Sailorboy: A Fleeting Glimpse

Copyright © 1999 by Jim Oeswein/Dresden Reese.

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Contents

EPITAPH

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

EPILOGUE

FINALE

BIBLIOGRAPHY

PHOTO INDEX

DEDICATED to the memories of the men and women

who survived this very darkest hour in the history of mankind.

Unlike Jim, so many cannot share the horrors their eyes have seen.

Their stories, like so many who served in wars,

will forever be forgotten.

This one is dedicated to those forgotten…

EPITAPH

February 20, 1999 marked the seventieth anniversary of James Orville Oeswein’s enlistment in the United States Navy. From the tender age of fifteen the U.S. Armed Forces provided an avenue that enabled him to see the world as well as participate in the ever so gloriful emergence of fifty states who would rise to rule the world, both on land and on the high seas for most of the twentieth century… The story which follows is as true and factual as the gospel, now this is No shit!

B. Left to right: Elmore Hall, 18; Bad Boy Brown, 18; and

James Orville Oeswein, 13.

CHAPTER 1

R

ough & Tumbleboy

1913-1928

Hey, Blondie, think ya can hit the square side of a marble?

Hell, yes! the smaller boy responded to ‘Bad-Boy’ Brown’s challenge while wiping his nose on the cuff of his sleeve. How much ya wanna’ bet that I beats your pants off without ever lookin’? A motley gang that followed Bad-Boy stood at bay cheering their older comrade to an ultimate victory. They knew Bad-Boy’d win. They clunked their pennies and nickels into a heap on the sidewalk, betting on Bad-Boy beatin’ the new boy in town.

Blondie gave his nose one last wipe on the sleeve of the hand-me-down shirt he’d inherited from an older brother who lay buried up in the Highland Park Cemetery. His mother had relayed the story of how her first poor unfortunate son had been run over by a southbound freight train on the same line as his pa had once worked in the hopes that her second son would avoid realizin’ that same fate. His father was as much a stranger to Blondie as his deceased brother. Mother had kicked daddy out when she found out he’d been screwin’ everything in a dress along the L & N Railroad south of Louisville to Nashville, Tennessee.

The L & N Railroad had accused his daddy of having ‘sticky-fingers’ and stealin’ everything from sox to cereal before he got himself ‘officially’ caught and handed his walking papers from the only good job a man from Highland Park, Kentucky could ever hope to have in those days, bein’ a conductor on the railroad. Mother took on the job of raisin’ her four remainin’ children by herself. Mother had named her son nic-named ‘Blondie,’ James after ol’ Doc Cessny who assisted in the delivery of her son in exchange for a fifth of Ol’ Granddad and a box of Corona’s, compliments of the stranger James never knew, his daddy. James’ middle name was christened Orville for that famous flyin’ brother of Wilbur Wright.

Blondie never saw any money he didn’t earn. His mother’s father had been killed when pitched from a wagon hitched to a team of horses. The boardin’ house his mother had run was instantaneously sold out from under her when she filed for a divorce because her name had not been on the deed with his father’s. That’s the way the law was ‘writ’ in 1918. Mother had been pregnant with James’ youngest brother when his parents had bought the boardin’ house. Pregnant women weren’t allowed out of the yard or to be seen in public in those days let alone show up in order to put their name on a formal deed of trust.

Mother moved her family consistin’ of two older daughters; Pauline and Millie, James Orville and her infant son, Tabor to another town. She took in laundry and pressin’ and was appreciative of every nickel James Orville could earn. Mother had graduated the third grade before marryin’ her German Catholic husband. His family had nothin’ to do with James’ mother, her bein’ Baptist and all. James could see the handwriting on the wall when his Grandmother Oeswein only walked into his mother’s house but once and then only to accuse her of raisin’ her gran’chil’en as heathen (non-Catholics). Never you mind that Grandmother Oeswein’s son was an adulterer and thief, her four remainin’ grandchildren were on the sanctimonious road to hell because they had never been christened by a Priest, but to James his mother was a virtual saint.

James took on odd jobs. He drove a team of horses and a spring wagon to the sawmill every Saturday with ol’ Jebediah Smith. The sawmill gave away scrapwood for the takin’. James and Jeb filled the wagon puttin’ up sideboards to fill it higher. James drove the team and spring wagon through back alleyways. James filled coal bins with wood scraps while the older man visited the ladies who lived within. He’d unload four ‘ta’ five loads on a Saturday earnin’ him as much as fifty cents.

