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| Paul Raney, Merchant Marine officer, date unknown. |
The War Years
By Patrick Raney
When the war began, Paul was working at a foundry in Spokane that produced ironware for local railroads. A gothic-like place with steaming vats of obnoxious smelling
chemicals, large ovens with glowing maws, and huge black stanchions from which
hung pulleys and chains, it resembled a
torture chamber from a “B” movie rather than a place of business. Nevertheless, Paul was happy there,
manufacturing needed equipment. Feeling
satisfied.
America's entry into the war changed everything. Now nearing age thirty, he applied to his old National Guard unit,
but being married with two children, he was rejected. Like all men of fighting
age, he was required to register for the draft.
On days off from foundry work, he took the bus to the Draft Board to
peruse the numbers’ lists of men being called to active duty. His number never appeared. The Marines said they’d take him
if his wife signed a release, but Grace didn’t want him in that service branch.
He discovered there was a plan to train
marine engineers in a rapid education program, but it required a high school
diploma. Having dropped out of school to work, Paul needed a GED, which he vowed
to get by hook or by crook. And he did, mostly by crook. With it in hand, he was accepted into the
U.S. Maritime Service Officer Candidate School in Alameda, California.
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| Memorial at former site of Alameda U.S. Maritime Service Officer School. Inscription reads: In memory of the Graduates of this Station who gave their lives in the service of their country --- 1941 - 1945 |
Paul didn’t have the best eyesight and he
worried about passing that part of his physical. While standing in line, clad only in skive
shorts, he discovered other men had similar fears. The fellow behind him had a hearing
problem. The candidates hatched plan to
circumvent the medicos by switching forms at those critical times. Paul and most
of the others passed their physicals with flying colors.
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| Lieutenant L.F. Butzer, USMS instructs Pre-License Engine School students on the parts of a reciprocating engine, c. 1942. Courtesy of Captain Malcolm Crossman |
In early 1943 Paul began three
months of intensive study; he’d never used his brain so hard in his life. There was the physics of combustion, the
physics of materials, the chemistry of fuels, and the mathematics of everything
under the sun. With no respite from
mental stress, they were simultaneously being taught military regulations and
shipboard life. Lifesaving instruction included participating in fire and abandon-ship drills. Many candidates washed out, but Paul saw it
through. He could tolerate anything but
the monumental embarrassment of failure.
During the final phase of their education,
a moored ship was used for a “live” exercise to train the men to various
positions. Paul was assigned as third
engineer. With steam up as though ready
to sail, an engine room failure occurred, and conditions became unsafe. Before a fix could be made, a steam safety
valve opened and sprayed a section of the engine room with super-heated steam,
scalding Paul and several other men.
He spent several weeks in the hospital before being transferred to a rehabilitation center. An
active man and not one for hobbies, recuperation was a trying time. During his recovery he was encouraged to
participate in various activities, and he tried oil painting, producing a
likeness on hardboard of Vincent van Gogh’s famous self-portrait, an apt representation of this dark time in his life. A visit from actresses June Allison and Elsa Lanchester on a USO tour of military
installations temporarily cheered him, recalled as the only bright spot during this time.
Despite his setback, Paul graduated, his younger sister Jean taking the bus down from Spokane to attend, and was
commissioned an ensign in the Merchant Marine Service, qualified to work as an
engineer on a marine vessel. His first assignment was as third engineer on
the SS Margaret Lykes. The job lasted five days and then the Lykes Bros. Steamship
Company dissolved into bankruptcy.
His next
assignment was on the SS Mission San Luis Obispo, also as third engineer. On his first voyage
across the Atlantic, his ship carried war materiel
to England without mishap. The second
voyage proved more perilous. Setting
sail from the East Coast, the ship convoyed with numerous other vessels,
escorted by several navy destroyers. Faster
than the merchant ships, these little war ships watched for German U-Boats
while circling the convoy. During the
day the ships sailed in dispersed formation through overcast skies, rain and
dark water, but at night the destroyers shepherded the convoy into close
formation that was easier to protect. Throughout
the dark hours lasting interminably in late autumn, the formation made a series
of twists and turns to avoid U-boats.
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| American Atlantic convoy during World War II |
Third in
line, the San Luis’ malfunction was slowing the convoy, forcing other ships to
maneuver outside nighttime operational perimeters. The convoy commander ordered
the San Luis to pull out from its position to make repairs and commanded the
other vessels to close formation. As
Paul’s ship veered away, another merchant vessel moved into its place.
Ordered
to find the source of the steering problem, Paul and his detail made a thorough
investigation. He determined a small leak in the steering gear pumping system had
released enough hydraulic fluid from the storage sump to affect maneuverability. Fully aware the San Luis was drifting farther
behind the steaming convoy, sweating and anxious men worked feverishly within
the confined steering gear space to fix the pump. Just as they completed the
repair, the San Luis lurched and they heard a deep rumble at starboard.
