the hospital area, it
had been bombed by the Nips; there was still the
ghastly shell hole where once had been one of
the wards, and some of the buildings, too, were
damaged. On the eighth there was a lot of plane
activity – the bombing of roads and areas adjacent
to the hospital, but there were no casualties in the
hospital or the clearance company area.
That night, the night of the eighth, began the
24 hours of chaos that ended in the surrender. It
was a black, moonless night. The main road outside the hospital area was jammed with vehicles
and swarms of stragglers from the Philippine
Army, which should not be confused with the
Philippine Division. Our outfit was part of the
United States Army; the Philippine Army was an
all-Filipino force.
ammunition destroyed
The Scouts, together with the Philippine Army
and the purely American outfits comprised the
USAFFE – the United States Armed Forces
of the Far East.
The Philippine Army soldiers had done excellent service, but by this time had been, in part,
reduced to an ill-equipped force, garbed in little
or almost nothing – many of the men identifiable
as soldiers only because they carried rifles. I
mention this because of what happened a few
hours later. Word was passed that ammunition
dumps would be blown up, the small stuff start-
ing at midnight and the big bombs at 2 o’clock.
About 10 o’clock the commissary outfits began
passing out food to everybody – a big extra meal,
all you wanted. And it was as we sat there beside
the road in the darkness, eating and watching the
streaming traffic headed for Mariveles, that the
earthquake came.
If you have never been in an earthquake, you
can’t understand the terror it brings. The ground
rocked with the tremors; and they had scarcely
subsided when came the first sharp percussions
of the small-arms ammunition from the dumps
above us, staccato above the rumble of trucks on
the road and the voices of the men. For an hour
or more it kept up, and then the heavy detonation of the exploding bomb dumps and the other
heavy stuff. There were flashes of light in the
black sky. And as we look off across the bay, we
could see the fires blazing on Corregidor. Finally
the 14-inch guns at Fort Drum contributed their
thunder, shelling the road up above us to hinder
the movement of the Nips.
The last day, the 9th, began with everybody
utterly fatigued, mentally shaken and confused.
We knew that the end must be near, but that is
all we knew.
But at 8 o’clock that morning (and this, as I later
learned, was some hours before Maj. Gen. E. B.
King, then in command on Bataan, had formally
surrendered), while Nip planes were still dropping
bombs and hostilities had obviously not ended,
down the road past the hospital came a line of
trucks flying white flags. Every truck was loaded
with men, apparently Philippine Army men.
It was the first sign of surrender, the first of
many puzzles of that day.
bombs still fall
Bombs were still falling and there was what
sounded like machine gun fire along the roads as
the Jap planes came in low. Yet the roads weren’t
damaged, and we couldn’t see any sign of casualties among those passing us, and no casualties
were coming into the hospital. And I remember
thinking. “They’re not machine-gunning the
traffic, they’re dropping firecrackers to cause
confusion.” You can see how men think under
these circumstances.
2 | 24 hours of chaos and mystery preceded u.s. surrender of bataan
�It was then that my first suspicion was aroused.
Those trucks with the white flags! Were the men in
the trucks Filipinos, or were they Japs? If they were
prisoners, why did they have their rifles?
And I wasn’t the only one to wonder. Somebody
said, “Those birds were Japs.”
I thought, “Maybe they were Filipinos all right,
but the Japs tricked them, and sent them with the
flags to cause confusion down the line.” But then
I recalled (perhaps it was all imagination) that they
had been too clean to have come out of foxholes.
Maybe, I thought, they weren’t Philippine Army
boys but civilians the Nips had picked up and
rigged out as phony soldiers.
Set down this way, these events and ideas may
look distinct and consecutive. Actually it was all
confused. Even a few days later we couldn’t recall
exactly the order in which things occurred.
I remember the reaction of a sergeant who stood
beside me as we watched those trucks go by with
the white flags. He was a hardened old-timer, with
long years in the Regular Army. He broke down
and cried, wept openly.
“It’s all over,” was all that he said. “It’s all over.”
I guess that’s the way we all felt, and maybe it
would have been better if we all had wept.
By this time the road was clear. The stream of
traffic had dwindled.
About 10 o’clock three tanks, each flying a
Japanese flag, came down the road. The first went
on, and I never saw it again. The other two stopped
in front of the entrance to the hospital area and
swung their turret guns our way.
Japanese officers and men climbed out of the
tanks, and with them came an American officer –
at least a man dressed in the uniform of a major
of the United States Army.
german decoy
The commandant of Hospital No. 1, accompanied by his adjutant and other officers, including
the regular chaplain of the hospital, went out to
meet the newcomers; and I, playing Mickey the
Dunce, went along with them. I just didn’t belong
there, but had to see what was going on. Shortly I
came to regret it.
The Japs, who spoke excellent grammatical English, but with the usual Nip accent, announced that
they had come to accept the hospital’s surrender.
Down by the tanks there was speechmaking. A
Nip stuck his head out of a turret and opened up in
English of sorts. I recall only his peroration: “Damn
Roosevelt! Damn Roosevelt! Damn Roosevelt!”
The man in the major’s uniform stayed back
with the tanks; but I heard someone say that he
was Maj. So-and-So. It was a name I’d never heard
in our Army, but was close to that of an officer I
had been told was in the Philippines. Back at Fort
Riley, in the States, a friend had urged me to look
the officer up when I hit Manila. I figured that this
probably was my man, so I went up to him.
“You’re just the man I’ve been looking for,”
I said.
“Yes?”
I told him that a friend at Fort Riley had asked
me to look him up.
“Where’s Fort Riley?” he said.
Now it’s hard for me to believe, even today, when
I can look at things more evenly, that any Army
man would ask “Where is Fort Riley?” I was immediately convinced (and I’m still wondering about it)
that the United States major was a German and a
decoy, and that it was all part of a trick to add to
the confusion. If it was, then it certainly worked,
and I was in the middle of some of it in a very
few minutes.
The Japs said: “We want an officer detailed
to go with us to identify the commander
at Mariveles.”
“Let the chaplain go,” one of the officers replied.
But by that time the regular hospital chaplain had
moved off. So I, who really had no business to be
there, was elected to make the trip.
The Japs requisitioned the hospital’s Buick. I got
in with the two officers, and the driver started off at
a terrific clip. It was then that I got my first close-up
of things to come.
There was a body ahead of us in the road –
the body of a Filipino soldier. The driver made
no attempt to avoid it. With a thump and a quick
swerve he drove right over it.
planes fill the sky
Our troops were all along the road, but off
at the side. Two or three times we met sizable
contingents of American troops, and the Japs
3 | 24 hours of chaos and mystery preceded u.s. surrender of bataan
�ordered the car stopped, climbed out – I with
them – and informed the American officers
that the war was ended.
“We’ll have your sidearms,” they said to
the officers.
But there was plenty of fight in our boys,
confused as they were at having seen the trucks
and white flags go through, and by this sudden
appearance now of the Jap officers. I explained
to them what I knew of the situation, and
they themselves could see that they hadn’t
much choice.
Overhead the sky was full of Jap planes, circling
and diving, but only rarely now dropping bombs.
I can remember the thought that ran through my
mind as we stood there. One of the last books that I
had read pictured the scenes in Belgium in the dark
days when the British were being evacuated over
the beaches – how the air was filled with German
bombers pounding the troops on the crowded roads
and on the beaches, and the Nazi fighters coming in
low and strafing them . . . and not a friendly plane
in sight. And I thought, “Here we are now in the
same box.” If the boys attempted to resist, the Jap
bombers over us would come in for the slaughter.
Our officers finally handed over their sidearms,
and the Japs tossed them on the floor in the back of
the car. No attempt was made to disarm the men.
Before you get in to Mariveles there is a sort of
cutoff that runs over to the west side road on the
other side of Bataan. And it was close to that point
that we met the man in the white suit.
This is what happened – and what it meant I still
can’t figure out. Leaning against a rail fence, right
at the side of the road, stood a man in an immaculate white linen suit. He was either a Filipino or a
Jap. He held in his hand a small silk Japanese flag.
Our car drew up to him and stopped. The chauffeur reached out, took the flag, and patted the man
on the shoulder. The man smiled. Not a word was
spoken. Then we drove on.
treachery
“More treachery,” I thought. Where did he come
from and what was he doing? Was he there to direct
those trucks?
Somewhere along here was another body in the
road. This time I knew what to expect, so I asked
the driver to stop. I pulled the body off to the side.
Just above Mariveles lay the last of our Bataan
airfields, protected at its upper end by anti-aircraft
guns. The Japs removed the sights, checked the
ammunition boxes, made some notes in books they
carried and then we rode on towards the other end
of the field.
There an American officer was standing alone,
in the middle of the road – an officer I had known
intimately for a long time. He is now dead.
“Jim,” I said, “these men want to find the officer
in command of the Mariveles area. Do you know
where he is?”
“I am in command,” he said. “Gen. King is
down the road but he left me in full command.
I have complete authority.”
There was something odd about his manner.
Odder still his talk about being in command. I told
him that Gen. King couldn’t be down the road; that
King was up above us somewhere. But he insisted
that the General was in the area.
“I have complete authority,“ he repeated.
“You’ll sign for the surrender of Mariveles?”
the Nips asked him.
I figured the officer had gone completely berserk.
“Look here, Jim,” I said, “you haven’t authority
to surrender.”
He was indignant.
“I have full authority to surrender Mariveles;
I can surrender Corregidor,” he told the Japs.
“Here, you write it on this paper,” they said and
they gave him a sheet of paper. “You give us the
written surrender of Mariveles and Corregidor.”
But I told them we’d better find the General.
The four of us got into the car and we started
on – past a place where some of our men and some
Filipinos were gathered in a field. The trucks with
the white flags were there by the side of the road,
empty. The Filipinos – the same ones I assumed,
whom I had seen go past in them – were standing
around the trucks, still carrying rifles.We’d gone no
more than a kilometer when the Japs yelled to stop
the car.
“General not here,” they said. “Don’t try
treachery.”
But the officer still insisted that Gen. King was
there on that road. And I tried to make him understand that King must be up far to the north of us.
4 | 24 hours of chaos and mystery preceded u.s. surrender of bataan
�“I am in command here,” the officer continued to
say. “I’m boss. Do as I say. We’ll go on and find him.”
The Japs wanted to know how far.
“About a kilometer,” Jim said. “You’ll find the
General in a little hut on the right of the road.”
But the Japs refused to budge. They said to me:
“You go and find the General and bring him here.”
I found neither the hut nor the General.
When I came back the Nips said, “Did he sign?”
“He isn’t there,” I told them.
So we started on again, across to the west
side road and swung up towards what was called
Signal Hill.
refused to quit
There was an MP post at the foot of a side road
that swung off inland toward the hills. There we
inquired for the General (no name mentioned; the
Nips said they wanted to meet any General in the
area) and were directed towards the hill.
About 200 yards in on the road the Japs got jittery
again, talked about treachery, and directed me to
go on and find the General. So I went on, on foot.
It was a steaming hot day. How far up in the
hills I went I don’t exactly know. Perhaps two miles.
I had been discharged from the hospital only
10 days before – malaria – and by the time I reached
Gen. Lough’s command post on Signal Hill, I went
berserk myself, I guess.
I remember that the officers there told me they
knew nothing about a surrender, that they were
going to fight it out.
“You go out and take your two Nips back where
you got ‘em,” they told me.
I remember starting down the hill, and getting
into one of our own cars, driven by a non-com.
When we reached the spot where I’d left the Buick
with the two Japs and my friend Jim, they were not
in sight. I never saw any of them again.
At the MP post they said the Japs hadn’t gone
through there. It sounds fantastic, but that’s
what happened.
When we got back to the concentration area I
spoke of (where the trucks were) we were held up
by an MP.
“No traffic is to go through, north or south,”
the MP said. “A Geneva Convention car came
through and left orders.”
“I’ve got to get to the hospital,” I told him.
“We’ll have to go through.”
He said all right, if I’d take the responsibility.
I got back to Hospital No. 1 about 5 that afternoon. One of the Nip tanks was still there, only
it had moved off the road into the hospital area.
I found that everything was really ended. It was
all over. The Japs had given orders that all but
the medical staff and patients must get out. The
hospital held me as a patient and there I was to
stay until late in June.
That’s how I missed the Death March.
introductory note
Fr. Dugan, a native of South Boston and a priest
of the Jesuit Province of New England, begins today
that part of his story which deals with prison life
under the Japs. In yesterday’s Globe he described
the chaos of the last day of the Bataan defense and
of finding himself in the late afternoon of April 9,
1942, a patient and a prisoner at Field Hospital
No. 1, on the lower east side of the peninsula.
Now, step by step, he will carry us through
34 months of life in various Japanese camps in
Luzon – first in hospital No. 1, later in the Bilibid
of Manila, and then in two camps near Cabanatuan.
His imprisonment ended when he and 510 others
were rescued from Cabanatuan by Rangers, Alamo
Scouts and guerrillas.
The great feature of Fr. Dugan’s story is its
detail. Every phase of prison life is explained. For
instance: Could prisoners get eyeglasses? Did they
have to work hard? What happened when shoes
wore out? These are a few of hundreds of questions
this story answers.
5 | 24 hours of chaos and mystery preceded u.s. surrender of bataan
�6 | 24 hours of chaos and mystery preceded u.s. surrender of bataan
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter two
Captors Seized Food and Medicine;
Left Patients on Bataan Only Rice
T
HE PERIOD SPENT AS A PATIENT IN HOSPITAL NO. 1, LITTLE BAGUIO – FROM
APRIL 9, THE DAY OF BATAAN SURRENDER, TO JUNE 19 – might be characterized as
the period of complete blackout. I use the word in a sense that is new to me, but which I find has
come into use while I was out of touch with American life – meaning a complete isolation
from news contacts.
Later in our period of imprisonment we came
to know, through the “grapevine” telegraph of the
friendly Filipinos, and the constant shifting of
groups from one prison to another, something of
what was going on in the islands. We knew pretty
well where our friends were, and how they were
faring. But in the weeks at No.1 we were wholly
out of touch with the outside world.
Actually we knew practically nothing of what went
on outside our little hospital area.
Perhaps you think of Field Hospital No. 1 as a
big, roomy area. Actually it was small and crowded.
It had a frontage on the East Bay road of perhaps
200 or 250 yards and extended back, up a gradual
slope, for a quarter-mile or less – probably less. I
am no judge of distance. The rough map, while not
accurate, will give a general idea of the layout.
rumors “truly wonderful”
One result of this was a crop of daily rumors
that were (as we later discovered) truly wonderful.
One day we learned that a Red Cross ship was at
Manila, ready to take all hospital patients back to
the States. Then came the story that two Red Cross
ships had been allowed to come into Manila Bay
and that they were loaded with medicines and food
for all prisoners of war. We heard that Tokyo had
been bombed. Next, that a complete division of
Negro troops had come out from the States and was
about to land on Mindanao. These are just a few
samples of the stories current in this period.
nurses sent to corregidor
There were two important changes just before,
and on the day of the surrender. The women nurses
of the Army who had been quartered in a small
wooden building next to the big ward, were sent
away by boat to Corregidor early in the evening of
the 8th. Their quarters were taken over by the Army
hospital corpsmen. And what had been the quarters
for 15 or 20 Jap sick or wounded prisoners up to the
end, now became the ward for officer patients.
There were perhaps 500 of us in the hospital
as I now remember it. The main ward had about
300 patients, and there were perhaps 60 of us in
7 | captors seized food and medicine, left patients on bataan only rice
�the officers ward. A temporary ward must have
sheltered 100. There were 20 or 25 doctors, maybe
30 Army medical corpsmen and other hospital
workers. The dental officer was a Navy man. He
also served as the supply officer.
Everybody at the hospital certainly missed those
wonderful nurses. Doctors and patients had been
sorry to see them go, yet were delighted to know
that they were to be in what was, supposedly, the
perfect security of Corregidor.
I knew them all, for though never officially
attached to the hospital, I had been a frequent
visitor there; and as some of the girls were from
around Boston we often had interesting times
talking about home, and the places and persons
we knew.
they met next in boston
Helen Cassiani of Bridgewater was one of
them – a lovely girl. They all were. I saw Helen
that last day, and the next time I saw her was back
in Boston, almost three years later. We talked then
about Dr. Wallace’s watch.
My watch had broken early in the Bataan defense. Dr. John Wallace, a doctor with the 31st
Infantry, had a spare and loaned it to me. Talking
with Helen on the 8th, I discovered that she had no
watch. So I gave her the doctor’s watch, thinking
that as she was going to safety on the Rock it would
be the surest way to save it. I never gave another
thought to the watch until a few days after I arrived
back in San Francisco, when I met Wallace. He, too,
had been a prisoner, but had come back in a ship
which followed mine into the Golden Gate. Wallace
made no mention of it; but Helen talked about the
watch. She had managed to keep it all through her
own prison days, and then had given it to someone
at Santo Tomas just before she left. I think Helen
was worried about how I was going to square myself with Capt. Wallace, but I tried to reassure her.
Wallace certainly never expected to see that watch
again when he gave it to me. I tell all this because
these are the little things that those of us who have,
through God’s mercy, survived Japanese imprisonment will be talking about among ourselves for the
rest of our days.
Then there was Letha McHale of New Hampshire, who has relatives in Boston. I didn’t see her
again until I reported at Letterman General
Hospital on my arrival in San Francisco. She too
had just got back. Helen and Letha were on the
same transport that carried me to the Philippines.
laundered altar linens
In those bad days on Bataan, when I was
saying Mass under all sorts of difficulties, Helen
came to the rescue by volunteering to launder my
altar linens whenever I could get them back to her.
Busy as she was, she somehow managed it.
There were six clergymen at the hospital when
our captivity began – Rev. Frank Tiffany, the Protestant chaplain of the unit; Fr. John McDonnell of
Brooklyn, the Catholic chaplain; Fr. Stanley Reilly
of San Francisco, who had been chaplain of the
Philippine Division (of which I had been assistant
chaplain), and then three of us who were classified
as patients, Fr. Walter J. O’Brien of San Francisco,
Fr. William Cummings, a Maryknoll Father who
had been hit by shrapnel when the Japs wiped out
one of the hospital’s wards with a bomb hit a week
before, and myself. (Fr. Cummings, who only
three days ago was reported missing by the
Maryknoll Fathers in New York, will appear again in
Fr. Dugan’s story. When I told Fr. Dugan that the “no
atheists in foxholes” remark had been attributed to
Fr. Cummings, he said that the phrase was current
at a later period in his captivity, but that he had never
heard with whom it originated. – W. de Lue.)
You may wonder that both chaplains of the
Philippine Division were there. What had become
of the division? Well, it had sort of evaporated. In
the campaign it had never operated as a division.
Its units, the 45th and 57th Infantry of Philippine
Scouts, the 14th Engineers and the 12th Quartermasters outfit had been scattered for work in
different parts of the area. The 12th, for instance,
I never did see after the Jap invasion got underway.
When a Filipino soldier got cut off by the Nips
all he had to do was shed his uniform to become
a peaceable civilian. When the surrender came a
great many of our boys got up into the hills, worked
their way north, and, I’m told, did effective work
as guerrillas.
patients put on rice diet
In the morning of our first day as prisoners the
8 | captors seized food and medicine, left patients on bataan only rice
�Japs (1) raised their flag on a little staff near the
operating building and (2) put us on a diet of rice.
They had carried off practically all of our own food
and medical supplies.
We got our first rice about 8 that morning
(April10) – boiled rice in a tasteless liquid that
seemed to be nothing more than the water in which
it had been cooked. We got rice again and in the
same style between 3:30 and 4 o’clock that afternoon. That continued to be our diet. Two meals a
day of rice for doctors, corpsmen and patients alike.
That morning Col. James W. Duckworth, the
commandant, came to the officers’ ward and talked
to us, as he had to all the other groups. He said that
he would do everything he could to make the best
of the situation, but that everything depended upon
the attitude of the Japs. He explained about the rice
diet and urged any who might have any private
food supplies to give them up to the hospital
commissary. Anyone found eating between meals
would be severely punished.
While at Hospital No. 1 most of us saw very
little of the Japs. Non-coms made rounds of
inspection, but there was no molestation. This was
by direct orders of the Japanese officers, who had
been impressed by the good reports from their own
men who had been cared for at Hospital No. 1. They
had been given exactly the same treatment as our
own casualties.
That first day the road in front of the hospital
was packed with horse-drawn Japanese artillery,
moving down below to take up positions as close as
possible to Corregidor. We were told that the guns
were lined up hub-to-hub; certainly within 24 hours
they opened up with a roar that was continuous day
and night.
battery endangered hospital
Somewhere in the hills right back of the hospital
the Nips had set up a battery of heavy guns – so
close to us that we got the concussions when they
went off. Their shells whistled over us.
Col. Duckworth protested vigorously to the Jap
doctor, pointing out that if American guns attempted
to reply, the hospital would be endangered.
“The Japanese,” he was informed, “didn’t put
the hospital here.”
The heavy guns at Ft. Drum did open up, and
for a time the artillery duel raged right over our
heads. I think the guns at Ft. Drum finally knocked
out the Jap battery, because after a few days we
heard no more from it. But the thunder along the
East Shore road never really let up until the fall of
Corregidor, May 6.
must bow to their captors
We had been told how to act when the Japs
showed up. We were to bow politely to them, not
servilely, but courteously. If you happened to be
seated when a Jap officer entered, you’d jump to
your feet and bow.
Within our hospital area the staff and patients
who could get around were not restricted as to
movement. A Japanese major, a doctor, was in
control of the hospital, but paid us only occasional
visits. The administration was wholly in the hands
of our own Army men.
Col. Duckworth, a veteran of the last war and
a splendid officer, did a masterly job in those days.
With nothing to work with, he somehow managed
to keep the hospital in excellent shape. That
conditions at Little Baguio were as good as they
were is due to his inspiring leadership.
9 | captors seized food and medicine, left patients on bataan only rice
�10 | captors seized food and medicine, left patients on bataan only rice
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter three
Nips Did a Brisk Business in Stolen U. S. Cigarettes;
How Yanks Starved on Rice
E
VERYBODY WHO WAS ABLE TO GET AROUND, REPAIRED, PATCHED AND
FIXED UP THE LITTLE BAGUIO HOSPITAL AS BEST WE COULD WITH FEW
TOOLS AND LESS MATERIALS The big ward building was overcrowded; all its doubledeck bunks were filled. Though from the night of the surrender no new patients were supposed
to be admitted, a few were allowed through for a day or so – mostly cases of exhaustion. Heart cases,
some of them.
So we built a new small ward near the building used as an operating room. The new ward had
a dirt floor, but we managed to get wood enough
to make a roof. The sides were open; and we built
rough double-deck bunks with 2-by-4s.
Later we tacked on a sort of screened porch to
the lower end of the officers’ ward, which we used
as a mess. And the boys constructed an open
shelter for the altar – a sort of shell – with sides
of army shelter halves and a nipa thatch roof.
rice diet causes illness
It wasn’t long after the surrender of Bataan
before most of those in the area began to feel the
effects of the rice diet. Everybody lost weight, and
dysentery was prevalent. There were no adequate
medical supplies, and the few things available went
to the most desperately ill cases. At times surgical
dressings were about nonexistent. Col. Duckworth
and his men labored heroically, and offset some of
these handicaps by the unflagging care given to
the patients.
A big tent shelter was erected near the middle
of the area for the care of dysentery cases; and
when cases of amoebic dysentery were discovered,
or suspected, an isolation shelter was established a
short distance outside the area.
Though rice was the staple, once in a while we’d
get a little surprise. One time the boys made the
rice into a sort of flour, added a bit of sugar, and
produced cookies. We’d get one cookie at each meal
as long as they lasted.
For a short time, at noon, we had “tea.” It was made
of leaves or herbs, and we thought it was wonderful.
japs sell u. s. cigarettes
Then one day it was announced that the Japs
were going to allow one of the doctors to go into
Manila to get some medical supplies. The man
picked to make the trip was Capt. George Raider, a
North Carolinian. So we made a collection among
us, and gave him the money. We figured he might
be able to buy some food or smokes.
11 | nips did a brisk business in stolen u. s. cigarettes; how yanks starved on rice
�In the first few weeks we had managed to keep
in cigarettes. Most of the men had a few packs
on hand when confinement began; and almost
immediately afterwards Jap soldiers made their
way into the area selling cigarettes – good
American cigarettes that they’d either stolen
from our men or from our stores. That lasted for
about a week or 10 days. Then the Jap non-coms
tried to put a stop to it, and were fairly effective;
but I’m sure that there was still some secret traffic
because Chesterfields and Camels were occasionally
turning up. Now we waited hopefully for Dr. Raider
to return, and I remember the general disappointment at the first news – that the supply of medical
stores brought back was nothing like what was
needed. It meant that as the days wore on patients
would be getting weaker, the sick list getting longer
perhaps, and the death list, too.
close to 100 deaths there
I kept no records because until I left there I had
no official connection with the hospital staff. Even
when I was not actually ill I continued to be rated
as a patient and was quartered in the ward. Yet as a
chaplain and as a priest I was always active among
the men. And I participated, with the other chaplains, in most of the burial services. My recollection
is that in the 10 weeks at Little Baguio there were
close of 100 burials. Assuming my recollection to
be right, this meant about a 20 percent mortality.
The cemetery was in a small grass plot close to
the main road at the lower end of the area – the
southeast corner.
Though the news about the medical supplies was
disheartening, the other results of Dr. Raider’s mission were better. He had managed to buy a small
amount of candy, some cigars, and a supply of Philippine cigarettes. I think everybody in the camp got a
couple of pieces of candy and one cigar. The cigarettes
were distributed to the patients – one each day as long
as they lasted, which was about two weeks.
As conditions outside settled down after the fall
of Corregidor more freedom was allowed. Some of
the corpsmen went outside and bought bananas,
which were then plentiful. Another time they
brought back pineapples; there was a slice apiece
for everybody, and an extra supply for the patients
who most needed it.
japs permitted carabao hunt
One day they let some of the corpsmen go out
with rifles, with the Japs, to “hunt carabao.” The
carabao is a domesticated water buffalo, and what
the process of hunting them was, I don’t know.
Perhaps it was just another name for foraging.
Neither do I know that they brought back any
carabao meat. If they did, it went to the patients.
In spite of these minor additions to the diet the
general physical condition of everybody was on the
downgrade. I mentioned loss of weight. In my case
I dropped from about 155 pounds (I was 15 pounds
under my normal weight of 170 at the end of the
Bataan fighting) to 128 pounds in early June, 27
pounds in two months. Probably I went lower in
the next two weeks or so.
But if the weight went down, if there were
illnesses sometimes progressively getting worse, the
spirit of the men never wavered. I don’t mean that
we were in high spirits, for the very wall of silence
with which we were cut off from almost everything
outside our hospital gate was depressing. We kept
asking ourselves what was going on. Wondering this.
Wondering that. And never getting an answer except
the rumors.
After some weeks there was one rumor that,
before long, some of us learned to be true: that
conditions at Camp O’Donnell were deplorable
and the death rate there high.
jap flag made men boil
Yet in spite of that wall of silence and the
general air of unbelieving wonderment at our
position, the men were unbroken in spirit. The
Jap flag flying in the middle of the area made them
boil; the remarks that were passed about it never
would pass the censor. That flag, instead of lowering morale, raised it.
One night in either late May or early June word
was passed that the Japs were going to move out
a group of prisoners; we understood to Manila.
I guess there were 50 in the group, but I never
did know by what process they were selected.
The names were read. Among them was that of
Fr. O’Brien, who had been there as a patient. He
had been quartered with me. The group pulled out
in trucks about 11 at night. We learned afterwards
that they had gone to O’Donnell.
12 | nips did a brisk business in stolen u. s. cigarettes; how yanks starved on rice
�Then came June 19 and my last day at
Little Baguio.
Everybody knew that another detail was being
shipped out. The list this time was a long one, and
my name was on it. I’m really only guessing, but
there must have been 250 or more of us. I hastily
packed my Mass kit (altar stone, chalice, vestments,
etc.) in its case, threw my personal belongings into
a barracks bag and a musette case. Then we lined
up and were checked off.
There was a line of trucks out in the road. There
were a couple of men on stretchers in my truck,
and a dozen or more others, with all the luggage.
We pulled out in the middle of the morning,
traveled through the heat of the day, and about 5 that
afternoon our truck column swung under the brick
arch and through the gates of Bilibid, in Manila.
13 | nips did a brisk business in stolen u. s. cigarettes; how yanks starved on rice
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter four
Sympathy Shows in Faces of Filipinos
as Prisoners Start Trip to Cabanatuan
T
O THE SICK, WHO MADE UP THE GREATER PART OF OUR GROUP FROM
HOSPITAL NO. 1 AT LITTLE BAGUIO, OUR ARRIVAL AT BILIBID WAS A GREAT
DISAPPOINTMENT. We had known that we were headed for Manila, and there had been talk
of a hospital; so we figured that it would be one of the modern hospitals of the city where the
seriously ill would get good care. Everyone at No. 1 had done all that could be done, but the place was at
best a collection of shacks that had been hastily converted to hospital purposes.
But now here we were, at Bilibid. To digress
for the moment: I have, since getting home, seen
accounts that mentioned “Bilibid Prison.” The
“prison” is superfluous. Bilibid means prison.
Once the principal penal institution, but had
been abandoned for some years. One or two of the
buildings may have been used, because I recall
seeing a sign that said “Government Printing
Office,” or something like that. We quickly discovered that the Japanese now called it a hospital. They
had turned it over to United States Navy doctors,
and referred to it as the Naval Hospital Unit. But
the place had no hospital facilities whatsoever.
roof and windows gone
There was a high cement or brick wall around
the grounds, which our truck convoy entered by
passing beneath a massive archway and two sets
of iron gates. There was still another wall dividing
the grounds. Then we halted before what had been
at some time the prison hospital – a three-story
building, its windows all out, its roof falling apart
so that the upper floor was exposed to the elements.
In bad weather the rain percolated down through
the floor to the second story; and if there was any
wind behind the rain, it drove through the gaping
windows everywhere.
We got out of the trucks, were lined up and
counted, and then were ordered to take over the
second floor. The stairs went up in the middle, and
on each side was a big, bare room. There wasn’t a
cot. A few mattresses were on the floor, but only a
few. Sick patients, some of them, had to be placed
on the plain cold floor. Most of us just dumped our
bags, and that was our spot. I remember one poor
fellow, desperately ill with malaria, who had looked
forward to a fine hospital. He could look forward
now only to death.
At Bilibid we experienced a new atmosphere.
There had been a freedom of movement, a certain
informality at Little Baguio, almost no interference
by the Japs. Here we were under the eyes of Jap
sentries with fixed bayonets. They surrounded the
prison, were in the grounds and came through the
14 | sympathy shows in faces of filipinos as prisoners start trip to cabanatuan
�wards, and we’d have to stand up and make
our bows to them. And there was a great deal of
slapping around by Jap non-coms for the least
infraction of rules.
At Little Baguio we were never counted in
groups. Here they started “bango” – roll call.
Our initiation to bango came the next morning.
At daybreak everybody had to line up – the well and
the sick – and be counted. First we were checked
by our senior officer (under orders of the Japs, of
course) and then we had to stand there until the
Japs counted us, AND ALL THE OTHERS IN
THE ENTIRE PRISON – several buildings.
The Jap non-com would finally arrive at the total
and depart, but we still had to stand until he went
to the prison headquarters and compared his count
with the books. If there was any variation (as there
commonly was), he’d start the count all over again.
Sometimes there were three counts before he got
things to suit him. And the sick prisoners would
be standing there in line for close to an hour.
After bango came breakfast. Rice.
must stay near building
We found that we could leave the building,
but had to stay close to it in the yard. We were
forbidden to go near other buildings in which
prisoners were housed; but they, or, rather, the
doctors among them, did visit us.
We learned that morning from the naval doctors that the place was devoid of medicines. The
commandant, Commander Lea B. Sartin, a doctor
of the Navy Medical Corps, visited us and pleaded
for quinine, or any medication we might have. He
needed quinine especially, and vitamin tablets. He
told us that large numbers were dying from malaria
and there was nothing with which to treat them.
Noon, and more rice. We got three meals a day
at Bilibid – rice, morning, noon and at about 5 in
the afternoon, served dry. At noon and at 5 o’clock
the rice was supplemented by some water (I suppose it was intended as broth) with greens stewed
up in it.
For a week or 10 days after our arrival, Filipinos
managed to get in past the heavy guards – they
must have bribed them – with fruit and candy,
which they sold to those who had any funds. These
were the first friendly persons we had seen, our
first contact of any sort with the outside world since
the fall of Bataan. It was amazing how much this
chance to buy this penny candy and to exchange a
few words with the Filipinos did to cheer everybody.
While our first impression of Bilibid was “now
we’re really locked up” (because of the wall around
us), this touch with the outside world, and the
knowledge that around us was a great city whose
noises we could hear, and whose lights we could
see, made us feel that we were really getting back
into civilization after our exile and the silences
of Baguio.
Some of the prisoners who had been here
before us and also men attached to the hospital unit
managed to get around in the area; and a few took
advantage of the chance to earn a peso or two, as
most of them were without funds. They’d buy a box
of candy from a Filipino, paying perhaps five pesos
(about $2.50) and would make the rounds selling it
by the piece. They might clear a couple of pesos on
the turnover.
There was another way we got some things.
Work details were sent our nearly every day to labor
in the port area. They got an opportunity to do a
little buying; one day I gave one of the boys a peso
and he got eight or 10 cigars for me – and pretty
good ones, too. It wasn’t much more than the
normal price.
We had bango first thing every morning, then
after dinner and after supper – three times every
day. And the same long drawn out procedure every
time. We could feel the pressure of the routine.
he could visit the sick
At Bilibid I could say Mass only on Sunday,
whereas at Little Baguio I said Mass every day. Yet
since I was the only chaplain now at Bilibid I was
permitted to visit the sick in the other wards and to
officiate at all burials.
The other buildings in the prison yard were
mainly long narrow one-story wooden structures,
in which the patients lay head to the wall and feet
toward the middle, with a clear space from end to
end. Some of the men had mattresses, others lay
on their blankets on the floor. Many of them had
no proper clothing.
The Navy medical men were doing a wonderful
work. A pharmacist’s mate was in charge of each
15 | sympathy shows in faces of filipinos as prisoners start trip to cabanatuan
�ward building, of which there were six or seven, as
I recall it. In some mysterious way, Com. Sartin and
his corpsmen managed to keep the entire Bilibid
setup in excellent condition and were carrying on
the best United States Navy traditions as far as
sanitation and general cleanliness went.
Out of the odds and ends they had built a long
flush latrine – an open depression, at the end of
which they had rigged an automatic flusher. Half of
a gasoline drum had been set in such a way that a
steady stream of water from the city mains flowed
into it. When it filled, it tipped, flushing the latrine;
and when empty it swung back into position to fill,
and so kept up this cleaning process day and night.
It is impossible to say too much in praise of the
Navy men, who had been at Bilibid since early in
January. At the outbreak of war part of this Navy
medical unit had been in a hospital near Cavite.
Bombed out, they had set up their hospital at the
St. Scholastica girls’ school in Manila, and there
they remained until the Japs occupied the city.
16 | sympathy shows in faces of filipinos as prisoners start trip to cabanatuan
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter five
Handed Ball of Rice and Sent with
Corregidor Men to Notorious Cabanatuan
C
OM. SARTIN, NAVY DOCTOR IN CHARGE AT BILIBID, IN MANILA, TOLD ME
THAT AFTER THE FALL OF CORREGIDOR THE JAPS PLANNED TO BRING ALL
THE UNITED STATES ARMY NURSES TO BILIBID. There would have been no chance
there of any privacy for them and Sartin argued for days with the Japs before he convinced them
that the move would be a mistake. So the nurses were sent to Santa Tomas, with the civilian internees.
Though hospital facilities were wholly lacking,
the mortality rate at Bilibid was not high while I
was there. I think I buried about 30 men (I had the
list, but lost it when I fled from Cabanatuan); they
lie in a little plot inside the prison wall.
One big advantage at Bilibid was the adequate
supply of city water. Water hadbeen a problem at
Hospital No. 1; and later you will see what we were
faced with at Cabanatuan. It was the plentiful water
supply here that had made possible the ingenious
latrine flushing system rigged up by the Navy men,
which I have previously mentioned.
They also had improvised some very fine showers – one set in front of our old hospital building,
another, as I recall it, near the front part of the
prison. Cleanliness has always been a Navy boast,
and they were in true form even here at Bilibid.
ordered to country
We slept in our clothes, with just a blanket
under us; and I can still recall the joy of getting
down to those showers every morning, and positively luxuriating in the bath after an uncomfortable
night. Then I’d shave, wash the uniform I’d just
shed, get into my other and be presentable. By noon
my first uniform would be dry and I’d be all set for
the next day.
Small groups of prisoners were brought in
from time to time, but on July 2 a large contingent
arrived from Corregidor, and the place became
badly overcrowded. Many of the newcomers were
in terrible condition – disheveled, bearded, clothes
gone, seriously ill.
Ordinarily our lights went out at 9 o’clock. A
small bulb cast a dim glow in each of our two large
second-floor rooms, and there was another bulb
on the stairs. This night they stayed on until 11,
because sleeping space was at a premium and
there had to be some readjustments.
Before lights-out, one of the Navy doctors came
in and said that a detail would leave Bilibid the next
morning. He read the names. The list included
all the men who had just come from Corregidor,
excepting only the most serious cases, and all those
of our Hospital No. 1 group who were in condition
to travel. I could understand now what some of
17 | handed ball of rice and sent with corregidor men to notorious cabanatuan
�the moves meant. The Nips obviously were using
Bilibid as a clearing hospital – operating somewhat
as a clearance company does in the field in sorting
out cases, save that in this instance the worst cases
were held and the others sent along to the prison
camps out in the country.
We got up about 5:30 in the morning of the
3rd of July, went through the long routine of bango,
and then each of us who were going out were given
a ball of rice which was to be our noonday lunch.
The rice had been boiled and steamed and then
pressed into a ball about the size of an indoor
baseball, or a small grapefruit.
sympathy in filipino faces
We had thrown our gear together and everybody
was fairly well loaded down with bags and bundles.
Now we were checked off again, put into trucks and
driven through the streets of Manila to the railroad
station on the north side of the city. It was still early,
but the streets were well filled with people; the day,
in the tropics, gets off to an early start.
To the Filipinos of Manila the sight of long
columns of trucks loaded with American prisoners was no novelty by this time, yet it was clear that
they had not become hardened to it. They made no
demonstration. They knew better, for the slightest sign of hostility to Japan was punishable; and
now Jap soldiers were in the streets and there were
two armed Jap guards on every truck. But we could
see suffering written on the faces of the men and
women and children of Manila as they looked up at
us. And along with the signs of their own travail we
could see their deep sympathy.
At the railroad station we got out, were counted
again, and then carried our baggage down a long
platform to a row of iron freight cars (fully enclosed
box cars, with the usual side doors), and were
ordered to get in. Though the worst of our hospital
cases had been left at Bilibid, many of those in our
party were in bad shape and had to be lifted into
the cars.
50 in car; doors left open
I have heard of many cases in which prisoners were packed into poorly ventilated box cars in
stifling heat, but with us the Nips were pretty good.
Men have since told me that 100 or more were
put into a single car and the doors then closed and
locked. In our case we had only 50 in the car. Again,
they didn’t lock the doors or even close them. As I
keep looking back on my own experiences of these
last 34 months and contrast them with the sufferings of others less fortunate. I know that I have
much to be thankful for.
We left the station about 7 that morning and
rode to the town of Cabanatuan, 60 miles north,
where we arrived about 3 o’clock. It was a hot dry
day, but with the car doors open the trip was not
too bad.
Outside the railroad station we were lined up
and counted and checked, bag and baggage; and
here again luck was with me.
Across from where we stood were two waiting
trucks with American drivers. We knew that we
were heading for one of the two prison camps that
lay off to the east of the town, one of them perhaps
five miles distant, the other still further away. A few
of us, especially those who were priests and had our
Mass kits, were pretty well laden with baggage; we
were all in poor shape physically; nobody looked
forward with optimism to the march in the
hottest part of the afternoon. I kept looking at the
trucks – just two of them. They couldn’t carry all
the baggage.
luggage gets a ride
A Navy chaplain, Fr. Francis J. McManus, from
Cleveland, had ridden up in the same box car with
me. We now stood close to one another in the second row of our lineup, and were about ready to toss
up to see which should abandon his Mass kit, when
I discovered what the trucks were there for. They
were to pick up a few very sick, or the disabled; and
I soon saw that, on the basis of the selections, there
was going to be plenty of room in them. So I tossed
my barracks bag and Mass kit out in front of the
boy who stood in front of me. He had been at Little
Baguio with me from the start of our captivity. His
own baggage was just a small bundle. The boy’s
arm was in a cast.
A Nip non-com came up in front of him.
“Whose is this?” the Nip said, pointing to
the baggage.
“Mine,” the kid told him, though the Mass kit
and barracks bag had my name plastered all over
18 | handed ball of rice and sent with corregidor men to notorious cabanatuan
�them. So the boy got into the truck and the Jap
tossed the luggage in after him. That left me with
only a musette bag. Throughout the march that
followed we helped each other share the burdens.
We started off in columns of fours. It was
terribly hot, and a few dropped out along the road
and, as far as I know, were picked up by the trucks.
They didn’t push us, and we made a couple of
stops. Though we were flanked by Jap guards with
fixed bayonets, I saw no interference from them
and I can report no acts of cruelty.
As we approached the Cabanatuan prison camp,
which lay along the right side of the road on which
we were traveling, we still weren’t sure if this was
our destination.
“Maybe they’re sending us on to No. 3. ?”
we questioned. Camp No. 3 was the smaller area
further along. But then the head of our column
swung off into a side road, leading to the main
gate, and we knew we’d ended our march.
This was soon-to-be notorious Cabanatuan
later known officially as Japanese Military Prison
Camp No. 1.
19 | handed ball of rice and sent with corregidor men to notorious cabanatuan
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter six
Survivors of Death March
Didn’t Want to Remember
I
F YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW SOMETHING OF THE LIVES OF THE THOUSANDS
OF AMERICAN PRISONERS WHO WERE AT CABANATUAN IN THE COURSE OF
THE LAST THREE YEARS, you should acquaint yourself with the general layout of the prison
area. While minor details varied in different periods of its history, Japanese Military Prisoner Camp
No. 1 was laid out just about as shown on the accompanying plan.
It is on the south side of the road leading out of
the town of Cabanatuan, and as we marched over
it in the full heat of that July day we came in sight
of our future home when about four or five miles
from the town.
The first section of the camp (as we later
learned) was the hospital area, its buildings
grouped back from the road and bare, open fields
leading down to where we marched. Passing this,
we came to a central area pretty well filled with
barracks. This was the camp of the Jap guards
and administrators.
Just beyond the Jap area a little road ran off
at right angles through the camp, separating the
Jap section from the third and last area, in which
the non-hospitalized prisoners were confined.
We turned past a Japanese guard station into that
road, marched down it to the main gate (in these
early days well toward the rear of the area) where
we were met by three or four Jap officers and an
American officer, a Major Morey or Maury.
Inside the gate we were separated into three
groups, Army men in one, Navy in another, and
in the third, a number of civilians who were
classified as war prisoners because they had been
employed by various branches of our armed services. American officers told us that we were to open
up our gear for inspection, laying everything out
on the ground. Jap non-coms then went through
our possessions, confiscating all compasses, flashlights, maps and cameras. Some Japs took scissors
and knives also, but others passed them up.
Now we were assigned to barracks. There were
no special arrangements; American officers just
indicated the area we were to occupy (the rear
section of the camp) and we picked our own
barracks building and our own companions.
We discovered that the three classifications had
been made for inspection and check off purposes
only, but in actual practice the men commonly
gravitated into service groups.
The whole camp area, all three sections of it,
occupied a big, open treeless field, practically flat.
20 | survivors of death march didn’t want to remember
�Before the war it had been used by the 81st Division
of the Philippine Army which Gen. MacArthur had
been hastily organizing for the Philippine defense.