James also earned coins by hitching horses in light harness every weekday mornin’ at six a.m. for the grocery store’s daily deliveries. In order to slip the bridle over the horses’ ears he had to stand on a wooden box. School started at eight in the mornin’. James had just enough time to hitch the team before headin’ off to class at the local one-room school headed by the ugliest spinster school marm anyone could ever have, Miss Lackey.

Shut yo’r mouth an’ shoot your wad boy! the gang surroundin’ Blondie and Bad-Boy Brown yelled! Blondie slid a brown burlap sack tied up with jute string from his wool knickers and dumped ten smooth roun’ glass marbles an’ a piece of chalk from his bag. The anxious crowd of mauraden’ boys grabbed the piece of chalk and hastily drew a pensive but lopsided circle about the two contenders on the one of only two asphalt streets in the small town outside Louisville, Kentucky.

Blondie cocked his thumb as he squatted and squinted and aimed his biggest chocolate brown colored marble at his opponent’s smaller glass eyes which lay sprawled right alon’ side of their player within the circle. The game grew hotter as the asphalt absorbed the sun’s rays. Blondie threw his wool cap into a heap along with the other boys as the sun glared down on his wild head full of blond hair while the sweat trickled down his brow into his eyes.

Beat ‘im! The crowd jeered their leader on, He ain’t nothin’ but a loser from o’er in ‘E’ Town, Kentuck!

Their jeers straightened James’ aim. He ripped a hole in his secon’ hand pair of wool knickers when he let fly with the winnin’ shot which beat Bad-Boy Brown and sent him home whining to his mammy about a new boy in town called Blondie.

James knew his mother would be disappointed with the tear in his knickers. His little brother Tabor had to fill these here pants much as he had in turn with his now dead brother. Day would come when his momma could cut down trousers for him left behind by his daddy but those days were still in their comin’. Hopefully the coins he won would compensate for the hole.

James’ reputation landed him other jobs such as haulin’ coal and fixin’ fires an’ mowin’ the lawns of the bigger houses which had sewers along the asphalt streets. Mowin’ earned him ten cents. Workin’ for the man who owned the movie theater got him into the movie matinees free on Saturday afternoons. At one time he also worked for ol’ Doc Cessny cleanin’ out the basement of the doctor’s stately Spanish-style mansion. If James fired Doc Cessny’s furnace everyday he earned an additional fifty cents per week.

His mother was always grateful when her son dumped a handful of coins into her apron lap. It was enough to buy food which they sorely needed. If he had any coins left over he gave them to his sisters Pauline and Millie so they could buy lipstick or go to the matinee at the movie house. Pauline and Millie helped their mother do the washin’ and ironin’ she took in. This money paid the rent on their second floor flat with an outhouse in the back near the alleyway.

Bad-Boy Brown was to become Blondie’s bestest friend. The two of them kicked the dirt together tying ropes to outhouses late at night and draggin’ them through the streets behind an old pickup, that was until Mr. Jack Sweeney caught up with them late one night under a bright as day full moon. They’d tied up the roos’velt and dragged it a good ways down the alley when old Mr. Sweeney burst open the door of the outhouse and yelled at them that they had to the count of ten to git their behinds the hell out of there or he’d burn their behinds with pure ground rock salt!

James felt the scourge of hot burning rock salt hit his flank and upper back as he took off running for trees over a quarter mile away, the closest cover from the old Sweeney place on the outskirts of town. The boys got even though on Halloween night when Bad-Boy defecated in the middle of a flat-open page of the Louisville Sentinel and set it on Mr. Sweeney’s front door step tied in a neat bundle with wrappin’ string. Bad-Boy struck a match to the neatly wrapped pile and took off long before ol’ Mr. Sweeney swung open his front door with his shotgun in hand an’ started stompin’ the fire out.

James was in the seventh grade when he took up workin’ at Douglas Park Race Track. The year was nineteen and twenty-four. Race horses were boarded here for racing at Douglas Park and at nearby Churchill Downs.

Douglas Park was maybe four to five miles from Churchill Downs but some boarded their horses there because it was cheaper than Churchill. Exercising the horses began before sunrise on the mile and a quarter track. James hosed the big thoroughbreds down before walkin’ them for a half hour to dry ‘em off. He was paid twenty-five cents to walk a horse for a half hour. If they were older horses, say ten year olds, he could walk two horses at a time thus earnin’ fifty cents a half hour and a whole dollar an hour for four horses, two at a time.

