The week we were to leave Hatteras Island (see blog BOOT CAMP), an explosion at sea indicated German submarine activity. Sure enough, three days later dead bodies began to hit the beach.
This was my first encounter with death outside of family funerals. The bodies, wearing life jackets, were frozen stiff and covered with sand - a gruesome sight.
From Hatteras I was transferred to radio school at Atlantic City, New Jersey. What a break! Now, I'll be able to get home. Not a chance. My only visit, albeit a memorable one, was a weekend visit to see Ruth and our baby daughter, who was born on March 12, 1943. Wow!
After six weeks of radio training, I graduated as a Radioman Third Class (RM3C), and was sent to the Coast Guard station in Brooklyn, New York, where a ship's crew was forming. Three weeks later we entrained to New Orleans, Louisiana, where the newly-built ship was waiting for us. After some dockside training, the ship headed for its shakedown cruise (testing in every area), in the Gulf of Mexico. It was a VERY STORMY THREE DAYS, which meant that I spent most of my time on deck, sleeping under gun mounts, because every time I tried to go below to eat, the smell of the food made me "about face."
The crew and the ship passed the tests and we headed north for Norfolk, Virginia, which was to be our home port.
More, later.
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