My recollection is that the Jap and hospital areas
were unfenced, and at this early period even our
main prison area was enclosed, as I recall it now,
with no more than a rude, barbed wire barrier, later
much strengthened. The barracks buildings and
the few other structures within our enclosure varied
in size but the chief features were the same.
My barracks was perhaps 50 feet long, with an
opening (but no door) at each end, and two openings in each of the long sides. It had a peaked roof
covered with nipa thatch. The sidewalls were of
swali-matting woven of thin pieces of bamboo.
As you stepped in the end opening your feet
were still on the bare ground; the building was
floorless, as were all the others. A narrow aisle ran
down the middle. On each side, about two feet off
the ground, a shelf six feet deep extended in to the
wall. The shelf, made of lengths of bamboo close
together, ran the length of the barrack except where
broken by the side doors. Four feet above each lower shelf was an upper. These were our beds – upper
and lower berths. There were no mattresses, though
a few had been provided for earlier arrivals in the
camp, who were quartered in barracks toward the
front, nearer the main road. At least some of them
had mattresses; how they got them, I don’t know. I
think that one or two in our group coming in from
Bilibid had brought air mattresses in their packs.
But most of us just picked out a sleeping place on
one of the shelves, tossed in our gear, and that was
our place. There were 60 or 70 men in my barracks
that night.
Veterans of the camp warned us of certain
regulations which, they said, the Japs rigidly
enforced – there were to be no lights, no smoking
within 15 feet of any barrack or other building,
and every man was to be in his bunk by 9 at night.
After we got squared away we had supper – plain
boiled rice, dumped into our mess kits. Many of the
men had no regular kits but had picked up plates or
pans that served them well enough. It was dark by
this time. We were directed down through the area
to the nearest galley (set up in an old barracks), got
our portions, carried them back to our place and ate
there sitting on the ground. It was past the usual
eating time, but our galley hands had cooked up
this stuff especially for us, working in the dark.
We went looking for the heads. I have spent so
much time in the past three years serving in camp
areas occupied mainly by Navy and Marine personnel that I find myself commonly using Navy lingo;
to a Navy man the toilet area is the “head,” to the
soldier, a latrine.
I used to get ribbed about it at the camp; and
Fr. John McDonnell of Brooklyn, a Regular Army
chaplain who came to Cabanatuan from Hospital
No. 1 at a period later than that of which I am
writing, had a habit of catching me up on it.
“I knew him when he used to be in the Army,”
he’d say to others.
“Well,” I told him, “I can’t pronounce twosyllable words.”
(Chaplain McDonnell, who will appear again
later, is now a prisoner in Japan.)
Our investigation brought us to a series of
open pits, called P-trenches. Then there were long
trenches with floors built over them. Small holes
were cut in the floors. Conditions were terrible. The
stench, the filth, the flies accounted in part for the
awful death rate at the camp in the Summer and
Fall of that first year. Later things improved, and at
the end there actually were septic tanks installed.
The population of Cabanatuan prison camp at
this time must have been around 8000 in the main
area, with perhaps another 1500 or 2000 in the
hospital area, over beyond the Jap camp. Many of
the men here were survivors of the Death March,
and also of the terrors of Camp O’Donnell, and
it was now that we newcomers got our first real
accounts of what had been going on in the three
months since the Bataan surrender.
The Japs were beginning to shift men from
O’Donnell to Cabanatuan. By the following October
Camp O’Donnell was to be emptied by death or
transfer, and Cabanatuan was to become the main
prison camp in Luzon, officially called Japanese
Military Prison Camp No. 1.
The men from O’Donnell carried memories so
vivid that they strove to put them aside. Some didn’t
want to talk of what they had experienced and seen.
Yet we got stories of how as many as 300 and
400 died there in a day. One man told me that all
21 | survivors of death march didn’t want to remember
�were so ill that often the litter-bearers carrying
the dead to burials would themselves drop dead.
A few months later, here at No. 1, I was to meet
an officer who had been in the Death March with
a close friend of mine, a man with whom I had
traveled to the Philippines, whom I last saw going
into our lines at Lamao on Bataan, grinning and
shouting to me, “Don’t forget to duck!” My friend
hadn’t been able to make the march.
“I didn’t see it,” this man now told me,
“but I heard he dropped out and was bayoneted.
Later I heard he had been buried near Lubao.”
I have mentioned neither names nor ranks, for I
think the first man is still listed as missing, and the
second is now a prisoner in Japan. But this shows
the sort of stories we were getting.
In our group from Manila were five other chaplains – two Protestant, John Borneman, a Methodist
from Philadelphia, whose wife now resides in
Buffalo, and Chaplain Cleveland, both Army men;
and three Catholics. Francis J. McManus of Cleveland, a Navy chaplain, Albert Braun, a Franciscan
who had been working among the Indians in the
Southwest; and Herman C. Bauman. Braun and
Bauman were Army chaplains.
We found a dozen or more other chaplains
at Camp No. 1, men we had not seen since the
surrender. The Protestants included Chaplains
Frederick D. Howden, later transferred to Mindanao where he died. Then there were Frs. Thomas
Scecina of Indianapolis, Henry B. Stober of
Kentucky and Richard E. Carberry of Portland, Ore.
And Fr. Albert D. Talbot, a Sulpician who came
from Fall River, was serving the men in the hospital
area, where he continued to give comfort to the sick
and dying for the next two years. I will have occasion to refer to some of these chaplains as we go on.
22 | survivors of death march didn’t want to remember
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter seven
Everybody in Camp Seemed Ill;
Worst Cases Hospitalized
W
ATER WAS HARD TO GET AT CABANATUAN. THE SUPPLY, PIPED ACROSS
FROM AN ELEVATED TANK IN THE JAP CAMP, WAS AVAILABLE ONLY AT
FOUR OR FIVE TAPS IN THE WHOLE PRISON AREA. There was always a long
line at each outlet, and it was a regular thing to have to stand close to an hour before you
got your turn to fill a canteen. Some of the enlisted men in our barracks volunteered to turn out at 3 in the
morning and go down to the nearest tap with all the canteens they could carry. This helped matters a lot, but
the process of getting the water still was a slow one because our men discovered that they had not originated
the idea. So water, at all times, was carefully treasured. If you wanted a bath, you stood out in the rain.
July had brought in the rainy season, and we
were getting the usually torrential shower every
24 hours, with occasional 48 hour stretches of
steady downpour. Our prison area was in grass,
now showing green under the rains. But the front
section, toward which the ground fell away in a
slight slope, was turned into a quagmire after
each deluge.
I said my first Mass at Cabanatuan early the
second morning, using for an altar an abandoned
Army cook stove. Our barracks evidently had been
at some time the quarters of mess cooks of the
Philippine Army. At the end of the barracks was an
open section where their galley had been. This was
my chapel.
Fr. McManus, who was quartered with me, said
the first Mass that morning. There was a small congregation (less than 20 percent of the men in camp
were Catholics), but there was a sizeable group of
lookers-on, to whom the ceremony was so evidently
new that I explained things as Fr. McManus went
along. I said my Mass after he had finished.
At the time of this first stay in Cabanatuan there
was no fixed place for religious services in our upper (south) end of the camp. I believe this area had
never been tenanted by prisoners until our group
arrived. Within a day or two we set up a temporary
altar under an old shed roof. Some time in the next
few months, while I was away at Camp No. 3, our
boys pulled the end out of a small barracks building, tore out the bunk shelves, built some rough
benches and produced a clean, edifying place in
which to offer divine service. It was used by all the
chaplains, Protestant and Catholic, and served the
men quartered in our section.
At the lower end of the camp (that is, the north
end, fronting on the main road) a little chapel had
been extemporized before our coming. In the middle area services were held in the open until some
time in 1943, when a barracks building that actually
23 | everybody in camp seemed ill; worst cases hospitalized
�bragged a wooden floor was converted to a recreation room. After that services were held there.
The first week at Cabanatuan was devoted by
us newcomers mainly to getting acquainted. Our
impressions – certainly my own – were pretty discouraging. The large numbers who were ill and the
appalling number of daily deaths were depressing.
Everybody in camp seemed to be ill and many
clearly were hospital cases. As far as I could judge,
the only distinction between our area and the hospital area was that they had the worst cases. Ours
were ambulatory cases, that is, they managed to
stay on their feet much of the time. Yet malaria
and dysentery were common and beriberi was
beginning to show. There was general malnutrition. I had no opportunity at this time to get over
to the hospital area, where I was told conditions
were shocking. It was a hospital in little more than
name, for the doctors had neither equipment nor
sufficient medicines with which to work.
Bango, or roll-call, was in evidence here as at
Bilibid, but in a modified form. We had it before
breakfast and again after supper, and it continued
with variations until our rescue. Here, at first, our
own men counted us as we lined up, and then
went down and reported the results to the Japanese
administration building.. We didn’t have to wait for
a possible recheck, as at Bilibid. But much later,
say early in 1944, when our camp population was
reduced and conditions much different, we were
forced to stand in ranks outside our barracks until
the Jap Officer of the Day went through the camps
and made a few spot checks of groups to make sure
that the figures turned in to him were correct. That
continued for a short time. Then he started to check
every barracks group, and we had to stand until he
had finished. Finally the entire camp population
had to assemble in an open area near the center
of the camp and be counted by the Jap O. D., his
non-coms and some privates.
At this time there was no extensive organized
system of work details; certain cleanup and woodgathering jobs had to be done, but on the whole
there was considerable leisure. And as there was
then no organized recreation either, most men had
little to look forward to but one inadequate meal
after another.
My recollection is that in this period (that is,
early July, 1942) chaplains at Camp No. 1 were not
permitted to accompany burial parties, and the men
who died were buried without benefit of so much as
a prayer at the grave. Within the camp, in addition
to daily Mass, we Catholic chaplains led the rosary
every evening for the men of our immediate areas.
Usually 30 or 40 men joined in, a good representation. It was comforting to us to see men ready to
attend religious services without any pressure. As
we went along you could see the increase in daily
Mass attendance.
The food we got from the Nips was rice, prepared by our own men in the few galley buildings.
There was a fairly good serving three times a day.
There was also a commissary system in operation
when we reached the camp, set up with the approval of the Jap commandant, for the sale of food
brought in by Filipinos. There wasn’t much food,
or much money with which to buy it.
I recall seeing canned fish, a few cans of milk,
fresh native fruits, such as papayas and bananas,
small bags of brown sugar and cans of powdered
cinnamon, used to give a suggestion of flavor to
the rice. On the first day after our arrival one of the
Catholic chaplains gave a group in my barracks a
can of fish – a prize. It was “Stateside” stuff. Everything from the United States is “Stateside” in the
Philippines. This flat oval tin, marked “Packed in
California,” contained a number of small fishes in
some sort of sauce. There was only a little for a few
lucky ones, but we’ll never forget how wonderful
that little was.
Those in the camp fortunate enough to have any
funds usually made it a practice to share with their
friends who most needed it such extras as they could
get at the canteen. But though nothing went very
far, it was a big help to those in the poorest physical
shape. Later more money was available
but I’ll cover that when we come to it.
By this time I was feeling much better than I
had been at Little Baguio. There we had only two
meals of rice a day; at Bilibid we got three (plus the
“soup” with greens that I mentioned) and here at
Cabanatuan also we got three. So, though you never
got enough food, it still kept you going. I hit my low
at Little Baguio and I think I never lost any further
24 | everybody in camp seemed ill; worst cases hospitalized
�weight save on two or three occasions when I had
attacks of malaria.
It was a relief to get away from the walls of Bilibid and also the Japs there. At Bilibid Jap non-coms
were always in evidence through the prison area.
Here we saw them only occasionally. But it came to
be part of the required etiquette that we bow to all
Jap officers, commissioned and non-coms. If a man
failed, he was usually slapped around by the sentry.
Here at Cabanatuan instead of being oppressed
by high walls, there was a feeling of roominess and
freedom. The barracks may have been crowded
(certainly there was no spare space between us
on the berths at night), but outside there was no
suggestion of congestion. I began to feel really
better in every way, even in the brief time I
was here.
On July 9 the report circulated in camp that
Philippine guerrillas had attacked a party of
prisoners sent out to gather wood from Prison
Camp No. 3 (a few miles up the road from us),
had kidnapped the driver, killed one man, and
wounded a few of our boys and some of the
Jap guards. Whether there was any connection
between that happening and my transfer, I don’t
know – but next day, July 10, I was told that because
there were no Catholic chaplains at Camp 3, three
of us were to be sent there – Fr. Walter O’Brien of
the Diocese of San Francisco, Fr. John Wilson, a
member of the Congregation of the Precious Blood,
who had been in the Death March and at Camp
O’Donnell, and I.
We were ordered to pack our stuff and report to
the American headquarters building before noon.
Early that afternoon we were picked up by a truck
that had come down from No. 3 for supplies, and
were carried to our new post. There I was to remain
until Oct. 31.
25 | everybody in camp seemed ill; worst cases hospitalized
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter eight
Sometimes Japs Put Flowers
on American Graves
I
HAVE NO DESIRE TO MAKE CONDITIONS IN THE JAPANESE MILITARY PRISON
CAMPS OF LUZON APPEAR TO BE BETTER THAN THEY ACTUALLY WERE, yet I
must say that prison life at Prison Camp No. 3 was tolerable, and even pleasant as compared with
what I had previously experienced.
On our arrival Frs. O’Brien, Wilson and I were
greeted by the American adjutant, Lt. Col. Curtis
Beecher of the Marine Corps. The senior
American officer here was Col. Boudreau, USA,
who had been captured at Corregidor. A short time
after I reached Camp No. 3 Boudreau was transferred to Camp No. 1, and thence to Japan. I think
that all the full colonels and generals were removed
from Camp No. 1 about August 1942, and shipped
to prisons in Japan. At any rate they were gone
when I got back to Camp 1 in October. After
Col. Boudreau’s departure, Lt. Col. Beecher
became American commandant at No. 3.
There must have been 700 or 800 men here,
mostly Navy men and Marines, housed in three
groups. The first of these, whose men I served as
chaplain, was made up entirely of Navy and Marines; and it was now that I began to pick up my
sea-going terms. Group 2 was pretty well mixed –
Navy, Army and civilians who had worked for the
Army or Navy. The third group was all Army.
one showerbath for hundreds
The general character of Camp No. 3 was that
of Camp No. 1, and, like Camp 1, it had originally
been occupied by units of the Philippine Army. But
it was very much smaller in area, and its prisoner
population wasn’t a 10th of that of No. 1.
Sanitary conditions were much better, and
water was more plentiful and much easier to get.
It was supplied by the usual taps spotted through
the camp area. At one of these places the outlet
pipe had been run about six feet above ground and
a shed had been built over it. This was the camp
shower; and though it wasn’t exactly adequate for
the needs of hundreds, it was still more than had
been available at Camp No. 1.
This camp (again like No. 1) was on the south
side of the road, from which there was a gradual
rise. Those in the Navy group, in barracks at the
low front end, wallowed in a mudhole when it
rained, as it did at least once every day. Our barracks were floored with nothing more than the
ground on which they were built.
26 | sometimes japs put flowers on american graves
�jap guards decorated graves
There was a light barbed-wire fence around
our enclosure, but it gave no feeling of oppressive
confinement. The Nip sentries were more lenient in
their attitude than at No. 1. For instance, the chaplains here took turns going out with the burial parties. As a rule, only a single sentry came along with
us; and I have seen our Jap guard, while on the way
out to the burial plot, pick a few wild flowers and
lay them on the grave after it was filled in.
Sometimes while our detail was digging the
grave and while the burial service was going on,
the guard would go off 30 or 40 feet, sit down,
and often fall sound asleep. When we were ready
to march back to camp, we’d have to arouse him.
I don’t know the answer to that one. Possibly
they were green troops and hadn’t been instructed
in the accepted mode of handling Americans; for
often when some of our men had occasion to pass
from our camp to the hospital area (over on the
other side of the highroad) we didn’t have to salute
or even bow to the Nip sentries. Elsewhere this
had been insisted upon.
Our hospital at Prison Camp No. 3 was small,
because most of the transportable serious cases
were sent down to the big hospital area at Camp
No. 1. Consequently, our death rate was low. We
were having perhaps one death a day, and sometimes none. Our men seemed to be getting onto
their feet.
Food, too, was somewhat improved, though the
base issue was still just rice. But there was sometimes a little soup, a light broth (exceedingly light)
in which were greens of some sort. And there was
also the chance here (as at No. 1 Camp) to pick up a
few extras from the outside if you had any money.
We newcomers found that most of the officers
had chipped in and established their own mess. A
man chosen as commissary officer was allowed to
go down to the town of Cabanatuan on one of the
Jap trucks and buy certain foods.
Peanuts were a great favorite. And there was
candy, fruits and items like cans of fish. Sometimes
the commissary officer would get to the town once
a week. There really was a pretty good commissary
setup for those who had a few pesos.
Each officer was supposed to throw 10 pesos a
month into the fund. When I hit Camp No. 3 I had
just seven pesos, but by pooling with the two other
priests we got enough to cover us for a month.
When the second month came up, Maj. James
Bradley, USMC, of Millinocket, Me. (now listed a
prisoner in Japan) came over to us.
“Are you broke?” he wanted to know, and we
assured him that we were. So he gave each of us
10 pesos. After that second month nearly everybody
was out of funds, and the mess was discontinued.
they could buy extra food
At this period we could even buy an occasional
chicken, or a few eggs, from the Filipinos. Two or
three men might chip in and get eight or 10 eggs.
Sometimes there were a few small Philippine
sausages. And prices were only a little above normal. Such extras as these would be prepared by the
galley crews and added to the rice portion of the fortunate owners. Native cigarettes were also brought
out from Cabanatuan by the commissary officer.
Though everybody was still hungry, we managed
pretty well, and conditions were really tolerable.
Members of the work details who went out every
day into the neighboring woods to gather fuel for
our galley fires were allowed as an extra a “biscuit”
a day – a cookie made of rice flour. The work wasn’t
exceptionally hard, and there was little or no trouble
with the guards, so the men used to volunteer for
the wood detail in order to get that extra bit of food.
There were no Nips stationed inside our compound, other than a few in their administrative
office, who were seldom in evidence. Our camp,
together with No. 1 Camp, was under command of
a Japanese colonel; his representative here, a major,
lived across the road, next to our own hospital area,
with his staff and crew of interpreters, and the soldiers of the guard.
Mostly when we saw Japs inside our compound,
they had come to buy or swap for watches. American watches were in great demand, and many of
our own men were delighted at the chance to exchange their timepieces for food or money. I knew
one fellow who got 20 cans of milk, four bottles of
Jap beer, and 20 pesos in Jap-Philippine war money,
for his watch.
three were shot by guards
Just so you’ll know that everything wasn’t sweet
27 | sometimes japs put flowers on american graves
�and lovely at No. 1, I ought to report that shortly
before I arrived at the camp three of our boys
were shot by the Japs. I saw their graves, with little
crosses over them. The Nips said they had been
shot while trying to escape.
Towards the end of August, 1942, they gave us
some baseball equipment. There were even shin
guards and chest protectors. After that we had
games every Sunday and a couple of days in between. They even let us play in a field outside the
fence. A limited number of our men were counted
as they passed out and checked again as they
returned. And in addition to our own lively rooters and sideline coaches, the Jap officers and men
used to stand off and watch the games. Our little
“league” at Camp No. 3 was the first sign of organized recreation that I had seen. Later we learned
that a recreation program had been started back at
Camp No. 1 about that same time.
We had very little reading matter, chiefly a few
badly worn books men had managed to bring along
with them from Bataan and Corregidor. But about
this time the Japs began to distribute bundles of the
Manila Tribune, most of the copies from two to six
months old when we got them.
every battle a jap victory
These Manila Tribunes provided little genuine
news, but they did give us plenty of laughs. In
pre-war days the Tribune had been reputedly
pro-Japanese, and now it was nothing else but.
Printed entirely in English, its “news” stories were
all glowing accounts of great Japanese victories. The
United States forces were invariably wiped out, and
the losses of the Imperial Japanese Navy and Army
were always insignificant.
Articles in the Tribune were continually emphasizing that the great spiritual forces of Japan would
sweep all before it – sentiments like “the spirit of
Japan, aflame in the hearts of our troops, will surely
conquer the materialistic imperialism of the United
States.” That was a favorite theme.
Terrible internal conditions in the United States
were played up. The papers gave great prominence
to strikes and other labor troubles, and to industrial
conditions generally – always described as being
chaotic. There were also stories about crime waves
in America; how, due to the neglect of mothers and
fathers who were working, youths were running
wild. The papers carried illustrations supposed to
be of battles won by the Nips but we noticed that
they were usually pretty vague as to location. Every
day there were a few paragraphs devoted to a lesson
in Japanese.
What was the effect of this propaganda? It was
all so childish and obvious that it had just the
opposite effect to that intended. The Nips never
counted on the American spirit and the American
sense of humor. The combination is unshakable.
For a long time we got bundles of these papers
about once a week, but as the war progressed and
the tide turned, we saw less of them and finally the
distribution was stopped.
28 | sometimes japs put flowers on american graves
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter nine
“No Atheists in Foxholes”
Saying is Largely True
I
MMEDIATELY ON OUR ARRIVAL AT CAMP NO. 3 WE CATHOLIC CHAPLAINS WERE
WELCOMED BY THE TWO PROTESTANT CHAPLAINS SERVING THE MEN THERE,
Chaplain David Quinn, USN, an Episcopalian, and Chaplain Ralph Brown, USA, who was, I think, a
Baptist. Of that I’m not certain. Thereafter the five of us shared quarters with other officers in one of
the barracks.
They had been holding services in various parts
of the camp, in the open. But now with the rainy
season on, some sort of protection was needed,
especially since we planned to erect temporary
altars in the various group areas to which we were
detailed. I have mentioned that I was assigned to
serve the Navy-Marine group. Fr. O’Brien was
chaplain to the Navy-Army-civilian mixed group
and Fr. Wilson served the Catholics in the Army
group, which occupied the back part of the
prison compound.
So we applied to the Japanese authorities for
permission and materials for three chapel shelters
and to our surprise they promptly and efficiently
provided both. Our boys built neat and serviceable
coverings of nipa thatch over the places designated,
and thereafter services were held regularly. The
Protestant chaplains, in addition to their usual
services of prayer and song, held a Communion
service at least once a month.
One of the great problems of the Catholic
chaplains here and at Camp No. 1 (and wherever
stationed) was to maintain a supply of wine and
wafers for the celebration of Mass and for
Communion. Now a German priest in Manila
came to our aid.
He was Fr. Teodoro Buttenbruch, a member
of the Society of the Divine Word, who had for
many years been a parish priest in Quezon City,
a residential suburb of Manila. As a German
citizen he was not interned, and had been allowed
by the Japanese to visit all the accessible prisons
and camps in which Americans were held.
Fr. Buttenbruch, a man close to 70, had been
working in the Philippines for almost 30 years.
Once a month he visited Camp No. 3. In
addition to bringing altar wine and altar breads,
he brought food and clothing – this, of course, with
the approval of the Jap authorities in Manila and
at the camp. As a result, a great many in the camp,
Catholics and Protestants alike, benefited from his
visits. Any who had friends or friendly contacts in
Manila made the German priest his emissary, and
often he arrived loaded down with bundles.
Frequently he brought generous donations from
29 | “no atheists in foxholes” saying is largely true
�the Catholic Women’s League of Manila for
general distribution.
At each of his monthly visits the three Catholic
chaplains would be called to the Jap administration
building and allowed to speak to Fr. Buttenbruch
in the presence of Japanese interpreters. The mere
fact that we could chat with him was a consolation
to us, even though the subjects were limited, and,
as a result of the supplies which he provided, each
of us was able to say Mass for each camp group
every day. We also had the rosary and litany after
supper each night.
Around the middle of 1943 Fr. Buttenbruch
was no longer permitted to come up from Manila.
Thereafter, though we received occasional shipments
from the Catholic Chaplains’ Aid Association, we
had to go to lengths to conserve our supply of wine
and altar breads (an unleavened wafer), essentials
for the celebration of Mass. So from the time Fr.
Buttenbruch’s visits ended, altar wine was poured
into the chalice with a medicine dropper – one
dropper full. In the ceremony a very small amount
of water is added to the wine, usually poured from a
cruet. Now we added the water with a dropper – one
or two drops. Communion wafers were broken into
very small pieces for distribution to our many daily
communicants.
At some time I had heard the expression about
there being “no atheists in foxholes,” but I’m not
sure whether it was while we were still prisoners or
in the short time we were in the Philippines after
our release. While it is not literally true, because
I did meet some atheists in foxholes, the saying
does reflect the attitude of most of our men.
In the four months at Prison Camp No. 3,
religion was a big factor in their lives. For the
Catholics I can report that at the daily Masses at
6:15 there were usually 30 to 40 present in each
group and most of them went to Communion.
When you consider that our Sunday Mass
attendance ran only 60 per group, and that this
represented the total Catholic population, you can
understand how good the daily showing was. We
arranged to have chow time on Sundays moved
ahead to 7 o’clock (breakfast rice usually was dished
out starting at about 6:40), so that we would have
time for a short, simple, practical talk to the men.
Aside from the services the boys in camp
showed a lively interest in religion, and after the
night service usually started a confab. All sorts of
questions were asked by Catholics and Protestants
alike – and by some of the Jewish boys, too,
of whom there were 40 or 50 in the camp.
Because of an interesting angle, I’ll mention
that in the four months we had more than 100
conversions, with the accompanying ceremonies of
Baptism and First Communion. Then we submitted
a plan to the Japanese to invite the Archbishop of
Manila, or any other bishop in the Philippines,
to come out to the camp and administer the
Sacrament of Confirmation.
Now the Archbishop of the Philippines is
Michael O’Doherty, a citizen of Eire, a neutral
country, so he was left free to carry on his episcopal
duties. So our plan looked good to us. Col. Beecher
approved it and so did the Jap authority at our
camp. But when it reached the Nip command at
Manila it was held up and then came back with a
“not for the present” form of rejection. I thought
then and still am sure that the Japs passed up
one of their best chances for a piece of favorable
propaganda. They could have said, especially to the
Filipinos, “Look, there may be a war on, but we do
nothing to interfere with religious practices.” But
they didn’t see their chance, and we never did have
our Confirmation ceremony.
30 | “no atheists in foxholes” saying is largely true
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter ten
Fear of Death by Torture
Was Always in All Minds
E
ARLY IN THE FALL OF ’42 WE HAD AN OUTBREAK OF SERIOUS EYE TROUBLE
AT CAMP 3. NUMBERS OF MEN, SOMETIMES TWO OR THREE NEW CASES A
DAY, SUFFERED FROM EYE ULCERS THAT CAUSED TEMPORARY BLINDNESS .
Whether the blindness would be permanent nobody then knew, so there was a terrible fear in
everybody’s heart. So far as I know, all the patients did recover their sight; but it was sad to see these men
with bandaged eyes being led around the camp by companions.
I suppose this outbreak was due to some specific
infection, but poor nutrition caused a lot of eye
trouble all through the prison period. There were
eye doctors among our medical personnel at both
Camp 3 and Camp 1, but they, like the other medics,
were hard pressed for materials with which to work.
They had a few lenses that they brought with
them. Later other glasses were available – some
sold by their owners to get money for food, others from . . . well, though we made it a point not
to inquire too closely, everybody supposed that the
glasses of all men who had died were added to the
optical supplies. In the final stages of our imprisonment, when everybody’s eyes were going bad, I was
lucky enough to get a pair of glasses that probably
aren’t quite right but are close enough to give me
good service.
Here at No. 3 the boys started a weekly variety
show – recitations, songs, and all sorts of novelties.
At first some of the stuff was on the off-color side,
but it didn’t go over. A lot of good individual talent
was discovered. We also tried group singing, but
31 | fear of death by torture was always in all minds
it didn’t go so big and was dropped. Somehow the
boys weren’t just in a singing mood.
In the course of the Summer several small
groups were shipped off to work in other parts of
the island. I remember that a few men went to
Nichols Field, where we heard that 400 or 500
Americans were working on the airfield. Some men
would eventually return to us; many didn’t. Stories
were brought back of horrible conditions at Nichols; stories of brutal beatings by Jap guards and of
deaths. From what I heard I should say that Nichols
Field was the toughest assignment on the island.
Some of the groups that went out to do salvage
work on Bataan had a better time of it.
One day around the end of September we are all
called to assemble at the principal open space in the
camp, and there were informed that the Japanese
colonel in command of the two Cabanatuan prisons
had come up to give us a talk. What it was all about
we didn’t know.
Then they led in three Americans, their hands
tied behind their backs, and signs hanging from
�ropes about their necks. The signs read: “I tried
to escape and found it impossible,” or something
like that.
The substance of the Japanese colonel’s long
harangue, as given by his interpreter, was that it
was useless for any of us to try to escape, as these
men had discovered, because all the islands in the
Pacific were occupied by Japan and there was no
refuge anywhere.
“He says, ‘Be patient,’” the Jap interpreter
told us. “He says, ‘The war will be over soon, and
after Japan’s victory you will be sent back to your
homes.’” This, remember, was in 1942.
The three Americans said nothing. They showed
no signs of having been beaten; yet I remember
that they were dark-skinned, and I supposed they
were boys of Mexican blood. They were led off by
ropes and I never heard further of them.
What impressed me most about this business
was our own apprehension before it got underway.
We were ready for almost anything. I was talking
afterwards with a naval officer, now a prisoner in
Japan, and he said that he expected that any day the
Japs would come in and machine-gun us. We had
all heard of the Death March by this time and of
savage brutality elsewhere. I remember having read
that the Japanese policy was not to take prisoners;
I think that was in Gunther’s “Inside Asia,” which a
dental officer had on Bataan. So though I had seen
only “slapping around” and as yet no instance of
cold-blooded cruelty, I shared the general fear that
some day “something is going to happen.”
In addition to the news brought in by our own
returnees, there was always the underground. I can
give you one sample of how it worked. There was a
young Filipino girl, 18 or 19 years old, whose home
was up to the north of us on the way to Bongabon.
She’d go into Manila, by bus to Cabanatuan town
and thence by train, and come out bearing written
messages from some in the camp who had close
friends there among the Filipinos. More important, she would bring medicine and money; and
the money meant food for those most in need of
it. These she left at certain points in the fields near
our camp where they were picked up by certain
other persons whose identity had best not be mentioned. This went on regularly, but only a few in the
camp knew of it.
32 | fear of death by torture was always in all minds
Here you have just one story of the bravery
and the loyalty of the great mass of the Philippine
population. This girl knew the risk. Death was the
penalty. She was just one of thousands of unnamed
heroes among the Filipinos.
Rumors were current in middle October about
a possible breakup of Camp No. 3. One version was
that we were all going to Camp No. 1. Another had
us headed shortly for Manila.
On Oct. 30 the thing materialized. Half of the
camp population was transported to Camp No. 1 on
that day. I went down with the final cleanup on the
31st. Those unable to make the march were loaded
into trucks, with the rest of us trailing afoot.
Just how far it is I don’t know, though we always
spoke of the two camps as being 12 kilometers
apart, better than seven miles. But it took us from
about 7:30 in the morning until around noon to
cover the distance. Few were actually ill, but none
was in shape for a march. We arrived in a torrential
downpour, our bags and scant possessions
dripping water.
I have used the term “slap around” to indicate
the punishment inflicted on our men and officers for minor infractions, deliberate or accidental,
fancied or real, of Jap rules and orders. This will be
a good place to explain what this “slapping around”
was. . . sometimes.
As we pulled into Camp No. 1 a Jap sergeant
spotted one of our boys, Marine Sgt. Stanley Bronk
of Seattle, aboard one of the trucks.. Bronk was
where he had been told to go by the guards at No. 3
camp but the Jap sergeant evidently thought otherwise. He ordered Bronk down, and then struck him
a vicious blow on the ear with his fist. From that
time on Bronk had trouble with his ear; it was still
bothering him when we got away together more
than two years later.
That is an extreme example of “slapping
around.” For the most part it was a crack with the
open hand or a side-slap with the fist that did no
serious injury. The boys felt it, but the greatest
effect upon them was inside. Yet they’d just have
to clamp down on their emotions, and just take it.
This served as a reintroduction to Japanese
Military Prison Camp No. 1, which was to be my
home for the next 27 months.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter eleven
Burial Detail Left Camp
with Dead at 4 Each Day
W
E HAD NOT VIEWED WITH ANY PLEASURE THE MOVE TO WIPE OUT
CAMP NO. 3 AND SEND US TO NO. 1. Through the Summer we had been getting
word of conditions there and knew what to expect.
We now found the prisoner population much
lower than what it had been when I left early in
July. Deaths, outgoing labor details to other parts
of Luzon, and group shipments to camps in Japan
had so reduced numbers that many of the upper
barracks were untenanted; and even after all of our
crowd from No. 3 was housed, there were still many
empty barracks at the rear of the camp. My guess is
that there weren’t many more than 6000 Americans
here after our men got in, exclusive of those in the
hospital area.
We had heard about the heavy toll of deaths.
No. 1 had lost 40 or 50 a day. I recall that somebody
at Camp 3, after we got that news, figured that at this
rate Camp No. 1 would be wiped out in six months.
We had heard also of the sad affairs of attempted
(and actual) escapes. At one time three officers had
been caught and practically beaten to death outside
the camp, in full view of many of the men. All officers in the barracks in which the three had lived were
confined to quarters for 30 days. Also, as a result of
escapes, a ban had been put on weekly shows that had
been started after I left in July; and more telling punishment was handed out in a shortening of rations.
33 | burial detail left camp with dead at 4 each day
At least, food was short for a time (shorter than usual),
and this was believed by the men to be a mass reprisal.
Those of us who had just come down from No. 3
were also conscious of the stricter attitude of the
sentries. Everything here was on such a large scale
that the Japs evidently figured that they had to run
things in a more machine-like way. A rule was a rule
and there were no liberties.
Sanitary conditions were perhaps slightly
improved as against those I had found here in July,
but not notably so. Yet there were fewer hospital
cases, and the daily death list was down from its
peak. But the whole camp population was down, too.
About the middle of October, Lt. Col. Beecher,
who had done such an excellent job at No. 3,
was put in charge here by the Japs as American
commandant. He immediately made changes.
Beecher put up a fight (he could stage a good battle
when he went after something), and got the Japs to
provide materials.
Water was piped into the galleys, which up to this
time had to get water from the few outside taps. The
whole latrine system was reorganized and rebuilt,
and repairs were made on some of the barracks.
�Within a couple of months there was distinct
evidence of improvement.
On my second day in camp I went over to the
hospital area. To make this visit I had first to get the
permission of my group leader (the camp was organized for administrative purposes into three groups, as
at No. 3), and then the O.K. of our camp commandant.
Thereafter I could visit the hospital every afternoon..
It was a sorry affair – malaria, dysentery, other
illnesses; many desperately sick. The doctors and the
corpsmen were doing heroic work. The horror of the
place was one ward (“O,” I think it was), in which
those were placed who had only days or hours to live.
Throughout the hospital there were no beds, and our
sick were on bare bamboo shelves or berths such as I
have previously described. In Ward O, however, there
was a floor – a real wooden floor – and on it the dying
men lay with, at most, a blanket under them.
I wish I could make every American know of the
sufferings of those poor souls in the hospital area at
Cabanatuan, and also of the heroism of the medical
staff there, mostly Army men. They had no real hospital facilities, practically no medicines; they were overworked, and further burdened by the heavy realization
of the odds under which they labored. Yet they carried
on with a Christ-like spirit of humility and service.
Some of the doctors and corpsmen died; many of them
barely escaped death. And they carried on their work
when they themselves were desperately ill. All through
this they got little or no help from the Japanese.
Immediately after my return to No. 1 Camp I
joined with the other chaplains in going out with the
burial details. My understanding is that the Japs had
not permitted this at No. 1 until some time in August.
At 4 every afternoon a long line of litter bearers,
carrying the nude bodies of all who had died in the
previous 24 hours, started out from the hospital area
and proceeded up the road to the cemetery, about 1
1/2 miles south. A chaplain – Catholic or Protestant,
according to the rotation, but never more than one –
led the way. The bearers followed in single file; there
might be 30 or 40 litters. And on each side marched
the Jap guards with drawn bayonets.
The burial ground was just a big, unfenced field;
though later, about 1944, the Japs did fence it and
erected there a granite obelisk, perhaps 10 or 12 feet
high, unmarked.
34 | burial detail left camp with dead at 4 each day
Arriving at the cemetery, the party would sometimes have to wait until a work detail prepared the
graves. Commonly, however, they were ready – each
six feet wide, about three feet deep, and long enough to
accommodate 10 or 12 bodies laid side by side. Two or
three or more graves were used each day at this period.
When the bodies were laid in the graves, the
chaplain read a burial service. After a hand salute,
the graves would be filled, and back to camp our
procession would march. The Japs were silent spectators. They took no part; they gathered no flowers.
Sometimes in this Fall of 1942 a report was current in camp that Archbishop O’Doherty, at Manila,
had offered to pay 30,000 pesos for meat for prisoners of war, but that the offer had been refused.
What the truth of the matter was we never knew; but
certainly about that time the Japs did begin to issue
us a little meat – carabao meat. Carabao is gray and
bloodless. Our cooks usually ground it up like hamburger and each person in camp got about a heaping teaspoonful once a day, (sometimes twice) with
our issue of rice. This innovation came, I’d say, late
in November or in December. The era of the greatest food scarcity was ended.
But everybody still was half-starved, and anything
edible was carried to the galley to be cooked. I have
heard that men ate rats. Very likely they did, but the
only instance I knew about was of a boy who took a rat
to be cooked and the galley crew refused to handle it.
Dogs were eaten, though not often. I was told that
the flesh was excellent; I never knowingly sampled it.
One night, though, Fr. McManus said, “”We’re
going to have a delicacy.”
“What is it?” I asked him when the dish was
brought on. Its basis was the usual rice, but there
were bits of meat mixed with it.
“You try it,” was the only answer I got, so I went
ahead. It was really good; about like chicken. I noticed, though, that Fr. McManus himself was eating
not very rapidly and with a sort of experimental air.
“Well, what was it?” I demanded after I’d cleaned
up the meal.
“Snake,” said he. It was down, so it was all right
then. Somebody had brought it in from the wood detail.
But all these items were oddities and didn’t
contribute much to the staple diet of rice and
minced carabao meat.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter twelve
Christmas Midnight Mass
for 6,000 in Moonlight
B
Y DEC. 1 THE DEATH RATE WAS DEFINITELY DOWN. DOUBTLESS THIS WAS
DUE IN PART TO THE IMPROVED SANITARY CONDITIONS, but that element
must not be overestimated.The truth of the matter seems to be that death had done its worst.
The men with low resistance had died and the more fit had survived.
The great morale booster of this period was
news that British and Canadian Red Cross boxes
had arrived. Trucks, we learned, had been sent off
somewhere to get them; and enough were brought
back so that on Christmas morning (1942) each
man got a box, and another box went to every two
men to be divided between them.
They were not huge boxes, but if they had been
enormous, they couldn’t have brought more happiness to the boys starved for food and starved for
contacts with the world they had once known – the
world of the very things these boxes brought them.
I don’t remember everything, but there was a can
of butter, sugar, a package of cocoa, a can of prunes,
condensed milk, canned plum pudding, cheese in
a can or jar, jelly, four or five packages of cigarettes
and a few other things.
You just can’t imagine the tremendous lift these
gifts brought to all of us. Christmas and feasting go
together and here was our feast.
Yet there was a sad aftermath. Two patients in
the hospital, who on opening their boxes proceeded
to eat the entire contents, died the next morning.
In their condition (indeed, in the condition most
35 | christmas midnight mass for 6000 in moonlight
of the men were in) the system could not stand
so substantial a meal. But there was little danger to most of us on that score, for nearly all the
boys treasured their new supply and doled out the
delicacies over a long period. We didn’t know when
another box would arrive.
Another highlight of Christmas, 1942 – and for
many of us it was the most notable event of our
whole imprisonment – was the Midnight Mass . . .
a solemn high Midnight Mass such as I never
expect to see again – said in the open under a
great moon in the presence of almost every man
in our part of the camp (nearly 6000) and many
of our captors.
Chaplain Scecina, who comes from Indianapolis, had by this time organized and trained an
excellent choir of officers and enlisted men. On
a platform near the middle of the camp, used for
entertainment, he erected a portable altar and
decorated it in Christmas fashion with odds and
ends found about the area.
Fr. Scecina said the Mass, with Fr. Wilson as
deacon and Fr. O’Brien subdeacon. An enlisted
man, named Fitzpatrick, whose home was in
�St. Paul, Minn., led the choir, and Fr. John McDonnell, an Army chaplain from Brooklyn, preached
the sermon.
I was the narrator, who explained the ceremonies, for more than 80 percent of the congregation
was non-Catholic. So I stood in shadow at the side
of the platform, from where I looked out upon a
scene so inspiring that it surely must have brought
the meaning and the spirit of Christmas to
everyone present.
The platform on which the altar rested was about
three feet high and stood on a slightly elevated spot
so everyone had a clear view of the ceremony. Over
the platform, with permission of the Japanese, a
row of electric lights illuminated the altar and
made it stand out in the otherwise lightless camp;
and on the altar itself glowed our substitutes for
candles – glass cups with a little oil in them and
improvised wicks.
A few steps led up to the platform, in front of
which we had placed two rows of chairs and benches. In the front row sat the Jap commander and a
dozen of his officers, with our own commandant,
Lt. Col. Beecher, USMC, and his adjutant, Maj.
James Bradley, USMC, of Millinocket, Me. Other
American camp officials occupied the second row
and then behind them, seated on the ground, was
the great congregation that would have done honor
to any cathedral.
The flickering altar lights, the vestments of
the priests, the ceremonies which so many had
never before seen, the solemn chant of the celebrant and his assistants, and the response of the
choir, centered all eyes and ears in one direction.
From my place in the darkness I explained what
was going on, the purpose of each move of the
celebrant, and the happenings and the symbolisms of the ceremony. Due to a slight breeze, the
words were heard clearly even by those farthest
from the altar.
Fr. McDonnell’s sermon was on the meaning
of Christmas. He took for his text the first part of
the Ave – “Hail Mary, full of grace; the Lord is with
thee” – and his theme was that devotion to the
Blessed Virgin Mary, to her who gave birth to the
Savior of the world on the first Christmas night, is
the fulfillment of the spirit of Christmas in the lives
of men.
36 | christmas midnight mass for 6000 in moonlight
For men in the hospital area Fr. Talbot of Fall
River, the hospital chaplain, also said a Midnight
Mass. He had contrived an open-air chapel for
his usual daily Mass by removing the side wall of
matting from a section of his quarters, so that his
temporary altar was in full view. For the Christmas
season the boys of that area had built a Christmas
crib beside the altar, replete with figures of the
Holy Family, the shepherds, animals, etc., each
figure carved from wood by the men themselves.
The Japs allowed a single electric light bulb to
illuminate the crib.
All formal and lengthy sermons such as that of
Fr. McDonnell were censored by the Japs, and were
supposed to be in their hands a week in advance;
but when they saw that the essential part of the
Catholic service was the Mass itself, and when it
was explained to them that our brief talks were just
scriptural explanations and catechetical instruction,
they waived censorship.
Our Christmas dinner was of rice and carabao
hamburg, supplemented by the contents of our
Red Cross boxes.
In the course of the Christmas observances
(non-religious) came an incident that has engraved
itself in my memory.
It happened in one of the barracks, where several officers were celebrating Christmas in their
own way, with a few illicit libations (smuggled in)
and with songs. In the midst of the singing some
one in the group brought out from a hiding place
a small American flag. Immediately the touch of
hilarity died down; there was a profound silence,
and tears came to the eyes of every man present at
the sight of the flag which they had not seen in so
many months.When New Year’s Eve approached,
the Japanese commander was reminded about the
American custom of seeing the New Year in, and
permission was gained to stay up until midnight.
Usually we were supposed to be in our bunks at 9.