James had begun to think that nary a man could earn more and quit school after he finished seventh grade. James was convinced he now knew more than his teacher, Miss Lackey and felt ready to face the world like a man of learnin’. Bad-Boy quit too after he was expelled for frightening their beloved teacher, Miss Lackey whom they loved to taunt, half to death. Bad-Boy was only twelve but he was already the size of a full-grown man when in the sixth grade. A devilish streak ran through Bad-Boy and enticed even the straightest of altar boys to misbehave in or out of church. Right after Bad-Boy had lit their dear Miss Lackey’s desk on fire with another stink bomb, interruptin’ both his and James’ learnin’ careers, he goaded another boy into stealin’ the wine from under the altar at church for their own provocation.

Now James’ had been taught it was wrong to steal and stealin’ from the altar of a church he knew would surely end him up at the gates of hell even if he didn’t do the stealing, but he knew about it and that made him guilty enough to make him feel the need to confess. T’was bad enough that he and Bad-Boy had stood as lookouts for Everett while he heisted the bottle used for Communion from the minister’s lectern. James should have known the only way Bad-Boy would have attended any church was if some mischief were assigned to it. But then James had helped Everette and Bad-Boy drink the wine which made them drunk and caused them to end up peerin’ in the window of Rector John’s Hardware Store the night the ol’ man ran a pitch fork through the heart of a would-be thief who never made off with anything from the Rector’s store. Police found the would-be-thief’s body skewered to the wooden wall next to the back door. James and the boys had no choice but to confess to the whole thing; stealin’ the minister’s wine and hangin’ out out back of the hardware store drinkin’ when Mr. John’s impaled the man’s retreatin’ body against the wall. The dead man let out the most pitiful sound when the pitchfork was stuck through him much like that of a pig bein’ butchered.

It was rumored Rector John’s was the town’s only millionaire. He was now sentenced to life in prison and would die there while his two boys who were regarded as ‘bad apples’ shot up the town on their way home from the local pub. Rector John’s eldest son Bart bought himself a Model-T shortly after his father went off to prison. Bart raced the train one night to the crossing and lost severing the back of the vehicle. Mrs. John gave the sliced off half of the Model-T to James’ friend Harve, short for Harvey Whitfield, right after Bart’s funeral. Mrs. John told Harve she never wanted to see another automobile as long as she lived.

Together James and Harve rebuilt the Ford roadster puttin’ it back together at the local blacksmith’s livery workin’ nights by the light of a lantern. When they finished the Ford and got her runnin’ they became the town’s ‘hotshots.’ There were only six automobiles in town at that time. Generally automobiles were only owned by rich folks back then, attorneys and doctors and the such.

James and Harve would cruise the town. Mischief took on a whole new meaning; girls, wonderful girls screamed and hooted and giggled when they saw the boys comin’ and begged for a ride in their gas driven machine!

James became even more convinced that for him schoolin’ had become a waste of time as his number of odd jobs increased along with his wages. He delivered clothes from the drycleaners on a bicycle, on sunny days gettin’ twenty-five cents per garment. Mother had convinced James to give up his alliance with Bad-Boy. James’ brother, Tabor could now work which helped Mother immensely. Time would soon come when James’ sisters would wed and move out on their own. When they did Millie took their little brother with her to St. Louis so Mother could give herself a long earned rest from carin’ for all of ‘em for so long.

Nineteen and twenty-eight was the beginin’ of the Great Depression, money was scarce and jobs that paid even more scarce. Fella’s talked about a bowling alley in the city of Louisville where a guy could get a job settin’ pins for a nickel a line. James and his buddy Harve started settin’ pins at nine a.m. Rich folks threw down a dime from time to time to him. The boys got paid every day which made a guy feel rich because he could always reach in his pants’ pocket and hear the clang of coins. Mother always came first. The coins always went to her pockets first, James’ last. It had always been his job to take care of Mother. He couldn’t remember how old he was when he first started workin’ he jus’ remembered that he liked the feel of having money in his trousers and more importantly of bein’ able to help take care of his mother.

