Dad was a music major at Tennessee Temple when the draft notice came. He made one last trip North to bid good-bye to his intended (Mom!), leaving her to watch him disappear down the lane into a snow storm as he hitch-hiked to his call of duty for his country. (She recalls it was snowing so hard that the flakes stuck to his eyelashes!) He flew to Seattle to catch the boat to his assigned station in Japan.
The storm began to brew in the Pacific, building to a terrible crescendo. All were ordered below deck. Being the adventurous (or foolish?) type, Dad sneaked back up to catch a glimpse, despite the danger warnings. The enormous waves as high as he could see, were like hideous walls of water dwarfing the boat, crashing furiously and thunderously over the deck, like arms sweeping to steal anything on board to the depths of the turbulent sea, threatening to tear the ship into pieces. All was dark, even if during daylight hours. Men were terribly sea-sick. The boat reeked with the stench of their sea-sickness mingled with the smell of oranges given by the commanders to aid their ailing stomachs. The boat lurched and rocked for days while the storm raged.
And then tragedy hit. Two men at the hull near the engines. Wrestling? Fighting? Playing? The reason mattered little as suddenly voices screamed in terror, "Man overboard! Man overboard!" Confusion ensued as the search and rescue began. But sadly to no avail. The boat turned around and scoured the water for hours, looking for any sign of life.
"The man was from Norristown, PA, " Dad would always conclude, "they kept his tags to send home, but slid the rest of his belongings out to sea."
