Chapter 3 Naval Academy 1932-1936

Naval Academy 1932-1936

Shipmate January 2005

The Naval Academy had a very comprehensive entrance exam. (In those halcyon days of the 1930s there were no SAT exams.)     However if a candidate attended a high school accredited by the Academy he was exempted from all subjects except algebra, geometry and English.  Western High School was accredited. So Court and I took the shorter exam.   John and I wanted to room together but to do so we had to enter on the same day.  His father, CDR A.B. Court 05 made the arrangements.  On the day we reported we checked in, were sworn in, took a physical, collect out gear and report to out assigned room.  John, a world traveler, pro baseball fan, and knew all about the Navy, went through the physical with flying colors.  I, a country boy who seldom went beyond the town limits, had a little problem.  During the physical I was so scared my pulse tested higher before exercise than afterwards.  The doctor spotted my problem and told me to lie down.  The next pulse test was OK. 

When I finally enter our room Court asked,” Where on earth (sanitized) have you been?”  After I told him my story he helped me get my stuff stored away.  After our room was ship shape and we were attired in our new white works that looked like pajamas.  We had at last begun the perilous route to convert us land lubbers into seamen.

My computer has been suffering from the flu or some other viral agent and I am not able at this time to include photos in my column. I looked in my file for articles and stories that have been submitted by other classmates, but found an empty receptacle. I am forced to rely on the excellent recollections from our 50^th anniversary Lucky Bag story of Hap Humes ‘36, entitled “Of the Time the Admiral Splashed.”

It was at Long Beach in June 1937. Recently qualified as Officer-of-the-Deck in port, I (Hap Humes) was standing my first watch. The admiral’s messenger informed me that the admiral would be leaving the Northhampton in thirty minutes to pay an official call on Commander Cruisers Pacific in Indianapolis. I checked my Watch Officer Guide and called away the band, the marine guard, side boys an for the admiral’s barge to come alongside. The admiral appeared right on schedule with his inevitable cigar. The marine guard snapped to attention, the band played, and the boatswain piped the admiral over the side as the side boys and I saluted. “Good show!” I said to myself when SPLASH! I looked over the side to see a boat crewman pulling the admiral out of the water. Things raced through my mind. Should we pipe him back aboard; should the band play/ should the marine guard snap to attention? The Watch Officer’s Guide address such a situation. Before anything could be done the admiral stepped from the gangway onto the quarter deck still with his cigar in his mouth but looking like it had exploded. He threw it to the deck saying, “Damnit that was a twenty-five cent cigar.”

Shipmate January 2004

How many of you former Midshipmen remember Ozone, the elderly messenger who delivered mail to the various Company and Battalion offices in Bancroft Hall? On one of his rounds, during one of Maryland’s classical icy days, he stopped by a mate of the deck’s station. He always talked with watch standers. On this occasion he said, “De BTU sho is conspicuous by dere absence.” His colorful language was technically correct. Where on earth did he pick up such information?

Speaking of Maryland’s icy weather, John Court and I shared a room facing north on the first deck of the first Batt. That winter was colder than normal, so cold that the ink in the inkwell froze. We appealed to the authorities who sent a delegation to inquire into our frosty room. The senior officer verified that it was cold. Shortly a messenger brought us a ball of caulking yarn and a screwdriver with orders to caulk the windows. It worked; the room heated up sufficiently to melt the crusty ink. Come spring, the windows were stuck closed. Next we were infested with rats. With typical Midshipman resourcefulness, we devised a trap. The deck in the middle of the room was the scene of our success. We balanced a ruler over the edge of the desk. A trash can filled with water was placed under the ruler. We experimented with several baits – cheese, bacon. Peanut butter, and others. Peanut butter won, so a glob was placed on the ruler. During the night the rat scampered after bait unsettling the balance of the ruler, fell into the can and drowned. There seemed to have been some sort of pestilence connected to our room – like Job and his boils.