At 12 o’clock the galley crews served cocoa, made
from the packets in the Christmas boxes, and a rice
cookie, and then we waited around for the midnight
bell to sound.
The “bell” which gave the camp its time was not
a bell. It was a gong – made from the wheel of a
�railroad car, suspended from a post, and struck with
a piece of pipe. Furthermore, our gong sounded
Navy time, that is “bells.” So when midnight arrived, there came over the air not the landlubber’s
12 strokes, but the Navy’s eight bells.
A great cheer went up, and everybody was calling out “Happy New Year,” and hoping that by the
next New Year we’d all be back home.
37 | christmas midnight mass for 6000 in moonlight
The Jap guards, those on duty and the others in
their camp just across the road, became so alarmed
at the uproar that the Jap officer of the day came
over and asked our senior officer to quiet his men
down a bit.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter thirteen
Prisoner Farm Workers
Often Brutally Beaten
T
HE YEAR 1943 WAS USHERED IN WITH A STRING OF JAP HOLIDAYS (JAN. 2-5)
THAT SUITED US PERFECTLY. WE WERE GIVEN LAYOFFS FROM THE USUAL
WORK DETAILS. Sometime earlier the Nips had organized a regular system of detaining men
and officers to labor at various jobs – the idea seeming to be to leave none idle in our camp, for
any sign of unoccupied men brought an immediate increase in the size of the call for workers.
The largest number usually was assigned to the
wood detail, which had been operating from the earliest days of the camp. Sometimes the wood-cutting
area would be 10 or 12 kilometers distant. On such
occasions it was usual to drive the men out and back
in trucks, though often they had to foot it one way.
They would start off about 7:30 in the morning and get
back at 5 or 6. The noonday rice was sent out to them.
The men had to chop wood all day, saw it into lengths
and load it on the trucks. Here in camp another detail
chopped it in small pieces for the galley cook stoves –
our own and those of the Japs.
Another detail, which operated in the four or five
months of the Spring dry season, cut, made and
gathered hay in the fields about two miles from camp.
This detail had to carry the bundles back to the Jap
area, where the hay was used as feed for the carabao.
It was highly important to us that these animals
should be well fed, for they were used not only as
draft animals but also provided us with meat.
Animals selected for our use were slaughtered
and cut up by our own men.
38 | prisoner farm workers often brutally beaten
In all work details officers and enlisted men labored
side by side. Everybody in camp was detailed for these
work gangs, with the exception of those officers and
men who had definite work assignments in the administrative machinery of the camp itself, and in the hospital.
There was a road construction detail that worked in
and near the camp and another and pleasanter detail
which went with the daily bull-cart (carabao) train that
moved over the road into Cabanatuan every day to
fetch supplies.
Sometime before the middle of 1943 (and perhaps
as early as February or March) the Japs started operation of a large farm in the field immediately adjoining
our compound on the south. This was virgin ground,
and with the inadequate tools provided, the task of
turning it over to cultivation was a grueling one. There
was one tractor, but most of the work of turning the
sod was done with pick and shovel. It was just plain
coolie labor.
I worked on the wood detail for a short time,
carried hay regularly, and was fairly regular on the farm
detail up to the last six or seven months, when I was
assigned as a senior group-chaplain within the camp.
�
There must have been a couple of thousand men
or more at work on the farm every day, for it grew to be
much larger than the whole camp area. We cultivated,
weeded, dug, collected and carried in all the products,
and all this under a blazing sun. On a day of steady
rain, of course, we did not work. This wasn’t because
the Japs had consideration for us. Their consideration was for the crops, which would be damaged if
worked on in rainy weather. But if rain clouds came
up while we were at work, we were kept right at it until
the downpour started. Then we would line up and be
counted in the field, march to our area and stand there
and be counted again, with the rain coming down in a
torrent all the while.
Boys on the wood detail got regular soakings every
day in the rainy season and the other details weren’t
much more fortunate.
In the dry season the farm was watered by hand.
When the farm detail ended its work, a fresh detail
arrived and for three hours, from 5 o’clock until dark,
its men traveled back and forth between the rows of
crops and a small elevated water tank, carrying fivegallon cans of water.
Our weather was divided by the seasons like this:
From January to March, the period of monsoons,
with a 40-50 mile wind that blew without letup for
three or four days, then laid off two or three, and
started in again. Day and night it blew, whipping
everything before it, including sand and dirt (because
this is the dry season) to get all over your rice as you
carried it back to your barracks from the galley. We’d
be likely to abuse the monsoon when it was with us,
and pray for it when it wasn’t.
Next, from April through June, we baked, for
the monsoon ended but the rain was yet to come.
By June all our area would be dried and the grass
nothing but a brown carpet.
July brought the rainy season, which ran on
till December.
The food produced went mainly to the Japs, some
to their camp, the greater part shipped by bull-cart
into Cabanatuan town. We got enough to be of some
help, but not much. We grew corn, telitum. (I don’t
know how to spell it; it was something like spinach),
camotes, which are a variety of yam or sweet potato;
onions (which we never got), parsnips, cucumbers,
and tomatoes (of which we got mainly the rotten ones).
39 | prisoner farm workers often brutally beaten
It was on the farm detail that our men suffered
most from the beatings of their guards. The “whys” of
Japanese behavior are beyond my comprehension, so I
can’t explain why guards of the farm detail commonly
acted like brutes while those on other details weren’t so
often tough.
On the farm, sometimes for minor infractions of
orders (usually due wholly to misunderstanding) but
usually for no apparent cause at all, beatings would
be administered by both Jap non-coms and by the
sentries, who carried clubs instead of, or in addition
to their rifles. I call them clubs, but I suppose the Japs
would call them rods. They were sticks three or four
feet long, and an inch or more in diameter. The Japs
would bellow at some poor fellow and beat him unmercifully with these sticks.
Another favorite trick of theirs was to trip a man
and when he was down kick him in the stomach and
face. I’ve seen men left bleeding from the mouth and
ears and many had to be hospitalized when they got
back to camp.
Every day Col. Beecher would protest to the camp
commander through the official interpreter.
“Very sorry, it will not happen again,” was the
usual response. But the beatings continued daily.
As far as I could learn, the Jap non-com rules the
roost in his own outfit, and doesn’t hesitate to beat up
his own men. That is their way of obtaining obedience
to orders. I was told that the Japanese officers couldn’t
understand how discipline could be maintained in
the United States Army without recourse to corporal
punishment.
For a long time the work details went out seven
days a week. Then the Japs let us rest on Sundays,
whether of their own volition or as a result of protest
from our commandant I don’t happen to know. Perhaps they realized belatedly that they could get more
out of us if we had a chance to rest. Nobody in camp
was in condition to work even six days a week. Everybody was half-starved; everybody was suffering from
some sort of ailment.
Men working in the fields would often drop from
sunstroke. Exposure to the sun was about the worst
thing possible for those who had been given quinine
for malaria.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter fourteen
Nine Threatened With Death
If One Prisoner Escaped
O
N THE OCCASION OF ONE OF THE INSPECTIONS MADE BY THE JAP
GENERAL IN COMMAND OF ALL PHILIPPINE PRISON CAMPS, A CHANGE
WAS MADE THAT ADDED TO THE DISCOMFORT AND SUFFERING. He ordered
that from that time on all prisoners except those on the wood detail must work without shoes.
This was to make escape more difficult.
The hardship endured by our men under this new
rule can only be known to those who experienced it.
The ground was seemingly red hot under the burning
sun. The sharp rocks and the rough stubble caused
sores that were almost impossible to heal. In fact, the
physical condition of all of us, with a general tendency
toward beri-beri as a result of dietary deficiencies,
brought ulceration from even the merest abrasion.
Some men had sores all over their bodies. (I have
seen some of the scars which Fr. Dugan bears as a result of conditions such as he here describes. W. de L.)
Due to the numbers and vigilance of the guards
escapes by our men were few and far between, but
some did manage to get away.
One night two men who had been on the watering
detail at the farm were discovered missing at the final
roll call. The Japs sent out their search parties – and
the next day we learned of Jap brutality and sadism in
the concrete.
One of the two men had been captured and killed.
His body was brought back and turned over to our
hospital for examination and burial. A doctor told me
about the condition of the body. It was horrible.
The second man was never heard from and
presumably got away.
When the boy’s body was brought back, the Japs
called all our group leaders together. Pointing to the
sheet-covered litter, the Japs informed our officers
that this was what would happen to any prisoner who
should attempt to escape.
Attempts to get away also were discouraged by a
regulation that was emphasized from time to time by
the Japs. All prisoners were grouped into squads of 10,
and the rule said that if any man in the squad escaped,
the other nine would be shot. These squads were
known as “execution squads” and this arrangement
obtained for the duration of our incarceration.
I have no first-hand information of the threat to
shoot the remaining nine ever having been carried
out. However, stories were current from other parts
of the island that the regulation had been enforced.
As the months ran on our clothing problem
became acute. We had managed to get occasional
donations from contacts in Manila, and on one occasion I recall that the Japs issued to most of the men
40 | 9 threatened with death if one prisoner escaped
�dungarees and dungaree jackets which they had
taken from supplies of the Philippine Army. But
hot sun and constant soakings quickly wrecked
anything a man owned.
In the fields many wore just shorts – either the
underwear type or roomier outside shorts. But don’t
picture the nicely tailored affairs you find in stores.
Many of our boys “rolled their own” out of pieces of
clothing otherwise unwearable. The ingenuity of
some even enabled them to make shorts from bits
of old GI blankets.
Some whose skin couldn’t stand the tropic sun
wore shirts, others dungaree coats that eventually
became so patched that they looked as if they’d
been made from a patchwork quilt. My use of the
word “dungaree” may be wrong, for garments
issued by the Japs were of light-weight material
like denim, not like the rugged stuff you get in
stateside dungarees.
Circumstances eventually forced most of our
boys to perform marvelous feats of tailoring in order
to cover their bodies. And I often thought that if we
could only take a movie of one of our details coming
into camp after a day at work, especially in a rain, their
few garments soaked and their bodies blue with cold,
they would have looked worse than…I was going to say
“scarecrows,” but scarecrows at least have coats and
hats. If we could have caught the bent, limping forms
and the strained features, the picture would have been
beyond your wildest imagination.
A contributing cause of our clothing trouble was
the seizure of some articles by the Japs. Once or twice
a year there was a general inspection of all our gear –
clothing, personal effects, everything we possessed.
This process usually extended over three days, one
of our three camp groups being inspected each day.
When they started this, and we saw how the first day
went, with the Japs confiscating all extra clothes, the
men of the other two groups buried most of their
stuff, and thereafter the Japs found little to grab.
But even what was saved quickly wore out.
Partly through necessity and partly as a means of
diversion, our boys turned their hand to producing
substitutes for almost everything. Give some men a
tin can, a nail or two and a few bits of wood and it was
unbelievable what they could produce.
I was told that one day a couple of Jap officers passing through the hospital saw one of our boys working
on some sort of device. One Jap said to the other, in
understandable English, “If we give these Americans
time enough, they’ll have a railroad built through
the camp.”
One naval officer made practical oil lamps out
of empty cans (from the Red Cross boxes I’ve mentioned) and empty bottles. The can formed the base
of the lamp, from which protruded a wick made
from bits of cloth or other suitable material. Then
the bottoms were cut out of the bottles…and there
you had as fine a lamp chimney as you’d want. The
officer rented his lamps (run on oil smuggled in
from the Jap area by some of our boys) for a small
sum per week, and so managed to get a little money
with which to buy food at the commissary. For a
few weeks the Japs tolerated this violation of the
“no lights” rule; then they clamped down and the
flourishing lamp business came to an end.
Our expert craftsmen produced all kinds of pipes
from the ordinary native woods. To us they were
the equals of the best stateside pipes. Their makers
sold them at prices ranging from five to 30 pesos,
or $2.50 to $15. Some were bought for practical use,
others as souvenirs; we were always thinking of the
day we’d start home.
Smoking was always a problem here at Cabanatuan. At first we had some native Alhambra tobacco,
very coarse and of poor grade. There were also some
native cigarettes. But supplies of both dwindled.
As your American has to have his smokes, the
Filipinos now brought whole leaf tobacco to the commissary. It was of the very lowest quality, and so full
of mold and dirt that we had to wash it. After drying
it in the sun, we’d cut it up fine with a razor blade or
mess kit knife. This was for our pipes or “makings.”
After a time we didn’t get much of even this.
Due to the absence of the usual cigarette paper
the men used anything. Perhaps the paper most
commonly resorted to was a page torn from the
pocket-size editions of the New Testament, which
for size and thinness made perfect cigarettes.
A common practice among very many was that of
patrolling the grounds for butts. But even butts were
scarce, because almost everybody saved his own and
used the tobacco in a pipe.
41 | 9 threatened with death if one prisoner escaped
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter fifteen
Red Cross Shipments
Exposed Jap Lies
W
ITH LIMITED EXCEPTIONS, THE ONLY REAL AMERICAN PIPES, TOBACCO
AND CIGARETTES WHICH THE MEN RECEIVED WERE IN THE AMERICAN
RED CROSS BOXES OF CHRISTMAS, 1943. They came sometime in December and
were distributed at once.
In addition to being the greatest of morale builders (as had been the British and Canadian boxes of
the previous Christmas) the American Red Cross
boxes proved especially demoralizing to the Japs.
For months, in their propaganda newspaper, the
Manila Tribune, they had been publishing stories of
the extreme shortage in the United States of such
vital materials as tin, rubber and the like. What a
surprise and shock they must have received when,
on inspecting these boxes, they found them filled
with tin containers. And with this shipment came a
general supply of rubber heels! The shipment also
included leather for repairing shoes, and all necessary repair equipment, such as cobblers’ lasts,
hammers, tacks, laces, etc. Now we were able to
set up a shoe repairing shop.
but many had no shoes left
By that time, unfortunately, many of the men
had no shoes to be repaired. Even at the start of our
imprisonment footwear was in bad shape after the
wear and tear of the campaign, and few men were
able to get replacements. The most common substitute for shoes was what we called the “go-ahead,” a
42 | red cross shipments exposed jap lies
flat piece of wood shaped to the outline of the foot
and held on by a couple of straps crossed over the
instep. I’ve seen some fancy examples in shoe store
windows since my return home; but our Cabanatuan variety was often pretty crude. They were made
by our boys out of scrap material.
Some of the men had almost perforce adopted
the Filipino habit of going barefoot even before the
Jap edict. That we must all work in bare feet accustomed nearly all of us to it. But when the repair kits
arrived there was a reappearance of wrecked shoes,
some of which responded to treatment.
Each Red Cross box was really a beautiful job,
for in addition to all sorts of substantial foods and
delicacies, there were vitamin tablets for every man,
something sorely needed.
These 1943 boxes were the only food and smoking
materials that got through to us from the American Red
Cross. Later, in 1944, we received a welcome shipment
of books and other reading material, but no foods.
every book a “best seller”
The 1944 books were a wonderful addition to
our well-worn camp library. I mentioned previously
�that a great many men had kept a book or two in
their bags after the surrender. Sometime in ’43 a
call went out to turn in all reading matter so that
we could form a central lending library in the
recreation building. We got everything – novels,
classics and (from the Japs) textbooks which they
had picked up from the grade and high schools
through the islands. To these they later added, after
their Manila Tribune ceased to circulate, some poor
imitations of our American illustrated magazines,
with texts in English and Tagalog, glorifying Jap
accomplishments in occupied territories.
Everybody had an opportunity to review his
schoolday texts. I read, among many others, a number of grade school geographies. Since they were
special Philippine editions, they proved especially
interesting. I read three or four school histories of
the United States. Arithmetic books were in great
demand through the camp.
Now, in contrast, came this Red Cross shipment
of ’44 which brought us all the latest publications –
novels, biographies and general scientific books.
The shipment included 15 copies of Gray’s Anatomy –
not exactly a late number, but it did give our doctors
a chance to do a little review work.
The lending library was well organized and
was staffed largely by our officers. We patrons had
library cards, bearing our name, rank and serial
number. We were allowed five days on a novel,
10 on a textbook, and the “overdue” penalty was
deprivation of library privileges for a term of days.
Money fines were out of question. Money was too
precious for that.
some money was smuggled in
The sources of our funds were twofold. The first
and most bountiful source was the “grapevine.”
Friends throughout the island managed to smuggle
money in, and in many cases in large amounts. I’ve
touched on this before. Details will have to wait the
end of the war.
Sometimes we didn’t even know where the
money came from. For instance, it wasn’t until
after our release that I learned that the Army and
Navy nurses confined at Santo Tomas in Manila had
taken up several collections among themselves and
had forwarded the money to us – sometimes to
43 | red cross shipments exposed jap lies
individuals, sometimes for general distribution to
the most needy.
The second, and limited, source was Jap payments. About the middle of 1943 the Japs started
monthly payments to officers – 50 pesos ($25) a
month to lieutenant colonels, 40 to majors, 30
to captains, 20 to all lieutenants, and the same
amounts to Navy men of corresponding grade.
A peso was worth 50 cents.
Enlisted men were paid (a gross abuse of the
term, as you’ll see) on the basis of work done. Say
there were 100 men on detail; the Japs would pay
only a certain percentage of the men each day, and
the daily rate was one centavo – half a cent. Coolie
labor was never like that. Our officers managed to
rotate the pay allotments so that every enlisted man
in camp got approximately equal amounts each
month, but the most he could expect was 20 or
25 centavos, or 10 or 12 cents.
40 days labor for one egg
Now in terms of purchasing power at the canteen, 20 or 25 centavos was next to nothing. You
may recall that I mentioned certain prices as they
were in parts of 1942 – not much above normal.
But by ’43 the islands were feeling the shortage of
everything, and prices jumped. I don’t pretend to
remember exactly the 1943 commissary prices, but
I’d say that eggs were 40 centavos each and a package of Philippine cigarettes that sold in Manila for
5 centavos before the war now was fetching 70. A
can of fish, if you could get it, sold for 10 pesos, or
$5. So you can see what the Jap “pay” to our enlisted
men amounted to.
The question is sure to be asked about what the
more fortunate officers did for the enlisted men.
With rare exceptions, they did everything they could
do; but in terms of effective help this was never very
much. Even the highest paid officer in the camp
had a monthly purchasing power of just five cans
of fish (perhaps 40 little fishes altogether), or a few
dozen eggs.
As for money that came via the grapevine – it
wasn’t by any means confined to the officers. Many
of the men had a sizeable number of Filipino
friends, and some had married Filipino wives.
Nevertheless, the enlisted man did have to bear the
brunt, and through it all he never wavered. He was
�magnificent in his courage and his confidence; for
plain everyday “guts” you couldn’t beat him. I knew
thousands of these boys intimately, and every man
of them won my undying admiration.
men turn to handicrafts
Many of the men, in order to get funds, turned
to handicrafts and to odd jobs of all sorts. One boy
did a wonderful job of repairing an old leather
jacket I had from back in my days as chaplain in the
CCC camps in Vermont. It was badly worn and its
zipper was gone, but this camp tailor added some
buttons and buttonholes and the jacket was a lifesaver for me at the time of our escape in ’45. Other
men managed to earn an extra peso or two by doing
laundry for some of the officers.
And then there were other ways in which money
changed hands. Our boys turned out some of the
most beautiful dice tables you’ve ever seen outside
of a high-class gambling casino. They were lined
with green cloth, were properly marked and did a
44 | red cross shipments exposed jap lies
flourishing business. Three or four men would run
the game and take a percentage of the turnover.
Then there were card games (all of this in spite
of Jap rules against gambling) played with pretty
badly worn and dirty cards until the arrival of a
new supply in boxes from home on March 17, 1944.
This St. Patrick’s Day distribution was of
personal boxes that had been sent by friends and
families. They arrived in one lot and mine bore a
Boston date of August, 1943. So far as I am aware
these were the only boxes received by anybody in
Cabanatuan other than the Red Cross boxes of
Christmas 1942 and 1943. Many of the boxes
contained packs of playing cards, and games
started up immediately.
One enlisted man made a slot machine from a
wooden box, some cardboard and bits of metal. It
didn’t work, but still was a most ingenious looking
device. It had slots, lever, dials that spun and even a
money cup. But it was only a sham.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter sixteen
Shaving Became Problem;
Japs Grabbed Razors
O
NE OF THE TREASURES OF THE BOXES FROM HOME WAS THE SUPPLY
OF RAZOR BLADES MOST OF THEM CONTAINED. In a life of many problems
shaving might have been a big one if we had let it be. But as blades grew scarce, men let
their beards grow.
Most of us, however, managed to get along.
Blades were treasured and sharpened (?) by rubbing
them on bits of glass, the inside surfaces of drinking tumblers, etc. As I remember, some blades came
through with both Red Cross shipments. The home
boxes gave us the third, largest and last supply.
Most of the few men who used straight razors
had them confiscated at the time of surrender. And
those who managed to save them at that time eventually lost them when later inspections turned them up.
Almost from the start of our imprisonment
some of the boys turned to haircutting. They’d do
a job for anybody without charge; but those with
money paid a small fee, thereby making it possible
for the barbers to get a few items at the canteen.
Some time in ’44, when special-duty men were
assigned, four or five were designated as official
camp barbers and excused from work on outside
details. These posts went to men who were not
physically able to stand the more laborious tasks.
letters begin coming through
Though we got no boxes from our friends and
relatives until March of ’44, letters had begun to
45 | shaving became problem, japs grabbed razors
come through before that – around the Fall of ’43.
For the first few weeks only four or five letters were
released each day; after that the number increased
until the total in a day ran to 200 or 300.
They were all old (in this first period at least a
year old) and had been quadruply censored, first in
the United States, then in Tokyo, again at Manila
and finally at our camp. The American censors
did their work mainly by blotting out, but the Jap
censors stuck to cutting, and some of the letters
arrived almost in ribbons.
One letter I received from Fr. Thomas
McLaughlin, S.J., procurator of the New England
Province, gave me the football scores of the 1942
season. I got the letter in ’44. All the team names
were there, but all the scores had been cut out.
Evidently the Japs were afraid that the figures
contained a code message. The B. C. team was
described as one of the leaders of the country. But
I had nothing but my imagination to rely upon in
trying to figure out just how leading it was.
Another time I received a spiritual bouquet
from the students at Shadowbrook, our seminary
at Lenox. This had listed the number of Masses,
�prayers and Communions offered for my intention;
but here again the numbers had been neatly sliced
out of the page.
The largest number of letters that I knew any
one person to have received in the course of our
34 months of imprisonment was somewhere
between 50 and 60. I got 18 or 20. I received one
letter from each member of my family except one
of my sisters, Sister Therese of the Little Sisters of
the Poor, whose headquarters is in Baltimore; but
all, as I later learned, had been writing regularly.
A very comforting letter came through from
Rev. James H. Dolan, S.J., then the New England
Provincial of our Order.
Shortly after the first distribution of mail it
appeared that messages were cut to 25 words.
I got several of this type (all counted in the
18-20 total) from Fr. Louis Logue, S.J. of the
B. C. High School faculty, which briefly gave
me news of my fellow Jesuits.
they could write 25 words
Sometime in the middle of 1943 we were
allowed to send 25 words on special Jap prisonerof-war cards to anyone in the States – one card
every two months, and the messages to be confined
to a greeting and a statement about our health.
We tried to send some of these to friends in other
prisons but it didn’t work.
Everybody in camp suffered from dental troubles because of the dietary deficiencies – cavities,
loose teeth, general dental deterioration. There was
a dental office over in the hospital area; but our
dental setup was at one end of the long American
administrative building in the prison compound.
Here five officers worked pretty steadily, four Army
dentists and one Navy man.
A few ordinary chairs, one foot-drill and a few
instruments made up their office equipment. But
their greatest problem was supplies. At one time,
before a big exodus of prisoners in October of ’44,
which will be mentioned later, they were so short
of fillings that a request went out for silver coins,
which they proposed to melt down and use for
plugging teeth. However, so few of us were left
after October that this emergency measure was
never resorted to, as far as I know.
46 | shaving became problem, japs grabbed razors
One man in camp, an officer, had his false teeth
stolen by a Jap at the time of the Bataan surrender
and had to get along for three years without them.
No, the Jap didn’t take them out of the officer’s
mouth. They had been giving some trouble and the
officer was carrying them in his pocket. The Japs
ordered everybody to show all possessions, and
then helped themselves to what they fancied.
While the officer didn’t enjoy being without
them, it wasn’t as serious a matter as it might have
been if the Japs had fed us thick steaks. As it was,
the stock diet of rice and bits of carabao meat was
almost made to order for him.
My own teeth are in such shape that I am slated
for some long sessions with the dentists at Devens;
and I have one prominent gap in the front of my
mouth. That tooth I lost trying to eat an ear of corn
– not a fine, fat, tender ear of table corn but a hard,
dry ear of the yellow corn grown for cattle feed. I
managed one day to get in from the farm with two
of them. One I gave away. The other our boys in
the cook shack boiled for three hours in a desperate effort to make it tender. The missing tooth is
testimony to their failure.
their own vegetable gardens
In this year also the lack of food was somewhat
made up by vegetables produced in individual
garden plots inside our compound. How the seeds
came in I don’t recall, but they were there; and both
officers and men labored on their little plots in all
their spare time. The largest of them weren’t
more than 20 by 20, but before long space was at
a premium.
Hunger will drive men to many things; here it
drove a few to pilfering in the gardens. You’d hear
our boys tell how, overnight, their plot had been
strafed. That was the term used: strafed. The business can’t be excused; but we who were there can
be understanding. You who read this must always
remember that though we are talking about work
details, of religious services, of letters and books
and entertainments, through all these things
runs one unending story – hunger. Hunger and
weakness and illness.
�As ’43 rolled along small groups continued to
be sent away to work in other parts of the islands;
also, we were told, some who went out were being
shipped to prison camps in Japan. There would be
one officer with every 50 or 100 men. Consequently
the camp population had gradually decreased. I’d
say there were only 3000 or 4000 at Camp No. 1
early in 1944.
With few exceptions we had no Generals or full
Colonels here at No. 1; I was told that all had been
sent to Japan as early as August ’42, mostly from
Camp O’Donnell. O’Donnell had been closed down
in October ’42, and all its remaining prisoners sent
to No. 1 with us.
That move brought Col. Duckworth to our
camp. You may recall that he was in command
47 | shaving became problem, japs grabbed razors
of Hospital No. 1 on Bataan, while I was a prisonerpatient there after the surrender. When that
hospital closed he had been sent, with some of his
staff, to try to correct some of the terrible conditions
at O’Donnell; and he had battled to save the lives
of the desperately ill men remaining there until
the camp was abandoned.
Through it all Duckworth himself was in bad
shape. Shortly after the surrender he had been
operated on for appendicitis at Little Baguio and
never got back into form again. At Cabanatuan he
was always rated a patient, and as his services as
a doctor were also in demand, he was allowed to
remain despite his rank. Duckworth was the
ranking officer in camp when the rescue came.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter seventeen
American Navy Bombers
Flew Directly Overhead
T
HE YEAR 1944 WASN’T VERY FAR ALONG WHEN CONSTRUCTION WAS BEGUN
TO ENLARGE FOR MILITARY USE, A SMALL CIVILIAN AIRFIELD ABOUT MILE
FROM OUR CAMP. Everybody began to wonder what might happen if the Yanks showed up
and began to drop bombs in our general direction.
Six days a week and sometimes seven, details
of prisoners started out about 7 or 7:30 (often
barefooted, for by this time nearly everybody was
hardened to it) and marched to the field. There
they dug and shoveled and leveled off the ground –
sometimes using small cars on tracks, filling them,
pushing them to an unloading point, dumping
them, and then repeating the process unendingly. It
was hard, laborious coolie labor. Lunch was brought
out to them at noon – rice. The men returned at 5
o’clock, exhausted by the work of the day, the heat
and the final march back.
Various opinions were expressed that the Nips
would never get a chance to use the field before the
arrival of the Yanks and tanks. That was a favorite
expression – Yanks and tanks. What wouldn’t the
Yanks and tanks do when they arrived!
Sept. 20, 1944 brought the greatest thrill of our
entire 34 months of imprisonment except our rescue.
At 10 o’clock that morning we sighted our first
American planes – three successive formations of
Navy bombers (we knew they must be off a carrier),
55 in each group, accompanied by fighter planes.
They sailed directly over us in beautiful forma-
tion, headed due west, to drop their first load of
bombs on Clark Field. Some of the boys could
scarcely believe the planes were ours, but the Nips
on the other side of the fence were sure enough.
They were utterly bewildered. They ran out of their
headquarters building and barracks and scattered
madly as if they were to be the immediate targets.
Any doubt about the identity of the planes was
dispelled when the flight returned. Two fighters
dropped out of formation and strafed the airfield.
And those who had noted the direction and timed
the return were sure they’d visited Clark.
Later that day Nip sentries told some of our
men working on the farm:
“Too bad for American planes. When they
returned to carriers, they did not find them.
Japanese Navy sank all the carriers.”
Yet that same afternoon about 3, the identical
formation in three successive waves came over
again with a fresh load. And the next morning
the same number of planes appeared again.
For a long time now we had known pretty well
how the tide of war was running, though few in
camp knew the source of our news. Some of the
48 | american navy bombers flew directly overhead
�boys had manufactured a short-wave receiver from
parts they had stolen from the Japs over a long
period, on occasions when they helped repair radios
and other electrical apparatus in the Jap camp.
They built it inside a standard Army water canteen,
and powered it with improvised batteries. I don’t
pretend to know the details, but we were getting
news over it right up to the end.
In addition to the radio news, we were also
hearing through the grapevine about the activities
of the Filipino guerrillas; and I think it was about
this time that the Japs began to really strengthen
and fortify their positions around the camp.
Evidently they feared a raid.
As I said before, my recollection is that for most
of our stay in Camp No. 1, the area in which the
prisoners were confined was enclosed by a not very
elaborate barbed wire fence. Now the Nips built a
triple fence around the entire camp zone, enclosing not only our prison area but the Jap area and
the hospital area as well. All three fences were of
barbed wire strung close together on posts. The
outer fence was perpendicular. Then came a space
and the second fence, also perpendicular. The third
fence started at the base of the second fence and
inclined inward at about a 45-degree angle.
There had always been a strong sentry patrol
around us. Now they ran up two or three watchtowers,
15 or 20 feet high, with sentries posted in them, and a
guard appeared on the platform of the water tower in
the middle of the Jap area. The Japs also erected poles
just outside the fence and mounted lights on them
with reflectors that threw a glare over our area.
The final touch was the erection of strongpoints
of earth, logs and sandbags just outside each corner
of the outer fence.
From time we saw our first planes there was
frequent air activity day and night in our part of
the island. Whenever the planes came in at night
the lights on the poles were shut off, and the
prison area thrown again into its old-time darkness.
By day our planes would bomb and strafe the
airfield; and our boys used to get huge enjoyment
on these occasions from watching the antics of the
Nip sentry on the water tower platform. The airfield was a mile away, but you’d think every bomb
and burst of fire from our planes was aimed right
at that Jap outlook. He’d keep on the near side of
the tank and peer around it as though he expected
to find a Yank right on the platform.
Now the grapevine began to filter in reports
about the destructive raids on military objectives
and shipping around Luzon.
Fifteen or 16 survivors of one bombed ship, all
of them British subjects, arrived shortly afterwards
to join us. They had come from Singapore as
prisoners, en route perhaps for Japan, and their
ship had been hit by American planes.
“Your lads are too bloody accurate,” they
informed us.
These men were without sufficient clothing or
any personal effects, so our boys gave them whatever
they could spare from their own scant possessions.
The newcomers told us stories of conditions similar
to ours that existed in the prisoner of war camps in
Singapore and throughout the Malay Peninsula.
All through the Spring and Summer of ’44,
groups continued to be shipped away from our
camp, either to other parts of the island or to Japan
and Manchukuo. As the prison population shrunk,
those of us who remained were gradually shifted
to the front area of the enclosure. The extreme rear
area in which I had been quartered on first arrival,
in July, ‘42, had long since been cleared of most of
its buildings, and was now outside the fence and
had become part of the farm.
The old hospital area beyond the Jap camp had
been abandoned, and all its remaining patients
and staff shifted to the front buildings in our
enclosure – those on the north end, close to the
Cabanatuan road.
Water now was no longer a problem. By 1943
our just-get-out-in-the-rain method of bathing had
been supplanted by the more satisfactory one of
being doused by a five-gallon gasoline can filled
with water from the taps. The cans and a smaller
camp population made that possible. By September
of ’44 two showers were erected, the first in our
prison section of Camp No. 1.
49 | american navy bombers flew directly overhead
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter eighteen
Japs Suddenly Pull Out;
Leave Prisoners Unguarded
T
OWARDS THE END OF OCTOBER, 1944, AFTER NEWS HAD REACHED US OF
THE LANDING AT LEYTE, IT WAS UNDERSTOOD THAT EVERYBODY WAS
GOING TO BE SHIPPED TO JAPAN. On the 30th all but the hospital patients and a small
group which was to remain to care for them were ordered to be ready to leave the next day. John
Borneman, as Protestant chaplain, and I as Catholic chaplain, were among those picked to stay.
On the 31st all who were going had their effects
inspected, were herded into trucks, and pulled away
from the camp. I’d say that 1500 to 1800 went out.
A few more than 500 remained, about 480 being
patients.
Three other chaplains were left in the camp,
all of them hospital patients – Alfred Oliver of
Washington, D. C., a Protestant chaplain, and
Fr. Hugh Kennedy, S.J., of New York City, and
Fr. Eugene O’Keefe, S.J., from one of the Oranges,
New Jersey. The last two had been missionaries
in Mindanao. Just a month before our forces on
that island surrendered, both priests had been
commissioned as army chaplains, and so found
their way into our military prison camp.
I now had a chance to meet many men I
missed when we had the bigger crowd.
One day a boy came up to me and said:
“I remember meeting you when you were chaplain
at the CCC camp in Marshfield, Vt.”
I recalled him well – Stanley Malor of Salem,
now a sergeant. In previous months in the
Philippines I had run into eight or 10 other CCC
boys of my Vermont area. Stanley was the last I
met, and he got out with me. Only a few days ago,
when I visited the General Electric plant at Lynn in
company with some of the Rangers who rescued us,
I met Stanley’s sister, who is doing her job on the
home front.
On Sunday, Jan. 7, 1945, our senior officer, Maj.
Emil Reed, an Army doctor (Col. Beecher went out
with the big crowd on Oct. 31, and Col. Duckworth
was a patient) was called over to the Jap headquarters and told by the commandant, a Major, that we
were no longer prisoners of war.
Reed was mystified by this pronouncement and
suggested an explanation.
“Exactly what is our status?” he wanted to know.
But the Jap assured him that no further
information could be advanced.
“Then will you please give me a statement, just
as you have made it, in writing?”
No, the Jap wouldn’t do that either. He did tell
Maj. Reed that if we remained within our compound no harm would come to us, but if we
left it we might be shot by Japanese soldiers in that
50 | japs suddenly pull out, leave prisoners unguarded
�section of the island. The Jap troop commander
in that area would hereafter be in command, the
Major added.
Maj. Reed was further informed that the
Japanese Major, his officers and his entire prison
guard were leaving camp immediately; that they
had set aside a 30-day supply of rice for us.
A few hours later, about 1 o’clock that Sunday
afternoon, the whole crowd pulled out bag
and baggage.
To say that everyone in our camp was confused
by this sudden turn of affairs will not make our
mental state clear. We were bewildered. We had
been told we were no longer prisoners of war, yet
had been warned to stay in the compound. We
were free and we weren’t free. As far as we could
figure it, the Japs merely had freed themselves of
all responsibility for us as prisoners of war; and if
we were all shot by some butcher squad that might
come down on us, they could wash their hands of
the whole proceeding.
Early the following morning, led by Maj. Reed, all
who were able went to the Jap area and confiscated
large stores of food and of shoes – good American
GI shoes. Instead of finding a 30-day supply of rice,
we discovered all sorts of wonderful foods. We seized
and carried over to our area more than 8000 cans
of stateside evaporated milk (Alpine Brand, according to the labels), several sacks of brown sugar, a
huge supply of onions and other vegetables, several
live pigs, chickens that were roaming the camp, live
ducks from the little artificial pond at the front of the
Jap area, and a few carabao – eight or 10, I think.
Now, for the first time in 33 months of captivity,
we had enough to eat. The pangs of hunger
subsided. For the first two days each patient was
given two cans of milk, and after that one can nearly every day. For most of them it was the first milk
of any kind they had tasted in a long, long time.
We had meat in fairly generous helpings. The
pigs were slaughtered and barbecued. The boys dug
ditches for the fires; and for grates used bedsprings
from a few cots that had come down at some time
from Camp O’Donnell. The pork lasted only two
days. After that we had the chicken and ducks.
Then from time to time a carabao was slaughtered.
So from Jan. 8 to the end of the month we had an
abundance of food.
On the evening of the second day – that is,
Jan, 9 – a small company of Jap soldiers came into
the Jap area. We wondered what this meant; but next
morning they left. But from that time until the end
of our captivity various Nip Army units made almost
daily use of the old camp as a stopping place.
Finally, perhaps a week after our old captors
departed and we were supposedly free, a small guard
of less than 100 men arrived, took up quarters in
a few barracks towards the front of the Jap area,
and without any explanation to us, posted sentries
around our camp. Our “freedom” was ended.
Not only did the Nips post sentries outside our
fence, but they manned the pillbox defense on the
northeast corner and put a lookout in the watch
tower and atop the water tower again. Only one
watch tower was now used, that just outside the
fence on the east.
The Jap commander also posted a small guard
on the main road close to a gate which had been
thrown across the little road that ran in between our
prison area and the Jap area. The general layout at
this time is indicated by the accompanying plan.
During January there was an increase in
American air activity over our camp and in our
general neighborhood. We never knew the exact
purpose of the missions. But we did know of
MacArthur’s landing at Lingayen Gulf, 50 or
60 miles northwest of us, on Jan. 9. That came
in our secret radio I’ve mentioned. We typed a few
sheets of bulletins every day and passed them around
among the patients. Everybody was able to follow to
some extent the progress of our American troops.
We knew of the drive towards Manila, and as we
saw no indications of a spearhead in our direction,
we feared we were going to be by-passed.
51 | japs suddenly pull out, leave prisoners unguarded
�52 | japs suddenly pull out, leave prisoners unguarded
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter nineteen
Hearts Pumped Like Mad at Cry,
“We’re Americans”
I
N THE AFTERNOON OF TUESDAY, JAN. 30, 1945, THERE APPEARED TO BE A BIG
INCREASE IN AMERICAN AIR ACTIVITY IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF OUR CAMP.
We commented on it, but it had no special significance to us. We had not the slightest inkling that
our rescue was at hand.
We often talked about the day when we should
be free, and about the coming of the Yanks and
tanks; but a great deal of our talk was to bolster
our own morale. I doubt if anybody in the camp
thought we’d ever get back. Most of us felt that
when the Americans came our way the Nips would
wipe us out to a man – with or without pretext.
That night we had chow sometime between
5 and 6. After that, everybody sat around in groups
chatting, or otherwise occupying themselves. As far as
we were concerned, it was to be just another evening.
By 7 o’clock night began to close in rapidly, and
we could see the flare of light from artillery fire off
in the direction of Clark Field. By 7:15 or so the light
was pretty well gone, though it still wasn’t what
you’d call pitch dark.
You may recall that I mentioned the electric
lights that the Japs had erected on poles outside
our area and how they were turned off whenever
our planes came over. That was back in ’43. By this
time, with our invasion of Luzon in full swing, these
lights were never on. We were in full blackout every
night. The Japs even forbade our smoking in the
open for fear a match-flare might attract a bomber.
So we sat there just talking, wondering how the
battle was going off to the north and west.
Suddenly came an outburst of small arms fire
from somewhere at the back of the camp – right up
back of our prison compound – and almost instantly the fire was taken up seemingly on all sides of
us. It was so close that we needed no orders to act.
Every man hit the dirt. I dropped into a shallow, dry
drainage ditch; and I can still remember vividly my
sudden realization that one of my arms was outside
the ditch, and how I tried to get it under cover
without exposing any other part of my body.
WE WERE CONVINCED THAT THE NIP
GUARDS WERE WIPING US OUT, and I guess
most of us were pretty well terrified. Nobody likes
the idea of being mowed down without a chance
of resistance.
Yet in another minute or two we became puzzled. For though the firing continued, and bullets
ricocheted through the area, we heard no cries of
the wounded from any of our men.
I now know that the firing lasted 15 or 20 minutes,
but to us, lying there, the time ran to interminable
lengths. There was the familiar rattle of small arms
53 | hearts pumped like mad at cry, “we’re americans”
�and machine guns, spotted with heavier roars we
couldn’t make out. There were cries, and heavy firing
along the little road that divided our compound from
the Jap area. And then the battle sounds died down
almost as suddenly as they had begun, and there
came the cry that we’d been waiting for all these
long months:
“We’re Americans! You’re free! Go down
to the main gate!”
Nobody can ever give you an idea how we felt.
There was amazement, joy, unbelief. Our hearts
were pumping like mad.
We still didn’t quite understand what had happened and there was confusion, a milling around in
the darkness, for now it was black night. Our rescuers were saying, “Go to the main gate,” but the main
gate, as we knew it, was the main gate to our compound, a gate at the side, opening onto the little road
inside the camp. That gate was closed and locked.
Col. Duckworth came up from the front of the
camp. Just wait a minute, he said, and we’d all
know what the number was.
Then an American soldier appeared.
“Go down to the main gate,” he said; and we
discovered that they’d been talking about the
gateway to the whole area – a gate across the head
of the camp road, opening out onto the main
highway. The rescuers had blasted that gate open
and then had cut through the inside wire fence
into our enclosure.
More soldiers came up (we later discovered
they were the Rangers) and directed us.
“Don’t wait for anything,” they said. And
we didn’t.
We streamed out onto the Cabanatuan highway.
Some of the more seriously ill patients had to be
helped along. Many were being carried in litters by
members of the rescue party and by Filipinos they
had brought along for just this work.
We went right across the high road, down
through a dry ditch bordering it on the far side
and across the rice paddies that lay beyond. We
were going across country, heading north. Many
staggered from weakness, yet all found strength
in the excitement of the moment.
It was quick work. The Rangers told me afterwards that everybody was out and on his way to safety
in 28 minutes from the time the first shot was fired.
We wore exactly what we had on when the attack
began. Some had only shorts, others shorts and
undershirts. Many were barefoot. I had on old khaki
trousers, and that ancient leather jacket that had
done service back when I was chaplain of the CCC
camps in Vermont. My footgear was socks and a
pair of the “go-aheads” I’ve mentioned before – just
flat pieces of wood, cut to the outline of the foot,
and held on by a couple of straps across the instep.
Just beyond the first rice paddy we came to a
creek or slough, but it had plenty of mud. In the
crossing I lost my go-aheads; and I made the rest
of the march in my stocking feet and, when the
stockings went, barefoot. Later in the night one of
our men, a sergeant of Marines, gave me another
pair of socks.
Off on the right at some little distance we could
hear firing, and we were told that the action was
on the Cabanatuan road, above the camp where
Filipino guerrillas had set up a road block to
prevent the Japs coming down when the firing
broke out. There was another guerrilla road block
below the camp (between the camp and Cabanatuan
town), but we heard no sounds of action in
that direction.
We walked fast, as fast as we could; and it
seemed to us that we were racing. Yet actually the
pace must have been slow, for few were in shape
for a march. Soldiers on each flank guided us.
After a while we came to a river, and were met
by bull carts waiting there to take on the litter cases.
Some of the men in our camp hospital had only
recently been operated on, and a great many others
were seriously ill. Now these were moved from
litters to the carts and the crossing was made. Most
of us waded the stream, which wasn’t more than
waist deep.
54 | hearts pumped like mad at cry, “we’re americans”
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter twenty
“Alarm” Rescuers Heard Was 7 Bells,
Navy Time
W
E CONTINUED TO HEAR THE SOUND OF FIRING OFF TO OUR RIGHT
FOR THE TIME IT TOOK US TO TRAVEL A MILE OR TWO FROM THE
PRISON CAMP, and then it died away. They told us later that the guerrillas had drawn
off, and now were protecting our flank.