It was a typical bowling League night, James and Harve were goin’ to make themselves a pocketful of money. The sounds of pins crashing and scattering meant cash to the two young fella’s! They were ecstatic with their take and about to rush off for their Model T when Harve jerked to a halt in front of a brightly colored poster which beckoned: JOIN THE NAVY!

Say, Blondie! Whatta ya say we join the Navy!

Heck, I’m not old enough, I’m only fifteen, Harve… James reminded his friend.

You go out there and you see that ol’ doctor you know in Highland Park, the one that delivered ya. I’ll bet he’d sign ya a birth certificate sayin’ you’re seventeen jus’ ta git ya out of town. Harve snickered. Deal?

Deal! James agreed it was worth a try. The two boys showed up bright and early the next morning at the Navy recruiting office. They went through the process, tests written and oral as well as a physical. James passed but his buddy Harve did not.

Well, son, the Navy officer said to James, all you need now is for one of your parents to sign for ya an’ a birth certificate an’ we’ll ship ya out tonight to the Great Lakes, Illinois’ Naval Base!

It sounded too excitin’ to be true to the fifteen year old! He was in the Navy! Well almost in the Navy, all he had to do now was get his Mother to sign on the dotted line and pray ol’ Doc Cessny would see his way to making him a couple years older. Harve drove James to Doc Cessny’s.

Sure wish I was goin’ with ya… Harve relinquished that James had all the luck and he wasn’t seventeen yet.

Doc Cessny had been a World War I. veteran, an Army Doctor proud to have served his country. He was tickled at James’ request, Well, sure son I’ll write you the paper statin’ you’re a top notch man of seventeen years of age willin’ an’ able ta serve his country. The old doctor thought out loud in his finest southern drawl, Now what year’d ya hafta been born in order ta be seventeen, son?

Nineteen-eleven, sir. James calculated.

That be right, son, 1911. The doctor pecked out the date on his black Smith Corona, then signed the false birth certificate and charged James fifty cents. James jumped for joy, thanked his kind, old name sake then ran out the back door before the ink was dry on the falsified document!

We did it Harve! Now all we gotta do is get Mother to sign this an’ I’m on the train ta Chicaga tonight! Both boys beamed and promised to never tell another soul what they’d done that night.

Mother couldn’t bear the thought of losin’ her favorite son. James assured her he’d get three squares per day along with twenty-one dollars per month. Needin’ no room or board he’d be a rich man in no time and he’d, of course, continue to send money home to help his mother monthly. Mother relented along with everyone else that was involved in her son’s plans.

James jumped on a street car bound for Louisville with no possessions ‘ceptin’ the clothes on his back. It was zero degrees with snow flurries when James left Louisville. It would be minus eleven below with one foot of snow when he arrived at Great Lakes Naval Base located north of Chicago.

CHAPTER 2

P

rohibition

1929-1930

I tell you mother, James wrote home, the Navy’s about the best place on earth for a man. We get steamed beans three times a week, fixed with bits of ham bone and they gives us Boston baked beans for breakfast, fixed with bacon and hambits. It sure is good, Mother, to get three squares a day! And on Saturdays they serve us bean soup! It’s my favorite.

Now James knew his mother could remember when all they had to eat was a bag of rice and he knew his mother would remember when it was Millie’s birthday and Millie got the honors of pickin’ the mouse turds out of the rice before it was cooked for her birthday dinner.

I got me a warm jacket too! They calls it a peacoat, Mother, he continued in his letter home. It gets mighty cold here. Colder than Kentuck! Sometimes the water freezes up solid before it ever reaches the shore from the Great Lakes. My first paycheck I made $21.00, he scrawled. I don’t mean to forget you Mother but it sure is fine here in the Navy. (He enclosed a ten dollar bill for his momma.) Buy yourself a new dress, he instructed. He knew his mother had not had money to buy anything for herself for as long as he could remember. James Orville Oeswein was now fifteen and as proud as a peacock, proud he was now a man.

James adjusted to sleepin’ in a hammock on dry land at Camp Berry, the sailor’s boot camp. He was to learn his pay came every thirty days just like clockwork in the Navy. With the remainder of his pay in his pocket he was ready to set off for his first Liberty in the big windy city of ‘Chicago.’ Folks talked about the big city back home. He heard tell his daddy even rode the train to Chicago once when he was workin’ for the railroad.

