On our first convoy out of New York, we took on 80 new apprentice seamen fresh out of boot camp. On about the second day out of New York, we hit bad weather. A squall came up, and all of the new sailors got seasick. They were in the “head” or lying all over the decks about three deep, vomiting all over each other and thinking they were dying. That lasted about three days, and then the weather smoothed out a bit. On another trip, out in the middle of the Atlantic we ran into a hurricane that was so strong, the ship was listing 56 degrees and dipping water in the stacks. Everybody on watch outside had to lash themselves to their watch station. For 16 hours nobody could go top side to relieve his watch. There were four of us in the berthing compartment, the Clinefelter twins, Harold and Clarence, myself, and one other person. We got so hungry that we decided to disregard orders and try to crawl over the superstructure to the galley. As we were crawling over the torpedo tubes, a big green wave washed over us, and we hung on for dear life. After it passed over us, we came up spitting and sputtering. Everybody was still there, so we continued our journey to the galley. When we got to the galley, we found some soup in one of the big vat cookers. While we were eating, we were swinging from the overhead like monkeys or walking on the bulkhead as the ship was rolling. Getting back to the compartment was just as hard as getting to the galley had been.
Next the Monssen and the Kearny (DD 432) were assigned to escort the Hornet (CV 8) to the Port of Spain, Trinidad, to negotiate for a U.S. base. While we were in Port of Spain, a bunch of the crew from the Monssen and the Kearny went over to the biggest and best hotel there, “The Queen Mary Hotel.” We were drinking and singing while one of our guys was playing the piano, just having a good time in the lobby-bar. Some of the “Limeys” came over to tell us that they were at war, and we shouldn’t be carrying on so. It wasn’t long until “pow-pow” and the free-for-all was on between the “Limeys and the “Yanks.”
Then the to St Thomas, Virgin Islands, where they took part in the “Neutrality Patrol” near Fort de France, Martinique, French West Indies. While we were out on the “Neutrality Patrol,” we could see a German war ship just over the horizon on the port bow (we did not have radar yet) and the English fleet over the horizon to the stern on the starboard side. We were right between, telling the English where the German ship was. While were out on this long patrol, we ran out of fresh chow for the crew, so for a while there we had beans for breakfast, spaghetti for lunch, and beans for supper. The next day, they would give us a different menu: we would have spaghetti for breakfast, beans for lunch, and spaghetti for supper.
Our next port was Bermuda. The Kearny refueled and went on ahead of us. The Monssen refueled and was taking on stores when the captain came on the PA and said, “This is the captain. All hands onboard on the double. Cut all mooring lines and prepare to cast off and get underway on the double.” We left part of our stores on the dock and steamed north at flank (top) speed. The Kearny had steamed ahead to escort a north Atlantic convoy. On October 16, three merchant ships were torpedoed. The Kearny immediately began dropping depth charges. A torpedo struck the Kearny in the forward fire room, killing 11 men and injuring 22. The Monssen got there, joined the party, and sank one German U-boat. We helped the Kearny into Iceland, arriving on October 19. The Monssen continued escorting convoys and fighting German U-boats (two more subs marked up) while we continued our runs between the United States and England.
Between runs, we would lay-up in Iceland for refurbishing and a little rest. One time we were moored alongside a destroyer tender, Dixie or Prairie, I forget which. Anyway, we were second next to tender with one or two more tied up alongside outboard of us. We had our whaleboat astern of us. Joe Hughes climbed out on the bow of the whaleboat to do something, when another boat went past the stern, making a big wake which knocked Joe over into the icy cold water (33 degrees). He had his foul weather gear on, so it kept him afloat, and our whaleboat was loose and drifting off. I tried to throw him something, but I couldn’t reach him. Somebody else was hollering, “Man overboard.” Finally, one of the other ships was able to send a boat out to pick him up. He was purple and incoherent and almost gone. They took him aboard the tender to sick bay, stripped him off, and started giving him brandy and rubbing him down. When he started coming around, all he could say was “rub my —, you son-of-a-bitch, it’s cold.”
Somewhere along the line, I came up with a case of yellow jaundice. Out senior medical officer was a corpsman first class. He told me not to eat any fried or fatty food, so I gave him some money and sent him over to the tender to buy me a couple of cases of tomato juice and soda crackers. That’s what I lived on for a couple of weeks, and I did not miss a day’s work. There were seven others guys that had jaundice, but I had the worst case and was the most yellow.
We stayed in the north Atlantic escorting convoys and fighting German submarines until Christmas day 1941, after Pearl Harbor. We left Iceland and moored 6 days later at Boston Navy Yard for overhaul, in preparation for transfer to the Pacific fleet. On the way down from Iceland, one evening I walked by a crap game in the ammo room. I wasn’t much of a gambler and I didn’t know anything about Boston, but the old hands were saying what a great liberty Boston was. I had $3 in my pocket and $130 saved up in my locker. I decided they could enjoy the $3 better in Boston, so I threw the money in the middle of the pot expecting to lose, I threw the dice, and up came a “7.” I did not drag, and the next shot was “11.” I kept shooting without dragging, and I made 17 straight passes or come backs. Finally nobody would fade me, so I had to pass the dice. Red Jenkins was behind me. He threw out a $5 bill and said, “Tommy, if you cover me, I won’t shoot.” So I got a shoebox and picked up my money. I never did count it. When I went ashore in Boston, I always started out with $200 each night, but I might have only spent $40 or $80 I got to be real popular real fast! BEST LIBERTY I EVER HAD IN MY LIFE.
When we left the Boston Nary Yard, we were going down Cape Cod Canal early in the morning before daylight on Friday, 13 March 1942. The number of the ship was 436 (4 + 3 + 6 = 13). The were 13 officers aboard, and buoy light #13 was out, so we ran aground in 13 feet of water, hitting the rocks and crushing our bow. We had to return to Boston Navy Yard, where they cut the bow off of another new ship they were building and welded it onto our ship. That was another two or three weeks of good liberty before we continued our journey to the Pacific. (continued)