Our first halt was at a little barrio called Platero,
which I thought at the time must have been three
or four miles from camp, but some of our guides
said it wasn’t anything like that. Maybe two miles.
But all the traveling had been cross-country and
in our physical condition each mile got longer and
longer as we marched. Even those in the bull carts
were wearied by the shaking and jolting. I think
there were more bull carts waiting at Platero, and
still more at another barrio further along; and as
those on foot weakened they were placed on these
new conveyances.
We must have rested at Platero for 20 minutes.
Then we started on again; still at a pretty good
pace, because, though a carabao isn’t speedy, you
can push him along at a fair rate.
It was at this first halt that I began to gather the
story of our rescue. There was little conversation
with anybody while we were traveling. We just
kept our mouths shut and did what we were told.
We were just so much baggage; the credit for
getting us out goes entirely to the Rangers and
the Alamo Scouts.
55 | “alarm” rescuers heard was 7 bells, navy time
The American rescuing force consisted of
121 Rangers, men specially trained to carry out
missions of this kind, in direct command of
Capt. Robert W. Prince of Seattle, Wash. Of course,
Lt. Col. Henry A. Mucci of Bridgeport, Conn.,
commander of the 6th Ranger Infantry Battalion,
was the overall commander of the operation, and
to his inspiring leadership and marvelous planning
we all owe our freedom; but Prince headed up the
actual attack on our camp. Mucci said to him, “It’s
your show; go ahead.”
Under Capt. Prince were two Massachusetts boys,
Lt. John F. Murphy of Springfield and Lt. William J.
O’Connell of Boston. After the rescue we three held
a sort of Bay State reunion. Weeks later, right here
in Boston, I met Capt. Prince again and so came to
really know him for the modest young American
that he is.
With the Rangers were 14 men of the Alamo
Scouts, a small body of picked men from various
outfits whose specialty is reconnaissance behind the
Jap lines. They always work in small groups, often
just two or three men. They’ve gone ashore on Jap
islands days before our landings in force; they’ve
�penetrated Jap positions time and time again in
recent months, and yet so skillful are they that they
hadn’t lost a single man up to the time I was last in
touch with them.
The Scouts had started out from the American
lines, about 30 miles away from our prison camp,
on the previous Saturday. The Rangers followed
24 hours later. They traveled by night and lay
low all day, making junction at two points with
sizable groups of Filipino guerrillas who aided in
the operation.
The story of the rescue party has been told
and I do not plan to repeat it. But there was one
happening that at first alarmed and thereafter
puzzled the Rangers and the Scouts. Only those
of us who were inside the camp can clear it up.
For sometime before the opening of the firing the
Americans had been lying close to the camp. The
Scouts were so brilliant at their work that they’d
actually been watching the whole area all day; two
of them had been for many hours within 75 yards of
the Nip sentries. They sent word back to Col. Mucci
in the middle of the afternoon. Then the Rangers
started forward, worked their way across the open
fields, and then closed in under cover of darkness.
Shortly before 7:30 that night they had most of
the place completely covered – the pillbox defense
near the northeast corner, a guard on the watchtower, and the guard post near the gate on the
Cabanatuan main road. One detail (Lt. O’Connell’s
platoon) had been assigned to rush in when the
gate was blown open, and wipe out the Jap prison
guards in their quarters and whatever transient
force might be found in the Jap area.
Another detail, commanded by Lt. Murphy, was
working its way around to the back of the camp.
They were scheduled to start the party.
In this critical period an “alarm bell” sounded
inside the camp. The rescuers thought for a moment
(as they told me on the way out) that they had been
discovered and that the great advantage of surprise
had been lost.
But nothing happened after the “alarm,” and they
proceeded according to plan.
Now the “alarm” could have been only one thing
– our camp time gong. We had become so accustomed to hearing the hour and half-hour struck
regularly (Navy time, in “bells”) on an old railroad
56 | “alarm” rescuers heard was 7 bells, navy time
car wheel that served as a camp bell that we scarcely
noticed it. I am not conscious that the bell did
ring that night, but it must have. It always did. So,
assuming that the attack opened about 8:45, the
“alarm” our rescuers heard must have been our
man striking 7 bells (7:30).
(Just when the attack did begin is something of
a puzzle. Fr. Dugan at first thought it was before
7:30. One account by Col. Mucci says it got underway at exactly 7:30. Another Mucci account, that of
the Infantry Journal which carries a detailed time
schedule that looks like the figures from an official
report, says that the boys at the front of the camp
were all set at 7:25 and that Lt. Murphy started the
attack at the back of the camp at 7:45. And everybody seems to agree that the firing lasted about 15
or 20 minutes. From my own study of the available
evidence I think the attack started at 7:45, and the
“alarm” was the 7:30 time bell. – W. de L.)
We were told that when the attack opened the
Jap sentries went down at the first fire. The barracks
occupied by the Jap commander and his guard were
riddled by fire from the road (directly through the
fence) and then the gate was blown open. The Rangers made their way up the little road between our
area and the Jap camp, raining fire on the barracks.
One of our Rangers told me about the Jap commander rushing out of his door in the darkness,
shouting in English, “Here, what goes on?” Then
he dropped in his tracks with a dozen bullets
in him.
In 20 minutes not a Jap survived. Not only was
the guard wiped out, but also some Nips that had
come in for a daytime stop-over and were ready to
pull out for the battle front with a tank and trucks.
We pieced some of this story together in the
course of our journey to safety (though many of the
details we did not learn until later) and there came
to us a deep sense of gratitude for what these men
and their Filipino associates had done for us.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter twenty-one
End of Long Trip Was Like
a Triumphal Procession
T
HERE GREW IN OUR MINDS AS WE CONTINUED THE MARCH A REALIZATION
OF HOW PROVIDENTIAL HAD BEEN ALL THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE
PREVIOUS THREE WEEKS. As I have told before, there was one two-day period when we
had been freed from all surveillance at the camp. In those two days we raided the Jap area and
moved great stores of food into our prison compound.
That extra food, over the three weeks before our
liberation, built new strength in even the weakest
of our little group of prisoners. Had the rescuers
come much earlier on their mission few of our
nearly 480 patients would have been able to make
the trip out.
For you must remember that the sole reason that
these men had been left at camp when all the other
prisoners had been moved out in October ’44 (most
of them to Japan), was that Jap doctors themselves
had certified them as being too ill to be moved. They
were the sickest, the weakest. Now here they were
making this journey, most of them on foot in its
first few miles. Certainly God was with us; the very
sufferings with which these men had been
afflicted led directly to their rescue.
Our rescuers were less fortunate than we. As we
were passing out of the prison and across the road to
begin our march, one of the Rangers was dying close
to the prison gate.
“Leave me here,“ he urged, but the men stayed with
him until he died. I was told that his body was taken
by the guerrillas and buried with honors the next day.
The other man was not a fighter but a doctor –
Capt. James C. Fisher of Vermont, son of Dorothy
Canfield Fisher, the writer. He had volunteered to
make the trip in order to help care for our sick men;
now he was dying of Jap wounds. They carried him
along until we reached the first halting place. There
it was plain that he could not hope to survive the
journey, so when the column moved on some of
the men remained with him. They included one of
our prison doctors, Maj. Stephen Sitter, of the Army
Medical Corps, a few of the Alamo Scouts, Filipino
patriots, and Fr. Hugh Kennedy, S.J., Army chaplain,
one of the freed group
I got the story from Fr. Kennedy two days later.
Capt. Fisher died that night or early in the
following day, and was buried close by.
Nearly 1000 Filipinos gathered at his grave, and
a Filipino doctor spoke to them in Tagalog, telling
what a brave man this was. He had laid down his
life in their cause.
“This place where he lies,” he told his compatriots, “must be held forever sacred, to be set aside as
a memorial park.”
57 | end of long trip was like a triumphal procession
�A cross was erected over the grave, and Capt.
Fisher’s identification tag was hung from it.
“If the Japanese destroy this marker,” the Filipino leader said, “his second dogtag will be found
in a tree,” which he pointed out to the throng. He
warned that should the Japs approach, the cross
must be removed and concealed, and then put
back when the enemy had gone.
“This park, which we shall make, is to be known
through all time as Fisher Park,” he said.
After the ceremony our men remained near the
barrio all day, and that night came in through the
lines with the aid of the guerrillas.
Meanwhile we had been moving on through the
night, across open fields and through wooded areas,
and as we marched the moon rose over the hills.
Without its light, it seems to me now, the march
would have been impossible. Some may have been
fearful that long before we reached our lines we
might be shot down in some Jap ambuscade. Yet
the calmness and coolness of our rescue party must
have inspired everyone with confidence.
We moved in a long column, the bull carts usually
in single file and we who walked straggling along
beside them in twos and threes. And always we
were shepherded by our rescuers and their
Filipino aides.
There were three or four rests. Once or twice we
had to cross main highways on which the Japs were
moving troops. There were halts until the way was
clear, and then we went across as fast as possible.
The skill of our guides got us through. An hour or
so after daybreak we arrived at the barrio of Sibul,
close to the American lines, which had been pushed
forward in the three days since the rescue party
started out.
“Stay where you are; we will get you,” was the message that came over the field radio from our Army.
It was in the period waiting at Sibul that I first
met Col. Mucci, and we met as a couple of fellow
New Englanders.
“You’ve done a wonderful job,” I said to him.
“The boys did a fine job,” was the way he put it.
Then he added: “But it isn’t done until we get you
to Guimba.” The town of Guimba, (its real name,
I think, is San Juan de Guimba) was inside the
American lines.
Now came a new thrill. Down the road rolled a
line of American trucks – ambulances, jeeps and
other vehicles – carrying heavily armed guards.
And what a greeting they gave us . . . shouting and
cheering . . . handing out cigarettes and chocolate
and candy . . . making us feel that now the danger
certainly was over and that our long adventure
was ended.
They drove us to the 92nd Evacuation Hospital at
Guimba – past lines of American boys waving to us
and yelling, so that it was like a triumphal procession. And at the ride’s end we were greeted by a big
group of officers.
Baths, with plenty of water for all of us. Clothes,
too; and of course special attention for those who
were in need of medical care. And greatest of all,
our first American chow in 34 months.
A Navy warrant officer sat beside me and downed
his first long drink of steaming, fragrant American
coffee. “Boy,” he said, “now I really have a jag on.”
Then came Gen. MacArthur. Only 12 hours after
our arrival he dropped in to visit us . . . and what
a wonderful impression he made. In plain suit of
suntans and garrison cap he came among us, spoke
to hundreds, passed out cigars. So we were really
back home now . . . back again with our old chief,
our beloved leader.
the end.
58 | end of long trip was like a triumphal procession
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
Appendices
SERVICE BIOGRAPHY
Dugan, S.J., John J. (New England)
service biography
born
26 jun 1897
entered society
30 jul 1915
ordained
20 jun 1928
appointed to army
28 aug 1936
serial number
0348200
to the rank of captain
6 feb 1941
to major
18 feb 1945
to lieutenant colonel
(massachusetts national guard)
11 may 1946
separated from the
massachusetts national guard
as colonel
jun 1953
separated from the army reserve
as lieutenant colonel
25 may 1954
59 | service biography
�appendices
assignments: 1937 – 1945
Chaplain USAR, CCC, Vt. (Nov 1937 to Jun 1940); Fort Riley, Kan. (Jun 1940 to
Sep 1941); to Philippines (Oct 1941); to Bilibid Prison, Manila (20 Jun 1942); to
Cabanatuan, Luzon, Prison Camp #1 (3 July 1942); to Cabu, Luzon, Prison Camp #3
(10 Jul 1942); to Cabanatuan, Luzon, Prison Camp #1 (1 Nov 1942); liberated by
6th Ranger Battalion (30 Jan 1945); arrived in San Francisco (8 Mar 1945); Chaplain,
Cushing General Hospital, Framingham, Mass. (May 1945).
relieved of active duty
25 aug 1946
recalled
21 jun 1948
assignments: 1948 – 1953
Randolph Field, Tex. (Jun 1948); Oliver General Hospital, Augusta, Ga. (Sep 1949);
Fort Custer, Mich. (Feb 1950); Camp Crawford, Hokkaido, Japan (Oct 1950);
Guam (Feb 1951)
relieved of active duty
jun 1953
awards
bronze star;
army commendation ribbon
60 | assignments
�appendices
BOSTON GLOBE, APRIL 15, 1943
Maj. J. J. Dugan. S.J., Boston,
Jap Prisoner in Philippines
Maj. John J. Dugan, S.J., former City Hospital
chaplain and Army chaplain at Bataan, is a prisoner of the Japanese in the Philippines, according
to a card received from him yesterday by Very Rev.
James H. Dolan, S.J., New England provincial of
the Society of Jesus.
He had been reported missing in action in
February, although believed to have been taken
prisoner at that time with 23 other chaplains.
The Army chaplain, a native of South Boston,
has two brothers, William F. of 41 Hinckley Road,
Mattapan, and Walter of Panama, and two sisters,
Mrs. Stephen Cronin of 4 Elmer Ave., Saugus and
Theresa, stationed in Baltimore as a member of the
Order of the Little Sisters of the Poor.
61 | maj. j. j. dugan, s.j., boston, jap prisoner in philippines
�appendices
WOODSTOCK LETTERS: 74, 154-157 (1945)
The American Spirit
I
CAN TELL THE WHOLE STORY OF MY COMRADES DURING THESE PAST THREE
YEARS IN A FEW SIMPLE WORDS. Those words are these – they proved themselves real
Americans; Americans with honesty, courage, Godliness and fine common sense; Americans who
never faltered and who may have feared, but were too proud to admit it.
Many of them found God in death; others found
their God with me in the simple service we were
allowed to hold in our rude little prison chapel.
Yes, we lived a barbaric, cruel and often bestial
existence. But we lived a life which bound each
unto the other and we shared the pain and suffering of imprisonment under our ruthless Japanese
captors with the same community feeling with
which we are now sharing our freedom under the
Army officers and men who are almost too kind to
be real.
I was one of those few fortunate men who
missed the Death March – I was ill, too ill to walk,
and even the Japanese apparently feared to infringe
greatly at that time on the Church.
But everywhere around me I saw what they did
to our men. First they confiscated everything we
had – our few precious remaining valuables and
keepsakes, what little food we had saved aside,
and, yes, even our medicines.
Not then, nor weeks later, nor months later, did
they ever give us that medicine we needed so badly
for our wounded and our dying.
62 | woodstock letters: the american spirit
They did everything they could to starve us,
but they forgot one thing – the American spirit.
Our boys had that from the start to the finish and
they absolutely refused to let the Japanese crush
that spirit.
Deliberately, in the first days, they did all they
could to confuse us. There were frequent moves,
disquieting reports which they circulated of what
our leaders were doing, propaganda about how
America was about to surrender.
It achieved them no good except to create an
even deeper distrust and dislike.
Our death toll at first was staggering. In the
early days at Camp Cabanatuan, second only to
the terrible scenes at Camp O’Donnell for savage
administration, our soldiers were dying at the rate
of fifty a day.
Then, in late November of 1942, we were given
our first Red Cross parcels – parcels with food,
medicine, cigarettes and even some reading matter
which the enemy troops let pass.
Nothing was received in all the time we were
imprisoned that did so much to lift our morale, to
�increase our confidence and to cut our death rate.
That medicine meant the difference between life
and death for many scores of our men.
All the officers, chaplains and doctors had to do
manual labor in the fields every day, working from
dawn to dusk.
Our jobs ranged from cleaning latrines to farming and wood chopping. And those who failed to
meet the schedule the Japanese had set were beaten
and sometimes executed.
I’ve seen more than one American beaten to
death because he lacked both the strength and the
will to keep up the back-breaking physical labors
our captors demanded.
Certain memorable highlights stand out in
those three years we were in captivity, but not many.
In time, often in a very short time, the sheer weight
of living becomes so heavy you strive to let each day
pass with as little notice as possible, except for a
thankful prayer that you are still alive.
I could tell of tens and tens of thousands of terrible things we saw and heard, of little events which
we magnified so much at the time, but which seem
so small to us now, of more of that same type of
camaraderie I mentioned before.
But fortunately, while the hardships of those
years will always remain, somewhere deep within
us, it’s the brighter things we like to remember.
For example, the wonderful kindness of all the
Filipinos who willingly sacrificed their lives and
freedom to bring us gifts of food or medicine.
I cannot find words to praise too highly their
unselfishness, their loyalty and their friendship for
us when we were representatives of what seemed to
everyone but them and us, a great lost cause.
I can give the time right down to the minute
when our captors knew that our cause was not a lost
one. It was 10:30 a.m. on Sept. 21 of last year. We
were working in the fields when that hope flew past
high above us – in the form of at least 150 carrierbased planes.
We should have been beaten to death had we
showed the least outward signs of happiness, but
you can imagine what joyfulness seethed within.
That moment, I think, we all knew better than
ever before that the Americans were on the way
back to us for sure.
63 | woodstock letters: the american spirit
It was an unforgettable day in all our lives.
I like to recall Christmas Eve of 1942, also – an
evening which will live in my mind as one of the
great experiences of all my imprisonment.
We secured permission from the prison
authorities to hold Christmas services in the fields
near Cabanatuan. All the churches and all denominations were represented in that picturesque setting
and 6,000 American soldiers came to that single
service of belief.
I am sure God looked down on us that night
and today I am equally sure that He answered
our prayers.
Of course, Tuesday night, Jan. 30, was our night
of redemption and there’ll never be another quite
like it for any of us.
If all Americans are pouring into this war the
same efforts those 120 Rangers gave, individually
and collectively, to rescue us from almost certain
death, then I know why we are winning this war.
They did an absolutely herculean task with
truly beautiful teamwork.
You just can’t put into words what your heart
feels when freedom – the last thing you have
learned to expect after three years of prison –
is suddenly yours.
What perhaps made it most realistic to me was
that two friends – Lieut. John Murphy of Springfield, Mass., and Lieutenant O’Connell of Boston –
were among the first to recognize me and tell me it
was not a dream, but reality.
Then I knew that even though there was a long
march ahead of us, home lay at the end of the road.
Our Government cannot reward too highly
Colonel Mucci and his Rangers for what they did.
I want to say once again that the morale of our
men the night we left Cabanatuan was the same
strong, unflinching morale they’d showed throughout, and I want to say again how proud they make
me feel to be an American.
How do I feel about this new freedom? It’s like
walking in a new and wonderful world.
captain john j. dugan, s.j.,
u. s. army chaplain
�BOSTON GLOBE, FEBRUARY 2, 1945
Fr. Dugan was Chaplain
at Boston City Hospital
R
ELATIVES AND FRIENDS OF MAJ. JOHN J. DUGAN, S.J., 47, A NATIVE OF
BOSTON, former Boston City Hospital chaplain and prisoner of the Japanese since the
fall of Bataan, were elated yesterday on the announcement of the news that he had been
rescued in the daring attack Wednesday night on a Jap prison camp on Luzon by men of
th
the 6 Ranger Battalion and Filipino guerrillas.
William F. Dugan, an executive at the Buck
Printing Company, 154 Newbury St., and a brother
of the priest-chaplain, said that he was stunned
yesterday morning when his wife called him at the
office and gave him the glad news.
“Apparently, he had had a hard experience
during the long days since Bataan,” the printing
executive said. “You know he was one of the first
members of the New England Jesuit Province to
enter the Army for service in the Far East.”
When the Boston Globe yesterday broke the
news to Mrs. Stephen Cronin of 4 Elmer Ave.,
Saugus, that her brother, Maj. Dugan, a prisoner
of war, had been rescued by the Yanks on Luzon,
her heartfelt words were – “Thank God.”
Mrs. Cronin said she had last heard from her
brother two weeks ago, when she received a post
card mailed last May.
Fr. Dugan was graduated from Boston College
High School in 1915, after which he entered the
Jesuit Order at St. Andrew-on-the-Hudson. From
1927 to 1929 he attended Weston College and was
ordained there in 1928.
From 1929 to 1931 he was prefect of discipline at
Boston College High School, and from 1932 to 1937
served as chaplain at the Boston City Hospital.
During the period from 1937 to 1939 he was an
Army chaplain in the Civilian Conservation Corps
and was stationed at Fort Ethan Allen, Vt. He was
called to regular Army service in 1940 and served
at Fort Riley, Kan., until 1941, when he was transferred to the Philippines, arriving shortly before
the United States declared war on Japan.
During the early part of August, 1943, definite
word came through that the Boston priest was a
prisoner interned in Philippine military prison
camp No. 1.
Besides his brother William living in Milton,
another brother, Walter V. Dugan, is engaged in
construction work in the Canal Zone. In addition to
Mrs. Cronin, the priest has another sister, Theresa,
now stationed in Baltimore as a member of the
Order of the Little Sisters of the Poor.
64 | boston globe: fr. dugan was chaplian at boston city hospital
�BOSTON GLOBE, APRIL 1, 1945
Maj. Dugan to Talk
at Patriot’s Day Service
M
AJ. JOHN J. DUGAN, ARMY CHAPLAIN, WHOSE THRILLING STORY OF
LIFE IN A JAPANESE PRISON CAMP begins in today’s Globe, will be among
the speakers at interdenominational religious services Patriot’s Day at 11 a.m. on
Gen. MacArthur Mall, Boston Common.
Sponsored by Mayor John E. Kerrigan, the services are to be held in honor of men and
women who have died in World War I and II. Invitations are being extended to all religious, military and civic
leaders in the city to participate.
65 | boston globe: maj. dugan to talk to patriot’s day service
�NEW ENGLAND PROVINCE NEWS, 1965
Fr. John J. Dugan, S.J.
1897 – 1964
I
T SEEMED TRAGIC BUT FITTING THAT FR. JOHN J. DUGAN SHOULD DIE IN
THE BOSTON CITY HOSPITAL WHERE HE HAD SERVED SO LONG and memorably
as Chaplain. Despite all the efforts of doctors and nurses, Fr. Dugan succumbed to three heart
attacks over a period of two weeks on Dec. 6, 1964. His family were visiting him when the last
attack seized him.
John Dugan graduated from Boston College
High School in 1915 and entered the Society at
St. Andrew-on-Hudson. His regency found him
teaching at Brooklyn Prep. After ordination he
returned to Boston College High as Prefect of
Discipline. The alumni remember Fr. Dugan for
his manly appearance and firm discipline.
After tertianship, Fr. Dugan returned to
Boston to succeed the famous Fr. Louis Young,
then hopelessly ill, as Chaplain of the tremendous
City Hospital. In those days there was only one
Chaplain. He was “on duty” 24 hours a day, every
day of the year. Fr. Dugan, like Fr. Young before
him and Fr. John Madden after him, had a direct
extension phone from the hospital. It was usual to
hear the phone ring all hours of the night. Day or
night, Fr. Dugan always appeared well groomed
and spotlessly attired.
Many of the benefits and privileges accorded the
Chaplains of the hospital today were won for them
by Fr. Dugan’s efforts. The Operating List, the Communion rounds, and the right of the patient to see
the priest before an operation so that the
Chaplain took precedence over the medical service
were largely the result of Fr. Dugan’s determined
insistence to establish a strong Catholic tone in an
equally strong non-Catholic environment. The results then and now surpassed all belief. Thousands
of souls each year received sacramental administration. Hundreds of babies were baptized. The hospital personnel have gone to untold lengths to assist
the Chaplains until today the Boston City Hospital
is regarded by many Jesuits as the most Catholic
hospital in all their experience.
In 1936 Fr. Dugan enlisted in the Army. He was
assigned to one of the most arduous and taxing of
all assignments: the C. C. C. Camps where so many
high school “drop-outs” and graduates matriculated
in the days of the “Depression,” when employment
was unobtainable and no one had money to go on
to college.
Shortly before World War II broke, Fr. Dugan
was transferred to Fort Riley in Kansas, and then
on to the Philippines in October, 1941. Captured by
the Japanese, he was made to serve as Chaplain of
the many prison camps. In the next four years his
66 | boston globe: fr. john j. dugan, s.j., 1897 – 1964
�health was undermined, and he was on the point
of starving when rescued by the Ranger Battalion
in 1945. Those four years are a sacred arena of
military martyrdom that Fr. Dugan could seldom
be persuaded to recall. The hundreds of prisoners
who remembered his devotion to the sick and
dying U. S. prisoners brought him the Bronze
Star and the Army Commendation Ribbon and
countless tributes on his return to Boston in 1946.
Now a Colonel, Fr. Dugan spent the next two
years as Chaplain of the Cushing Hospital in
Framingham, where he was regarded more as a
patient himself than as a Chaplain. In the Japanese
prison camps he had lost all his teeth, and was
under 120 pounds. In the years to follow Fr. Dugan
never fully recovered from his prison ordeal. He
served as Chaplain in Texas, Georgia, Michigan,
Manila and finally in Japan, until he retired from
Army service and the Army Reserve in 1953.
After some assignments in parishes of the
Southern Province, Fr. Dugan returned to Boston
to join the Jesuit Mission Band. His experience in
hospitals and army life provided a rich background
for his Mission talks. Simple and direct in his style,
he labored to improve his material and his delivery
to the day he died. He had been eleven weeks giving
Missions when he returned to the Immaculate
Conception Rectory late in November. Less than
a week later the first attack struck. Although the
doctors were hopeful of his recovery, this great
Soldier-Chaplain had fallen mortally stricken. A
few days later his Commander-in-Chief called him
for his eternal reward. His funeral was simple and
plain, with no military fanfare – as Fr. Dugan had
repeatedly requested. May he rest in peace.
francis j. gilday, s.j.
67 | boston globe: fr. john j. dugan, s.j., 1897 – 1964
�Acknowledgements
This publication of Life and Death in a Japanese POW Camp would not have been possible without the
permission granted by Brian McGrory, Editor-in-Chief of the Boston Globe and the courteous cooperation
of John L. Harrington, Chairman of the Yawkey Foundation.
Deserving of special appreciation for his careful research is David Horn, Special Projects Librarian, Burns
Library, Boston College. To whom deservedly added are Ben Birnbaum, Executive Director, Office of
Marketing Communications, for his interest and support and Diana Parziale, Art Director of the Office,
who, with her usual skill and expertise, oversaw the design, layout and production of this remarkable story.
68 |
�
Dublin Core
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Joseph P. Duffy Collection of Digital Works
Subject
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<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85021043.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Catholic Church</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh87004995.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Jesuits--History--20th century</a>
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<a href="https://lccn.loc.gov/n87831774" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Duffy, Joseph P.</a>
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Jesuit Archives & Research Center, St. Louis, Missouri
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Jesuit Archives & Research Center
Duffy, Joseph P.
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Reproduced with permission of the Northeast Province of the Society of Jesus
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PDF
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eng
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JA-Duffy
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Northeast Province Archive
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Text
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Northeast Province of the Society of Jesus
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This collection contains publications edited by Joseph P. Duffy, S.J. regarding histories of New England Province Jesuits.
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2016-09-06
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3 items
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1939-1945, 1968
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2016
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2020-07-21
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Electronic Book
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
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Life Under the Japs: Stories from a Prisoner-of-War Camp
Subject
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<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85106971.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Prisoners of war</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh2010108339.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Prisoners of war--Japan</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh2008109324.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Prisoners of war--Philippines--Biography</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85148273.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">World War, 1939-1945</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85148357.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">World War, 1939-1945--Chaplains</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh2008113866.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">World War, 1939-1945--Pacific Area</a>
<a href="%20%20http%3A//id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85021043.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Catholic Church</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh87004995.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Jesuits--History--20th century</a>
Description
An account of the resource
This publication, edited by Joseph P. Duffy, S.J., contains a series of oral histories originally conducted by Willard de Lue of the Boston Globe in April 1945. During the interviews, United States Army Chaplain, Major John J. Dugan, S.J. details his experience as a Japanese prisoner of war in the Philippines after the fall of Bataan in April 1942.
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Dugan, John J.
De Lue, Willard
<a href="https://lccn.loc.gov/n87831774" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Duffy, Joseph P.</a>
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Jesuit Archives & Research Center
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Jesuit Archives & Research Center
Joseph P. Duffy
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Joseph P. Duffy
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JA-Duffy
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PDF
Language
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eng
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JA-Duffy-001
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Joseph P. Duffy
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Text
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Joseph P. Duffy
Date Available
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2016-09-06
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68 pages
Temporal Coverage
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1939-1945, 1968
Date Created
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2016
Date Modified
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2020-07-21
Chaplains
Pacific Theater
Phillipines
Prisoners of War
United States Army
World War II
-
https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/26015/archive/files/1a5ecd497a3611fcc98de2a3a00a46d6.pdf?Expires=1712793600&Signature=AyT2vBoTQh2NDgpINHy1jYbd0w2IRL43Bo5D2O9t%7ERFTga0EwcGrPiOaXPuMFpNXDljQ6HAeFRhDw8Fv9zf4fIIVCvL7GzkPICC-MZcWcNLYjh9VGIqOIg6c8wLFsLw6QD2SQ9L9i1sMVxNO4RhTLxddtreOdJGDJaksV715gahWXhP9KxUF-JIYWTEyOJpci3S7J-Xtk7OK-BF51SV25ojxLGcofOoWTfhc%7E0wcdqnxeW47bvCT2TwcLhbDUO15R7UVXEgooq0xg5BMAlwb0TkZHyjUQD4NgyZg0nFD-foPZOt1sK7Hwc4%7EXigy2yLVXq-7EhSdYGlZkQq7yRQQJA__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM
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PDF Text
Text
✩
A Jesuit Cossack
A Memoir by Louis J. Gallagher, S.J.
✩
EDITED BY JOSEPH P. DUFFY, S.J.
�Table of Contents
i ABOUT THE AUTHOR
By Joseph P. Duffy, S.J.
29 CHAPTER VI
Danger, Diplomacy, and the Cossack Captain
ii FOREWORD
By Joseph P. Duffy, S.J.
37 CHAPTER VII
Two Honest Men
iii INTRODUCTION
By Charles Gallagher, S.J.
41 CHAPTER VIII
Mission Accomplished
1 CHAPTER I
Papal Relief Mission
48 CHAPTER IX
Reasons to Remain
9 CHAPTER II
Famine and the Fair
51 CHAPTER X
Diplomatic Courier
15 CHAPTER III
Distant Famine Centers
56 CHAPTER XI
The Odessa Express
20 CHAPTER IV
Church and State
61 CHAPTER XII
The Canoro and the Casket
26 CHAPTER V
The Rescue of Orenburg
66 APPENDIX
Kirghiz Proclamation of 1923
67 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
68 IMAGE CREDITS
On the cover: Louis J. Gallager, S.J., Moscow, circa 1923.
�a jesuit cossack
About the Author
by joseph p. duffy, s.j.
Louis J. Gallagher, S.J. was born
in Boston on July 22, 1885, the
second of three sons of James P. and
Sarah Gallagher. He grew up in Boston
and Malden, Massachusetts, where he
completed his elementary school education. After graduating from Boston
College High School, he attended Boston
College for two years and then entered
the Society of Jesus on August 14, 1905.
During his years of formation as
a Jesuit, he pursued the normal course of studies
and was ordained on June 29, 1920, at Georgetown
University. After completing his theology studies in
1921, he was appointed Headmaster of Xavier High
School in New York City. It was toward the end of
that school year that he was invited to be the assistant to Fr. Edmund A. Walsh, S.J., the Director of
the Vatican Famine Relief Mission to Russia, where
he served in that capacity for 15 months.
Upon his return to the United States, beginning
in 1924, he undertook a number of administrative
positions. First, from 1924 until 1926, as Prefect
of Studies (Dean) at Georgetown University. Then,
from 1926 until 1932, he was Executive Secretary to
the Provincial, Major Superior of the New England
Province. After this assignment he was appointed
Rector/President of Boston College, a position
he held until 1937. In the years that followed until
1949 he combined writing with a number of
i | about the author
administrative positions; as Editor of the
New England Province News, Associate
Director of the Institute of Social Order,
Director of the Jesuit Seminary Guild
and Editor of the Jesuit Seminary
News. From 1949 until 1955 his main
occupation was writing and in his last
years of active ministry, 1955–1970, he
lived at Georgetown University where
he continued his writing and worked
with his long-time friend, Fr. Edmund
A. Walsh, S.J., collecting and classifying fifty years of
Walsh’s letters and documents, and arranging them
for the University Archives.
All of this resulted in Fr. Gallagher’s writing the
biography entitled, The Life of Edmund A. Walsh, S.J.,
one of his six published books. Another of which
was The Life of St. Andrew Bobola, Jesuit Martyr,
Patron of Poland. From his memoir and all of his
writings and lectures it is clear that the 15 months
spent in Russia early in his Jesuit priestly life and
decades long association with Fr. Edmund A. Walsh
were unforgettable experiences and left an indelible
impression that remained with him throughout his
long life.
In 1970 Fr. Gallagher returned to New England
and took up residence at Weston College where
he served as a House Confessor until his death on
August 14, 1972, at the age of 87 on the 67th anniversary of his entrance into the Society of Jesus.
�a jesuit cossack
FOREWORD
“Meet me at Cunard Pier—docking at 5 p.m.”
by joseph p. duffy, s.j.
In the early 1960s Fr. Louis J. Gallagher,
S.J. composed a memoir, titled either A
Twentieth Century Jesuit or Recollections of a Jesuit
Cossack that focuses for the most part on the 15
months he spent in famine-stricken Russia as
Assistant to the Director of the Papal Relief Mission,
starting in late July, 1922, all the while acting as a
layman. There are several versions of the memoir
but, with minor exceptions, they are identical.
Despite some early efforts, the memoir has never
been published.
The present edited version of Fr. Gallagher’s
memoir seeks to share that challenging and
intriguing experience with all of the
difficulties and hardships it entailed
as well as the satisfaction of providing
food, clothing, and medicine for
a starving, desperate and grateful
population of men, women, and children
in Russia. The story also tells of his role
as a Diplomatic Courier of both the Soviet
Government and the Vatican in bringing the
remains of the then-Blessed Andrew Bobola from
Moscow to Rome. According to Fr. Gallagher, his is
the first eyewitness account of the recovery of the
body, and described in more detail than is found in
the Vatican record.
How did this amazing adventure come about?
After ordination and completing his study of
theology, Fr. Gallagher’s first assignment was as
Headmaster of Xavier High School in New York
ii | forword
City. It looked like the beginning of a school career.
And then, in his own words:
Toward the end of that school year, when preparing for the closing exercises, the Headmaster
[Gallagher always refers to himself in the third person.]
was surprised to receive a short and rather puzzling telegram from an ocean liner coming into
New York. The telegram read, “Meet me at Cunard
Pier—docking at 5 p.m.” Realizing that the man who
sent this message was on his way back to America
before he had finished his year as a Tertian Fr. at
Paray-le-Monial in France, the conclusion was
that something unusual was afoot. With
no previous explanation of the telegram
and without prologue or introduction to
the subject, that evening at dinner, the
Headmaster was asked, “Will you come
with me to Russia?” The question created
a moment of surprise, such as diplomats
dispose of by lighting a cigarette, to gain a moment
for consideration. Evidently the matter had been
prearranged with Superiors and needed only the
consent of the one involved. It was a direct question
that called for a direct answer.
“Yes, certainly. When?”
“Sailing at noon, June 17th, on the Coronia for
Cherbourg, then to Paris and Rome, And from there
we shall find our way to Moscow.”
And so the memoir begins.
�a jesuit cossack
The Soviets, the Vatican, and Fr. Louis Gallagher,
an introduction
By Charles Gallagher, S.J.
On September 15 1924, a newspaper
published by the American bishops
carried a front-page article written by its Vatican
correspondent that recounted a face-to-face
conversation between an anonymous German
priest and Vladimir Lenin just prior to Lenin’s
death. The priest had known Lenin when both men
were journalists in Paris. Now, however, Lenin was
“the author of one of the most terrible revolutions
in history” and engaged in war against Roman
Catholicism and religious faith in general. Three
principles guided him: firstly, that the deliverance
of mankind was not effectuated by Christ, but by
the Soviet system; secondly, that this system would
appropriate funds, land, and authority unto itself;
and lastly—and perhaps most terrifyingly—that
the system was exterminationist, that “what is
opposed to us” had to be obliterated.
Lenin’s revolution was not simply a socio-economic one, or even a revolution against capitalism.
Catholics such as the Jesuits Edmund Walsh and
Louis Gallagher—who are the leading characters on
these pages—viewed Lenin’s co-option of Marxist
theory as something much more sinister. Lenin’s
revolution was, as they saw it, eschatological. It
aimed at world domination under a religion that
was bereft of divinity and transcendence, but which
nevertheless contained teleological elements of
utopianism. These, in turn, Gallagher and others
worried, might offer a substitute for the spiritual
ends of Roman Catholicism, with the social justice
iii | introduction
components of Marxism turning ordinary believers
away from the sacred and toward the profane.
Gallagher’s experience in Russia, recounted
here, was an experience of the mechanism by which
such turning would occur: the police state. Father
Edward Pace’s article on Bolshevism in the 1922
edition of The Catholic Encyclopedia reflected this
understanding. “A Red Terror,” was emerging not
only against the property-owning classes, but also
bringing “wholesale executions and persecutions of
the Christian churches in all [their] denominations.”
Fr. Walsh, who was Gallagher’s mentor and
companion in the Soviet Union, framed Russian
interference with Papal relief efforts as “terroristic.”
The “terrorism of the Tcheka” had kept him from
completing his work for Papal Relief, Walsh once
wrote. By 1923, the arrests, torture, imprisonment,
and execution of Catholic priests (and nonconforming Orthodox), inspired Walsh to write
that the whole “government, its army, its police, its
legislation, [and] its control of food,” was nothing
more than “subsidized terrorism.”
In many ways, the younger Gallagher grew
to see the “threat of Communism,” as he put it,
as two-pronged. Yes, there was the police state,
the informers, the spies, the jails and the risks of
imprisonment. But for Gallagher, Communism
was not just a state apparatus. It was an anti-faith,
and a parallel faith to Christianity.
The secrecy, danger, and hardships of Gallagher’s
Russian assignment were for Gallagher the
�byproducts of a religious purpose, and one which
he knew could cost him imprisonment or his life.
Gallagher’s mission to Russia to preserve the relics
of then-Blessed Andrew Bobola underscored the
contrasts between Soviet Communism and Roman
Catholicism. The stark materialism inherent to
Marxist and Leninist theory dismisses the idea of
the human body as sacred. The divine origin of the
human person, as well as the eternal destiny of both
the body and the soul, was a teaching abhorrent to
the new regime. To the Soviets, Gallagher’s mission
was folly. But to Gallagher, it was sacred, with an
eternal purpose on behalf of the church founded by
Jesus Christ.
As an obedient Jesuit, Gallagher lived his postRussia priesthood largely out of the limelight, as
a dean at Georgetown and later as president of
Boston College (1932–1937). But the challenge that
Communism posed to Roman Catholicism defined
nearly all of his later life. As late as 1947, he was
addressing Boston College alumni groups on “The
Threat of Communism to Western Civilization.” For
Gallagher, formed as a young man in the crucible
of the Papal relief mission, the Soviet threat never
ceased. He published nothing about himself in his
long lifetime, but much about the saints and about
those who fought the Soviets and their allies.
Charles Gallagher, S.J., is a member of the history
department at Boston College and no relation to
Fr. Louis Gallagher.
iv | introduction
Louis J. Gallagher, S.J., dressed as a layman,
Moscow, 1922.
�a jesuit cossack
CHAPTER I
Papal Relief Mission
Fr. Edmund A. Walsh was a man who lived
in the present as he had planned it. During the
many years of his intercontinental travel on trains
and planes and aboard ocean liners he was continually planning for future months and years and
determining details of proximate weeks and days. In
February of 1922 he was called from Paray-le-Monial
to Rome by the General of the Society of Jesus for
consultation with Vatican officials on the feasibility
of organizing a Papal Relief Mission, to be affiliated
with the American Relief Administration (A.R.A.)
then operating in famine-stricken Russia. On March
23 he was welcomed in Moscow by Colonel William
Haskell, U.S.A., Director of the A.R.A., as it was
commonly called, with whom he made a hurried visitation of famine-beset areas along the Volga Valley
and chiefly in the District of Samara. He was back
in Rome by May 3, and after an interview with Pope
Pius XI, Cardinal Gasparri, and the Father General
of the Society, the relief mission was decided upon.
The mission had been recommended by Colonel
Haskell and it needed only the approbation of Herbert Hoover, Director General of European Relief,
and of President Warren Harding, to become affili1 | chapter i
ated with the A.R.A. It was to secure these approvals
that Fr. Walsh was on his way to America when he
sent the message from the Berengaria to the Headmaster of Xavier High School, who had been previously but unknowingly appointed as his Assistant by
Jesuit Superiors for this Russian venture.
The day after he landed in New York, Fr. Walsh
was off to Washington with letters from the Pope to
Harding and to Hoover. His trip to the Capital was
wholly successful and the Papal Relief Mission to
Russia finally established. Fr. Walsh and his Assistant were made members of the American Relief
Administration and the next time they met was on
the morning of the day of sailing. The ship was sailing at noon and they boarded the Coronia about half
a minute before the gangplank was hauled in. An
almost-late arrival was in no ways disturbing to the
Director of the Papal Relief Mission. Split-second
timing was typical of his method of operating. This
particular mission was outstanding among the
major episodes of his busy life.
The trip across the Atlantic was the first Jesuit
contribution to the family itinerary and the time
given to reading was mostly devoted to European
�travel guides and particularly to Baedeker’s
Russia, printed before the First World War. This
book set one to wondering what was left of the art
and architecture, the housing and living conditions
of old-time Muscovy. Fr. Walsh had kept a record
of his former trip through Russia, made only a few
months before. But, as he said, our chief interest
would not be in places nor in the things that were,
but in the people and in what they were enduring
at present. The murder of the royalty, the decimation of the aristocracy and the so-called liberation
of the laborer were all past history. The condition of
the millions of peasants facing starvation was more
closely related to the mission of mercy we were
about to undertake.
For a Jesuit visiting Paris for the first time and
for a single day, the one place to be seen was the
crypt of the chapel on the Hill of Montmartre, on
rue Antoinette, below the Basilica of the Sacred
Heart. There is a brass plate on the wall of the chapel, reading “Cradle of the Society of Jesus.” It was
here that Saint Ignatius and his first companions
enacted the first scene in the history of the Society
on August 15, 1534.
The best part of the trip from Paris to Rome by
way of the Simplon Tunnel was its termination.
With no lights in the cars, the train stopped for a full
hour at midnight, under the mountain, in stygian
darkness and with not a breath of air stirring. It
was difficult breathing, and becoming more difficult, until the train got under way and picked up
enough speed to create its own ventilation. Looking
at the country along the Tuscan coast while passing
through a series of small tunnels was like viewing
the scenery with a curtain going up and down.
Between business preparations and sightseeing, a
short week in Rome created a longing for a more
extended and a more leisurely stay in the Holy City.
Part of the business there was the collection of extra
visas, and of the six countries by which they were
granted the only one that would frank a visa for an
American going into Russia as a member of a Papal
Relief Mission was Germany. Exceptions stick in the
memory.
There are many places and many things to be
seen in Rome but there is only one person. To see
2 | chapter i: papal relief mission
One of four million Russian orphans, circa 1922.
the Pope for the first time and to talk with him for
twenty minutes in a private audience was beyond all
expectations.
On the wall opposite to the desk on which these
lines are being written there is a large portrait of
Pius XI in his papal robes of white and seated in a
chair, exactly as he appeared when we entered his
private study. Soft-spoken and of placid countenance, his intimate manner immediately developed
an atmosphere of familiarity. He made you feel
that you were talking with an old friend after a long
absence. The idea of subject and superior never entered your head when listening to the Vicar of Christ
thanking you in person for answering a call to cooperate in a mission that he said was close to his heart
and of deep interest to the Church. When looking at
his picture on the wall, Rome, Saint Peter’s and the
Vatican are all brought back to memory as clearly as
�if they were outlined in the background of his portrait. Leaving his presence was accompanied with
the hope of seeing him again.