During June Week, when the weather went from freezing to humid steam, the Regiment paraded in full dress uniform. The jackets, you will recall, were heavily padded. The heat on Worden Field was so intense that our sweat glands were going full tilt. An ambulance was standing by to recover Midshipmen that fainted. A few wise guys had a scheme for getting out of the heat factory parades through inducing fainting by placing blotter paper in their shoes, thus speeding the dehydration process. There was a parade on the day of the June ball. Every full dress jacket was dripping wet. One thing a Midshipman must learn early on in his career is to be undaunted in the face of danger or difficulty. Back at Bancroft Hall our jackets were dried as much as possible with towels, then turned wrong side out, put on hangers and hung out an open window to dry I the hot sun. At the ball our dates, ladies all, did not “comment on the state of our garments.” (Ogden Nash)

Shipmate October 2001

Do you ever reflect on Plebe Summer?   I remember our early sailing instructions that returned to haunt me years later.  My summers as a youth were spent on St. Simons Island, Georgia.   When I was about 12 I got my first row boat, a 10 footer, and soon became an accomplished oarsman. When sailing instruction began Plebe Summer it was clear that my rowing experience would not extrapolate to those big cutters in which we were introduced to sailing.  As we embarked our instructor, a tobacco chewing retired Chief Bo's'n Mate, handed each of us an oar the size of a telephone pole.   In spite of catching crabs enroute we managed to reach the middle of the Severn River.   On arrival we were ordered to “Rest on the Oars!”  The next order was “Toss Oars!  One of our group tossed his overboard. The next order was “Step the Mast!”  (What ever that meant). In spite of dire predictions of the Chief, we managed to set the mast in its step.

After luffing along a while we headed back to base.  The reverse process of unstepping the mast turned out to be more involved that stepping.   Several of our team was assigned the job of removing the mast from the step and slowly lower it into the arms of the crewmember designated to receive and lower it to the deck.   Being a friendly sort he awaited the mast with open arms resulting in a bump on his head. Against all odds we managed to row back to the cutter’s moorings.  Once all was secure, the Chief told us,  “Sometimes you sail like hell and sometimes like hell you sail”.  

Shipmate June 2002

June 1935 First class Cruise

June 2002 is the 67^th anniversary of our First Class cruise of 1935.  This cruise was so superior to our truncated Youngster Cruise of 1933; I thought it an appropriate subject for this column.   We gathered out cruise gear (See Photo1) 

and embarked in Arkansas BB 33 and Wyoming BB 32 moored in Annapolis Roads. Then proceeded to Norfolk, Virginia thence proceeded across the Atlantic.  Just off the Virginia Capes we ran into at least a half gale.  Arkansas, in which I was embarked, dove in

to a monstrous sea and did not surfaced for several days. (See photo 2) 

USS Arkansas BB33 circa. 1930’s

She returned to training cruise duties in June, and she again took the midshipmen to Europe. Among the stops were Edinburgh, Oslo, Copenhagen, Gibraltar, and Funchal on the island of Madeira. 

The first port of call was Funchal, capital of the Madiera Islands.  Also visited on the Youngster cruise.   Before liberty was granted, we were instructed not to drink the water, nor could we imbibe in alcoholic beverages. To avoid dehydration most took their chances with the excellent Madiera wine.  Several of us hired a cab for a trip up a mountain.  On the way up on a blind curve we collided with a cab on the way down.   It was a minor accident, a little fender bending and no injuries.   The cabbies had an excitable conversation in rapid Portuguese.  While knowing nothing about their language their profanity came in loud and clear.  (See photo 3)

We ended our stay in Funchal with a fine dinner at a water front restaurant.