Before the sailors left on their ‘big’ liberty they were all ordered to congregate in the drill hall, the only building big enough to hold all the trainees at one time. Along Lake Michigan in the grueling winters it was necessary to have an indoor facility in order to train year round. A man could freeze to death outdoors in just five minutes when the wind came whipping down on shore from off the frigid waters.

All right you boys! Listen up! the company commander bellowed.

You guys you’re goin’ to the big city! For many of you it’ll be your first visit! You wise-guys, I won’t expect to see you back here come Monday morning! But you guys who know how to behave, his voice continued to boom, I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning!

Now I know what you’re gonna be lookin’ for, women and drink, and I assure you you’ll find plenty of both! But remember don’t do anything to disgrace the uniform. You are all sailors in the United States Navy! Now, he directed, I’ll give you all a little bit of advice, you strangers who are new here, when you get to Chicago ask a policeman to direct you to where you want to go! Tell the officer what it is you want! Tell the officer your Chief sent you and he’ll take care of you.

James boarded the Skokie Valley Limited. For the first time he had cash in his pockets not just coins. The train was abuzz with excited sailors. James found himself amazingly quiet as he sat near the back of the train. He didn’t want to miss a thing. His eyes drank in every detail; the noise, the sights outside the ‘winda’ on the train, the enthusiasm on board as they got closer and closer to their destination!

How old are ya son? One of the officers glanced James’ way on the train car and thrust out his hand.

James started to blurt out fifteen but caught himself with a fake cough before he ever got beyond the ‘fif.’ Why seventeen, sir.

Well my name’s Taylor, Tyler Taylor. You know everything the chief says was true. Chicago’s big enough for a fella’ to get lost in. Take his advice and find yourself a policeman. They’ll take care of ya in Chicago.

James smiled in appreciation. He promised to look the man up when he returned to camp. The officer got off at the first stop to spend his time with his family. He waved to James. It would be another half hour until the train pulled into Loop not far from Union Station in downtown Chicago.

He did exactly what his chief had told him to do. He walked up to the first policeman he saw who had thoughtfully positioned himself less than two blocks from the station. James stared up at the tall man in blue with a shiny badge with the officer’s name, Capt. Sullivan gleaming brightly in the sun.

What can I do for ya sailor? the officer asked.

We—ll sir, James fought with his tongue, I’d like to find me… his voice dwindled, some… women.

The officer shook his baton, Right this way son. Now you go down here an’ you make a right an’ you go another block an’ you make another right, and so and so on, until you gets to an alleyway an’ you go down that alley ‘til you come to the end. Do you hear?

Yes, sir. He spotted the officer a salute.

They’ll be a bell. Ya hav’ to ring the bell three times before they’ll let you in. Got that sailor? Then someone’ll take care of ya.

Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! James was most appreciative of the officer’s time. His feet almost ran down the street as each step lengthened with each stride. He found the alleyway and the string affair tied to a ship’s bell. He rang the bell three times as he was instructed.

Welcome aboard sailor! a man who slowly slid open the door to the establishment called out. He led the young sailor down a long hallway darkened by smoke, soot, a lack of windows and faded light bulbs which gave off a red glow. At the end was a large room the size of a dance hall. A bar was on the right side of the room. All the people in the large room were dressed very nicely; the men in suits, the women in dresses with nylons.

James took off his white sailor hat, folded it and put it in his pocket when he approached the bar. He took off his peacoat and hung it over the back of the barstool in front of the bar. Most of the folks sat at large round tables drinkin’ and playin’ cards. He wasn’t sure what they was drinkin’ it bein’ Prohibition and all.

Prohibition was started by the Women’s Temperance League in Evanston, Illinois. Evanston was located some ten miles to the north of Union Station, the heart of downtown Chicago. Chicago was not known for its refinement during the twenties, but rather its bootleggin’, its muscle and brawn. At any rate James now found himself in a place where any God fearin’ mother would not allow her God fearin’ daughter to go, a speakeasy run by the notorious mobster, Al Scarface Capone.

What’ll ya have sailor? I’m Martin Maginnis. Pleased ta make your acquaintance. The bartender introduced himself and shook James’ hand.

A shot of Ol’ Granddad if ya please. Pleased ta make your acquaintance. I’m from Kentucky where they make the stuff. James giggled.

Been raised on nothin’ but the best? the bartender smiled. The man was as Irish as the Blarney Stone.

Why, yes sir! James beamed prouder than ever to be from Kentuck.