July 1922 was an unusual time to be making a
trip from Rome to Riga in Latvia. The peace treaty
after the First World War went into effect in 1920,
but the Allied Armies were still in occupation in
Germany. In the two and a half years after the dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, new republics had been established and new national boundaries determined, but there were still millions of
people getting back to the seats of their racial origin.
The surprising part of all this was that such cities as
Munich, Coblenz, Hanover, Hamburg, and Berlin
were as busy and as peaceful as if their present circumstances were the normal way of living.
Our itinerary called for visits to certain prelates
in Austria and in Germany and for business calls
to the headquarters of the occupying armies. Fr.
Walsh had studied at Innsbruck some years before.
He was allergic to the sultry sirocco that hit in about
an hour before our arrival at noon and put him to
bed for the rest of the day, after we had bypassed
Oberammergau and the Passion Play in a hurry to
get to Innsbruck. Four months before that time, on
his first trip to Moscow, Fr. Walsh had sent a trunk
from Paris to Coblenz, which fortunately was lost in
transit and not heard from since. We say fortunately
because that trunk brought us to Coblenz and to the
headquarters of the American Army of Occupation.
On arrival at the Coblenz Hoff, Fr. Walsh found a
letter from a former acquaintance, the Commanding General of the American Forces, inviting us to
dinner on the following day. The trunk was found
in Army storage but the General’s letter of invitation
was the fortunate item of this particular stop.
Berlin meant a longer halt. Thus far we had
traveled in clerical garb. Here it was decided to
change into some of the John David apparel purchased in New York. Fr. Walsh had had some experience in an Army uniform and for variety he decided
on a bow tie. His less experienced companion had to
make several attempts before hitting on a slipknot
that brought the hanging ends of his tie together
in a four-in-hand. Then came the first adventure as
John Doe, layman, operating as a unit of John Q.
3 | chapter i: papal relief mission
Public. Before leaving Cherbourg, en route to Paris
and Rome, our trunks were checked for storage at
Hamburg, thus saving the trouble of taking them
to Rome and then all the way back to Berlin. The
Director would be busy collecting passport visas for
Poland, Lithuania and Latvia. In the meantime his
Assistant went up to Hamburg to bring back the
trunks, and just before leaving, Fr. Walsh handed
him a letter saying, “Put that in your pocket. It may
come in handy.” He had a mind for anticipating not
only probable but possible difficulties.
With our inadequate knowledge of spoken German, it seemed a good idea to hire a Cook’s Tour
agent as interpreter and as general aide in getting
the trunks. His first move was to hire a drive-yourself beach wagon and no time was lost in arriving at
the Cunard storage plant, about three miles outside
the city. The superintendent of the storehouse was a
big, brusque individual wearing a somewhat shabby
German military uniform. After receiving the claim
checks for the baggage, he produced a long printed
questionnaire demanding information on every
detail of the claimant. We were in a hurry to catch
an evening train for Berlin and this looked like a
long and useless session. Our first pose was an air
of quiet displeasure because of the long questionnaire. The next idea was to ask the Cook’s agent if
he thought the superintendent could speak or read
English, to which he answered, “Speak, no. Read,
maybe.” Whereupon a letter was produced and
handed to the superintendent. The letter’s envelope
was marked “U.S. Army Headquarters, Coblenz,
Germany,” and was decorated with two small red,
white and blue ribbons held in place by a wax seal. If
there was one thing the Germans in general and the
military in particular were anxious to avoid at that
time it was business of any kind with headquarters
of an occupying army. The superintendent immediately called in two men and, after a short whispered
consultation, without even taking the letter out of
the envelope, ordered them to bring out the trunks
and to place them in the beach wagon. Then he
returned the envelope and we were in due time to
meet the evening train. The letter in question was
the American General’s invitation to dinner, received by Fr. Walsh a few days before. Events unex-
�Feeding kitchen for Russian children run by the Papal Relief Mission, circa 1923.
pected were beginning to accumulate.
A week or more in Berlin at this time would
have been interesting and instructive, but there
were thousands of hungry children waiting for us
hundreds of miles away and delay on arrival might
prove fatal to many of them. Service on the through
train, Berlin to Riga, was quite satisfactory and
added to that was the good fortune of having with
us a courier of the American Relief Administration,
Mr. Shandy, who took care of the baggage at the
numerous customs stops in Poland, Lithuania, and
Latvia. For ten days past Fr. Walsh had been trying
to contact Colonel Haskell, Director of the American Relief Administration in Russia, to which the
Papal Relief Mission was affiliated. Mr. Shandy was
of the opinion that the Colonel was then aboard an
outgoing train, Riga to Berlin, scheduled to stop at a
junction south of Kovno at 2:00 a.m. on the following morning, where our train would await its arrival.
At midnight Fr. Walsh packed his bags and decided
4 | chapter i: papal relief mission
to take them with him aboard the outcoming train,
and if he found the Colonel, to return with him to
Berlin for consultation. If he did not return before
our departure, we were to go on to Riga and await
his telegram.
It all turned out as he had planned it. He met the
Colonel and returned with him to Berlin, but something went awry in the planning that caused him
considerable trouble and delay in getting out of Berlin, and his Assistant an overlong stay in Riga. After
finding a room in a Riga hotel for a lone traveler,
Mr. Shandy left for the American Consulate. On the
following morning when this lone traveler went into
the dining room of the hotel, he was surprised to see
a couple, evidently Americans, somewhat confused
in poring over a menu card printed in Russian.
“Good morning,” he said, “May I be of
assistance?”
“Why yes, certainly, if you can read this menu.”
“An order for breakfast, I presume. Let’s see, no
�orange juice, no bacon. How about an egg omelet
with coffee and toast?”
“Fine. Just right. Won’t you sit with us?”
The order was given for three omelets of two
eggs each. When the Russians order an omelet
they always specify the number of eggs they want
in it. Introductions were in order. Mr. and Mrs.
So-and-So, American tourists, and an American
relief worker going into Russia. During the course
of the breakfast conversation, Mr. Tourist seemed a
bit perturbed when he asked, “Do you know a man
named Walsh, Edmund A. Walsh?”
“Why, yes. He was on the train with us coming
in.”
“So he was, but he got off somewhere and made
the stupid mistake of taking our passport instead of
his own and we got his, which I have in my pocket.
Here, take a look at it.”
The mistake was evident and its correction not
too difficult, though it would mean some delay for
the tourists who accepted an explanation goodnaturedly and decided to make the best of it. On
the interstate trains, as they knew, the conductor
collected all passports and returned them when the
passengers reached their destinations. Very likely
the only way the conductor on our train could recognize an American passport was by the envelope
in which it was contained, marked with red, white,
and blue stripes. “Mr.” Walsh left the train at Kovno
Junction, at night and in a hurry, and when he asked
the conductor for his passport Americanski, the
conductor handed him the first American sample he
came across in his collection. The explanation was
plausible, but what then?
“Present this passport to Mr. Shandy at the
American Consulate here in Riga. Shandy is an
A.R.A. courier. He was with Mr. Walsh on the train
and he will probably know where to send his passport. You can take it for granted that as soon as Mr.
Walsh recognized his mistake he put your passport
in the mail for Shandy at the Consulate.”
Three days later the tourists received their
passport. They had reached the end of their journey
and were returning to New York. With Fr. Walsh,
however, it was decidedly different. In those days
in Europe, American passports were worth more
5 | chapter i: papal relief mission
than money and sending them by mail was taking
a dangerous risk. To close this incident, we shall
anticipate by saying that Fr. Walsh was delayed for a
week in Berlin, and when his passport finally came
through, by courier, he went into Moscow by direct
train from Warsaw.
The few days spent in Riga were enough for inspecting the dormant condition of a medieval town
that had been Russian, German, and Polish in the
various phases of its history. Formerly it was a flourishing international seaport and probably was in the
heyday of its prosperity during the time of the Hanseatic League, back in the 12th century. On the 18th
of July a telegram was received from Fr. Walsh, reading, “Proceed to Moscow with baggage. Will meet
you there as soon as possible. Passport trouble.” In
those days in Riga people spoke of going into Russia
as if the entrant were about to explore a mysterious
cave where caution at every step was necessary if he
would avoid calamity. No doubt caution was needed,
more in talking than in walking, but the work to be
done gradually absorbed all feeling of uneasiness.
The train left Riga on the evening of July 19 and
arrived in Moscow in the afternoon of the 22nd. The
wagon-lit to which we were assigned was called first
class but like so many other first class things in Russia it had fallen into a state of near ruin and needed
a complete overhauling.
As most of the first four months in Russia was
to be spent in traveling to distant Centers of the
country to open feeding kitchens for children, it
will afford a better idea of travel conditions in that
country to mention some of the paraphernalia contained in the three trunks and six bags with which
we arrived in Moscow. At Army Headquarters in
Coblenz we were told what to purchase in Germany
for convenience in travel and for lodging at the socalled hotels, inns, and caravansaries in the open
country in Russia. For night there was a sleeping
bag, a pillow, and a single blanket. Outside of the
large cities, a relief worker never slept in beds or
on lounges, even if these were available. He slept
in his sleeping bag on the floor, after sweeping off
a space and spreading around a generous dusting
of yellow insect powder. For train travel he carried
an assortment of pewter tableware and cutlery, a
�small frying pan and a boiling pot, and for cooking,
a small can of sterno, a solid wax permeated with
alcohol which made a miniature but very efficient
cook stove. Food for longer trips could be purchased
at American commissaries in different cities, which
carried a large variety of American cereals, canned
good of all kinds, various bakery items and the very
important powdered coffee and American cigarettes.
Time went by rapidly on the slow-moving trains
when there were three meals a day to be cooked and
consumed. The dishwashing and “neating up” after
meals was generally done by the conductor, who was
quite satisfied with payment of a few rubles, a cup of
coffee and two or three American cigarettes. Seldom if ever were the cars lighted, even on the main
roads, and if you wanted to read after sundown, you
did so by candlelight, with the candle stuck on the
window sill. Once you left the main road you were
practically camping out in unheated cars, sleeping
on hard board seats and dressed as for outdoors, in
overcoat, shoes and fur hat, plus the single blanket,
and with the sleeping bag as a mattress. On such
trains conditions in the other cars, crowded with
refugees moving about the country in search of food
and lodging, must be left to one’s imagination.
The first rail venture, “going in,” as they called it,
was somewhat typical of future travel but the novelty
of it all was sufficient to offset the inconveniences.
Before reaching the Russian border, a few words
are in order about the car deluxe that was entrained
behind our own. A blue car with rectangular plate
glass windows, it was built in three compartments,
bedroom, dining room, and sitting room, each
upholstered in a different color. Numerous servants were in attendance and it was learned to our
surprise that the car was occupied by a single Soviet
official, returning from a Genoa conference to Moscow. This special and palatial car was in vast contrast
to the regular Russian rolling stock and represented
a fair measure of the gulf that separated the ruling
ironclad minority from the neglected and hungry
millions of the so-called classless society.
The Russian border was distinctly marked by a
broad ditch, forming the boundary line between this
country and Latvia. The mutual feeling that existed
between the Letts and the Soviets was easily inferred
6 | chapter 1
from the numerous ramparts, barbed wire entanglements and wooden crosses that marked the scenes
of their last separation. The train was stopped at
the border by a horde of Reds that looked like a
detachment from a circus. Their uniforms were of
every color, but always dirty. Their military outfit
consisted of a gun and a cone-shaped hat with a
large red star in front. This stop was for preliminary
inspection, made by a Russian customs officer who
merely passed through the cars, accompanied by a
desperately bewhiskered guard, to count the number of passengers. In the midst of his calculations
someone at the end of the train fired a shot and the
customs officers and their guards disappeared.
When they reached the scene of the firing, they
met a Lettish official who told them to pull up the
train and get the last two cars off Lettish territory
before they went through for inspection. This they
did and the counting had to begin all over again.
The baggage inspection took place at the town of
Sebej, where the crazy quilt regimentals were everywhere in evidence. Our coupe companion was a Mr.
Townsend, a member of the A.R.A., who explained
in Russian that we were relief workers and that our
baggage was exempt from inspection, and after a
short argument he gained his point. The manner
in which the baggage of the other passengers was
put through customs was a spectacle of disorderly
accomplishment. It was the disarrangement and the
sack of the most intimate recesses of trunks, bags,
boxes and bundles. Then everything was pitched
back into the containers and soldiers accumulated
on the tops of trunks until there was weight enough
to close them.
The A.R.A. had been operating in Russia for
nearly a year before the arrival of the Papal Relief
Mission. The houses they had taken over in Moscow
were designated by colors, and members of affiliated
organizations had the privilege of living in them
until they opened dwellings of their own. Our first
assignment was to a well-furnished and sizeable
room in the basement of the Brown House, below
the level of the sidewalk, with a large window, high
in the wall and looking out into a public square.
Considering what happened on the first night of occupancy, the position of the room was probably for-
�tunate. At about 2:00 a.m. the house was awakened
by several rifle shots fired close to our window. Next
morning at breakfast it was calmly explained that
the City Police Force was made up of Red soldiers,
and to prevent themselves and their fellow police
from falling asleep on duty they were accustomed
to take target practice at telephone poles across the
plaza; to which was added, “Don’t be surprised at
anything that happens in Russia.”
On the following night and in the same room,
the second big surprise took place. After a busy day,
finding a trustworthy interpreter and arranging
office space in the main building of the American
Relief Administration, at midnight and retiring
time, the silence was broken by a slight knocking
on the door. It was answered with one of our new
Russian words, “Vkodeet,” meaning “Come in.”
The door opened and in stepped a very thin man
of medium height, shabbily dressed and nervously
rolling a cloth hat in his hands. He closed the door
quietly, smiled graciously, and with a slight bow said
in French, “Good evening. You are Fr. Walsh. Isn’t
that so?”
“Not exactly, but his American Assistant and a
priest, like yourself. Is that right?”
“Quite right,” he replied. “I am a Polish priest.
We heard about the arrival of the Papal Mission and
I have come here for two reasons, one of which” –
and here we interrupted him, saying, “was to get
something to eat.”
“Well,” he answered with a broad smile, “let
us call that a third reason which I was hoping you
would mention before I had to.”
“Sit down at the desk, Fr.; better eat first, then we
can talk with more comfort.”
In five minutes he was deep into a bowl of
American canned chicken soup, into which he
was breaking a whole slice of Russian black bread.
Following that with a cup of coffee and an American
cigarette, he said, “Now I must say a special grace
of thanksgiving. That’s the first real meal I have had
in two months.” The conversation that followed was
enlightening.
“How did you find out about the Papal Mission
and who directed you to come here?”
“We have a good system of communications,
7 | chapter i: papal relief mission
Fr. Two of our men are conductors on the Warsawto-Moscow trains which await the arrival of the
Berlin express. One of them said that Fr. Walsh was
in Berlin. I thought he had arrived here by this time.
That’s why I addressed you as Fr. Walsh. At Rostovon-the-Don, on my way up from Caucasia, they said
that the other mission workers were coming by way
of Constantinople and Odessa.”
“You do get the news, don’t you?”
“We have to, Fr., to keep alive and to keep going.
I came into Moscow yesterday, after eight days in
a freight car, with Red soldiers. There was another
priest in the car and we were wearing our cassocks.
One day some of the Red soldiers decided that there
was not room enough in the car for so many, so they
opened the freight door, picked up the other priest
and pitched him out bodily. Fortunately, the train
was running slowly. I saw him land on a sand bank
and roll down about twenty feet. I tucked up my
cassock and made it look like a coat, pulled my hat
down over one eye, lighted up a Russian cigarette
and handed around a few more to the soldiers. But
this is not what I came here to talk about. Since you
are Fr. Walsh’s Assistant and an American priest, I
take it that you are also a Jesuit.”
“Quite true, Your Reverence, go right on with
your story.”
“Well, in that case, you will both want to know
that the relics of Blessed Andrew Bobola, the Polish
Jesuit Martyr, are in a medical museum here in the
city. They were brought here from Vitebsk during
the spoliation of the churches. They say the Holy
Fr. has already asked the Bolshevik Government to
return these relics; the whole body except the right
arm which was taken to Rome some forty years ago.
Maybe you will be able to find them. My second
reason for coming was to ask you for some large
hosts for saying Mass. I can always get the necessary
wine but I have neither material nor apparatus for
making hosts and it would be placing my people in
danger to ask them to make hosts for me. You see,”
he continued, “I have the largest parish in the world,
all of Russia, so I have to move rapidly, stopping
wherever I can find our people, especially in the
open country, and saying Mass for them in private.”
“That’s dangerous work, Fr., and no doubt you
�know what they will do if they catch up with you.”
To which he replied, “Yes, I imagine so, but then I
don’t know of any better way of dying.” He left as
quietly as he had entered but happier and with a
supply of hosts, plus as much American food as he
could carry in his large pockets, the value of which
was trivial in comparison with the value of the information he supplied.
There was work to be done before Fr. Walsh’s
arrival and the news imparted by our nocturnal
visitor added more. On the desk of the office,
previously assigned to the Papal Mission in the
main building of the A.R.A., there were about fifty
letters awaiting the coming of the Mission. These
letters were nearly all petitions from Polish centers
asking for food packages which were sent out
through the A.R.A. Organizations affiliated to the
American Relief Administration could purchase
food packages at any of the A.R.A. stations spread
throughout the country and the purchase included
delivery. The price of the package was ten dollars
and it contained forty-nine pounds of flower, fifteen
pounds of sugar, ten pounds of lard, twenty pounds
of rice, twenty tins of evaporated milk, and one
pound of tea. The letters bearing foreign stamps
were from people in other countries wishing to
supply food for relatives or friends in Russia.
The difficulty with these requests was not
in supplying the food but in finding the
people, and many of them were never
found.
Russia (1914), by Karl Baedeker.
8 | chapter i: papal relief mission
In view of what we had heard about the relics of
Blessed Andrew Bobola, our interest was awakened
by an announcement recently made in PRAVDA,
the Government daily paper, of an anti-religious
exposition taking place in the City Medical Museum
at 16 Petrovska. The principal objects on display
were four coffins, evidently removed from the crypts
of Orthodox churches during the last spoliation of
the churches in Moscow. The coffins were draped
with placards reading, “This is all that is left of the
bishops who spent their lives deluding the people.
The days of religion are over.” The coffins had glass
covers and were sealed. Judging from the account
of the martyrdom of Blessed Andrew, as given in
the Roman Breviary, the relics were not here. The
curator of the Museum said he knew nothing about
these bodies and that he had never heard of Blessed
Andrew Bobola. Later on, a Polish priest from
Vitebsk said that the relics had not been on exhibition at 16 Petrovska. This was the first effort made
in the recovery of the relics of Blessed Andrew.
Another was to be made about a year later, with
more success.
✩
�a jesuit cossack
CHAPTER II
Famine and the Fair
The following narrative is not intended
to be a history of the Papal Relief Mission
in Russia. Its purport is to relate the experience
of the Assistant Director of that Mission, whose
first undertaking was to open feeding kitchens for
hungry children in distant cities of Russia. With
Moscow as headquarters, this called for travel to
such faraway centers as Leningrad, Nijni-Novgorod,
Kiev, the Crimea, Caucasia, Rostov-on-the-Don, and
finally to Orenburg out beyond the Volga, in the
southern Ural district. Considering the living and
the traveling conditions in Russia at that time, this
may sound like a different assignment, but let us
first note what it meant to the Papal Mission to be
affiliated with the American Relief Administration
(A.R.A.).
The Russian winter of 1922–1923 was not nearly
as rigorous as the one that preceded it, during which
the pioneer workers of the A.R.A. stemmed the
progress of the Russian famine without stopping
it. At the time of the arrival of the Papal Mission in
Russia, the A.R.A. was feeding 9,000,000 people
in 28,000 kitchens located in 18,000 towns and
villages. Their working staff consisted of 20,000
9 | chapter ii
Russians directed by 200 Americans. The Papal
Mission took over districts in which the A.R.A. had
worked during the previous winter and still maintained some of its activities and personnel. It was
one thing to arrive in a district to begin relief work
in mid-winter, seven or eight hundred miles from
Moscow, when the A.R.A. had already arranged for
your arrival and housing and for the transportation
of food supplies to the warehouses they had already
taken over. It must have been quite a different undertaking for their pioneer workers to set up these
feeding centers in nearly every district in Russia in
Europe. There were still hazards to be overcome and
dangers to be encountered in the form of blizzards,
subzero temperatures and thousands of miles to be
traveled on defective railroads and neglected ships,
but there were always Americans present with good
advice as to how it should be done. Tetravaccine
was more than a caution; it was a necessity against
typhus and other diseases consequent upon famine
conditions, but these had been greatly reduced by
the very efficient medical relief operated throughout
the entire country by the A.R.A. at a cost of seven
and a half million dollars.
�American Relief Administration ships in a Russian harbor.
Fr. Walsh arrived in Moscow on the 26th of July
by way of Warsaw, where he stopped for consultation with some of the Polish clergy relative to the
Catholic priests then in prison in Russia. He was in
Moscow as Director of the Papal Mission but at the
same time he was the only one in Russia who had
direct and certain contact with the Vatican, a fact
which was eventually to cause him more worry and
trouble than the chief assignment for which he was
there. His first step in organization was to arrange
with local authorities for a house to serve as a residence and as a central office from which to direct
the entire Mission. The difficulties encountered
here had a common origin with those attending
the opening of every other station, namely, the local
government authorities. The delay and the inconvenience caused by their indecision and their fear of
acting without the consent of higher superiors was
disturbing but not too surprising. They were men
who realized their responsibility but were not sure
of their authority, and progress was slow where local
decisions had to be sanctioned by district superiors
10 | chapter ii: famine and the fair
and these in turn by federal consent. For the most
part you were dealing with men of ability but with
little education, who were hurtled into prominence
by the force of the Bolshevik Revolution and were
blindly following the dictates of an ironclad political
minority in Moscow whose decisions constituted the
law of the land.
Once a residence was established in Moscow, Fr.
Walsh’s next interest was to set out to meet the other
Mission workers who were on their way to Russia.
Four days after his arrival he received a telegram
from the Vatican stating that they had sailed from
Bari in Italy for Constantinople on July 26. There
were eight priests, all in civilian dress, and one
coadjutor lay brother in the party; two Italians, three
Spaniards, two Germans, and two Czechoslovakians. Their ship was destined for Novorossisk and on
August 2, Fr. Walsh set out for that port to receive
them.
He was only halfway to his destination when a
second telegram was received in Moscow announcing that the itinerary of the incoming agents had
�been changed and that they would land at Sevastopol in the Crimea. This message was forwarded
to Novorossisk and it meant that Fr. Walsh had to
add a three-day voyage across the Black Sea to his
nine-hundred-mile trip on the railroad. His purpose
in meeting them was to assign them, according to
nationality, to various centers of operation in the
Crimea, at Krasnodar in the Kuban district, at
Rostov-on-the-Don and in Moscow. In the meantime, business was piling up in Moscow, sending
out food packages, purchasing whole train-loads of
food supplies from the A.R.A. for the various
Mission centers and in the evening balancing financial accounts in American dollars, British pounds,
French francs and Russian rubles, with values
changing every twenty-four hours.
On the 18th of August, while the Director was
still in the Crimea, his representative in Moscow
was invited to attend a state banquet, tendered to
the A.R.A. on the occasion of the opening of the
first Soviet grand national fair in Nijni-Novgorod.
The invitation was very welcome for more reasons
than one and the occasion was decidedly unique.
Food packages had been forwarded to the clergy in
the Nijni-Novgorod district and this would afford an
opportunity to report on Church conditions in that
area.
The Government placed a special car at the
service of a visiting committee of ten, a once deluxe
diplomatic car, with plenty of fixtures but no lights,
good radiators but no heat and spacious bunks but
no bedding. In all it was another piece of salvage
from a fine railroad system that had been wrecked
during the various changes of dynasty. The visiting committee had anticipated all this and brought
along all that was necessary for the trip. After fourteen hours of riding on a journey that formerly took
about eight hours, when the engines were burning
coal instead of wood, our schlafwagen par excellence arrived at its destination intact. After a hurried
look at the fairgrounds, the committee was invited
to the common event of all fairs, the king’s sport of
horse racing, where open betting was allowed. One
American won the magnificent sum of eight million rubles—which at that time amounted to about
thirteen dollars.
11 | chapter ii: famine and the fair
The evening of the first day was spent at a splendid banquet tendered to the delegates of the A.R.A.
by the commissioner of the fair on behalf of the
Soviet Government. It seemed like a contradiction
for the government of a starving nation to be giving
a banquet for a foreign organization that had come
to Russia to feed its hungry people, but the purpose
behind this idea was evident without being advertised. A word about the banquet and then about the
reason for holding it. There was no doubt about it
being a first-class state affair with an excellent and
a thoroughly Russian menu. Volstead was in vogue
in America but not here, with frequent popping of
champagne bottles punctuating the general Russian chatter. Speeches were in order for everyone,
translated from Russian into English and vice versa
by members of the A.R.A., and there were representatives present from Afghanistan, Daghistan,
Turkestan and various other “stans” of which we all
had some vague geographical ideas. The burden of
the orations was chiefly complimentary for the work
done by the A.R.A. and praise of the Soviet effort in
reestablishing the famous Nijni-Novgorod fair.
In view of Russia’s past history and of the conditions existing there in 1922, some knowledge of the
history of the Nijni-Novgorod fair is needed to appreciate the endeavor to revive it, whatever purpose
may have prompted the effort. The fair had been
famous for long years throughout the whole of Europe and of Asia. It was formerly a gigantic display
of the innumerable products of Greater Russia, at
which nearly every district of the entire continent
was represented. It lasted through the whole month
of August and in time grew to the dimensions of a
respectable city. Its location had the advantage of
two great shipping arteries, the Volga and the Oka
Rivers and the town was one of the great railheads
of the country. It is a well known fact that in years
gone by the Chinese and the Persians, Tartars, Georgians, Bokharans and other distant peoples began
to prepare their goods for the Nijni fair a whole
year in advance. Caravans from the coast of China
and others from the Baltic and the Black Sea shores
started months ahead of the time with supplies of
everything grown and manufactured in their various
regions, to be exhibited and sold at the great fair of
�the upper Volga. It has been reported that in a single
year Russian emperors spent a million dollars at the
Nijni fair.
The fair of 1922 was all very different. There
were natural products and manufactured goods
of every description on display, but there was not
much buying and selling; and this was the purpose
for which the fair was originally instituted. Formerly, cities and districts and the national government purchased in the millions, but at this time not
only the people but the units of government and
especially the national controllers of capital were no
longer purchasing classes. Before the First World
War, during fair time, the exposition took over the
ground floor of more than a hundred buildings and
during the rest of the year these two- and three-story
buildings, were occupied as residences. What happened in the troublesome period when the double
eagle was being dislodged from its eyrie in the
Kremlin was difficult to discover. There was no serious fighting in Nijni-Novgorod during the revolution, and yet a whole mile of the fair town and much
of the city as well were all in ruins. The people were
reluctant to talk about this but the A.R.A. had all
Edmund A. Walsh, S.J.,
signs a contract to
expand the Papal Relief
Mission in Moscow, with,
from left, Gallagher; a
representative of the
Russian government; and
Joseph Farrell, S.J.,
president of Brooklyn
College. Translation of the
sign at right: “The Pope
to the Russian People.”
12 | chapter ii: famine and the fair
the facts. With the coming of the famine thousands
of people had fled from here to the larger cities in
search of food. For the past two winters fuel was so
scarce that those who remained there were freezing
in their homes, without even the necessary firewood
to cook what food they still retained. It was a people’s government and the houses, like the land they
stood on, belonged to the Government. They needed
wood and there was plenty of it in the magnificent
fair buildings, hence the general ruin. One member
of the A.R.A. said it was difficult to believe this story,
in view of the fact that this city was surrounded
on all sides by miles of the best timber wood in
the world but the peasants had an answer for that.
When asked why they did not go into the forest and
cut their fuel, one of them explained that horses
were needed to haul the timber into town and they
had eaten all the horses before they began to tear
down the buildings.
Despite the circumstances created by political, economic and industrial conditions, the fair
was well attended. Native costumes of all the visiting nationalities were everywhere in evidence and
the numerous exhibitions presented a good idea
�of what the old-time fair must have been. Here as
elsewhere in Russia the heavy penalties against it
could not prevent the black market and clandestine
trading. Blue-white diamonds could be bought for
twenty American dollars a carat. The sellers were
probably some of the impoverished aristocracy who
had hidden their family jewels against government
spoliation. There were also Siberian trappers at the
fair selling their furs in anticipation of government
confiscation, and silver sables were being sold by the
single pelt for twenty-five American dollars.
The commissioner and his assistants bent every
effort to make a good impression on the visiting
delegation of Americans and they evidently had
a purpose in doing so. The first Russian five-year
economic plan was then in operation and the question of Russian recognition by the United States was
being debated in Washington. These Americans,
about to return to their country, should know what
the Soviet Government could do if given an opportunity and the commissioner was out to show them.
The second and last day at the fair was to be given
over to a more detailed inspection of the strictly Russian contributions, but one of the delegates had an
errand to do, which had as much bearing on his visit
to Nijni as had the fair itself.
The one Catholic church was in the middle of the
town, across the Volga Bridge and about four miles
from where the living quarters of the delegation was
sidetracked. There were no street cars in the town,
carriage service was too slow, and so an A.R.A. Ford
got us over the bridge, up the hill to the City Kremlin and to the church, and back in time for departure
for Moscow. The pastor of the church was Polish
and, like all the Polish clergy in Russia, a ready
talker in French. His church was small and poor
and his congregation few. The parish residence was
neatly but poorly furnished and its larder was practically empty. He was almost wholly dependent upon
the food packages that were being sent to him and
which he shared with his parishioners. The big drive
against the Catholic Church had not yet begun, but
he was sure that it was imminent, and the information he supplied was of considerable help when the
persecution of the Catholic clergy was at its height.
Of first interest on returning from the fair was
13 | chapter ii: famine and the fair
a telegram from the Vatican asking for information
on the progress of the feeding program and ending
with the question, “What about Petrograd?” This
was forwarded to Fr. Walsh by an A.R.A. courier
who was leaving that night for Simferopol in the
Crimea. The Soviet telegraph and telephone systems
were not to be trusted, and the same courier brought
back an answer reading, “Deliver the X letter addressed to Petrograd, bring back a report from there
and get ready to leave for the Crimea on my return,
in about a week.”
Petrograd was a striking contrast to Moscow in
buildings, in shop display and in the dreams of the
people, all of which would have made an interesting
study if this had been a tourist visit. The one person
to be interviewed there was out of town for two days
and this delay afforded an opportunity for cursory
inspection of the city and for short visits to some
of its more attractive and celebrated centers. A few
hours had to suffice in the famous Hermitage of
Catherine the Great, at that time perhaps the greatest general museum in the world. Fortunately, this
great treasure house was spared from the violence
of the Bolshevik Revolution. When the lid blew off
Russia, everything that was favored by those who
were trying to hold it on was marked for destruction, until the Kremlin authorities put an end to the
threatened ruin of what could be sold at high prices.
It was reported, however, that one day a mob broke
into the basement of the Hermitage with the result
that priceless china was hurled about at random
and in a short time a world-famous collection of
ceramics was reduced to gravel; a Russian bear in a
china shop.
Apart from its famous book collections, including a complete and well preserved first edition of
Plautus and seven hundred and fifty editions of Horace, the great Petrograd Library had one item that
could not be bypassed, namely, the oldest Greek text
of the New Testament, next to that of the Vatican;
the Codex Sinaiticus. So much time had been spent
on this text at Woodstock College, only a few years
previous, that being so close to it made it mandatory
that we should see the original. A few years later this
treasure was purchased by the British Government
for nearly a million dollars. The spoliation of the
�Russian Orthodox churches in Petrograd had been
quite well completed by August 1922. An Orthodox
bishop remarked at the time that the Bolshevik
Government had realized at least a hundred million
dollars on church valuables.
The Peter-Paul Fortress on an island at the juncture of the Great and Little Nevas, containing as it
did within its walls a cathedral, a prison, and a mint,
was significant of the Bolshevik experiment. The
cathedral was empty, save for sleeping royalty in the
tombs of the emperors. The prison was also empty,
with all its doors and windows wide open. This place
had a reputation for the political celebrities formerly
entertained there by the tzars and for the drastic termination of their occupancy. The mint was working
night and day. Strangers were not allowed to enter
it and there was a story abroad of a new currency
of silver and gold to appear in the near future. The
island and its fortress were typical of the beginnings
of the new regime.
A visit to the zoological gardens on this island
was of interest only in as much as it offered evidence of the reason for our being in Russia. The zoo
in these gardens, like the prison just mentioned,
was empty and the gates of the animal cages, like
the doors of the prison cells, were all wide open. All
the animals had been slaughtered and eaten during the height of the famine in the previous winter.
There was a story being told at the time that some
of the local Bolshevik leaders had held a dinner
at which the main dish was roast eagle, served in
honor of their victory when they shooed the double
eagle off the Kremlin with a red flag.
14 | chapter ii: famine and the fair
There were five Catholic churches in Petrograd
but only one was open for services, the Church of
Saint Catherine, and it was the pastor of this church
whose return was being awaited for consultation
relative to the X letter. Next to Archbishop Cieplak,
Monsignor Budkiewicz was the outstanding priest
among the clergy of the Archdiocese of Petrograd.
He probably was also the best-informed man in Russia on the controversy going on between the Bolshevik Government and the Catholic Church, and it was
for this reason that his advice was being sought. The
letter in question, designated as X, was written by
Pope Pius XI and addressed to Archbishop Cieplak
who was then in prison in Petrograd. When Monsignor Budkiewicz heard about the letter, he said
it would be better not to ask for permission to visit
the prison. Foreigners, he explained, were closely
watched and it would not help the future work of the
Papal Relief Mission in Russia for the Government
to know that the Vatican agents were in close touch
with the clergy under arrest. When the Monsignor
returned from the prison, after delivering the letter
to the Archbishop, we spent an interesting hour in
conference, in the course of which he reviewed a
long and detailed account of the Church in Petrograd that he had written in French. This record was
afterwards given to Fr. Walsh, who sent it to Rome
by the first available American courier leaving for
London. The chief intent of this first visit to Petrograd was accomplished in a few hours, but it proved
to be the prelude to the tragedy that was to follow in
Moscow in Holy Week, 1923, in which Monsignor
Budkiewicz was both the hero and the victim.
✩
�a jesuit cossack
CHAPTER III
Distant Famine Centers
Fr. Walsh returned from the Crimea on
the 22nd of September. It was finally decided,
after much discussion and a series of cablegrams
between Simferopol, Moscow, and Rome, that the
Vatican plan of feeding in distant famine centers
would be followed, instead of concentrating in the
Crimea as Moscow had suggested. With that settled,
the next step was for someone with authority from
the central office and a member of the A.R.A. to
accompany the different groups of Mission agents
to their working areas and to arrange with local officials for housing, for the storing of food supplies
and for the opening of the feeding kitchens.
On the day after Fr. Walsh’s arrival his American
Assistant set out for Simferopol. This was his first
trip alone in Russia and the beginning of six weeks
on the road, living out of two bags and adding to
his incognito by growing a mustache, which got
him into trouble on a later journey. The Moscow-toCrimea express was made up of first-, second-, and
third-class cars in that order of cleanliness and sanitation. It was called a deluxe through train, one that
was all through with the deluxe part of it. A Moscow
government official had provided a first-class sleep15 | chapter iii
ing-car ticket, at full price, which turned out to be a
second-class ticket for a small coupé room with no
lights, no linens, and no blankets.
All things considered, this was not too bad, but
when it came time to retire three more passengers
came into what was considered to be a private room.
They were conscripts for the Red Army who were
traveling free and who were placed or packed into
any compartment regardless of passengers who had
paid for it. Their presence was sufficient reason to
protest to the conductor or provodnik, and demanding the place that was called for by a first-class or
diplomatic ticket. He spoke about as much French
as the traveler did Russian and they continued mutilating the German language until a place was found
in a regular sleeping car. Apart from the better
furnishings, it was a relief to be separated from the
conscripts. Not knowing how silently they slept or
where they were getting off, one of them might inadvertently take the wrong bag when he was leaving,
and in one of the bags on the floor there were four
billion rubles in Russian paper money for distribution to the various feeding centers. The change of
rooms on the train cost twenty million rubles, which
�the conductor said to charge to the government and
he put his signature to the bill. It was all worth the
price and though all hope of ever collecting it was
immediately abandoned, the exact amount was refunded to the Mission office in Moscow about three
months later.
The Moscow express, with its wood burning
engine, came into Simferopol only seven hours late
according to the coal burning schedule. The town
was formerly a thriving railroad center and the hub
of the Crimea, from which respectable lines radiated
in a circle of commerce with the prosperous cities
of Theodosia, Yalta, Eupatoria, and Sevastopol. At
that time it was in the last stages of neglect, with
grass growing in the middle of the side streets. In
fact, in 1922 the Crimea in general furnished a woeful picture of what can happen to a beautiful and
wealthy country after five years of war, revolution,
and famine, and to one geographically situated such
that for centuries it had served wealthy Russia as
a summer resort in the winter and a winter resort
in the summer. Here as in Nijni-Novgorod whole
villages has been destroyed for firewood after they
were abandoned in the flight from the famine.
From Simferopol to Eupatoria where the Mission
workers were living, on the west coast of the peninsula, in a three-hour ride over dirt roads in an A.R.A.
Ford, the scenery presented a section of the country that was practically dead so far as industry and
farming were concerned. Eupatoria, next to Yalta,
was formerly the best-known resort in the Crimea,
where the sea bathing season extended from May to
October. This town was dotted with mansions and
spacious summer homes which fell to the lot of the
poorest of the poor, when the wealthy class in general made a hurried exodus to Constantinople, and
thence to the European capitals to which they had
previously transferred their bank accounts.
The Mission workers had taken over a house
that they called The Catholic Mission Center. It
might well have been called Hotel Polyglot. At our
first dinner session there were eight priests and one
religious lay brother, all incognito, of five different
nationalities and speaking thirteen languages, with
no language in common. When something of
general interest was announced it was said in
French, for which only three of the company needed
interpreters. The Crimea is the land of languages, a
Russians await kitchen supplies in Orenburg, where Gallagher spent most of his service.
16 | chapter iii: distant famine centers
�statement that will only take a minute of diversion
to explain. About a month after the time in question,
one of the Czechoslovakian Mission workers related
that when he arrived in Crimea, he visited a Tartar
village where he could talk with the grandparents
fluently and with the parents with some hesitation,
but he could not hold conversation with the children. This really puzzled him until he had spent
some time in the Tartar marketplace, after which he
was talking freely with the children. He explained
this by saying that the grandparents still retained
much of the language of their German forebears,
brought into the Crimea in great numbers by Catherine the Great. Intermarriage with the Russians
developed generations of bilinguals, speaking a
mixture of German and Russian, and a similar introduction of the Tartar element produced a conglomerate of the three languages that the children were
then using. It took him less than a month to win the
favor of the Tartar children.
A superficial survey of Eupatoria was sufficient
to reveal that there were at least 4,000 children in
the city who had to be fed if they were to survive the
coming winter, hence the immediate interest was to
open kitchens for these children. The two German
Fathers had already been assigned to take over this
district and were working with the local officials to
prepare two buildings that Fr. Walsh had selected
before his departure for Moscow. One difficulty in
the preparation was the lack of large boiling pots.
Fr. Walsh’s solution of this problem was unique. He
went along the beaches and found several marine
mines from which the detonators had been removed
after the mines had been washed ashore. As he
afterwards remarked, “Sabers have been converted
into ploughs and ploughs into sabers, mines were
made to destroy life, why not convert them into
soup pots for saving the lives of little children?”
The first kitchen was opened with solemnity.
Garlands of flowers were hung about the placards
on the walls, announcing a welcome to the children
of Russia in the name of His Holiness, Pope Pius
XI. The city officials were all present and photographs were taken and afterwards sent to Rome.
By the 25th of September, the Director of the Papal
Relief Mission could write to Rome, forwarding an
17 | chapter iii: distant famine centers
account of the work being done in the Crimea where
4,000 children were being fed every day. This was
only the beginning. Six months later there was a total of 186,000 people, young and old, on the feeding
lists of the Vatican Mission. With operations underway in the Crimea, the next step was to provide
transportation for two of the Mission agents from
Eupatoria, by way of Simferopol, to Moscow where
they were to take over a station already opened by
Fr. Walsh. There was a two-day layover at Simferopol
due to the fact that the places in the train assigned
to the Mission agents were taken over by the wife
of the President of the Central Council in Moscow,
returning with some friends from vacation in the
Crimea—just another example of the classless society of Communism.
The undertaking that followed was really an
experience to be remembered; namely, the transportation of a second group of Mission workers from
Eupatoria to Ekaterinodar in the Kuban district later
renamed Krasnodar but at that time known by its
original title. There were two ways of making this
journey, by rail or boat. By train meant a series of
chess moves with a possible check at every move,
from Eupatoria over to Simferopol, up to Kharkov in
the Ukraine, across to Rostov-on-the-Don and down
to Ekaterinodar. Time was passing rapidly and there
were hungry children waiting to be fed, so it was
decided to hazard a voyage on the Euxine. The merchant steamer of about 8,000 tons made a convenient stop at our point of embarkation. This craft was
large enough to warrant safety on an inland sea but
the Black Sea can be rough at times.
On this particular trip it was an evident blessing that it was decidedly calm because the boat was
crowded from stem to stern and sailing without lifeboats or life preservers of any kind. Tickets had to
be bought for first-class travel and here again there
was no consideration for class. The few staterooms
had all been taken at the starting port and all who
went aboard at the various stopping places had to
camp out on the decks or sleep for several nights in
the corridors, or preferably in the dining room. A
picture of this dining room would have been typical of nomadic Russia of the day. Along the walls
there were upholstered lounges and in the middle of
�the room a long wooden table fixed to the floor and
flanked with fixed chairs intended to serve as seats
for diners. As voyagers came aboard at various ports,
they immediately took possession of the lounges
and also of the chairs as permanent lodging space.
At mealtime they were forced to vacate the chairs
but they returned to them as soon as the meal was
over. At night they slept wherever they could find
space, on the floor, on the table, and on heaps of baggage promiscuously piled about the dining room.
Such were the living conditions aboard a Black
Sea freighter with a multitude of Russians, Turks,
and predominating Tartars herded like sheep, just
as complacent and just as indolent. Most of them
probably had no definite idea as to where they were
going, except to find some place where they and
their numerous children could get more food and
better lodging than where they had come from. For
the time being they seemed to be satisfied to find
a place where they could eat, sleep, smoke, and gamble. This was really the flight of a Tartar Tribe by sea.
It took three days to circle the Crimea peninsula
with stops at Sevastopol of war fame, Theodosia,
Yalta and Kerch, but with little or no time for sightseeing. All of these ports had ideal harbor facilities
but there were no signs of international commerce
for which they were formerly famous. The ship lay
overnight in the moonlit harbor of Yalta, affording a
beautiful view of snow-white castles and of grandeur
that had passed. Theodosia was a receiving port for
the American Relief Administration and its numerous grain elevators and warehouses, which formerly
provisioned central and southern Europe, were filled
with flour, corn, rice, sugar, and canned milk from
America, to protect the world’s greatest granary
against the ravages of famine. It was from these
American stores that the Vatican Mission drew its
food supplies to relieve the Crimea and the Kuban
district.
After Theodosia the next stop was made at Kerch
at the extreme east of the Crimea. The harbor waters
of Kerch were known to be shallow, and before
entering them the ship took on a pilot who sailed a
zig-zag course at minimum speed before coming
to a landing pier. When leaving the port the following morning he retraced the same course and when
18 | chapter iii: distant famine centers
asked why he had been so cautious, he explained
that the harbor had been mined during the late war
and that they had not as yet accounted for all the
mines. This news was better learned after leaving
than before entering. One more night on the properly called tramp steamer was quite sufficient for a
first Mission voyage. After a fourteen-hour run from
Kerch, the good ship Novorossisk arrived at the city
after which it was named. Here, during a two-day
stop, our party was put up at what was supposed
to be a hotel but proved to be a Communist Club,
where we were treated with respect and served with
their best in true proletarian style. The ubiquitous
borsch, or beet soup, was savory but the meat was
adamant against onslaught and told against the
pewter forks, which bent up in the middle on first
attack, and had to be straightened out for a second
assault.