The next morning the cruise sailed for Gibraltar (Also visited on the Youngster Cruise) As in 1933 some crossed the Mediterranean to visit Tangier.  Again fezzes and donkey rides.  I must admit that in spite of two trips abroad I remained a rank amateur traveler.  I bought a cheap suitcase to store all flotsam and jetsam (gifts) purchased.  Nothing was of intrinsic value.  Two were disasters.  A pair of odorous leather Moorish slippers improperly tanned. And a water pipe that produced a terrible taste.  Years later I heard of a smoker with a cough whose doctor told to give up cigarettes.  The smoker said he couldn’t.  The doctor then prescribed a water pipe to filter the smoke—with the same awful taste.   But he solved the problem by substituting martinis for the water.  It was most satisfactory.  He said I am a smoking man with a drinking man’s filter.

The cruise next set course for Scandinavia for visits to Oslo, Norway and Copenhagen, Denmark.  (Both were on the Youngster Cruise.)  While in Oslo I was put in charge of a leave party of seven 38ers.  Our objective was to hike to a ski resort on Lake ­­­­Frognerseteren.  Without snow the trail bed of ruble made walking hazardous.   By evening we reached the lodge. 

We were tired, thirsty and hungry.   In our condition the Norwegian wholesome supper was sumptuous.    Once in our bunks we slept the dreamless sleep of the exhausted.   In the morning we decided to take in the lake.  We boated out a bit and dove in.   The more hardy youngsters swam.  But Carmichael considered the water too cold even to drink and returned to the warmth of his bunk.  (See photo 4—would any of you 38ers care to identify any of the cast?) 

Our return to Oslo was without incident.  We reembarked for the trip to Copenhagen.  In preparation for getting underway Wyoming heaved in her anchor and found it missing.  The Captain of Arkansas signaled, “Did you lose something?”  The anchor buoy marked the location and later it was recovered.  (See photo 5)

The final port of call was Edinburgh, Scotland.   Mack Butler, Ralph Haas and I decided to go to London.   We could not qualify to rent a car so we took the Royal Scot train—reputedly the fasted in the world.  We arrived at Victoria Station and with not the slightest notion of what to do next we approached a London Bobbie for help.  He sent us to a guesthouse near by.

Our rooms cost one pound each for four days  (Exchange rate 1 pound = $5).   We discovered the next morning there was no water in the room.  A chambermaid was summoned and asked for hot water for shaving.  She returned with a small cream pitcher for three shaves.   Such inconveniences were overlook by the ample British breakfast that followed.   It consisted of eggs, bacon, blood sausage (ugh), link sausage, grilled tomatoes, and toast.

Our days were spend attending a session of Parliament, visiting Westminster Cathedral, attending a musical comedy—“Any Thing Goes”, book by P.G. Wodehouse, watching Helen Wills Moody pay tennis at Wimbledon (Photo 6) 

and other sites about town.  In meandering we learned when crossing the streets to look left, not right—those leftist British drivers!   One night as wandered about Piccadilly Circus, a local resident offered to guide us.  We were a bit apprehensive but out numbered him so took him up.  It turned out to a fine tour and he refused our tip.  Back to Edinburgh and homeward bond.

On arriving the ships moored in Hampton Roads.  There was a polio epidemic in Norfolk so no liberty was granted.  Classmates with families in Norfolk could see their families but could not visit them.  Before returning to Annapolis Midshipmen were required to replenish stores consumed during the cruise.  (Photo 7) 

 I was in charge of a working party of Youngsters assigned to unload the barge along side.  Working hard and fast our task was soon completed.  (I seem to remember that a box of cantaloupe was broken open and we consumed a few.)   On returning aboard Arkansas I discovered that the deck working party was skylarking and most of the stores had not been struck below.  As I was dismissing the barge party an officer approached and informed me that provisioning ship was an all hands evolution and no one could secure until the job was done.  I protested this was unfair. The officer was unimpressed.   On returning to Annapolis returning Midshipmen stowed their cruise gear, repacked for a month’s leave and headed home

From JHC shipmate 2010

Instead of telling you about some spectacular event in my military history, of which I have none, I plan to highlight a series of little events that I remember in each station in which I served.