Horns blared
the order to battle stations. One of Paul’s detail ran out to grab up the men’s
helmets and life vests. They thought
they’d been hit by a German torpedo, but the mate queried crew at various
stations, and returned to assure them that wasn’t what had occurred. They later discovered
that the ship replacing the San Luis’ third position was torpedoed and sunk.
Thankfully, all hands were plucked from the sea.
Under
steam again, the San Luis lagged far behind the convoy. As dawn lightened the sea, knowing their ship was a sitting duck for a nearby
U-Boat, the vigilant crew saw phantoms in every breaking
wave - a torpedo rushing toward them here, a rising periscope there. No one slept the following night, and most
slept only fitfully until they reached Gibraltar where the San Luis rejoined
the convoy.
This
second trip wasn’t destined for England as the men assumed. The convoy steamed
into the Mediterranean to deliver munitions to General Mark Clark’s army, which
had landed near Salerno in Operation Husky, the invasion of Italy, in September
1943. Salerno’s harbor became the army’s supply point as allied forces
(American, British and Canadian) moved up the boot of Italy toward Naples and
Rome.
The convoy's
ships spread out in the large harbor to drop anchor. Off-loading
the vessels began as lighters flitted back and forth from ship to shore,
conveying eagerly awaited munitions, tanks, jeeps, food and other materiel that keeps an army moving.
The third
day after arrival, the San Luis still moored far out in the harbor, Paul and
several of his mates stood at the rail, observing the ongoing furious activity, cracking jokes and enjoying their time off before going on watch. Paul was in the middle of telling a good one
when claxons sounded and cries rang out, “Battle stations!” Before Paul could
react, a screaming Stuka dive bomber released a large bomb that hit the
water and exploded next to the San Luis. The blast threw Paul and his shipmates
overboard. He surfaced, but without a
life jacket and a poor swimmer, Paul struggled to stay afloat, his way to
safety blocked by flotsam from the bomb strike.
Floundering about beneath the battle’s din, he managed to grip the side
of an overturned lifeboat.
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| U.S. Navy sailors and Coast Guardsmen hug the shingle during a German air raid on the anchorage at Salerno. Debris from an exploding bomb can be seen in the background. The wire mesh laid across the beach was intended to improve traction for military vehicles. [We'll never know if this was the Luftwaffe attack that hurled Paul overboard.] |
A dark shadow
crossed his limited vision. Looking up over the overturned boat he saw a huge grey
British destroyer passing close by. It seemed to slow, but then glided
away. Unable to locate a handhold on the boat, Paul continued to tread
water. Another vessel came close and he
saw it lower a rescue boat, but then lost sight of it. Hearing muffled shouts
and struggling to swim in their direction, he splashed around the lifeboat’s
bow only to see the rescue boat being rowed away. He recognized four of his shipmates on the
boat - leaving him behind.
He shouted,
but the din from pounding ships’ guns covered his yells.
Frantically he swam toward the receding boat making for the British
destroyer. A San Luis crewman crouching
in the lifeboat turned his head and spied Paul splashing in the water. He called out to the boatswain and pointed
behind them.
Saltwater
blinding him, Paul was losing strength and giving up hope. He just wouldn’t
make it. Suddenly the boat was alongside and he was being dragged onboard. After coughing and vomiting up seawater, he
lay spent and exhausted on the bottom of the boat. One of the Brits threw a wool blanket over
him and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
After a
night’s sleep in a warm bunk, Paul and his shipmates were returned to the San
Luis. Their ship had suffered only superficial damage to the starboard
stern. A full crew completed its mission and returned to the United States.
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| Suez Canal |
On another voyage Paul was assigned to the Liberty ship
S.S. Nathan B. Forrest [launched Nov. 1943 – scrapped 1973]. The crew offloaded
some of its cargo in Europe, and then continued through the Mediterranean to
Egypt, where they were to transit the Suez Canal to deliver supplies to our British
allies in India.
Off duty on the misty night the Forrest
glided southbound through the canal, Paul mounted the bridge for a look around.
Fog closed in, making visibility difficult.
The master came from his cabin to relieve the watch and take charge of
the ship. Per canal rules he slowed it
and sounded the claxon.
Paul was intrigued. He was usually in the engine room and unable
to see what occurred topside, aware of changes on deck only when signaled by telegraph to take a particular action, which he'd relay to his crew. Now as he watched through the worsening gloom, a ship loomed off the starboard bow, approaching in an
incorrect position. Paul braced for the expected
collision, but before a warning could be sounded, the opposing ship, like a
ghost, slid past with perhaps only a coat of paint the distance between the two
vessels. For an instant Paul saw the
bright image of a woman leading his ship safely forward. Whether it was a supernatural event or the effects
of murky fog and ship lights, the incident left him shaken, but bemused. Another close call.
More of Paul's adventures to follow.
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