It was a ten-hour train ride from Novorossisk,
over the hills and through mountain passes, to
Ekaterinodar. This city was comparatively clean and,
apart from Moscow and Petrograd, one of the few
places visited to date that had street cars in operation and electric lights in the streets. However, it
took only a superficial view of the town to reveal the
aftermath of the famine, the most pitiable town we
encountered in our whole Russian experience. The
first visit made was to a place that was formerly a
refugee barracks but was then occupied by 700 children. The building was originally a tobacco factory
from which the machinery and factory fixtures had
been stripped. These children, half clothed in rags
and without shoes or stockings, were living in three
large halls, furnished with only fifty cot beds, without linen or pillows and with only half enough blankets for the number of beds. At night the beds were
for the youngest, ranging from six to eight years old
and the rest of them, the oldest being twelve, slept
on the floor huddled together like sheep. In the
daytime they all followed the October sun around
the floor in an effort to keep warm. This was one of
several such institutions in the city, sheltering about
2,000 of the four million orphans dependent upon
the Bolshevik government. As a Russian doctor
remarked on the occasion of that visit, “Seeing this,
and with a million children already dead of starva-
�tion, no one knows the meaning of the word famine
until he has seen one.” This was it, and there was
more of it to come.
At this time, October of 1922, it was a decided
surprise to discover that the one Catholic church
in this city was open and serving a congregation of
about 2,000, Mostly composed of Germans, Poles,
and Armenians. Formerly there was a school and
a parish residence here but the school had been
closed and the residence, like all other private property, had been taken over by the Government and
portioned out in lodgings. The pastor of this church
was living in a room in the middle of the first floor.
This was his bedroom, kitchen, and office for which
he was paying the Government a few million rubles
a month. In other words, he was paying rent for
the privilege of camping in his own home, while
the rest of the house was occupied by four families, none of which belonged to the parish. He had
to pass through one family to get out by the back
door and through another to get in by the front. For
more than five years before the time in question he
had lived the life of a persecuted hermit. This was
only one of several instances of priests who were
dazed for a time at the unexpected arrival of a direct
message from Rome. It seemed to confuse their vision as if they had stepped out of darkness into the
noonday sun.
Within two weeks of the arrival of the Papal
Mission in Ekaterinodar, the children were removed
from the factory, the A.R.A. was supplying medicine, the doctors were busy and the 700 orphans
were eating once a day in the Vatican relief kitchens.
Fr. Walsh had been kept informed of what was going
on in the south and as a result of the reports he had
already sent in his first order to Rome for clothing
for 2,000 children and for cloth to make clothing
for as many adults. The shoes to go with the clothing could be bought from the A.R.A. The clothing
program for all stations of the Mission was directed
by Fr. Joseph Farrell, S.J., the President of Brooklyn
College, who had come in to take over the financial
direction of the Mission, and whom we were to meet
on our return to Moscow.
19 | chapter iii: distant famine centers
With the Papal Relief Mission operating in
central cities, the next move was to take over the
whole districts in which these centers were located.
The American Relief Administration had carried
the entire Kuban country and the Crimea through
the height of the famine, which was still rampant,
and was now ready to hand them over to the Papal
Mission. The official transfer of storage plants and
warehouses filled with American food supplies had
to be made on the part of the Vatican Mission by
someone who was a member of both organizations.
Fr. Walsh was in Moscow and so his American Assistant signed for the transfer in Ekaterinodar and
then set out on a return trip to the Crimea to do the
same at Simferopol and Eupatoria.
The voyage back from Novorossisk, and in the
same craft of that name, was a second venture on
the Black Sea, made again without life preservers
or lifeboats. This time the passenger list was small
but the sea was rough and more than half of those
aboard were seasick during the three-day voyage.
Except for a few cans of coffee, our American food
supplies were exhausted and we had to place faith
in the ship’s menu. A general caution had been
issued to all Americans in Russia to be careful of
Russian food when they had to eat it, but this occasion seemed to be an exception when the main dish
offered for dinner each day was beefsteak, a word
known in every European country but generally pronounced bifteck. A few days later, while talking to a
Russian doctor about the voyage, mention was made
of the bifteck served on the ship and he explained
with a laugh that there had been no beef in that
part of Russia for years. What they were selling for
beefsteak, as he said, was well-pounded horse meat
and probably the product of discarded mounts of
the Kuban cavalry. Here again as when leaving the
mined harbor of Kerch, it was better that the news
came after rather than during the event. However,
the doctor’s revelation was probably an omen of
future relations with the Russian cavalry.
✩
�a jesuit cossack
CHAPTER IV
Church and State
After the A.R.A. had taken over the South
Crimea, the next step was to transfer the northern
or Djankoy section of the peninsula that had been
hard hit by the famine in the previous winter and
was still in sore need of assistance. This district was
inhabited by Tartars and by the descendants of the
German colonists whom Catherine the Great had
brought into Russia. Our Czechoslovakian Mission
agent spoke both Russian and German and with
him we went north to make the transfer. This section of the country, formerly a farming and fruitgrowing area of small villages, offered an interesting
study in racial differences. Here was a place where
poverty reigned supreme and yet, with all that these
people had gone through, what surprised one on
entering a German home was the order and the
cleanliness of every room and the care taken of every
item of household utility. On the other hand, the
ancestors of the Crimean Tartars were a nomadic
and tent-dwelling people and evidently had never
handed down a reputation for interior decorating or
for the use of mops and brooms.
There was some difficulty in finding suitable
lodging in the town of Djankoy but with that done
20 | chapter iv
through the local officials, our Czechoslovakian
agent remained there to take over the district. The
only incident of note on the return trip to Simferopol with a government agent was the breakdown
of his overworked Ford, a model of ancient vintage
presented to him by A.R.A. Fortunately, we were
returning by way of Eupatoria and had just reached
the town when the front axle broke. Fortunately also,
we found a German blacksmith, a rugged man who
forged the axle pieces together on his village smithy.
The price for his work was one American dollar, the
most durable dollar we ever spent despite the fact
that after four hours of slow driving over rough and
muddy roads the axle fell apart again right in front
of the residence in Simferopol.
On arrival at our destination there was a telegram waiting, asking for our return to Moscow.
This meant the end of a two-month’s safari, a large
part of which was spent in slow moving trains and
boats, living out of three bags and subsisting mostly
on American canned goods cooked in what were formerly staterooms on the trains and in cabins on the
boats. The four-day return trip to Moscow afforded
ample time to arrange the transfer documents and
�Gallagher, behind sacks
of food, second from
left in felt hat, in an
Orenburg warehouse.
to write out a comment on the progress of the Mission work in the Crimea, to be forwarded to Rome.
In November of 1922 Fr. Walsh was in a difficult
position. He was in Russia in a dual capacity; as
Director of the Papal Mission and as a Vatican agent
representing the interests of the Catholic Church.
The Bolshevik Government made short work of the
Orthodox State Church with a typical compromise;
namely, the institution of the Red Church under the
jurisdiction of an atheistic government, an evident
contradiction in terms. With the Catholic Church it
was different. The Pope was feeding thousands of
starving children. The Government was then asking
for an extension of Papal relief work to Orenburg
in the southern Ural district, and at the same time
planning on recognition by the Vatican as a stable
government. Under these circumstances the destruction of the Catholic Church in Russia could be
postponed until the relief work was completed and
the question of recognition definitely settled and
that, as well shall see, is exactly what happened. The
question of Church interests created as much work
and more worry for Fr. Walsh than did the prime
21 | chapter iv: church and state
purpose for which he went into Russia, and it kept
him resident in Moscow for almost the entire period
of time he spent in the country.
With the Papal Mission already operating in
Ekaterinodar and in Rostov-on-the-Don, the American Relief Administration was preparing to withdraw from these centers and to hand over the entire
Kuban and Rostov districts to the Mission, as it had
done in the Crimea. Then, as later on in January
when Orenburg was to be taken over, Fr. Walsh was
too busily engaged to be absent from Moscow for
any length of time and again this assignment was
given to his American Assistant. Three days in Moscow, after coming in from the Black Sea area, were
sufficient to turn in reports on the Crimea transfers
and to get ready for another trip by rail, this time
777 miles to Rostov-on-the-Don by way of Kharkov.
A room was purchased on another of the deluxe
cars and the train was listed as “limited”—which it
was in many respects and especially with reference
to accommodations. Past experience had taught us
how to live on Russian trains and, traveling in the
company of an A.R.A. courier, this journey was
�not all that monotonous. A one-day stopover in
Kharkov was all too brief. Here was a city, formerly
an industrial and intellectual center, which now offered a typical example of every city in Russia with
a population of a hundred thousand or more. The
A.R.A. brought Kharkov through the famine but it
could do nothing relative to government regulations
controlling private ownership, trading, housing and
employment. This city, like so many others, was still
staggering to regain its equilibrium under government control.
At Rostov-on-the-Don the two Mission agents
were ready to take over the district as soon as the
transfer from A.R.A. jurisdiction could be made.
As a member of the A.R.A., the privilege of living
at their house afforded the pleasure of spending a
few days in the company of fellow Americans, as
well as saving time in consulting with the Director
of the A.R.A. for the taking over of the district. A
second visit to Ekaterinodar found the Mission
flourishing with open kitchens for children and food
package distribution for adults. In other words, it
was ready for a complete survey and for a record of
the work being done to be forwarded to Rome for
publication, and a pamphlet with pictures was designed for this purpose. Cameras and photographic
material were scarce in Russia but this scarcity was
anticipated when packing for the journey in Moscow. There were strict government regulations in
effect relative to taking pictures in any part of the
country, and here it was learned how really strict
they were.
A general permission for all Papal agents had already been obtained to take pictures of feeding kitchens, warehouses and the dwellings of relief workers,
provided the identity of the photographers was established. Before opening a station, each Papal relief
worker supplied the local authorities with a copy of
his passport picture. They had been informed before
entering Russia to bring along a supply of them.
This regulation had been duly complied with on our
first visit to Ekaterinodar, and while taking pictures
in a warehouse, it was somewhat of a surprise to be
accosted by a police officer and asked to accompany
him to headquarters where, as it turned out, there
was a double difficulty to be solved.
22 | chapter iv: church and state
The sergeant at the desk opened the investigation.
“What pictures have you been taking?”
“Pictures of the kitchens and of the storage
plants of the Papal Relief Mission.”
“How many?”
“Just those on the film in the camera.”
Whereupon he asked for the camera and told one
of his men to open it and examine the film, and the
film was examined by holding it up to the light at
the window. After a minute or so, the report was, “It
shows nothing, Sir.”
Then the sergeant, somewhat confused, asked
for an explanation.
“The film, Sir, should have been opened in a
darkroom and developed there. The pictures were
destroyed by exposure to the light.”
That was the end of the first problem. The next
demand was for a passport picture.
“You should have one in your files, Sir. It was
handed in on my first visit to Ekaterinodar.”
The passport picture was sought and found but
the sergeant was not satisfied with it.
“Is this your picture?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And why are you traveling in disguise?” “Oh!”
A sudden light dawned and the mystery was solved.
“You mean the mustache, Sir.” It was a rather full
adornment with needle-point waxed ends. Then he
repeated his question. “Why the disguise?”
“No particular reason, Sir, just a matter of American style.”
Whereupon he proceeded to pass a judgment
which was fair enough: “Either shave off the mustache or have another picture taken by a Russian
photographer and give us a copy of that one before
you leave here.”
As a souvenir for future reference, another picture was taken by a local photographer who said he
would also have to give a copy of it to the G.P.U., the
Federal Secret Service, to be forwarded to their headquarters in Moscow. This incident proved to be quite
amusing to the Papal agents at the various stations,
and within the following year the Russian police
had a collection of pictures of the same individual,
arrested in different districts and wearing different
styles of facial decorations, ranging from a Charlie
�Chaplin nosegay to the famous Galway sideburns.
On return visits to Moscow Fr. Walsh would often
ask, “What’s new in whiskers, and why the continual changing?” To which the answer was “Variety.
They know that American priests are generally clean
shaven and keeping them busy with the whiskers
may serve to keep their minds off the original incognito.”
At that time in Ekaterinodar the Russian, Greek,
and Roman Catholic churches were all closed as
were all the schools. There were six Orthodox
bishops and a great number of their priests in the
town and, despite the objections of the local authorities, most of them were receiving food packages
from the Papal Mission. Here, too, as in Rostov, the
cossacks were numerous but there was no government cavalry station. For the most part, these people
were northern Caucasians wearing cossack attire.
The men were of high stature and robust and the
women, in appearance, living up to the worldwide
reputation of their race.
This sojourn in Ekaterinodar was made memorable by two dinner parties that were decidedly different in attendance. The first was a Thanksgiving
Day celebration arranged by the departing members
of the A.R.A. in their residence for the Papal Relief
workers and their Russian office help. Only the day
before, the courier had come in with a turkey from
the cold storage plant of the A.R.A. in Moscow, and
this was probably the first time that most of the
guests present had ever enjoyed the American delicacy, with all the fixings. The second social meeting
was a symposium and dinner arranged by the Papal
agents for the six Orthodox Bishops residing in the
city. During this period it was not uncommon in
any of the larger cities of Russia to find an unusual
number of the Orthodox clergy. Their sees had been
disbanded and like many of their parishioners, they
had become refugees, driven by the famine to wherever they could find food and shelter.
This dinner was unique in several ways. The
generous menu was made up for the most part
from an ample selection of American canned goods.
The conversation was carried on by interpreting in
French and Russian and the graces said before and
after the meal were recited in unison by the bish23 | chapter iv: church and state
ops. It was both admirable and pitiful to observe the
gracious courtesy and the delicate table manners of
these poorly clad and poverty-stricken prelates. Very
probably none of them had been seated at a stranger’s dining table in months or even in years and
yet they were most meticulous in the observance
of dining etiquette. Forced to live in humiliating
circumstances because of their calling, they were
still gentlemen to the fingertips. In the conversation
that followed the dinner they were quite open in
talking about the persecution of religion, the spoliation of the churches, eviction from their houses, and
the influence exerted to persuade them to join the
so-called Red or Living Church.
Due to the fact that all three parties concerned,
namely, the A.R.A., the Papal Mission and the local
government authorities, had to wait for answers to
inquiries sent to Moscow regarding food supplies in
storage, freight car shortage and dwelling facilities,
the transfer of the A.R.A. operation to the Papal Mission in Ekaterinodar took longer than had been expected. This act of liquidation, as it was called, was
completed and signed on December 16th, meaning
that the work in store for the Mission agents was
practically doubled, but they were well prepared
for it and waiting only for assignments of shoes
and clothing for some 8,000 children as protection
against the worst of the winter, yet to come.
On the return trip to Moscow, there was one
more stop to be made at Rostov-on-the-Don where
the transfer of A.R.A. operations was to be completed, and the overnight train ride from Ekaterinodar
to Rostov was memorable. The only accommodation available was in a third-class car on a third-class
train, meaning a place in a compartment for four.
The two upper bunks were plain wooden shelves
that were folded down during the day. The two lower
were also thick wooden boards that served as seats
on a day run. The compartments opened on a corridor and had no doors. It was December and there
was no heating system on the train. It was night
and there was no lighting. The car was crowded,
the men were all smoking, the windows were all
sealed and there was no system of ventilation. You
did not have to get ready to retire. You were all ready,
wearing overcoat, fur hat, and overshoes. Being the
�only one in the compartment with any luggage, one
small bag, it was deemed advisable to open the bag
and spread the contents on the floor to assure the
other three occupants that it contained nothing valuable, then it could be used safely as a pillow.
One of the first things to attract attention on arrival in Rostov on December 21st was new evidence
of the Government’s endeavor to eradicate religion.
The bishops at Ekaterinodar had spoken of tight restrictions being placed upon religious services either
in or out of churches. The Living or Red Church
had not as yet been established in Rostov and so
religious services of any kind had been banned. The
Mission agents had been assigned a new residence,
with no extra room for a visitor, and the A.R.A.
House was occupied to capacity. The only alternative
for a brief stay was to apply to a Soviet hotel. The
room provided was on the second floor and of ample
size, with a window opening on a view of a small
park. In the foyer there was a large collection of Soviet magazines and newspapers, with something extra added. On the wall opposite to the main entrance
there was a large poster announcing that anyone
performing or attending a religious service in this
city would be fined in Russian rubles amounting to
one American dollar.
One of the several pieces of baggage in storage
at the Mission House was an extra American Army
Mass kit and this was all that was needed for the
celebration of three Masses, beginning at 4:30 on
Christmas morning of 1922 in room 42 of what was
formerly known as Hotel International of Rostovon-the-Don. That was five years after the Bolshevik
Revolution and at seven o’clock on the same cold
Christmas morning, looking out at the public park
across the street, it was somewhat surprising to see
a German officer, wearing an old German Army
uniform and drilling a company of seventy or eighty
Soviet Army recruits, or more probably draftees. The
only thing military they were wearing was the cone
shaped hat with a red star on the front. Not half of
their number were wearing overcoats and most of
them had their feet wrapped in straw and rags. Evidently shoes were at a premium in the army as they
were in civilian life.
At that time this unusual exhibition engendered
24 | chapter iv: church and state
a feeling of sympathy. Reviewing it in retrospect, it
was an incident of dire foreboding. Here were peasants, evidently believing that the Bolshevik Revolution had put an end to the drudgery of the Volga
boatman, and five years after they had been liberated
from the tyranny of tzardom they were up early on
a cold winter morning, poorly clad, and being put
through a rigorous military drill by a German officer. Those men had probably been saved from famine by the A.R.A. during the previous winter. Their
children were being fed at the time in Papal relief
kitchens and it is no wide stretch of the imagination
to say that many of them, and of their children as
well, were destined for drill by German officers only
to be later victims of German gunfire. The kaleidoscope of history shows many an odd design.
The Christmas dinner at the A.R.A. residence
was another farewell party, as all six agents of that
organization were scheduled to leave for Moscow
when the Papal Relief Mission took over the district
within a week. All Mission kitchens in the Rostov
and in the Kuban districts, and in the Crimea, were
now fully manned with Papal agents, and with Russian help, and all amply supplied for child feeding
and package distribution for the rest of the winter.
Shipments of shoes and of clothing would be on the
rails to all stations shortly after our arrival in Moscow.
The two days and two nights spent on the Rostov-on-the-Don journey with three members of the
A.R.A. were the nearest approach to American travel
yet experienced in Russia. These men had been
traveling all over Russia for the past year. They knew
what to carry and they spoke enough Russian to
keep the conductors busy and contented. The Moscow courier had arrived in Rostov just before our
departure, bringing personal mail and a supply of
recent editions of American newspapers and magazines, but the real deluxe part of this trip was music
with your meals. One of the A.R.A. men was returning a borrowed phonograph and some records to
the Moscow office and we were all “Just Wild about
Harry” and “The Music Went Round and Round,”
even at “Three O’Clock in the Morning,” tunes that
are still remembered. Such relaxing changes as this
served to keep the mind off the more tragic phases
�of life in a famine stricken land, when people were
begging for bread at a country station where the
train stopped to refill the engine tender with wood
for an overnight run.
Moscow was a different city every time one
entered it after an absence of a month or even a
week. In December of 1922 the first five-year economic plan was in operation and it was interesting to study its effects on the people. They were a
disillusioned multitude living under conditions that
had to change for the better under any plan. They
were living on hope and they were a long-suffering
people. Government stores had been opened during
the first half of the plan but most of their stock for
sale was in the show windows. No purchase could
be made without a government card and the prices
of all commodities were exorbitant. It was a policy of
the government to keep open all centers of entertainment and at low prices in order to bolster the
morale of the people. The Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow was open all year round, playing either ballet
or grand opera every night and always to crowded
houses. Even in the smaller cities and towns moving pictures were a great attraction. Most of these
pictures were old American productions and the
national film hero was none other than Sharl Shap,
alias: Charlie Chaplin.
Chaplin was a popular favorite with the Russians because he had a world-wide reputation as a
comedian and they claimed him as one of their own.
Among the members of the American Relief Administration there was a District Supervisor of the
Province of Simbirsk, Mr. Eddie Fox, who was generally known as a concert pianist, playing ragtime
selections with the same ease and grace with which
he rendered Chopin or Rachmaninoff. Eddie had
worked in many distant parts of Russia including
25 | chapter iv: church and state
Simbirsk, the Crimea, and Rostov-on-the-Don and
his rendition of “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” had become so popular with the Russian people that wherever he appeared, in hotels, restaurants or at social
gatherings, if there was a piano there, the gathering
always called for “Alexander.” The Russians knew, as
did the Americans, that this was Irving Berlin’s first
great musical of its kind. Not knowing the words,
they became enthusiastic about the music, and
some of them took great pride in informing you that
the American national anthem, namely, “Alexander,”
was written by a Russian. The modern world was
late in learning that the Russians always set great
store on being the first to do anything of note.
On arrival in Moscow from Rostov it was evident
that the Papal Mission was in for trouble arising
from sources other than relief work. Only a few
days before this, Fr. Joseph Farrell, S.J., an accountant and an expert business manager, had arrived in
Moscow to relieve Fr. Walsh of some of his work. He
took over the finances, made arrangements for the
transportation and distribution of shoes and clothing to all Papal Mission centers, and took charge of
the student feeding kitchens in Moscow. This left
Fr. Walsh more or less free to carry on a battle of
correspondence with the Government relative to
the arrest of the Catholic clergy and the seizure of
church property in Petrograd. This long-drawn-out
postal and telegram conflict involving Rome, the
Kremlin, and the central Mission office has been
recorded at length in the Mission annals. It came to
an end only with the conclusion of Papal relief work
and with the destruction, at least for years to come,
of the Catholic Church in Russia. In addition to all
this, and closely connected with its development, a
new phase of Papal relief work was introduced.
✩
�a jesuit cossack
CHAPTER V
The Rescue of Orenburg
Out beyond the Volga, in the southern
Ural district, just short of a thousand
miles from Moscow, spread out on a plateau
that ends abruptly 300 feet above the Ural River is
the city of Orenburg, sometimes called Ohkalov, a
town with an interesting past. The Ural River is supposed to be the boundary line between Asiatic and
European Russia and in the middle of the eighteenth century, Orenburg was developed as a frontier
fortress against tribal invasions from the east. In
1922 this city was the central base of the Orenburg
Cossacks. This place was formerly noted as a national market for rugs, for Bokhara silks and for the
famous Orenburg shawls made from the down of
goat skins and so delicate in fabric that the largest
of them, six feet square, could be passed through an
ordinary finger ring. It took three women a whole
year to knit one of the larger size, which sold for a
hundred dollars.
In the Fall of 1921 Orenburg lost half of its
population of one hundred thousand in flight from
famine, and in the death of several thousand from
its violence. The vast herds of sheep and goats that
formerly roamed the neighboring steppes disap26 | chapter v
peared for army rations. City business and marketing ceased to operate. The churches, over thirty in
number, were closed and the mosques practically
deserted. The A.R.A. had worked here and possibly
saved the population from extermination during
the severe winter famine of 1921, but here in the
following spring, for the first and only time in its
history, the A.R.A. was forced to discontinue its
work because of the continued interference of local
government officials. Now it was January of 1923
and like a returning tornado the famine hit back and
the central government was calling upon the A.R.A.
and also on the Papal Relief Mission to come to the
rescue of Orenburg.
Colonel William Haskell, Director of the
A.R.A., and Fr. Walsh, Head of the Papal Mission,
decided in conference that the A.R.A. should
return to Orenburg immediately and that the Papal
Mission would follow within a week or two. For
several reasons this arrangement was much to the
advantage of the Papal Mission. The A.R.A. had the
experienced personnel and the facilities to begin
work without delay. Under the circumstances they
had a free hand and could prepare the setting for
�Feeding kitchen, likely
Orenburg. The kettles
are repurposed Russian
naval mines pulled from
the Black Sea.
a lone Mission operator, relative to warehouses,
residence and office quarters. Another advantage
in the extension of Papal relief work was that it
might serve to slow down, if not to terminate,
the Government campaign against the Catholic
Church, which was increasing in violence every
day. What Fr. Walsh had hoped for, namely, the
mitigation of religious persecution, was temporarily
accomplished, but what the Orthodox Bishop of
Krasnodar had foretold was eventually realized.
When the Papal Mission agreed to extend its
work to Orenburg there was only one member of
its personnel left to take over the assignment. This
distant station was designated as the Eastern Division of the Vatican Relief Mission and the title of the
agent appointed in charge of it was changed from
Assistant Director of Papal Relief to Director of the
Eastern Division. The Orenburg venture was an
undertaking that called for special preparation on
the part of both organizations. When the A.R.A. first
went out there, more than a year before, the crowded train on which its agents were traveling was
snowbound for four days before reaching Samara
and ten of the passengers died of starvation. The
special preparations for this trip consisted of an
27 | chapter v: the rescue of orenburg
extra car, a caboose, or tiplushka as it was called,
filled with enough American food supplies to support the entire passenger list of seven cars for a
week, if emergency occurred. The A.R.A. agents left
Moscow for Orenburg on January 17th and reached
their destination with no untoward incident. The
Papal relief agent departed on January 26th. Apart
from the caution forbidding anyone to open a window or door during the passage over the Volga on
the Romanov bridge, which was kept under strict
military guard, the trip was uneventful until the
train was within a hundred miles of Orenburg.
At about two o’clock on the afternoon of the
third day out, it snowed so heavily that the train
was brought to a standstill within an hour. The first
thought on stopping was of emergency rations,
which were not to be given out until really needed.
The head conductor was sent through the train to
check up on what food the people were carrying and
he reported that most of them had enough for another day of travel. The snowstorm ceased at about
8:00 p.m. and the train stood stationary overnight. At
nine o’clock the next morning the welcome sight of
a column of smoke in the southeast indicated that
a plough train had been sent out from Orenburg
�to open the tracks for the Moscow express which
finally reached its destination only one day late.
In a temperature of thirty-eight degrees below
zero, the three A.R.A. agents were at the station as a
welcoming party. Being a member of their organization, the Papal Mission agent rented a room at their
residence until such time as the local government
authorities supplied a house for the director of a
separate relief mission. This took two weeks and
in that time a large warehouse was taken over and
filled with American food supplies brought from
the A.R.A. storage plants. An office was opened in
the warehouse with furniture, stationery, typewriting machines and accessories brought along from
Moscow. Two buildings were opened for feeding
kitchens, Russian help was hired and the Mission
relief work was in progress before the Director had a
house to live in. The delay, however, supplied a most
enjoyable period of two weeks in the company of the
A.R.A. workers.
The general design of a relief center in Orenburg
was different in detail from those operated in
other parts of the country. The city population was
made up of four large and separate units, and the
numerous Bashkir and Kirghiz settlements within
a radius of twenty miles of the city were in great
part dependent upon their city relatives. By mutual
agreement the A.R.A. was to concentrate on city
relief and the Papal Mission, in addition to two large
kitchens in the city for children, was to take over
the numerous outside centers. Out-of-city feeding
involved a problem of transportation and an added
28 | chapter v: the rescue of orenburg
one of finding suitable places for feeding children
in country villages, but these and other obstacles
to progress were readily surmounted. Fr. Walsh
came to the immediate rescue by sending out an
experienced Russian who had worked with the
Mission in the Crimea and in the Kuban district; he
was appointed supervisor of the district centers. At
each of the outlying stations drivers were hired with
one horse, low-slung sleighs for transporting food
supplies from the city storage plants to their own
villages, some of which were twenty miles away.
In most of these settlements the school buildings,
closed for the time, were reopened as kitchens and
where the children could not leave their homes for
want of clothes, hot soup and bread was brought to
them and they were given an allowance of cocoa and
condensed milk until such time as clothing could
be sent out from the city office, which was less than
three weeks.
Mention has already been made of the Mission
clothing program and of the efficient manner in
which it was handled by Fr. Joseph Farrell, S.J. This
clothing was distributed as complete outfits including suits, underwear, shoes, and stockings, most
of it brought in from Italy. His first assignment of
clothing to Orenburg was for 3,000 children, nearly
all of which was distributed to the out-of-city centers. By mid-March all of the 9,000 children being
fed in these centers were fully clothed, as well as the
more needy half of the city dependents, and by midApril the total number had increased to 22,900.
✩
�a jesuit cossack
CHAPTER VI
Danger, Diplomacy, and the Cossack Captain
In a country passing through a nationwide famine and with every phase of life being
remodeled under a strict dictatorship, the daily
routine of a relief worker in Russia might well have
become nerve-wracking without some sort of diversion or distraction. Passing a cemetery in which
hundreds of the dead were stacked up like firewood,
covered with snow and awaiting burial when winter
had passed, created an uncanny idea of what the
word famine really means. Cities and their people
are always interesting and Orenburg was no exception. Here the presence of three Americans conducting the A.R.A. operations, plus the presence of
several Russians, alike in character but different in
demeanor, served as a source of necessary diversion.
Most of the houses in this town were freckled with
bullet holes. The city had been taken and retaken
several times by remnants of the White Army, still
loyal to Tzardom, and by Bolshevik revolutionary
forces. Some of the royal sympathizers were still at
large and only recently made a night raid into the
city to avenge their defeat. Shortly after our arrival in
Orenburg, the Director of the A.R.A. asked if Papal
Mission agents carried automatics.
29 | chapter vi
“Never. Positively forbidden.”
“Better have one in this town,” he advised.
“When I go out at night,” he continued, “I always
carry a Colt revolver in the right-hand pocket of my
overcoat. All you know about the fellow coming the
other way is that he has one.”
“But the revolution is supposed to be over.”
“It is, but the White Army bandits won’t admit
it.” That was the end of that subject until the next
morning.
About halfway on the road to the A.R.A. office,
which was a mile distant from their residence, the
road was blocked by a crowd of people being held
back by a cordon of soldiers from the house of a
local government official. Later on in the day it
was learned that he and his family of five had been
murdered the previous night. There were varying
stories about the happening, the most common of
which was that White Army bandits had come in on
another anti-Bolshevik raid. The city was living up
to its bandit reputation. It was here that the bandit
Pugachev had his hideout in 1773, before he was
captured by the Russian army and sent to Moscow
in an iron cage in which he was put on exhibition
�Gallagher (left) and Walsh, in Ekaterinodar (now Krasnodar),
October 1922.
before his execution. There was still a collection of
Pugachev souvenirs in the local museum.
One of the interesting and memorable acquaintances made in Orenburg was that of the Head Representative of the Central Government. A Russian
by birth, during the business day he was a Tartar to
deal with but a congenial socialite in afterhours, an
individual who contributed his ample share to the
enigma of Russian mentality. In conference with the
Directors of the A.R.A. and of the Papal Mission,
never once did he consent to a suggestion made by
any of them, but later on he would write in granting
every concession they asked. At one time he ordered
the Mission to move from the feeding list the hundred or more Orthodox priests who were receiving
relief, claiming that as priests they were anti-Com-
munist. When told that the relief was being donated
to the thousands of children, and to the priests as
well, came from a priest—namely, the Pope, he said
that was another way of looking at it, and then he
forgot about the priests. Here was an official who
seemed to assert his authority just to show that he
had it. On one occasion, however, he did act with
more than show and this time he caused the Mission considerable embarrassment.
One of the smaller kitchens in the city was located in a school that had been closed for more than
a year. There were 300 children being fed there,
all of whom had been clothed by the Mission. The
janitor in charge, on a small government salary, was
a former teacher and a Polish Roman Catholic. In
addition to taking care of the building he was giving
the children instruction in spelling and reading until, without warning, he was arrested and the kitchen
declared closed. This was something that demanded
an immediate conference and the gist of the argument that took place was as follows:
“As Director of a relief mission you should know
that the opening of a school is illegal and especially
of a Roman Catholic school.”
“It was a Russian public school, not a Roman
Catholic school.”
“But the teacher was a Catholic and there was a
sign over the entrance reading Rimski Papa, meaning Roman Pontiff.”
“That sign is posted on all Mission kitchens and
there was a kitchen in the schoolhouse.”
“But school was going on there. The teacher was
Catholic and the Government is set against Catholic
teachers.”
“If the teacher was a Turk, would that make it
a Turkish school when nothing Turkish was being taught there? And, moreover, you arrested the
wrong man. You should have arrested the Director
of the Mission, who appointed the teacher. That
would have closed both the school and the kitchen
and left you responsible to the Central Government
for three hundred hungry children.” At this he was
somewhat nonplussed and after a moment of reflection he answered: “Well, I have already reported to
Moscow that the school was closed and the teacher
arrested. I said nothing about the kitchen. Now I
30 | chapter vi: danger, diplomacy, and the cossack captain
�must follow up the report with a statement that the
teacher has been judged and sentenced.”
The fact that he made no mention of the kitchen
in his report indicated that he realized he had violated a Central Government contract by closing the
kitchen without previous notice, and so it was time
for a settlement by way of a compromise, suggested
while he was gathering his thoughts.
“Since all Russian help are paid by the government, why not hold the court here and now, make
the judgment and pass the sentence? Return your
prisoner to his position as janitor only of the kitchen
building, serving on no government pay, and forget
about closing the kitchen without notice.” This suggestion was followed by a short silence and then by
a further comment which he readily admitted.
“You know, it looks to me as if you were prejudicial against the janitor because he does not report to
you, as other Russian employees do, on everything
he sees or hears in the Mission office and residence.
In other words, he does not approve of your system
of espionage.” His retort to this was typical and practically unanswerable.
“Please do not talk to us about espionage,” he
said. “That procedure is necessary during the formation of a government after a revolution and besides,
in that particular science we are children when
compared to the Americans. Two years ago I had
a brother in New York. He mailed a letter to me in
Moscow on Monday. He was arrested on Wednesday
and deported to Russia within a week.” That was the
end of the court and the conference. The kitchen
was reopened on the following day and the janitor
had no objection to no government pay. He was paid
every week by the Mission.
Not long after the kitchen episode another facet
of the character of the Central Government Representative came into evidence. His daylight appearance as a troublemaker was in strong contrast to his
evening showing as a pacifist. The local Director of
the A.R.A. once called him a sunset chameleon. On
this occasion he invited the Directors of the two relief organizations to his house for dinner. With all of
his whims as an executive, he was a decidedly genial
host. Both the dinner and the gathering were unusual. In addition to the relief Directors, his guests were
the Governor of the District, the local Chief of the
Federal Secret Service, at that time called the Cheka,
and the Captain of Orenburg, or the 11th Division
of Cossack Cavalry. The conversation was carried on
in Russian and in French, with the Cossack Captain
acting as interpreter. The several talks in the course
of the dinner centered about the existing relations
between the local government and the relief organizations, with high praise and commendation for
everyone concerned. The closing of the school and
the kitchen difficulty were never even referred to.
The dinner was as odd as the list of diners. Instead of the usual borsch, the first entry was a tasty
chicken soup, and with its appearance the Director
of the A.R.A. shot a significant wink across the table
to his American companion. This happened again
with the serving of the main dish and the vegetables but he didn’t need to wink when the coffee
was served with American cigarettes. The Russians
had good appetites and did justice to food they had
not seen or heard of in a long time, if ever. In the
after-dinner session, the Cossack Captain assured
the Americans that the host of the evening and his
fellow Russians were quite delighted with what he
called “our prewar social gathering.” The A.R.A.
was in the country to feed hungry Russians and all
Russians were hungry. Hence the American menu
at the Representative’s dinner. Socially, for the host,
it was a big success resulting in a wide expansion of
his prestige in Moscow and Orenburg.
The outstanding figure at that dinner was the
Cossack Captain, the most extraordinary character encountered in our whole Russian experience.
Evidently a Caucasian, his name, if it was his name,
indicated a Russian ancestry. He was an intellectual,
evidently a former aristocrat and an ex-tzarist cavalry
officer, who went over to the Bolshevik regime for
reasons of his own as did others of his class, like
Tchitcherin, the Secretary of Foreign Affairs at
the time. A few days after the dinner meeting, he
said, “You Americans are good diplomats. This is
a country, as you know, in which everyone is suspicious of everyone else. In the Representative’s
house, at dinner and afterwards, the Russians were
talking to each other in their own language but you
two Americans never passed a word between you in
31 | chapter vi: danger, diplomacy, and the cossack captain
�English. That may or may not have been planned,
but under the circumstances it was wise procedure.
Two of them can converse fairly well in English.”
This man was a keen observer. Before going to
the dinner that evening, the two Americans decided
to do exactly what he had noticed. Later on, when we
became more intimately acquainted, he explained
his position in this way. The big gap in Marxism is
total neglect of the individual, hence the individual
must look out for himself. Then again the thinking
individual is not living for himself alone, and in my
case the decision to be made was whether it was better to go along with the injustice, helping to correct
it and helping others to endure it, or to rot to death
in a dungeon, or perhaps more immediately to walk
into an automatic in the dark.
Soldiers were paid by the government, but the
pay they were getting would never suffice to support a family, hence our connection with the armed
forces. In Orenburg their children were being fed by
the relief organizations, 2,000 of them in the Papal
Mission kitchens and many more in the A.R.A.
centers. Evidently the military authorities were well
satisfied with what was being done for them and
what they did in return was a gesture of friendship
and a great help for relief work; something thought
up and accomplished by the Cossack Captain. He
petitioned the Governor of the District for an exceptional privilege. His petition was readily granted
and as readily ratified by the Chief of the Cheka and
by the Central Government Representative, with
the result that the Director of the A.R.A. and of the
Papal Relief Mission were made Honorary Captains
in the 11th Division of Cossack Cavalry. This honor
sounded somewhat formidable, at least to one of its
recipients. The Director of the A.R.A., Mr. Hartridge
of Jacksonville and of Yale, was an experienced
horseman. His American companion was anything
but that. The title rated a cavalry mount and an
equerry and from that time on the Russian Captain
took over.
A short time after the military honors were
conferred, the Captain and Hartridge appeared
on horseback at the Mission residence, with the
Russian leading an extra horse, a tall, handsome
animal, well caparisoned with bridle and saddle.
This was an invitation to a first ride over the steppes,
an equestrian venture never to be forgotten. When
A camel train, near Sartov, carrying American Relief Administration supplies along the frozen Volga River.
32 | chapter vi: danger, diplomacy, and the cossack captain
�leaving the house our Russian friend advised us
never to gallop a horse on a stone-paved road.
About three blocks from the house we turned into
the main street of Orenburg at an even canter and
slowed down to a walk. There was a mile or more of
road before us, paved with what we Americans knew
as cobblestones. The Russian was in the middle with
Hartridge on his left, when suddenly, and with no
warning at all, he let out a wild Cossack whoop and
the three horses leaped into a full gallop. The impact
was sudden and the impetus great. There was some
dour plot afoot and no checking it. The only thing to
do was to see it through and ride it out to a dubious
end. All three were going at full speed with the
Russian in close, on our left, when he called out,
“Let go of the saddle, lean forward, take the reins in
both hands and pull him up tight.” He himself
was driving with one hand, leaving his right arm
fully free. It was a rugged mile before he pulled up
his own horse and all three slowed down into a trot,
then into a walk and finally came to a standstill.
“Dismount!” It was an order and a welcome one.
“Take a look at your horse,” he said. The bit
was hanging loose under the horse’s chin. Then he
continued, “I took it out when you were mounting
in the yard. You have ridden this horse for a full
mile and at top gallop, with no bit in his mouth. I’ll
put the bit back where it belongs. From now on he
is your horse and when you are up he will know that
his master is in the saddle. Here, give him this,”
and he produced half an apple, saying, “When we
go on long rides, and there will be a lot of them,
bring along some apples. You know,” he continued,
“when there is no time for riding instructions the
best thing to do is to do it all in one lesson, but let
the horse take the lesson. When I suddenly pulled
him out of his top speed he was more frightened
than you were, and just as glad to have it over with.”
The whole thing took place so unexpectedly that it
needed a minute or two to recover breath and composure. The Russian was smiling and waiting for
the reaction.
“That’s all very nice, Captain, but suppose someone had fallen off and broken his neck?”
“Quite impossible, Sir. I was in full command
and my right arm was free at all times. If you had
started to slip, I would have held you on, but I would
not have slowed down the pace because the horse
had to have his full lesson.”
In the meantime, Hartridge was standing by
wearing the smile of a Cheshire cat, and when accused of being accessory to the crime, he merely
pointed to the Captain. There was one thing, however, that he was never quite able to explain. On arrival
at his house and before we dismounted, Pat Smith,
his assistant, greeted us with the question, “How did
you like the riding lesson?”
In the long run, and after the long run which
it involved, the riding lesson served to solve the
problem of proper inspection of the outlying feeding
stations. When the people began to shovel snow off
the rooftops you knew winter was coming to an end.
With the first melting of the snow even the Ford
machine belonging to the A.R.A. could not negotiate
the steppes but a good horse could, and having one
indebted the Mission to the Cossack Captain. The
city kitchens were run on a regular schedule with
weekly inspections. The outlying posts were not so
easily cared for. The chief difficulty there was one
of reliable accounting which had been given over
to the local patriarchs. Every item of food had to be
answered for, as well as the number of food containers, such as condensed milk cans and the gunny
sacks used for cocoa, sugar, and corn grits. What
left the city storage plants could be easily checked.
Whether or not it reached its proper destination or
was pilfered and sold in the city market, as had happened, was not so readily determined. Checking the
city market might have caused trouble with the city
authorities. Only small quantities of American food
had appeared there, at intervals, all of which was
brought in from the outside centers.
Sunday was inspection day and having said
Mass and taken breakfast, the Director of the Papal
Mission was in the saddle by 7:00 a.m., in company
with Hartridge and the Russian Captain, for an
all-day ride to one or several of the district stations.
What the Captain said about our cavalry mount
proved to be true to the letter. He was steady, reliable, and fast, and apart from our initial experience
with him, his full gallop had the rhythm of a rocking
chair. After learning a few bridle touches and heel
33 | chapter vi: danger, diplomacy, and the cossack captain
�taps from the riding master, this handsome beast or,
as the Russian called him, this docile charger, was
easily handled, and riding soon became both recreation and exercise. It was on these Sunday rides that
the real character of the Russian Captain revealed
itself. Hartridge, who enjoyed his company, thought
he was an aristocratic adventurer but he was hardly
that, because he joined the Royal Cavalry soon after
he was graduated from the University of Moscow,
ten years before the Bolshevik Revolution.
On one occasion when the conversation led up to
secret service and spying, the Captain said, “The real
great spies of history are the Jesuits,” and turning to
Hartridge he continued, “and what do you think?”
“I wouldn’t know too much about that,” Hartridge answered. “The dictionary mentions them as
being crafty. Ask the Doctor there. He has a degree
from a Jesuit college.”
“Oh! So you know them, Doctor.”
“Yes, somewhat. They are educators and missionaries for the most part. It probably was the enemies
of their system of education who first labeled them
as crafty.”
This may have seemed like an evasive answer.
At least the Russian was not satisfied with it and the
conversation continued.
“And why do they go about incognito and hold
secret meetings in mountain caves?”
“If they travel incognito, they very probably are
engaged in work which they could not undertake
as clerics. As to their meeting in mountain caves,
that sounds as though you had read a book entitled
Twenty Years After, a sequel to The Three Musketeers,
but not nearly as well known, by Alexander Dumas,
Père.”
“That is just where I saw it,” he answered, when
he was interrupted.
“Dumas was a novelist with a fine style and a
good imagination but he was also a very severe critic. He had an axe to grind, two of them in fact, one
against Government and one against the Church,
which is also true about the Bolsheviks.”
Mention of the Bolsheviks brought a momentary
pause before the Russian broke in.
“What you say sets me to thinking,” he continued. “It brings back a thought over which I have
often pondered; namely, the position and the condition of our Russian clergy, especially the poor
bishops.”
“Do you know some of the bishops?” he was
asked.