He gulped the shot of whiskey straight down then gave a muffled cough and asked for another round, this time with water as a chaser. He pulled out a ten and laid it on the bar.

Ya want another sailor?

No, I’ll have one with soda this time. James insisted.

The bartender smiled and complied. About this time a young gal came by and sat down next to the young sailor. She told James she was from Indiana.

Please ta meet ya. He said and stuck out his hand.

Ya wanna another? She asked lookin’ at his empty glass on the bar.

No, I’ve had my fill. The gal helped him put on his peacoat as he shoved the ten spot towards the bartender.

The bartender refused James’ ten. This one’s paid for by the man at the end of the bar.

James thanked the man profusely. As he started to walk out of the establishment he noticed some of the men dressed in dark suits had their jackets open displaying the butt-end of a pistol slung in a shoulder holster. That didn’t shake James up, no sir. It didn’t even dawn on him that he was in one of Al (Alphonse) Capone’s places until he got back to boot camp and all the sailors razzed the young sailor for being such a gimp for not recognizing a bootlegger, nor when he was being bootlegged.

Tension was running high in the windy city. James had arrived in Chicaga just six days after the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, one of the bloodiest blood baths in Chicago’s history which was engineered by Capone to insure his $100 million per year bootlegging business in Chicago. Capone eventually went to prison but when he did the federal government could only convict him on racketeering which landed him a cell on Alcatraz Island. So for the price of temperance promoted by the God fearing church-going women of Evanston, Illinois we entered into one of the most violent periods in American history. Gangsters like Capone protected their turf with thugs with names like Machine-Gun Jack McGurn and violence and sheer terror. Nineteen an’ twenty-nine, a time when drinking was illegal and bodies were found riddled with bullet holes or floating in the river wearing necklaces made out of piano wire or at the bottom of the lake interned in cement overcoats.

Outside of the ‘speakeasy’ Jim wandered about the ‘Loop’ as Chicagoans referred to the cramped quarters situated in the hub of the city. As he pounded the pavement he found men in front of buildings advertising ‘girlie’ shows. Walk right in! They beckoned to James and every sailor that walked by. He walked into his first peep-show only to find no seats for his poor tired feet. Down front, women were dancin’ in nothin’ but their briefs and bra tops. James watched as the men split into two groups then disappeared.

What’s the matter sailor don’t you like the looks of any of ‘em? Then it dawned on James he was supposed to chose one of the girls. James chose one from the next group of gals that paraded past and paired himself off with one of ‘em like the other fella’s had done. She led him through the dark colored velvet curtains that hung on either side of the empty room.

What’ll ya have sailor? she asked.

Now James knew it was neither the time nor place to ask for a double-decker ice cream sundae with chocolate fudge on top. Why, what’ll you have? he asked the gal.

Well do ya want it fast or slow, with my dress on or off? Now James blood was pumpin’ fast!

However you like it. He told her then he closed his eyes for a very long time.

CHAPTER 3

"A

in’t We Got Fun!"

1931

James spent a few more nickels on dirty-picture shows in the Chicago loop but he was back at base bright and early on Monday morning awaiting his orders. The guys were rallied into work parties to bide their time until given their final orders. James saw the officers had it made. They even had horses and a bridle path along the lake front. The cold blue water stretched for such an expansive distance that if the chief hadn’t told James it was only Lake Michigan he would have thought an entire ocean lie outside his barracks.

They rounded up about fifty fella’s who were standing waitin’ for job assignments. The base mate called out, Now how many of you boys are from Kentucky? Raise your hands if you’re from Kentucky! He instructed.

All of the boys were right proud of where they were from. Five hands shot up into the air. All right you, Blondie! He said as he pointed to James. You and the other guys from Kentuck step up here!

James and the other boys bounded up to the officer as eager as a fresh hound after a fresh meal of jack rabbit. All right you boys grab yourselves a pitchfork and head off to the livery barn! We got some stalls that need to be mucked. The crowd roared and jeered the boys with pitchforks from Kentucky!

The day arrived when there were enough men to assign groups to companies. All the boys crowded in line. It took at least twenty minutes for everyone to move up the line and get their turn at finding their name on the bulletin board. James’ company commander named Thompson stood quite aways back and watched on. He had four hash marks on his sleeve which meant he had been in the Navy sixteen years or more.

Thompson came forward and asked James, What ship did ya get son?

James told him the U.S.S. New Mexico.