“Yes. I know many of them, including the five
in Orenburg who are on your Papal Mission list for
food distribution. Sometime later on I would like to
talk to you about them. They are deep thinking men
but utterly helpless. The trouble in Russia today is
that you can think, but you can’t think out loud if
you want to continue thinking.”
Due to the presence of a uniformed officer, the
inspection of the outlying stations was expedited
with little or no difficulty. The elders took him for
a government official and it was a study in human
nature to observe him in contact with the peasantry
and especially with the children. Instead of the expression of fear that generally appeared at the sight
of a military uniform, they were smiling and laughing at his efforts to talk to them in their own dialect
rather than in Russian, with which they were all
familiar. He made requests instead of giving orders
and in the marketplaces, where they would run to
hide from a soldier, they gathered around him to
hear him talk about the relief missions and how
grateful they should be for their coming. He knew
people as well as he knew horses. He had an attraction for instinct as well as for intellect. His own
cavalry mount seemed to realize that he was living
for the sole purpose of serving his master, as witness the following incident.
One evening, returning over the steppes after a
day of riding, he gave us a demonstration of what he
meant when he said his horse was battle trained.
“If you two Americans will stand your horses
here,” he said, “I’ll ride toward home for a hundred
yards or so, then turn and pass you at a moderate
gallop, and see what happens.”
As he was passing by, he crouched in the saddle,
leaned to his left, fell off the horse and remained
motionless, face down on the grass. The horse went
on for a few seconds and feeling that he was riderless, turned abruptly, looked around and trotted back
to the man on the ground. Then he settled down
beside him and remained there quietly. After a min-
34 | chapter vi: danger, diplomacy, and the cossack captain
�ute or two of waiting, with some pretended effort,
as though he had been wounded, the Captain pulled
himself up into the saddle and fell across it on his
stomach. Whereupon the horse got up very carefully
and started on a slow and even walk toward home.
When Hartridge asked him what would happen if
he were killed in battle or was unable to climb back
into the saddle, he said, “The horse would remain
beside me as a protection until the battle was over.”
On that same day we were late in returning. It
was growing dark and we still had about two miles
to cover before coming into town. Between us and
the city limits there was a series of wadis, a dozen
or more of dry ditches formerly used for irrigation,
three feet wide and a foot and a half deep. They were
hazards in which an ordinary horse might easily
have stumbled but not a Cossack charger. Darkness
settled before we reached the wadis and our friend
issued to following instructions:
“Ride in line at an easy gallop and thirty feet
apart. I’ll take the lead. My horse will see the ditches
even if I don’t and when he jumps, your horses will
do the same from his take-off.” This was another
feature of Cossack training. The timing was perfect
and the jumps were taken in even stride.
Street lights in Orenburg were few and very
weak, and on entering the city at the end of the
main street our Russian guide said, “This has been a
long day, now let’s have some fun. From here to the
circle at the center of the town is about a mile. The
place is dead quiet and the soldier-police are probably sound asleep. Let’s race to the circle and wake
them up.”
With that he let out the Cossack cry and the
horses were off at full speed. The clatter of galloping
hoofs on the pavement was enough to awaken more
than the sleeping sentries. Doors and windows flew
open but nobody appeared at them, and all three riders were brought to a halt at the dimly lighted circle
by four soldiers with levelled rifles.
“Tovarisch!” the Captain called.
“Captain,” the soldiers answered, and shouldered
their guns.
Then the Cossack explained, “Just crazy
Americans.”
The military police clicked their heels and
saluted and a few minutes later the so-called crazy
Americans and their extraordinary companion
dismounted at the A.R.A. residence for a late dinner
and a review of the day, marked with more than one
hearty laugh.
To hear that there were five Orthodox bishops in
Orenburg was not news but to hear it from an army
officer was somewhat unusual. The man seemed
to be interested in everything and everybody. His
knowledge of their presence aroused curiosity and it
was decided to find out what he had in mind about
them.
“Something you can do for me and for them”
was his answer to the first inquiry. “You know,” he
continued, “they are really holy men, long suffering, edifying, poor and hungry. Why not give them a
dinner at the Mission House, at your convenience?
The local government might become suspicious of
intrigue on the part of the Mission but I would be
present as an interpreter and, so far as authorities
are concerned, as a government agent.”
“And don’t you think we would be placing the
Mission in jeopardy?”
That question was put without forethought and
was immediately followed with an apology.
“Have I ever harmed the Mission thus far?” he
asked with a smile.
“On the contrary, Captain, no one has been a
greater help to us.”
“And it is not over yet,” he added. “The bishops
have their own system of gathering information
and they will not hesitate to talk in my presence.”
This was the second dinner given to the
Orthodox Clergy by the Papal Relief Mission and, so
far as the guests and the menu were concerned, it
was quite similar to the first. It was held during the
season of Lent when these holy men were
observing a strict fast, even during the time of
famine, and it took considerable persuasion on the
part of the Cossack Captain to get them to accept
our invitation. The long and solemn grace before
meals, intoned by the eldest of the bishops, was
chanted in a mellow monotone and at its closing the
Captain announced that the bishops would like to
hear from the Director of the Papal Relief Mission.
The announcement was wholly unexpected and the
35 | chapter vi: danger, diplomacy, and the cossack captain
�situation was embarrassing. Insofar as they knew,
and the Captain as well, they were being addressed
by a layman. The problem was what to say and
not to say too much. A few words of welcome
and an expression of sympathy for their present
plight seemed to be sufficient. Somewhat dubious,
however, as to whether or not they would do justice
to the menu during the season of Lent, it did not
seem out of place to remind them that, apart from
their power of dispensation, the laws of fasting,
which they were accustomed to observe during the
holy season, had no place in a land of famine.
When the dinner was over, it was evident that the
closing words of the opening address, wishing them
good appetite, might well have been omitted. When
they were offered cigarettes, in the course of the
meal, one of them remarked, “The food, Sir, was a
much needed blessing, to add to it would be partaking of a luxury.” The information they dispensed in
the recreation that followed the dinner was really
surprising. They even knew what Fr. Walsh was
doing in Moscow to keep the churches open in
Petrograd and they were also certain that his efforts
would be unavailing, as they were. Their prediction
as to what would happen when famine conditions
ended in Orenburg was verified exactly as they had
pictured it; namely, the destruction of the Catholic
Church in Russia. Their forecast was realized in the
trial of the Catholic clergy in Moscow during Easter
Week of 1923.
✩
Sign from a feeding kitchen in Kostov, reading: “The Pope’s
Catholic Mission of aid to the Russian People. Rescue mission
of the Holy See to the Russian people.”
36 | chapter vi: danger, diplomacy, and the cossack captain
�a jesuit cossack
CHAPTER VII
Two Honest Men
Diogenes might well have left his
lantern at home if he went out to find an honest man in Orenburg. Such men just seemed to
appear there from nowhere and fortunately so for
the Papal Relief Mission. The annual flood of the
Ural River was due in a few weeks and thousands of
peasants would be coming into the city of Orenburg
for food. The storage plants were getting low and
a trainload of ten cars of American food belonging
to the Papal Mission was long overdue. Evidently it
had been wrongly routed or sidetracked after leaving
Moscow. Public carriers at that time in Russia were
anything but reliable. Despite the fact that he was
poorly clad and wearing broken shoes, a few words
with the middle-aged stranger who walked into the
office looking for work were sufficient to convince
one that he was more than he appeared to be at first
sight. Half hiding an old cloth hat under his arm, he
made his request through an interpreter.
“Ask what languages he speaks.” The question
was prompted by curiosity but the answer to it
awakened an immediate interest.
“He says he speaks five, Russian, Polish, German,
French and Italian, and also Chinese, Japanese,
37 | chapter vii
and Turkish.”
The conclusion from this was that he must be a
well-traveled citizen. His French was a treat to the
ear.
“Do you know anything about railroading?”
“I should. I spent twenty-seven years with nearly
every branch of the Royal Railways.”
Here was the man who was really needed. After
signing papers as an employee of the Mission, he
listened carefully to a series of instructions, amounting to the following: Leave for Moscow tomorrow.
Go to the office of the American Relief Administration (A.R.A.) and get the data on Urelcon number
thirty-three. That means an A.R.A. sale to the Papal
Relief Mission in Orenburg. Here are the bills of
lading for the train involved which is somewhere between here and Moscow. Trace it down and see how
soon you can get it into Orenburg. Here are one
hundred American dollars. You probably know how
to use them on the Russian railroads. Buy yourself
some clothes and a hat in Moscow. Live moderately
and report here when you return. To say the least,
the man was somewhat surprised and after a moment’s pause he said, “That’s a lot of money, Sir.
�Feeding kitchen in Kirghiz. Sign: “Catholic Mission
of Assistance. The Pope to the Russian People.”
You don’t know me and why should you be entrusting me with such a sum?”
“Because there is a very urgent and a difficult
job to be done and you are evidently the man to do
it. Knowing a man on first acquaintance is not so
unusual.”
Ten days later he was back in the office. This was
a big surprise but it was still a bigger one when he
handed in forty-nine dollars and an itemized account of what he had spent.
“But you didn’t buy the clothes.”
“No, Sir, just the shoes. The old ones were falling
off. The clothes can wait. They were too costly and I
had only a little time in Moscow. The train, Sir, is at
the storage plant, ready for unloading.”
Here was a man wholly devoted to duty and
self-sacrificing, despite his many needs. If he had
handed back ten dollars or nothing at all, no questions would have been asked. The trainload of
food was worth thousands of dollars; the man who
recovered it was certainly worthy of his hire. From
that day on until the Mission closed, the main office
had no further worries about the accounts and the
invoices of the two large storehouses. The new superintendent was as efficient in handling hundreds
of tons of American food supplies as he was capable
of finding them when they went astray.
In 1923 Orenburg was a prison city, a place to
38 | chapter vii: two honest men
which the intellectuals of Petrograd and Moscow
were banished when suspected of being anti-Communist. Some of them were retained there and others were transported to prison camps when the winter was over and the Trans-Siberian railroad opened
from Orenburg to Vladivostok. Some of these political prisoners were easily recognized as such in their
conversation, if not by appearance. One afternoon a
small thin man with refined features, a prominent
brow, soft blue eyes, and delicately shaped hands
came into the Papal Relief Office and asked in softly
spoken French if there was a position open for an
office clerk.
“No, Sir, office clerks are on the government payroll and the office has all the clerks the government
will permit.” His answer to this was, “If you know
who I am, please do not Sir me in the presence of
others,” and the conversation continued.
“However, there is a position open as a private
secretary and if you would like to take it, you would
not be a government employee.”
“I would like to take any position that would
bring me enough to buy some food. What would
one have to do as a private secretary?”
“Practically nothing, just translate Russian documents into French and occasional pieces from the
Moscow papers when they come in. You were sent
here by the Cossack Captain, is that correct?”
�“Quite correct, Sir. He was a friend of our family
in Petrograd.”
“No doubt. That man is everyone’s friend. And
by the way, you mentioned food. If you care to
come in to dinner in about an hour, you will be very
welcome.”
The man was nervous. He was unconsciously
licking his lips before answering.
“Yes, Sir, I would like to eat but I cannot take
dinner with you.”
“Then perhaps you can take it before me. The
dining room is upstairs. Your dinner will be ready
in half an hour. One of the boys will tell the cook
that you are coming in. Evidently you are in need of
clothes also. Take these rubles instead of American
money; somebody might become suspicious.
Come back for work in two or three days, at your
convenience.”
He bowed out gracefully saying, “Thank you, Sir.
I assure you that this will not be forgotten.”
Two days later, the private secretary appeared for
work, much better dressed and looking far more
contented. From that time one, he was a frequent
dinner guest and on one occasion when asked why
he refused the first invitation, he related the history
of his coming to Orenburg.
“That day,” he said, “was only my second day in
Orenburg, as a political prisoner, an intelligentsia
suspect. Attached to a special train leaving Petrograd
for Orenburg there was a freight car with a human
cargo of twelve political prisoners to be let down at
different prison towns. It took six weeks to make
the journey instead of the ordinary four or five days.
We were sidetracked here and there for several days
at a time. You can imagine the conditions existing
in that car. Twice we stopped at places where relief
organizations were working and we were given a
supply of American food. I was one of two Orthodox
priests in the cargo of convicts, both professors in
the Orthodox seminary in Petrograd. Here, as prisoners at large we have to report to the Police every
third day. There were several reasons for refusing
your first invitation to dinner, the first of which was
my personal appearance. The second and stronger
reason was the fact that I had not had a real meal in
months and I was afraid that I would not be able to
39 | chapter vii: two honest men
restrain myself from taking handfuls of good food
the minute I saw it, instead of being patient and
using a knife and fork. In fact, when I went to table
that day, the minute the cook turned his back I took
up the bowl of soup in both hands and finished it
before I put it down. You can exercise patience when
hungry, and probably restraint when famished, but
no one is accountable for control when he is actually
starving.”
When given his first week’s pay, this Christian
gentleman refused to take it all, and remarked,
“Now please do not pay me too much, just enough
for incidentals. I bought the clothes and the Captain
is taking care of my lodging. They may search me or
my room at any time and if they found extra money,
there is no telling what might happen.”
The dinner table was the most convenient place
for conversation, which eventually ran through a
gamut of war, revolution and famine, politics, education and religion. One day at dinner, in the midst
of a conversation on the spoliation of the churches,
he broke in with a wholly unexpected remark.
“You said that you attended a Catholic college
in America. It seems to me that your education
went somewhat beyond the college. What we have
been discussing of late relative to the churches, the
jurisdiction of the Pope, and the doctrinal differences between the Roman Catholic and the Orthodox Churches is matter that is treated in a seminary
rather than a college. I should know because I
taught in a seminary. If you will allow me a minute
or two I shall explain what I have in mind.”
“Certainly. Take all the time you need. We have
plenty of it.”
His explanation was a revelation, which he unfolded without a sign of exterior emotion.
“Before I was ordained a priest,” he began quietly, “I decided that I would never get married. That
decision was made, not because I was looking forward to becoming a bishop but because I felt, even
at that early date, that the time must come when
I would have to make a major change. The only
complaint they ever had against me as a professor
in the seminary was that I was too Roman. When I
was marked for banishment as a political convict, I
determined to act upon an idea which I could never
�succeed in getting rid of for any length of time, but
then the consequences of doing so loomed bigger
than ever. If I made the decision and became a Roman Catholic priest, I would not only be separated
from my people, I would in all probability spend the
rest of my days in the living death of a Bolshevik
prison, where I could do nothing for either church
or people. After taking that ride from Petrograd to
Orenburg all fear of the prison disappeared. Here at
the Papal Mission I have been happy but not satisfied. We must talk this over some time before you
leave. In the meantime I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Do ask it, and it will be granted if at all possible.”
“Thank you, but do not be too surprised at my
request. May I come in some morning and attend
your Mass?”
The question caused not only surprise but
hesitation for a reply.
“Are you sure that Mass is being celebrated
here?”
“Quite convinced, Sir, and I have been for some
time past.”
“Then you are very welcome. Come along but
you will have to be here early. Mass begins at five
a.m. and in that connection let me say that the
Americans here are not aware of my identity as a
40 | chapter vii: two honest men
priest, and neither is the Cossack Captain, at least
insofar as can be discerned.” His answer to this was
one to be remembered.
“About the Captain, I do not know. If he does
know it, you may be sure he will never reveal it to
anyone. A secret with him is a lock on friendship.”
He knelt through the entire Mass in an attitude
of prayerful devotion, as he did on several later
occasions. The Russian Captain was quite satisfied
that his friend was getting along very nicely as a
private secretary but he noticed, as did others, that
his health was failing rapidly. To conclude the story
of this virtual martyr, two weeks before the Papal
Mission closed, he asked to have a letter enclosed in
the mailbag to be picked up by the Moscow courier
the following day. The letter was addressed to the
Director of the Vatican Relief Mission in Moscow,
who knew where and how to forward its enclosure.
The content of the enclosure, written in Latin to
Pope Pius XI, was the entire submission of this holy
priest to the Head of the Roman Catholic Church.
On inquiry in Rome, some months later, it was
learned that the Holy Father received this message a
few weeks before the author of it died in Orenburg
of a galloping consumption.
✩
�a jesuit cossack
CHAPTER VIII
Mission Accomplished
Fr. Walsh once remarked that the most
interesting study for a visitor in a foreign country is not the landscape or the scenery,
nor is it the art and architecture of the people, but
the people themselves. True as this may be, the
people are affected by what surrounds them. Their
habits of living, temperament, and disposition are
influenced by climate and temperature and by the
seemingly extravagant moods of nature manifested
almost everywhere; and Orenburg was no exception
to all of this. It had the reputation of being the coldest place in Russia in the winter and the warmest
in the summer. At times it was a seasonless locality, as it was in 1923, when there was practically no
springtime. The winter went out in late March and
the summer came in with early April. The mountain
snow melted so rapidly that the Ural River came
up twenty-one feet in three days and with alarming
results. The city is built on a hill that ends abruptly
high above the river bank. On the other side of the
river, where the steppes end only a few feet above
the river level, there were two sizeable villages. The
rapid rise of the water made an island of the city,
and the villages on the opposite bank of the river
41 | chapter viii
were inundated up to the eaves of two-story houses.
Fortunately, the storage plants of the A.R.A. and
of the Papal Mission were well stocked but it took
considerable search and preparation on the part of
both organizations to improvise feeding centers
for 4,000 villagers who were to stay for at least ten
days. The lodging problem was solved by the pleasant weather and most of them were bivouacked in
the spacious park in the middle of the town. The
pumping station for the city water was situated on
the river bank and it was the first public utility to go
out of commission. The refugees made up for drinking water with the thousands of cans of condensed
milk distributed from the feeding kitchens. With an
honorary Captain at the head of both of the relief
organizations, the Cossacks came to their rescue by
hauling large hogsheads of water up the hill to their
residence and then, under the direction of a Russian
doctor, sprinkling a heavy coating of alum on the
surface of the water. It took about four hours for this
to sink down to the bottom of the container, carrying with it most of the river silt and other impurities. Then the top half of the barrel of water could be
used for cooking or even for drinking water, if it was
�A.R.A relief train in Tsaritsyn, along the frozen Volga River.
boiled for seven minutes and filtered. Evidently the
doctor had previous experience with this unusual
prescription which proved to be quite satisfactory.
Ten days later, when the waters receded, the villagers were back in their houses, facing the herculean task of cleaning them out and making them
livable. When one of the ancients of the place, who
had seen a dozen of these floods, was asked why
the people return to their villages, he answered,
“Because their ancestors lived there and because
they have no other place to go. It was not too hard
on them this year because the relief missions were
here. They are a durable people.” The flood was
a unique experience and it produced a still more
unusual phenomenon. Within two weeks of the
time when the river reached its normal level, looking over it and past the villages, what seemed to be
a square mile of the steppes was as white as snow in
the glittering sun. With an off-steppes wind blowing, the atmosphere of the whole city was permeated with a light and a delicate odor and, for rubles
amounting to a few cents, the children in the streets
were selling big bouquets of full-grown lilies of the
valley, and every house was filed with them. Here
was a land bereft of bread but steeped in a luxurious
fragrance for which the wealthy of other countries
were paying exorbitant prices. The city was gay and
42 | chapter viii: Mission Accomplished
the people were happy because, as they said, the lilies were a sure sign of a good harvest for the coming
year. The Directors of the relief organizations were
also happy, not at the thought of leaving this wonderful people but with the realization of the fact that
famine conditions had passed and they could begin
closing the kitchens and distributing the food and
the clothing left in their warehouses.
Considering the size of the city and the ratio
of its non-Russian population, it was surprising to
find so many formerly affluent Russians living in
Orenburg. During the winter of 1921, all of Russia
in Europe, and part of it in Asia, was as active as
an anthill, with millions of people migrating in all
directions in search of that vital commodity, food.
There were people in Orenburg from Moscow,
Petrograd, the Crimea, the Ukraine, and the Caucasus, and they were living there because when their
flight brought them to that point they found the
American Relief Administration in full operation
of famine relief. No doubt there were extraordinary
and edifying people in all the cities already visited
but time limits and the active business of opening
feeding centers prevented a stranger from meeting
them. Eli Tolstoy, a scion of the family of the famous
novelist, was an employee in the office of the Papal
Relief Mission. It was a pleasure to ride with him on
�visits to distant relief stations. The Russian Cossack
Captain said he was the most expert horseman he
had ever known, high praise from a Cossack, of only
one of this young man’s abilities. Robust and of fine
appearance, he was a linguist as well as a fine bookkeeper, and like the famous Leo of the same name,
as he once remarked, he was also interested in social
reform, but not in the particular kind of it in which
he had been unwittingly ensnared.
Some Russians, at one time distinguished and
wealthy, were listed as regular recipients of food
packages from the Papal Relief Mission in Orenburg. Professor R., as we shall call him, known
throughout Europe as one of the most celebrated
cellists of his time, and his wife, a concert pianist
and his accompanist, were on the same list. Before
the First World War, this couple had visited most of
the European capitals on concert and recital tours
and, after playing in Berlin, the Emperor of Germany presented the professor with a valuable cello,
which he cherished as his prize possession. During
the 1917 revolution the government decided that
he was not sufficiently sympathetic to Bolshevik
ideas, so they took away his cello and gave it to the
first cellist in the orchestra of the Bolshoi Theater
in Moscow. This brought about a protest from the
acting Ambassador of Germany, who claimed that
the instrument was really the property of the German government, and it was restored to its so-called
keeper. Even the hardships and the throes of poverty
and want cannot divert the devotion of a genius
from his particular calling. As an illustration of this,
the Professor, who was a pianist and a composer,
as well as a cello virtuoso, told of his own personal
experience when they were dependent upon bread
cards for their daily allowance of food.
At six o’clock on a winter morning he was at the
piano working on the composition of a new sonata,
when Madam R. came in and reminded him that
if he lost his place in line at the government store
they might be without bread for the day. His answer
was that he was looking for something that he could
not find; something that he knew was in those keys
and which he needed to complete a melody. Then
he played a few measures and asked her to hold
the final chord until he returned, when he would
43 | chapter viii: Mission Accomplished
continue from there. He stood in line for more than
two hours, on a cold morning and not heavily clad,
before he got into the store to present his card for
whatever provisions were being distributed that day.
Supplies were running low, and he returned to the
house with one loaf of black bread and half a sack of
partly frozen potatoes. His first question on entering
was, “Did you hold that chord for me?” The answer
was, “Yes, and I had time to work on it. Listen to
this.” Then she sat down at the piano and played
a few lines of his composition, which she knew by
heart, and continued to the end of the melody.
“You have it. You have it,” he repeated, raising
his voice. “You have found what I was looking for,
and now we can eat. I met Doctor Ivan and he gave
me some tea and two eggs. This is really a big day.”
The professor finished his sonata and sent it
to the Academy of Music in Moscow, where it was
published as the first great work of its kind since
the founding of the Bolshevik regime. He was not
looking for royalties. They were not paying them in
those days. On several occasions the professor gave
a private recital for the Directors of the two relief
missions, with Madam R. at the piano. This was entertainment that, only a few years before, the capital
cities of Europe were paying to enjoy.
With reference to his autobiography, Sir William
Butler mentions the blessed gift of memory, and
so it is when circumstances surrounding a pleasant episode of former years serve to recall a happy
venture of the distant past. One sunny afternoon,
riding in over the Kirghiz steppes with Hartridge
and the Russian Captain, the Cossack reined in his
horse and pointed to a flock of a dozen or more
large birds, a few hundred yards away, feeding on
the grubs and on the young grass pushed up by the
recent rains.
“A rare sight,” he said. “If we ride toward them,
either walking or galloping, they will run a certain
distance and then take short flight, always keeping
out of range of a shotgun. Even if we had our guns
with us we could never bag one of them. We need
one more man to do that. They won’t stay around
very long, so if we come out tomorrow with Smith,
you will see how the Cossacks do it. They are fine
eating and we can get ourselves a good dinner.” That
�was a hunting party to look forward to and it proved
to be all that was anticipated.
On the following afternoon, with four in the
party, all carrying double-barreled shotguns, the
birds were sighted almost a mile from where they
had been feeding the day before. The Russian, a
master of logistics, called a halt and issued his plan
of attack. About a mile or so to the west there was
a mound, about a hundred feet long and thirty feet
high. Such mounds are common on the steppes.
The birds were between us and the mound and,
as the Cossack said, perfectly placed because their
flight into the sun is shorter than away from it.
Smith had a shotgun with a third barrel for rifle
shooting and he was the first one to get orders. He
rode off in a big circle to the far side of the mound,
tied his horse at the foot of it, crept up to the top and
lay flat, waiting for the birds to come within range.
If they landed close or flew over the mound he could
use the shotgun. If they landed in front of him, but
beyond the range of a small shot, he was to take a
pot shot at them from the rifle barrel, because their
next flight might be around the mound instead of
over it.
The next maneuver was to drive the birds up to
the mound and orders were given to deploy, one
to the right, one to the left, and the third to ride
straight at the mound. The two that were flanking
were to ride in at a slow gallop, first one and then
the other, to keep them in line, and the rear guard,
the Russian, was to zigzag, if the birds flew from
one side to the other. The idea was to keep them
moving toward the mound and directly into the sun,
and no one was to fire until he heard Smith’s shot.
The birds made at least ten flights before Smith
fired. That scattered the flock and the others rode in
fast to take them on the wing. Smith got one with
his rifle shot and the Russian Captain, riding at full
speed, dropped one with a long shot from his shotgun. It was an unusual and an exciting foray and the
results were both lucky and laughable.
The Captain took his bird to the barracks and
Smith’s bird, the larger one weighing about twenty
pounds, furnished the main dish of a turkey dinner
at the A.R.A. residence. As the Captain said, it really
was a fine eating but there was a common doubt in
44 | chapter viii: Mission Accomplished
everyone’s mind as to just what kind of bird it was.
In size and shape it resembled an American turkey
but with no variety of color, all of its feathers being
a dull russet brown. It had about the same size head
as the American bird but with no tuft, and a shorter
neck with no wattles, and the meat on its body, even
that on the wings and legs, was all white. The Russians called it a turkey, using the word eenduke and
the Kirghiz and the Bashkirs had several names for
it, all of them unpronounceable. It probably was an
Asiatic turkey of the bastard species but, apart from
its name and its flavor, it was the manner in which
it was hunted down on the steppes that revived a
pleasant memory of ten years previous.
Our private secretary, an Orthodox priest and an
excellent classical scholar, was present at the turkey
dinner and quite interested in the account of the
pursuit of the birds. A few days later he came in
with a book that he had borrowed from a bishop’s
library and that evening we had a pleasant session
over the Greek text of Xenophon’s Anabasis. The text
was familiar, being the same that was used in the
second year Greek classes at Fordham Preparatory
School in 1913. The chief purpose of our meeting
was to discuss a passage in the fifth chapter of the
first book of the Anabasis, of which the following is a
summary:
Then he marched through Arabia keeping the
Euphrates on the right, five stages through a
desert country, thirty-five parasangs. The ground
of this region was as level as the sea. There were
no trees. The place simply abounded in wild
animals, such as wild asses, ostriches, bustards,
and gazelles. The animals were sometimes
chased by the horsemen. The wild asses were
too fast for the horses but some were captured
by relays of riders. Their flesh was like venison
but more tender. No one succeeded in taking an
ostrich because they outdistanced the riders in
no time. The bustards, however, could be caught
if they were flushed quickly because they make
only short flights and tire quickly and they too
make good easting.
The secretary’s comment on this passage
�served to enhance the pleasure of the recollection it
awakened.
“So there you are,” he began. “Were you three
Americans chasing the same species of bird on
the Kirghiz steppes as Xenophon’s horsemen were
hunting in Mesopotamia? At that time Xenophon’s
10,000 Greeks, as part of the Persian army of Cyrus
the Younger, were on the march to take Susa, the
Capital of Persia, and thus to dethrone Artaxerxes,
the King of Persia and the elder brother of Cyrus.
At present, however, we are not interested in the
military expedition nor in the fatal battle of Cunaxa,
but rather in the particular kind of bird that was run
down near the banks of the Euphrates in the year
401 b.c. Evidently it is native to the warmer climate
of Mesopotamia and Egypt and probably appeared
then, as it does now, in the north, and periodically,
when the warm weather sets in. In fact the natives here know that the summer has begun when
this bird appears in the steppes. With their short
flights, how long does it take these birds to migrate
a distance of 1,500 miles, and have they been doing
this for a period of 2,600 years or more? These are
questions that should interest the ornithologists
and questions that probably will never be answered.
When you were teaching Greek to your American
students you never dreamed that in company with
two other Americans you would one day enjoy the
very ancient sport you were reading about in the
Anabasis. And I might say also that we can both
agree with Xenophon who said that the meat of
these birds is really delicious.”
At mid-May the termination of relief work in
the District of Orenburg was not far off and the
remaining few weeks reviewed in retrospect present
a blended series of sad and happy recollections.
Russian relief workers have often been asked if the
Russian people ever expressed their gratitude for
the help they received during the famine of 1921
to 1923. This is a question which only those who
were connected with the relief organizations in that
country can answer, and the answer to it is yes, and
decidedly so. The people in general had no means of
expressing their thanks to the United States Government which sponsored the relief, except through
their own government channels to which they had
45 | chapter viii: Mission Accomplished
no access and, so far as is known, their government
never responded for them. One had to be in daily
contact with the people, and to hear the expression
of their regrets that they could do nothing to show
their gratitude for the help they were receiving. In
every one of the 200 feeding kitchens, large and
small, of the Orenburg Division of the Papal Relief
Organization, regardless of their ethnic origin, the
people were so obliging and so hospitable that there
was no room for doubt about their being grateful,
and when it came time to leave them the parting
was the separation of admiring friends. Shortly
before leaving Orenburg, the Director of the A.R.A.,
Mr. Hartridge said:
They are a different people now. When we first
came here, if you asked a man how he felt, he
might answer, ‘Worse than yesterday but better
than tomorrow,’ but that has all been changed.
That was in January when they were hungry,
downhearted and crying. Now it is May and it
makes one happy to see them smiling and to
hear them laughing.
On June 2 orders were received by telegram to
cease operations, close the station in Orenburg, and
return to Moscow by the nineteenth. The A.R.A.
received similar instructions, stating that since
famine conditions no longer existed their work was
to end by June 15. Liquidation, as they called it, or
closing up a relief station was, in some respects,
more of a task than opening it. Operations were
developed to full capacity within two months after
the opening and by the time of closing the Papal
Mission in Orenburg was taking care of 48,000
people. To undo all this in two weeks meant a hectic
fortnight. Detailed records of all operations had to
be filed in triplicate, one copy for the Vatican, one
for the Central Government and one for the local
authorities. Warehouse inventories showed 188
tons of food to be distributed to distant centers and
40,000 dollars worth of textile material for making
clothes. One half of the textiles were for outlying
units and the second half to be given to the local
government for the city population, with a promise
on one side and hope on the other that they would
�be properly allocated. All Russian employees,
numbering more than 700, received a bonus of both
food and clothing, including an office staff of twenty,
all city and district kitchen attendants, warehouse
workers, and transport drivers. The day before
departure, the residence and the storage plants were
officially turned back to the local government and
documents signed accordingly.
The two weeks of liquidation, however, were
not entirely taken up with work. It was during this
brief period that the people were really bent upon
expressing their gratitude.
One afternoon was given over to a garden
festival, held in a large recreation field, as a farewell
party for the four American relief agents, three of
the A.R.A. and the Director of the Vatican Relief
Mission. The whole affair was arranged by the
city officials and the program offered Kirghiz folk
songs and dancing and a short play presented by
the pupils of the local School of Russian Ballet. The
feature event of the afternoon was a camel race,
arranged by the Russian Cossack Captain, and it was
a thrilling spectacle. There were three entries, all
representing the A.R.A. but sporting no particular
stable colors. It was a one-mile race, three times
around a course staked out on the perimeter of the
field. The riders were Kirghiz boys about fifteen
years old, wearing short pants and flimsy shirts. The
pants were cut-downs from cast-off overalls brought
in from the A.R.A. warehouse and the over-fitting
shirts were donated by the Papal Mission. The
camels were of the one hump, dromedary species.
It was all bareback riding, no saddles of any kind,
and the bridles were fashioned from rope, tied in
a noose around the camel’s jaws, with the ends
thrown back for reins.
Toward the middle of the third lap, with all three
running close and going at full gallop, the camels
evidently decided that they had had enough of it.
The leader bolted out the gate and down the main
street. Number two, attempting to follow him, was
brought to a halt by being caught in the gate, which
was half closed against his exit, and number three
walked in leisurely and won the race. The crowd of
more than a thousand was in hysterics, laughing
and cheering the winner and waving their hats and
46 | chapter viii: Mission Accomplished
shawls. The prizes donated to all the riders by the
A.R.A. consisted of a full outfit of clothing with
shoes and stockings, a cap, and an overcoat against
the coming winter. With excitement over and on
calm reflection, it appeared that the most amazing
part of this annual race was not the bizarre antics of
the camels but the fact that none of the boy riders
was hurt or even unseated. As Hartridge afterwards
remarked, there probably was not a high-ranking
jockey in America who could duplicate their feat,
with their equipment and riding that breed of
dromedary thoroughbreds.
Shortly before leaving for Moscow, in a
conversation with the Russian Cossack Captain,
he revealed his position as that of a man who
was left floundering in doubt as a result of the
Bolshevik revolution, and having made a decision
decided to hold to it. When asked about future
correspondence he decided against it. Yes, he could
receive letters from abroad but with the assurance
that they had been opened before delivery. Escape
from Russia would have been easy, by way of
Persia, but what could he do for his people from the
outside? Once he was marked as a special fugitive,
as he would be, no corner of the earth would be
safe for him. This man knew what it meant to be
separated from friends and from wealth, but for
him there was something in life more precious
than its consolations. As he expressed it, there was
nothing in life like a revolution to accustom one to
unpleasant changes. His philosophy of life seemed
to be, forget your own misfortune by helping others
to forget theirs. An Orthodox bishop said of this
extraordinary man that he was endowed early with
the realization that God never created anything
solely for its own sake, and especially a thinking
being, and he has lived his life accordingly.
On the day of departure for Moscow the train
due in from Aktyubinsk was two hours late in
arriving and another hour late in departing. Trains
were usually off schedule but this time the delay was
welcome because it afforded some extra time to visit
with the gathering that had come to the station to
stage a final farewell to the Americans. As the train
was pulling out of the depot, in the crowd of several
hundred people on the station platform, the men
�were waving their hands or their hats and many of
the women were standing with their hands held in
front of them in an attitude of prayer. A scene like
this was sufficient in itself to answer the question,
Were the Russian people grateful?
In later years, during visits to the Old Soldiers’
Home in Washington occasions were recalled for
reliving various incidents of life in Russia. The
conversation on one of these visits brought back a
surprising meeting in Orenburg and an unexpected
recognition despite the mustache added to the
incognito. Major Denis McSweeney, retired after
thirty-four years with the Supply Department of the
U.S. Army, came into Russia with Colonel Haskell
as an accountant and a supply manager. He was
a graduate of the Christian Brothers’ School in
Dublin, an expert bookkeeper and mathematician
and the oldest member of the A.R.A. Last seen in
the Crimea in September 1922, he was a welcome
visitor when he walked into the Papal Relief Mission
in Orenburg on March 16, 1923.
“You are just in time, Denis. When you finish
checking up on the A.R.A. supplies and finances
why don’t you go over my Mission books and
warehouse and save me a whole weekend on a
quarterly report?”
47 | chapter viii: Mission Accomplished
“Certainly. Fr. Walsh asked me to do just that
before I left him in Moscow.”
“Denis, you probably are the only real Irishman
within a thousand miles of this place. Tomorrow
will be Saint Patrick’s Day and how shall we
celebrate it?”
He paused for a moment, looked around to see
that we were alone and said, “You say the Mass and
I’ll serve it.”
“Now wait a minute, Denis.”
“No need to wait, Father. Neither Hartridge nor
Smith is aware of your calling but I knew every
member of the Papal Mission in the Crimea for just
what he was, priest or lay brother.”
He was on hand the next morning at 5:30 and
served the Mass with the ease and accuracy of a
head altar boy. Denis dated back almost to the Civil
War. He was known for his stories of army life,
some credible, some otherwise, and this reputation
was enhanced at the Old Soldiers’ Home where he
spent the last few years of his life, and died at the
age of ninety-four.
✩
�a jesuit cossack
CHAPTER IX
Reasons to Remain
Judging from outward appearances the
City of Moscow had changed for the
better since last seen, half a year before. The
shopping districts were more active and Government stores had more stock on hand than what
appeared in the windows. Street cars were running
with some regularity and they were always overcrowded, despite the fact that carfares had gone up
and the ruble had gone down. The housing problem
for the increased population had become a major
economic question. Living space was allotted by the
government and all attic and cellar space had been
converted into living quarters. The street markets
were crowded. The people were more active and
looked happier, and evidently most of the men were
working at something or other. The five-year economic plan was in operation and, since the government had taken over more than it could handle,
much of the city industry had been given back to
its previous owners. This was a temporary measure
which was rescinded as soon as the industry was
well established. Russian economy had been stalled
for the past five years and it was the presence and
the efforts of the relief organizations, during the
48 | chapter ix
past three years, that gave it the necessary push to
get started and to keep moving on its own fuel and
machinery. Feeding eleven million people a day
lifted a burden that enabled the Government to plan
and to operate.
With the announcement that the A.R.A. would
cease work and withdraw from Russia toward the
end of June, the affiliated organizations, including
the Vatican Relief Mission, had to decide whether
they would also terminate operations or continue
feeding on new contracts with the government. Fr.
Walsh decided that there were at least three good
reasons why the Vatican Mission should remain
in Russia. The first was that he would work for the
release of Archbishop Cieplak and his twenty priests
who were in prison. Secondly, there was a faint
but fading hope that he could establish a pattern
of existence for the Catholic Church in Russia; and
finally, that he might be able to recover the relics of
Blessed Andrew Bobola, which the government had
in hiding, and for which Pope Pius XI had made
two requests. The first two reasons were doomed to
failure. The third was more successful.
There were still a few hunger spots marked on
�Dressmaker shop,
likely Orenburg.
the map that the government asked the Vatican
Mission to take over but the conditions demanded in
signing a new contract were so prohibitive that the
only relief work carried on after the end of June was
the feeding of students in Moscow. The new contract
was to give the government full control of relief
allotments. The Mission was to give up its present
residence and take over smaller quarters on which
a government tax would be levied and for which
the Mission workers were to pay rental. Special
courier service for mail was to be discontinued and
all mail, outgoing and incoming, was to be handled
by regular federal service. Domestic help was to be
government-appointed and customs duty was to be
paid on all food supplies from foreign countries.
Hitherto all food supplies were purchased from
and distributed by the A.R.A. With such regulations
in force the Mission would be paying double for
supplies and for service it was offering gratis, and
with no freedom of operation.
The result of all this was a series of meetings between the Director of the Mission and government
officials which resulted in nothing save the decision
of the Director to cease operations and to withdraw
from the country. This, however, was a decision that
49 | chapter ix: Reasons to Remain
he could not act upon alone. It was one of several
matters that needed the immediate approval of the
Vatican and which could not be entrusted to the
mails, with the courier service discontinued. Hence
it was that he prepared to leave for Rome as soon as
his American Assistant returned from Orenburg.
In company with Colonel William Haskell, Director General of the A.R.A., he left for Rome on June
20th, traveling by boat from Odessa to Constantinople to Athens, and he was back in Moscow on July
12th, returning by way of Berlin and Warsaw.
In the absence of the Director of the Mission,
no new relief work was undertaken. The Moscow
students were fed every day. The Church and
State question was at a standstill and the returned
Mission agents were lodged in a hotel and paying
rent for their lodging. Detailed records of all Vatican
Relief Stations were compiled and copies sent to the
Russian Central Government and to Rome. Since
the Orenburg station was the only Vatican relief
center east of the Volga River and quite different
from all the others, it may be of interest, before
taking leave of it, to present a summary of the part
it played in Vatican relief in Russia. This was the
last station of the Mission to open and the first to
�close. The Vatican Relief Mission was working in
Russia from July 1922 to November 1923. Feeding
operations began in Orenburg in the last week of
February 1923 and terminated at the end of June of
that year. Within that period, 1,015 people were fed
daily in Orenburg City kitchens. With the district
kitchens in full operation the number of people fed
daily was: in Aktyubinsk, in 104 kitchens, 13,297;
in Ak-Bulak, in 93 kitchens, 11,400; in Djereen, in
107 kitchens, 14,902; a district total of 39,599. The
number of people who received monthly rations
from the distribution center in Orenburg was
1881. Those supplied with clothing in the City of
Orenburg numbered 715; in Aktyubinsk, 3,051. The
number who received clothing packages, i.e., cloth
for making clothes plus thread, needles and buttons
was 142. The total of persons assisted in one way or
another by the station beyond the Volga was 48,000.
The big advantage in operating this station was
the fact that the American Relief Administration
was working there at the same time. The A.R.A.
Director, Llengle Hartridge of Yale, and his
assistant, Pat Smith, of Michigan football fame,
were two of the most experienced relief workers
in the Hoover organization, and their generous
help in the organization and in the conduct of
the Orenburg station were invaluable. All in all,
reviewed in retrospect and relative to the nobility
and the endurance of human nature, this unusual
assignment proved to be a school of enlightenment,
the vivid recollections of which have not dimmed
with the passing of the years.
The last of the A.R.A., including Colonel Haskell,
left Russia on July 20. With their departure the
50 | chapter ix: Reasons to Remain
Vatican Mission was somewhat isolated in Moscow
and the next three months were spent in endless
and useless disputes with Government officials
over the solution of problems upon which the
existence of the Mission was dependent. It was a
foregone conclusion that nothing could be done
about saving the Catholic Church in Russia. Church
affairs had been at a standstill since the trial of
the Catholic clergy in the previous Easter Week. It
was not until he had made a third request that Fr.
Walsh got permission to visit Archbishop Cieplak in
prison, and it was much later when he learned that
Leonide Feodorof, the Catholic Exarch, after being
condemned to hard labor, had been banished to the
Island of Solovkii. Feodorof was a highly educated
priest, unpretentious and uncompromising, who
had great influence with the people. The Bolshevik
Government openly avowed its fear of him when the
presiding judge at his trial declared that this man
was being condemned not for anything he had done
but for what he was capable of doing. He served ten
years in the labor camp and died two years after his
release.
The third reason for delaying the departure of
the Vatican Mission from Russia was the recovery
of the relics of Blessed Andrew Bobola. Two
previous requests for the surrender of the body of
Blessed Andrew made by Pope Pius XI to the State
Department of Russia had gone unanswered. When
Fr. Walsh returned from Rome in July he made
a third petition on behalf of the Vatican and this
time the relics were given over to the Mission for
transportation to Rome.
✩
�a jesuit cossack
CHAPTER X
Diplomatic Courier
In a final conference with
Mr. Tchitcherin, the Russian Secretary
of Foreign Affairs, it was arranged that since
Fr. Walsh had pressing business to be attended to
in Moscow, the Government dossier of his American Assistant would warrant his being entrusted
with the transportation of the remains of Blessed
Andrew Bobola from Moscow to Rome, by way of
Odessa and Constantinople. Fr. Walsh agreed to the
restriction placed upon the itinerary by the Secretary
at this conference; namely, the avoidance of Polish
territory. This journey was considered to be a diplomatic mission and for its accomplishment the one
in charge of it was appointed a diplomatic courier
of the State Department of the Soviet Government
and supplied with a diplomatic passport, signed in
red ink by Mr. Tchitcherin.
About a week before the day of departure word
was received from Rome to arrange for safe passage through the port of Constantinople and for the
transfer of the relics from the Russian steamer to a
Lloyd Tristino liner, sailing from there to Brindisi in
Italy. Rome was a step ahead of Moscow relative to
clearing the Turkish port, as will be seen. There was
51 | chapter x
a Turkish Ambassador in Moscow at the time, and
he proved to be most cooperative in the solution of
this problem. Meeting a Turkish Ambassador was
looked forward to with curiosity and, after five minutes waiting in the foyer of his residence, which was
adorned with a profusion of Turkish, Persian and
Bokhara rugs, it was a pleasant surprise to meet a
dapper gentleman neatly groomed in formal morning dress and speaking French like a native Parisian.
His up-to-date office was furnished in mahogany
neatly arranged with a collection of smaller silk rugs
of rich-looking texture. It was evident that he had a
hobby. After identification his first question was,
“And how can I be of service to you, Sir?”
“By suggesting, if you will, how one may clear
the port of Constantinople with an assignment of
diplomatic baggage being forwarded by the State
Department to the Vatican.”
“You are supplied with passports?”
“Yes, Sir,” and he was presented with a special
Vatican passport.
“How interesting,” he remarked as he was
reading the document, printed in Italian.
“This,” he said, “is the first Vatican passport I
�have ever seen and I consider it an honor to favor it.
Shall I sign it?”
“If you please, Sir. That would undoubtedly
help.”
“I may help,” he added, “but we may need more.
Let me write a letter to go with it.”
It took him only a minute or two to write the letter in Turkish and to hand it back with the passport,
remarking, “That should get you by in any circumstances, but do not use it unless you have to.”
It was a pleasure to find him so helpful and especially so when he made no inquiry whatsoever as
to the nature of the diplomatic baggage. With the official business over he was in no hurry to terminate
the visit and he continued the conversation.
“And how long have you been here?”
“In Russia somewhat over a year. In Moscow at
intervals and during the last three months.”
“Pity we did not meet sooner. We probably have
much in common to talk about, not as political but
as social isolationists. You know,” he continued with
a smile, “within a week after we were installed in
this house my servants discovered a dictaphone in
this office and one in my bedroom. What do you
think of that?”
“Not too disturbing, Sir. We have been dealing
with these people for so long that whatever they
do or say does not surprise us. They have assumed
responsibility for my baggage until it is taken off the
Russian ship at Constantinople, but there is no telling what may happen before we get there.”
On the way to the front door and in parting, he
said, “In case you have to use it, I hope that letter
will be of some assistance in liberating you from
their jurisdiction.” And it was.
The next important step was to get possession of
the so-called diplomatic baggage and to get under
way for the Holy City. After signing an agreement
that no undue publicity would be given to the transportation of the relics and that they would be placed
in a church in Rome, the day of departure was set
as the 3rd of October, which proved to be a very
busy day. In the Petrovska Museum, Fr. Walsh and
his American assistant, with their interpreter, met
with the Secretary of the Narkomindal, or People’s
Commissariat of Foreign Affairs, two agents of the
52 | chapter x: Diplomatic Courier
Gallagher, dressed as a diplomatic courier, on route from
Moscow to Rome, 1923.
G.P.U. and the Moscow Director of Customs. This
was the same museum in which the relics were being sought a year and three months before. Just off
the main exhibition hall, in a small storeroom filled
with plaster casts and old furniture, they pointed out
the casket containing the body of Blessed Andrew.
The remains were identified by the marks of martyrdom as enumerated in the second nocturn of the
office of his feast day. All the vestments had been
removed, probably during the raid on the church in
Polotsk in June 1922. Everything in the storeroom,
except the casket, was covered with a coating of dust,
from which it was concluded that the casket had
been brought there only recently. Where it had been
since June of the previous year was never discovered. After removing the round glass top from the
coffin, it was filled with new white cotton, without
disturbing the body, and closed under pressure with
�a flat wooden cover. It was then placed in a strong
wooden box made for the occasion and the small
space between the sides of the casket and the box
was stuffed with cotton to prevent disturbance of
the body in case of shock. Finally, the box was sealed
with four padlocks, each bearing the seals of Pius XI
and of the Moscow customs. On the following day
the expedition was under way, after a farewell look at
Moscow from Sparrow Hill.
The Odessa Express, or the post train, as it was
called, carried no baggage car, so it was arranged
to carry a special caboose, a Russian tiplushka, for
diplomatic baggage, something that was bound
to attract attention. When the box containing the
casket and one small trunk, filled with records of the
Vatican Relief Mission, were placed in the special
car, the doors of the car were locked and sealed.
About half an hour before the train was due to leave,
while our interpreter was acting as special guard of
the car, he was arrested by an agent of the G.P.U. for
refusing to reveal what the special car was carrying.
Fortunately the arresting party was encountered as
they were leaving the station and it took only the
presentation of the diplomatic passport to release
the interpreter. When the G.P.U. officer saw the
passport he clicked his heels, saluted and offered his
apologies. This particular passport, as will be noted,
served as an open sesame wherever trouble was
encountered within Russian jurisdiction.
The interpreter on this trip was a Russian Jew
who had been educated in London. He was about
thirty years old, a keen observer and a smart operator, as well as a genial traveling companion, who
knew every corner of Russia from Archangel to the
Caucasus. Joe was also a good actor, and his secret
in dealing with the Russians was that he always
knew how to make them laugh. The wood-burning
engine taking us south was not out for speed records and we came into the Ukraine at Bryansk at
1:00 p.m. on the 4th of October, where we were due
for a surprise.
It should be noted here that from the time of
leaving Moscow to that of sailing from Odessa the
Russian authorities were most cooperative even to
foreseeing and to solving difficulties not anticipated,
as happened at Bryansk. When the train came to a
53 | chapter x: Diplomatic Courier
halt, what first attracted attention was a company
of sixteen soldiers under a lieutenant, armed with
rifles and standing at parade rest on the station
platform. From here to Konotop, an overnight run,
was known as bandit country. In fact the Odessa
post train had been held up just south of here the
week before and every passenger robbed. Nothing
had been said about an escort until the lieutenant
explained that his soldiers were to ride the train
during the coming night by way of protection, and
the train left Bryansk with two soldiers riding on
the steps between cars. Whether this protection
was offered because of the special car or the recent
robbery was not mentioned, but the station master
said that the small car attached would be an added
attraction for bandits. It was a cold night and on the
interpreter’s suggestion the lieutenant agreed to let
one soldier ride inside and the other on the steps,
changing posts every hour.
While eating dinner, in answer to the question as
to whether there were many bandits in Russia, Joe,
the interpreter, pulled up his sleeve and revealed
a purple scar running from his wrist to his elbow.
“That’s a souvenir of a bandit bullet,” he said and
then continued with his story.
“About a year ago, I was coming up from the
Caucasus to Moscow after doing the black markets
in half a dozen big cities. I had 200 dollars in gold
and 200 more in diamonds, for which I was expected to get at least 500 or 600 in Moscow or in
Petrograd. I was well-acquainted with bandit rules
and with their procedure, but I made one mistake.
They halt a train where it can be fully covered from
both sides. When the train stops they fire a few
shots in the air, meaning that everyone in the train
is to remain perfectly still wherever he happens to
be. As the shots were being fired I stepped across
the compartment to get my briefcase, which contained the diamonds. The next thing I knew I was
on the floor with an injured arm. One minute later
their loot men were beside me. They found the
diamonds and not only took the gold but also took
me with it for violating bandit rules. They bound up
the arm and left me in a small hospital where the
local police took over and when they discovered that
I had been running the black markets, I was sen-
�tenced to two months of hard labor. By the time that
was over, the arm had healed up and I was turned
loose, dead broke and lucky to be alive. However,”
he concluded, ”I think we can sleep without worry
tonight. If there are bandits in this area, you may be
sure that they have received word by now that the
train is armed and they will never take a chance with
Soviet soldiers.” Before retiring he went through
the train with hot coffee for the soldiers and when
he returned he said, “I made it strong to keep them
awake.”
He was right about the bandits and on the following morning he and the conductor served the
soldiers with coffee, Russian black bread with marmalade and American cigarettes, a breakfast deluxe.
The military guard was dropped at Konotop but the
lieutenant’s duty was not over until the train was
in motion for Odessa. The stay there was short and
just before leaving, Joe presented the lieutenant with
a package of American cigarettes for each of the
soldiers, something for which they would willingly
have paid a week’s salary. They were standing at attention on the platform when the train departed.
At that time it was unusual for a train to arrive at
a station ahead of scheduled time, but coming into
Kiev at 6:00 a.m., an hour early, proved to be very
fortunate. Even the stationmaster looked surprised
when he appeared half-clad on the platform. He
lived in the station office and was evidently awakened by the approach of the train. His surprise,
however, was short-lived; ours was to come and it
presented what looked like a serious delay in the
journey. Contrary to expectations, the train had
reached its destination. It was called the Odessa post
train because it was due here in time for transfer to
the Kiev-Odessa express, which was made up here
and scheduled to leave for Odessa at eight o’clock.
The stationmaster knew in advance that there was a
special car on the incoming train, but he said he had
received no orders to have it attached to the outgoing express and even the presentation of the diplomatic passport could not induce him to act without
orders. The next through train to Odessa was listed
to leave here three days later. Here was a difficulty
that looked like an impasse and needed a man like
our fast-thinking interpreter for its solution. While
54 | chapter x: Diplomatic Courier
the stationmaster and his crew were busy with the
just-arrived train, Joe put in a telephone call from
the waiting room and discovered that the residence
of the chief of the G.P.U. was only a few blocks away
from the railroad depot. An order from this man
would be equivalent to an order from Moscow. He
would not be in his office at that early hour, so it was
decided to visit his home.
It took a second knocking at the door to have it
opened by a six-foot-tall and over-robust individual
clad in a long flannel nightgown.
“Well now, just who are you and what’s the trouble so early in the morning? Come in, please. It’s
too cold for me to be standing out here.” The soft
tone of his voice contrast to his stalwart appearance.
After an introduction and a short explanation of the
visit, he handed back the passport, saluted, and said,
“I’ll be with you in about five minutes.”
He was almost as good as his word and in a very
short time he appeared dressed in a quasi-military
uniform with an automatic at his side. On the return trip to the station he kept up a running conversation with Joe in which the words Orenburg and
Vatican Relief Mission were heard, in all of which
he seemed to be deeply interested. There was no further difficulty with the stationmaster. The special car
was attached to the Odessa Express and there was
time left for breakfast in the station dining room,
in the course of which this particular agent of the
famed and of the feared Cheka proved to be one of
the most interesting and obliging Russian officials
thus far encountered. He even saw to it that we were
comfortably placed in a spacious compartment on
the outgoing train and, on Joe’s advice, no gesture
was made to offer him anything for his assistance.
Once under way, Joe remarked, “That’s a fine passport you are carrying.”
The delay escaped in Kiev was to be increased in
Odessa by the development of an unfortunate situation which even the ingenious Joe could not handle. The freighter-transport Tchitcherin was due in
Odessa from Constantinople the day after our arrival
on October 6 and scheduled to leave on a return trip
three days later. This boat was named after the Secretary of Foreign Affairs, whose name, in red ink,
was on the passport that had solved our difficulties
�thus far, but it was his boat that occasioned the delay. It came in on time but before its cargo could be
unloaded the federal police took over both the boat
and the customs in search of narcotics. They were
fast workers and after two days of searching passengers, ripping up furniture, and tearing out paneling,
the cargo was landed, to be examined on the pier.
The result of their work was not published nor was
anyone particularly interested in knowing it. What
concerned the people waiting to take passage was
how long it would take to make repairs, to take on
another cargo and to set out on the return trip to
Constantinople. Due to leave on the 10th, the sailing
was put off until the 12th, and then again postponed
until the 15th. This forced layover afforded ample
time to notify the Vatican and also the Apostolic
Delegate in Constantinople of a late arrival. Staying
at the hotel and awaiting passage on the Tchitcherin
was an Italian doctor, returning from the Caucasus,
and an interesting Russian couple traveling under
the assumed name of Pietrov. It was a pleasure to
tour the city in their company and we shall hear
more of them soon.
The Collector of the Port had already checked all
documents of those sailing on the Tchitcherin and on
the morning of the 15th of October he called at the
hotel in his American Ford to take the four staying
there down to the pier for embarkation. On arrival
at the wharf, the Controller’s car was admitted to
the ship’s docking pier without customs inspection.
After a short farewell, he left for his city office and as
soon as he disappeared a customs officer came out
and demanded all bags. The Italian doctor and the
Pietrov couple took their bags into the inspection
room and when the officer saw the diplomatic
passport he said,
55 | chapter x: Diplomatic Courier
“The large box and the trunk were marked
diplomatic, nothing else.”
“But these bags were put through customs in
Moscow.”
“Even so, Sir, they must be inspected here.”
There was no further room for argument.
Because of the fact that the two suitcases had been
in service after leaving Moscow, and perhaps also
because the question of exemption had been raised,
their contents got a very careful going over. The
one great misgiving here was that they might try
to recover the diplomatic passport when we were
leaving Russia. Joe had left for Moscow the day
before and his last advice was to hold on to the
passport and to remind them that the diplomatic
baggage was marked “Steamer Tchitcherin to
Constantinople,” which meant that the Russian
Government was responsible for it until it was taken
off the ship at that port. Fortunately, no demand was
made for the passport. This document was issued
to prevent difficulties and there was one more to be
prevented. The box containing the casket was sunk
into a large cargo of grain to secure it from rough
weather and from the rolling of the ship. It was not
too surprising at that time to discover that the Soviet
Government was exporting grain when the map of
Russia still indicated a number of hunger spots. It
was a much-mooted question then, as to whether
or not they were exporting grain during the great
famine, and Russian relief workers have often been
asked about it since. As to 1921 and 1922, having no
evidence, we can give no answer. As of mid-October
of 1923, when the famine was practically over, we
were being exported with it.
✩
�a jesuit cossack
CHAPTER XI
The Odessa Express
The Tchitcherin sailed out of Odessa with
ninety passengers aboard, at 5:00 p.m. on
October 15th. The weather was clear and the sea
calm. Dinner was served at six o’clock, the only daily
meal served aboard ship. The stateroom was large
enough and well-appointed. After dinner, in the
lounge room there were a dozen tables occupied by
Russians playing Polish-bank and it was an interesting study to observe their carefree attitude when
leaving their homeland for voluntary exile. Later on
in the evening, sitting out on the top deck under a
full moon with Pietrov and the Italian doctor, the
captain of the ship sat in for conversation and he
proved to be a very welcome companion. He was a
good story teller, speaking a faltering Italian, fluent
French, and passable English. He had just finished
telling about a Russian ship that was held up by Romanian pirates in the Black Sea about a month before. The crew and the captain were held prisoners
and the passengers were taken ashore and released.
Pietrov told him that it sounded like a good sea story
and asked him for another one, when suddenly the
boom of a cannon out of the darkness, about a half
mile off to starboard, put an end to the conversation.
56 | chapter xi
When asked what that meant, the captain
answered, “There’s no telling. Let’s wait and see.”
After ten minutes or so, spent mostly in silence
and in expectation, a second shot at closer range
sent a missile whistling over the bow of the
Tchitcherin. The captain left in a hurry, went up to
the pilot house and swept the surrounding sea with
a powerful searchlight. About 200 yards away he
picked up a Soviet submarine chaser, from which
a voice came back through a megaphone ordering
him to take off the light and hold up his ship.
As the ship settled into the water, the passengers
below became excited and noisy. Our one distracting thought was about the box containing the casket
down in the hold of the ship. It was a Soviet warship, but what were they after? It was too dark to
notice his emotion when Pietrov whispered, “Do
you carry a gun?”
“No, never.”
“Well, I do and so does my wife. She was released
from jail only a month ago, arrested for trying to
leave Russia on a false passport. This time we are
both sailing on false passports and we have decided
not to go back to Russia, so step aside if there is
�Charity stamp issued in
November 1922.
Proceeds went to famine
relief efforts. Caption:
“For the hungry.”
any firing.
In less time than it takes to tell it, the sub-chaser
had pulled up to the side of the Tchitcherin, ordered
the captain to throw over a rope ladder, and four
men climbed to the deck of the steamer. Two of
them, with drawn revolvers, were posted at the exits
of the stairwells and the people were ordered to remain below. The other two, led by the captain of the
ship, went below in the dim light of the main hatch.
For the next twenty minutes, which seemed much
longer, an absolute silence prevailed as Pietrov stood
aside, his right hand in his coat pocket. The tension
was somewhat released when the moon came out
from behind a black cloud and revealed the captain,
with two Soviet officers behind him and a man
between them clad only in pants, shirt, and shoes,
and with his hands behind him in handcuffs. With
automatics still drawn, the raiding party took their
man over the side onto their marauding craft and
disappeared into the night as mysteriously as they
had come out of it.
57 | chapter xi: The Odessa Express
Once the ship had resumed her course and the
commotion below decks had ceased, the captain, the
doctor, and Pietrov, after seeing that his wife was
safe, eventually made their way back to the sheltered
corner on the upper deck where the conversation
had been going on before the voyage was interrupted.
“What was it all about?” the doctor asked. “And
what is a Soviet warship doing running without
lights at midnight in neutral waters?”
“No place is neutral for them,” the captain explained. “That sub-chaser is kept under full steam
in Odessa harbor for emergencies, and this was
an emergency. About an hour after we left Odessa
they received word from Moscow to overtake and
to overhaul us and to take off a certain passenger.
I suppose you all had your worries,” he continued,
“and like our diplomatic courier here I was decidedly worried about the big box down in the hold.”
“Any objection to asking who the unfortunate
passenger was?” Pietrov inquired.
�“None at all. At least I can tell you what I think.
He was one of their own secret service men, a
former officer in the Imperial Army who got out
through Odessa during the revolution. After a stay
abroad, he returned to Russia, signed up as a Communist and worked his way into the secret service.
Now he was getting out for good and with plenty
of information. As you know, there is one of them
assigned to every outgoing steamer and the Collector of the Port, an old friend of mine, said he
suspected that this fellow was being assigned to my
ship. I knew there was a secret service agent aboard
but this man didn’t even appear for dinner. The officer from the chaser merely said he was a Russian
citizen setting out under a nom de plume. He would
have been more correct if he had said a nom de
guerre because this man’s war with the Bolsheviks
is definitely over.”
“You mean,” the doctor asked, “that they may execute him or sentence him to life in a prison camp?”
Pietrov answered this question by saying, “He
will be lucky if he is living the day after tomorrow.”
By this time Aurora was shooting golden arrows
over the western horizon in pursuit of night. It
had been a short night that was long in events and
the party unanimously decided to sleep for a few
hours, not realizing that they were going to have
plenty of time for slumber before reaching their
destination. All things considered, the “Chi-Chi,”
as Pietrov called the ship, had made a good run of
it, approaching the entrance to the Bosporus only
three hours late. From here on it was not the ship;
it was rather the elements and Turkish regulations
that were to cause a further and an annoying delay.
As Shakespeare once said, “When sorrows come,
they come not single spies, but in battalions,” and
at that time they were gathering in ambush behind
a heavy downpour of rain and a curtain of fog that
caused another hour’s waiting before passing into
the Bosporus. A few hours meant nothing compared
to what was coming, and the big surprise came
when it was announced that instead of putting into
Constantinople our ship was ordered into quarantine at Tuzla Bay, twenty miles south of the city on
the Asiatic side. The ship was to pass its destination
and return to it four days later. The 17th to the 20th
58 | chapter xi: The Odessa Express
of October were days of forced leisure. The reason
for the quarantine was a report of cholera in the
Crimea, something unheard of up to then. Everyone
aboard ship, except the captain and the crew, had to
take an injection of a so-called anti-cholera serum,
which the Turkish doctor administered with some
effort and a decidedly dull needle.
This layover created a real problem. The ship
went into quarantine on the 17th. Passage was
already booked on the Lloyd-Tristino liner, due in
Constantinople on the 22nd and scheduled to leave
on a return trip to Italy as soon as it could discharge
a part of its cargo. There was nothing to be done but
await developments and plan for emergencies. Fortunately the basket of American food supplies was
still holding out, for which the doctor, the Pietrovs
and at times the captain, were also heartily grateful.
On the second day of detention the doctor asked
Pietrov if the passengers would have to pay extra for
the days spent in quarantine.
“Don’t worry about that,” he answered in true
Russian style, “Nee-chee-vaw forget about it, until
they hold us up for it.” Nothing more was ever heard
about it, but we were still learning lessons from the
Russians. His offhand way of dismissing possible
difficulties was a good lesson in how to avoid minor
worries in a major crisis.
It was welcome news to hear that the ship was to
drop anchor at noon on October 20 in the inner harbor of the big city. Passengers went ashore in small
boats. The Apostolic Delegate, Archbishop Philippi,
who was waiting on the dock, extended a cordial
welcome and an invitation to be his houseguest
until time of departure. His first instructions were
to remain in civilian clothes and not to shave off the
mustache. At dinner that evening he explained that
because of Moslem religious regulations, relative to
disturbing the bones of the dead, the box containing the casket should not be brought ashore but left
aboard the Russian ship until it could be transferred
to the Lloyd-Tristino liner, the Canoro, which would
probably be several days late.
Due to the fact that the Russian ship had come
in from quarantine, it was taken over by the Turkish
harbor police as soon as it anchored. Police guards
were placed aboard and were to remain there while
�the ship was in Turkish waters. Difficulties were
increasing instead of diminishing. Would the harbor
police prevent the transfer for the same religious
reasons? What could be done with the casket if the
Russians unloaded their cargo of wheat and prepared to sail for Odessa before the Canoro arrived?
The Archbishop had an answer for the second
question and the answer to the first was probably
in our inside pocket. It was not very probable that
the Tchitcherin would be ready to leave before the
Canoro came in. However, if that did happen the
transfer could be made to an Italian warship lying
just outside the harbor and from there to the LloydTristino liner, somewhere in the Sea of Marmora,
when she was coming out on her return trip to Italy.
The captain of the warship had informed the Archbishop that he had received orders to cooperate in
this way if necessary. The only difficulty with this
solution was that the Director of the Papal Mission
in Moscow had agreed with the Russian authorities
that there would be no public demonstration attending the transport of the relics, and involving the Italian Navy could hardly avoid publicity. If the Canoro
arrived on time, this solution of the problem would
not be necessary; if not, it could be used as a means
of last resort. Despite the fact that the harbor police
were in charge, the captain of the Russian ship came
ashore every day to make known his orders for unloading and for sailing.
The Canoro docked on the evening of the 25th
and was scheduled to leave on the evening of the
27th. This meant quick action and a busy day on the
26th, with Moslem religious regulations as the last
hurdle to be topped. The Archbishop had already
arranged for a stateroom and for special care of the
diplomatic baggage from Constantinople to Brindisi. At 9:00 a.m. on the morning of the 26th the
captain of the Russian craft was not surprised to see
a sturdy launch towing a small barge pull up beside
his ship. He had been notified of its coming and
he had the box containing the casket taken up from
the hold and placed on the main deck, where the
last and most dubious problem to be solved since
leaving Moscow had to be faced. The sergeant of the
harbor police and another armed guard were standing beside the box waiting for its claimant.
59 | chapter xi: The Odessa Express
“Is there a dead body in that box?” he asked.
“This, Sir, is diplomatic material, en route to
Rome,” and he was presented with two diplomatic
passports, one Russian and the other Vatican. After
looking them over for a minute or two he handed
them back with the remark, “These look genuine,
but they do not answer my question. You probably
know that according to Moslem law we are forbidden to disturb the bones of the dead.”
There seemed to be no further room for
argument with two men armed with automatics and
he was answered with a question.
“Where is the office of the Collector of the Port?”
“At Stambuł, just south of here.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
With the barge detached, the launch could
make Stambuł in twenty minutes, and did. The
office of the Collector was straight across from the
landing pier and, with the owner of the launch as
interpreter, the first inquiry was for the Collector.
“Sorry, Sir, he is not here. This being a day of
religious observance he is spending it at his country
home.”
“And who is taking his place here?”
“I am, Sir, Captain and Director of the harbor
police.” It seemed as if the crucial moment had
arrived.
“This letter, Captain, is addressed to the Collector
of the Port. It is intended to solve an emergency and
here it is with two diplomatic passports.”
“Well,” he said with some surprise, “this letter is
from our Ambassador in Moscow.”
“Quite right, Captain, from my friend the
Ambassador in Moscow,” naming him.
“Of course, I cannot open it, but I shall give it to
him as soon as he returns. Is there any way in which
I can be of assistance?”
“Yes, Sir, if you will. As you know, the Russian
freighter Tchitcherin has been taken over by the
harbor police. Our diplomatic baggage is aboard that
ship, to be transferred to the Canoro of the Lloyd
line, which sails tomorrow. If you can arrange for
this transfer, you may be sure you will be doing the
will of the Ambassador. That, Sir, is the content of
the letter.”
With that he wrote a short note and sounded
�a desk bell for his Assistant, to whom he gave the
note and an order to go out to the Tchitcherin with
this gentleman and deliver the note to the sergeant.
Then he added, “That note, Sir, should solve your
difficulty. The transfer of your baggage will be made
by the harbor police who will report to me by noontime that their orders have been fulfilled.”
“Thank you, Captain, and please tell the Collector
of the Port that the Ambassador sends him his kind
regards.”
“I shall do that,” he said, extending his hand
and concluding, “It was a pleasure to serve you, Sir.
Goodbye and a happy voyage.”
This was the greatest relief of tension in many a
day. When the police sergeant on the ship read the
note he clicked his heels and offered a military salute which was returned with a smile of satisfaction.
When the box containing the casket was taken off
the Russian ship, documents were signed releasing
Russian authorities from all further responsibility
for the remains of Blessed Andrew Bobola. These
papers were given to the ship’s captain, who was
60 | chapter xi: The Odessa Express
acting as representative of his government, but this
was not the last to be seen of him. That afternoon
he appeared at a farewell dinner party in a city hotel
at which the Italian doctor and the Pietrovs were
present. After resailing the Black Sea voyage, Pietrov
narrated a few details of his own personal story.
Before the Bolshevik revolution, he had been
the owner of a national chain of bakeries. He was
arrested and tried as belonging to the aristocracy.
Fortunately, the superintendent of one of his large
bakeries was on the trial jury and he was released
as harmless. There was no room left for doubt as
to his belonging to the aristocracy and to the very
highest class of it, when he produced his baptismal
certificate, signed by his godfather, the Tzar of Russia. With reference to the ship-to-ship transfer of the
relics of Blessed Andrew Bobola at Constantinople,
there was only one regret, namely the sacrifice of the
letter of the Turkish Ambassador. That would have
been an official souvenir of the return of the relics.
✩
�a jesuit cossack
CHAPTER XII
The Canoro and the Casket
Russia and the Black Sea were beyond the
horizon and Constantinople was receding
toward it when the passengers aboard the Canoro
were happily surprised by a spectacle that, seen for
the first time, is bound to leave a lasting impression
of the Queen City of the world. Much had been said
about it and now it was not difficult to believe that
nowhere else on earth can one witness a duplicate
of a sunset over the Golden Horn. From the Bosporus to the Dardanelles the Canoro sailed a straight
course the full length of the Sea of Marmora, with
the Golden Horn disappearing as darkness was setting in. Relaxed and alone, after a week of tension,
the after-dinner to early bedtime period seemed
better-suited to reminiscence and to contemplation
than to reading or to making new acquaintances.
There was not much time for sightseeing during
those busy days in Constantinople, but it was an
inspiring thought to realize that you were treading
on 2,000 years of history and, short as the visit was,
it was no small advantage to have so competent a
guide as the Apostolic Delegate, who really knew
the history of his See. The first places visited were
in keeping with his unusual theory that the history
61 | chapter xii
of the older cities in the world is best summed up in
their churches and their prisons. As he remarked,
the same emperors and sultans who built the great
churches and mosques also built the historic walls
around Constantinople and the prison dungeons
within them.
From the time of its foundation the capital of
Byzantium has been a center for the fusion of races
and the clash of creeds, as is illustrated to some
extent in the story of the famous bronze horses.
One day, coming out of Sancta Sophia, the church
with whole volumes of history, the Apostolic Delegate was detained by a Turkish guide who seemed
to be entering a complaint. That evening the Delegate explained that the guide was typical of the
Turks in general, who will never get over the loss of
their horses, meaning the four bronze horses now
stationed over the entrance to St. Mark’s in Venice.
These horses, as the Delegate concluded, had passed
through the crucial epochs of the history of Constantinople, not spreading desolation on the earth,
as did the horses of the Apocalypse, but merely looking down upon the centuries of devastation of the
earth caused by the rational animal in his effort to
�dominate it. With this and other pictures of the great
city in mind, while sailing away from it on the first
night out, relaxed and on the threshold of slumber,
Constantinople faded out as a city to think about, to
wonder at and perhaps to dream of, and the good
ship Canoro was rocking like a cradle.
At early rising time on the following morning,
October 28, the ship was at a standstill at the
entrance of the Dardanelles and had been there
for some hours, the delay being caused by a law
forbidding ships to pass through the Dardanelles
at night. This law was not passed in favor of
sightseeing. It was an addendum to the terms of the
armistice forced upon Turkey at the close of the First
World War and was still in effect. This was the last
of the unscheduled stops but even they, especially
the longer ones, had their advantage in affording
time to fill in a diary from random notes taken in
action. It would be safe to say that the Dardanelles
and the Bosporus, protecting straits of the City of
Constantinople, have been goals of conquest in
every effort to take the city from time immemorial.
Before the coming of Constantine and after him,
during the building of the Byzantine Empire,
armies from every civilized country in Europe and
in western Asia had waged war on the Dardanelles.
It was not until 1915 that invaders came from
over distant seas, from Australia and from New
Zealand, to force an opening through this entrance
to the Sea of Marmora en route to the capture
of Constantinople. This whole campaign of the
British and French armies and navies, assisted by
British colonial troops, is summed up in one word,
Gallipoli, meaning the peninsula, and is recorded
in history as the Magnificent Failure. What made
the run down the Dardanelles doubly interesting,
in addition to its centuries of history, was the
presence aboard of two British engineers who had
been working for over two years on Gallipoli with
the Imperial War Graves Commission. They knew
the detailed history of the 1915 invasion and they
were enthusiastic about its commemoration, which
consisted in designing cemeteries and separate
monuments for the British, Australians, and New
Zealanders who fell victims of the campaign. In
an afternoon lecture on the main deck, one of the
62 | chapter xii: The Carnaro and the Casket
Pope Pius XI (1857–1939)
Saint Andrew Bobola, S.J. (1591–1657)
�engineers explained that most of their work had
been done on the Aegean side of the peninsula
where the British and the Anzacs went in, but they
had both worked on the famous monument at Cape
Helles, the last thing to be seen when leaving the
Dardanelles, a monument in memory of 19,000
soldiers and sailors who have no known graves.
This, he said, may sound like a fantastic number
of missing considering that the number of British
alone killed in the invasion is recorded at about
33,000. However, he added, there are various things
to be taken into consideration. First, the British
did not return to Gallipoli to take care of their dead
until 1918, three years after the invasion. During
the whole time of fighting the dead were buried
at night, and many of them probably never were
buried. In fact, when the Cemetery Commission
began to work in 1918, they were shocked to find
large areas of the battle grounds littered with human
bones. In the meantime, the Turks, who had 50,000
of their own to bury, did not identify graves after
burial and probably buried many of the enemy with
the same indifference.
Another fact relating to the number of the
missing, as he recounted it, was the British Navy’s
attempt to run the gauntlet of the Dardanelles,
seeded with mines and covered from the hills
on both sides by Turkish gunfire, under German
direction. In this futile effort they lost a half-dozen
warships, three of which were of capital standing,
and their crews were numbered among the missing.
Looking over the Cape of Helles and sailing over the
spots where these ships went down, while listening
to the engineer describe it all, made his talk the
most interesting history lecture that one could
wish to attend. The typewritten copy of this talk,
presented on the following day by a stenographer
passenger, made a very desirable diary entry.
Clearing the Cape and leaving the Hellespont,
which Byron swam and where Leander drowned,
the Canoro sailed an even course through the
Poet’s Isles of Greece and made her first official
stop at Athens, where the passengers were allowed
a full day ashore. Here was another instance of
getting only a cursory look at one of the world’s
oldest and greatest cities. With one of the British
63 | chapter xii: The Carnaro and the Casket
engineers it was agreed that the best thing to do
was to hire a guide and to see what could be seen
in the time allowed. The Acropolis is to Athens
what the Kremlin is to Moscow, the upper city and
a reminder of past grandeur. When last seen, the
Kremlin was locked up but still intact. When first
seen, the Acropolis was silent and abandoned and
there was time only to stand on the ruins of the
Parthenon, to look down on the home of the classics
and to contemplate the glory that was Greece. On a
journey from Constantinople to Rome, Athens was
the halfway stop in the path of the Renaissance.
In Athens and in Moscow, as in many of the
ancient capitals, there is an old and a new city
with crumbing walls dividing them, indicating the
advance of civilization and the violence attending
it. At the foot of the Acropolis is the pulpit of
Demosthenes from which he is supposed to have
delivered the famous oration on the crown. This is
an artificial structure, which, like the oration, has
stood the test of time. Not far above it there is a
huge stone, a natural formation protruding from
the hill, called the pulpit of Saint Paul, from which
he addressed the Athenians on their unknown God.
The presence of the two pulpits set one to thinking
about the difference between the doctrines preached
from them; the one a masterpiece of political
doctrine, the other an exhortation on a doctrine as
natural to the existence of Paul’s listeners as was his
pulpit to the hill of the Acropolis. That was a short
day in Athens, concluded with the purchase of a set
of picture postcards, to review what had been seen
and to substitute for what had been missed. Having
ridden from Marathon to Athens, over the route
of the original Marathon Run, there was an added
interest later on in watching the Marathon race
which takes place every year in Boston.
Leaving Athens, everyone was looking forward to
the passage through the Corinth Canal. From a few
miles distance from its entrance there appears to
be a hole through a mountain which seems to grow
in circumference as it is being approached. Most
of the passengers, sixty or more, went up to the top
deck to get a better view of the high walls of solid
rock rising perpendicular to the ship and very close
to it on either side. Strange to say, however, nearly
�all the time they were in the Canal these passengers
were looking down instead of up. On the main
deck, below, forward and in the open, there was a
party of a dozen Mohammedans who had spread
their prayer rugs on the deck and were kneeling
on them, facing Mecca, bending to the floor and
praying aloud to Allah. Interest in the towering walls
had given way to the unusual sight of strong men
praying together in public.
Not long after leaving the Canal you pass
Lepanto, at the other end of the Gulf of Corinth,
where Don John of Austria changed the course of
history by his great naval victory over the Turks. This
was the battle that caught the poetic fancy of G. K.
Chesterton, who in his poem “Lepanto” tells in his
own subtle way what it meant to Christendom when
Don John stripped the Sultan of his sovereignty of
the seas. After leaving Athens the Canoro made her
first stop at the Island of Corfu, the most-captured
island in the world, belonging in the course of its
turbulent history to at least seven different nations.
This was a short stay of three hours, most of which
was taken up with a visit to the palace of the former
German emperors, This palace, with its extensive
and beautiful gardens, was a summer resort of
the last of the Prussian dynasty, just as the Livania
Palace in Yalta was both a winter and a summer
refuge for the unfortunate family of the last of the
Russian tzars.
From Odessa in Russia to Brindisi in Italy,
the body of Blessed Andrew Bobola had passed
over four seas on its longest odyssey and was
nearing the goal of its new assignment, but not its
final destination. The customs officials had been
informed from Rome of our coming. By noon they
had the box containing the casket placed in their
warehouse and later taken to the railroad station
and placed on the Brindisi-to-Rome express, due to
leave at 6:00 p.m. Most of the few hours in Brindisi
were spent walking about another old town with
an ancient fort and still more ancient walls, solid
records of centuries of local history.
The overnight run to Rome was one of solid
sleep. Monsignor, now Cardinal, Pizzardo, was
at the station in Rome, and November 1, being
a holyday of obligation, he had arranged to have
64 | chapter xii: The Carnaro and the Casket
the casket kept at the customs depot until the
following morning. Before arrival at the Collegium
Germanicum, with baggage to follow, the plan was
to get to the room of some American Jesuit who was
studying here and to borrow a cassock and cincture
for an audience with the Very Reverend Father
General Ledochowski, who was there at the time,
but the plan went all awry. When the Lay Brother
opened the door, the Father General was standing
beside him.
“Well, my dear Father, so you finally got here.”
And he extended an amplexus of hearty welcome.
“Yes, Your Paternity, but you must pardon my
attire. It was intended to change into clerical garb
before meeting you.”
“Do not mind the clothes, Father. Your mission
called for them.” And the first thought that came to
mind was: What would he have said if he had seen
the mustache? The Apostolic Delegate had kept
him informed of everything that happened from
the time the Russian ship went into quarantine
until the sailing of the Canoro, and he had received
telegrams from Athens and from Brindisi. With this
information he had timed the arrival to the hour, or
better still, even to the minute. There was a General
Congregation of the Society going on in Rome and
after a conference with Father General, meeting
old acquaintances from the Maryland–New York
Province who were attending the Congregation put
one at ease by creating a home atmosphere that had
been missing for a year and a half.
On the following day, under direction of
Monsignor Pizzardo, the relics were brought to
the Vatican and placed in the Matilda Chapel of
the Relics, under the supervision of the Pope’s
Sacristan. Here in this chapel was the arm
of Blessed Andrew Bobola, brought to Rome
providentially some years before by Archbishop
Ropp. We say providentially, because it had been
rumored and mentioned in several American papers
that the Soviet authorities had probably handed
over to the Vatican a bogus cadaver, which they said
was the body of Blessed Andrew Bobola. Not long
after the relics were placed in the Vatican, the Pope
invited three prominent Italian surgeons to examine
the relics and to fit the arm to the body received.
�After careful inspection the articulation between the
arm and the body was so perfect that they all agreed
that this was undoubtedly the body that belonged to
what was known to be the genuine arm.
The evening of November 2 saw the happy
conclusion of the entire Russian episode in a private
audience with Pope Pius XI which lasted for nearly
an hour.
“Sit down, my dear Father. Never mind the ceremonies. I have been busy all day holding audiences
and now I want to hear the firsthand story of our
mission to Russia. I had almost called you Father
Antony, you look so much like a former assistant of
mine.” He listened with attention to an account of
the voyage from Odessa, of the holdup of the ship,
the quarantine, and the stay with the Apostolic Delegate, and he was particularly interested in the letter
received from the Turkish Ambassador in Moscow
and why it had to be surrendered. Then came a
series of questions to be answered about the Easter
trial of the Catholic clergy, about the Orthodox
clergy, the Russian people and especially the children, and particularly about Fr. Walsh and the other
agents of the Mission still in Russia. He had been
notified regularly about what was going on in Russia
but there were many details missing and lacunae
still to be filled in.
65 | chapter xii: The Carnaro and the Casket
Toward the end of the audience he asked if anyone had ever inquired as to why he was so interested
in recovering the relics of Blessed Andrew, and
without waiting for an answer he said, “Well, I’ll tell
you. As you know, during the war I was Apostolic
Delegate in Warsaw and when the Polish Army went
into Russia, I went with it with one thing in mind:
namely, to recover the remains of Blessed Andrew
Bobola. The Polish General was aiming at Vitebsk,
near Polotsk, where the body was at that time, and
he agreed that if he took it, he would have the relics
removed from the church so that I could bring them
back to Rome for safekeeping. We came within sight
of the town, but it was never taken and I have been
waiting from that day to this for the body of the holy
martyr.”
The answer to this was, “Your Holiness, it is now
in the Chapel of the Relics.” Then, realizing that it
was his dinner time, and not wishing to take advantage of the courtesy of his invitation, the visitor went
down on his knees, received the Apostolic Blessing,
and departed with the Pope’s words ringing in his
ears, “Merci, Mon Pere, and may the Lord watch
over you.” That was an hour that had been hoped for
and looked forward to, and, once realized, not to be
forgotten.
✭
�a jesuit cossack
Kirghiz Proclamation of 1923
Kirghiz Soviet Socialist Republic
Central Committee of Famine Consequences in Kirghiz
to Mr. Gallagher
The Kirghiz Central Committee upon the liquidation of the
consequence of famine, noting with pride all the work carried
on through its own organs cannot but mark out Your personal
energy in the said effort.
You, as we also, tirelessly labored all this time to help the
populace suffering from famine.
By our common efforts, thousands of children were saved
from ruin; thanks to our joint work, thousands of children
received the opportunity to attend school.
Noting all this, the Central Committee in the fight against
the consequences of famine bears for You sincere gratitude,
for Your honest, energetic, and brotherly responsiveness.
President of Central Committee on famine-effect
Zhurevsky
Vice-president of Central Committee on famine-effect
Sergeev
Member of Presidium of Central Committee on famine-effect
Plenipotentiary
Presiding Representative of U.S.S.R. for K.S.S.R. in the
aforementioned areas
Rudminsky
English translation of Kirghiz Proclamation, 1923
66 | appendix
�a jesuit cossack
Acknowledgements
The publication of this memoir would not have been possible
without the encouragement and support of Ben Birnbaum,
Senior Adviser to the President of Boston College. I am especially
indebted to Monica DeSalvo, Senior Graphic Designer, Office of
University Communications, not only for her competent
attention to every detail in the attractive design of this memoir
but also for her exhaustive research in locating images to enrich
the narrative itself. I am also most grateful to Diana Parziale,
Art Director, Office of University Communications, for her
generous assistance and constructive suggestions in making
this memorable moment in history available to an audience
interested in the Church’s generous outreach to a hostile Russia’s
famine-stricken people. And my special appreciation to Michael
J. Connolly, Ph.D., Department of Slavic and Eastern Languages,
for his courtesy in providing all the translations from the
Russian into the English language.
Finally, I also wish to acknowledge with gratitude the kind
cooperation of David P. Miros, Ph.D, Director, Jesuit Archives &
Research Center, St. Louis University, in making available high
resolution pictures from the Louis J. Gallagher Collection that are
valuable contributions to this fascinating and informative story.
67 | Acknowledgements
�a jesuit cossack
Image Credits
Gallagher, Louis J., seventeenth president of Boston College, 1911-1937, Box 4, Folder 139,
Boston College Faculty and Staff Photographs, BC.2000.005, John J. Burns Library,
Boston College.http://hdl.handle.net/2345.2/ BC2000_005_ref156
Pages i, 12, 30, 52
Collection of Seán M. Connolly
Page 57
Getty Images
Page 32
American Relief Administration Russian operational records
Hoover Institution Archives
Page 42
Rev. Louis J. Gallagher, S.J., Manuscript Collection, Archives of the New England Province.
Jesuit Archives and Research Center, St. Louis, Missouri
Cover (portrait); pages i, ii, iv, 2, 4, 10, 16, 21, 27, 36, 38, 49
Public Domain
Cover (map), page 62
Unsourced
Page ii, 8
68 | image credits
�
Dublin Core
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Joseph P. Duffy Collection of Digital Works
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<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85021043.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Catholic Church</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh87004995.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Jesuits--History--20th century</a>
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<a href="https://lccn.loc.gov/n87831774" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Duffy, Joseph P.</a>
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Jesuit Archives & Research Center, St. Louis, Missouri
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Reproduced with permission of the Northeast Province of the Society of Jesus
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eng
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JA-Duffy
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Northeast Province Archive
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Northeast Province of the Society of Jesus
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This collection contains publications edited by Joseph P. Duffy, S.J. regarding histories of New England Province Jesuits.
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1939-1945, 1968
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A Jesuit Cossack: A Memoir by Louis J. Gallagher, S.J.
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Jesuits--History--20th century
Gallagher, Louis J. (Louis Joseph), 1885-
American Relief Administration
American Relief Administration. Orenburg Subdivision
Russia--Famines
Creator
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Gallagher, Louis J. (Louis Joseph), 1885-
Duffy, Joseph P.
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Joseph P. Duffy
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Jesuit Archives & Research Center
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Jesuit Archives & Research Center
Joseph P. Duffy
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Joseph P. Duffy
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JA-Duffy
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PDF
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eng
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74 pages
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1922-1923
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Joseph P. Duffy
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This publication, edited by Joseph P. Duffy, S.J., contains the memoir of Louis J. Gallagher, S.J. Written in the early 1960s, the memoir largely focuses on the 15 months Fr. Gallagher spent in famine-stricken Russia as Assistant to the Director of the Papal Relief Mission. He began this role in late July, 1922, all the while acting as a layman.