Todd Gentry was the “baby” of the family and a mamma’s boy. He enjoyed the pampering; milking it to the max as the older siblings left the nest. The “spoiled rotten” syndrome led to indifference to studies, running with the wrong crowd and tribulations with a no-nonsense father. As he reached his mid-teens he was given an ultimatum, “Shape-up son or your butt is going to sea!” Todd’s father had served a couple of hitches with the Pacific Fleet as a Quartermaster through the better part of the nineteen-twenties. An intended career man, he reluctantly left the Service at the persistence of his young bride and pressure from her affluent, old Memphis money family…a decision he regretted throughout life.
Having ignored the “shape-up or ship-out” advice, young Todd over the tearful objections of his mother was escorted to the post office on his seventeenth birthday. His father’s birthday present: an all expense paid “kitty-cruise” with the United States Navy! Two years having past since that “changing day,” his nineteenth birthday coincided with his promotion to Petty Officer Third Class. The Squadron CO had promoted a number of eligible personnel at Friday morning quarters. Admiring the new “eagle and rocker” on his jumper sleeve, Todd gently ran his fingers over the embroidered stitching to reassure himself of its reality. Contemplating the moment, he felt a certain maturity; his life now seemed to have direction. A new reverence for his father was also emerging. He realized the “Crow” was much more than an emblem; it was tangible and positive proof of his previously questionable resolve and potential. A profound feeling of pride welled within...
Standing before a lavatory mirror in his Dress-blues, Todd carefully tied the rolled neckerchief at the “vee.” Then moving closer inspected his face for zits. Thinking he was alone, he stepped back and did a series of narcissistic poses flaunting his new rating badge. His self-absorption with the mirror was suddenly interrupted when a crusty old First Class hard-ass, threw open an adjacent toilet-stall door. The hulking figure naked except for a full-body collection of grotesque tattoos emerged scratching his backside. A noxious haze followed, permeating the area.
Todd wincing at the sulfurous odor wheezed several times then with a comedic flare began fanning his face with his hand. The ancient mariner finding the theatrics unamusing scowled, “Well, whoop-de-frickin’ doo, another sniveling tadpole got a promotion. I just left a couple of your type floating in the can…now get your scrawny pollywog-ass out of my head! A real WWII sailor needs some leeway here!”
Blushing at being caught posturing, Todd was embarrassed…then started to burn, “King Kong” was a habitual ball-busting predator. Unsuccessful in being promoted to Chief Petty Officer he took his frustrations out on underlings. Todd pondered a retort…mustering up enough courage to express his thoughts, “First, I want you to know I don’t believe any of the scuttlebutt that’s going around the squadron. As my senior and certainly a war hero, I respect you too much to listen to trash talk. However, I thought you should know…word is drifting around that you might be one of those closet types…you know, partial to Tom, DICK and Harry. Sashaying around naked flaunting your equipment certainly makes you suspect and your shipmates wonder?
Kong, an envisioned Alpha male turned ashen at the thought his macho image and sexual preference was in question. His jaw slackened; his privates receded…perplexed by this upstart, he snorted incoherently, stepped back into the stall and slammed the door! Grinning to himself, Todd shot a finger at the closed stall and darted from the head!
Emasculating King Kong, being promoted to Petty Officer and receiving fifty-dollars from home, Todd was having one damn fine birthday! Hell, fifty bucks was about a half month’s pay! And although he was facing weekend duty he was chomping at the bit to blow the money on such an auspicious occasion! Strutting through the barracks flashing the fifty, he rounded up his drinking buddies and headed to the EM Club. And as expected, the fledglings spent the evening “wetting down” their new “Crows” with an incessant flow of golden lager…
At duty-section muster Saturday morning, Todd pale and lethargic rued the indulgences of the previous night. “Soaring with eagles,” has its price! Barely coping with the debilitating hangover, his self-inflicted malady was further compounded…the Petty Officer of the Watch assigned him the main hanger mid-watch. He retched, he could taste the acrid bile, but managed to contain his nausea…the dreaded hangar mid-watch and his latent fear of the dark had his gut churning...
The duty driver slowed as they approached a row of PBY Catalina’s tied-down along the tarmac. Todd lamented; the gallant old war-birds had done their duty and were scheduled for mothballs or scrap. There was a certain grace to their structural lines, particularly when airborne. The squadron too would soon be decommissioned as part of the Navy’s dramatic Post-war draw down. He regretted the news as he had developed a deep pride for the unit, often wishing he had been older and could have served during the squadron’s glory days.
Reporting to the squadron following Airman School it was his first opportunity to fly. The exhilaration of that first flight was indescribable! That moment of lifting off the runway will forever be etched in his psyche. Appropriately, it was in the same Catalina in which he is now a crewmember. He has grown intimately attached to the old “Cat” or “p-boat” as some vets called her. Having qualified as the starboard blister gunner he was arrogantly full of himself. The plane was in the hangar for intermediate maintenance…he would keep her company tonight.
The carryall headlights caught Lenny Swartz leaning against the hangar access door sucking on a cigarette. Lenny from South Chicago worked with Todd in the Electric Shop. They had made Aviation Electrician Third Class together the day before. Lenny smiling quickly passed the watch-belt, nightstick and flashlight. Then talking in short rapid sentences, “Damn am I glad you’re here! This place is creepy at night, all kind of weird sounds! Besides my ass is dragging! No more friggin’ wetting-down parties for yours truly. Chunked my cookies in the dumpster. I made a pot of coffee in the shop. I knew “One more round Gentry” would need a pick-me-up…how are you feeling? Todd donning the belt and unable to get a word in, acknowledged with rapid nods of his head...
Climbing into the carryall still yakking, Lenny hollered, “Make sure and clean up the coffee mess, don’t want the Chief on our ass! By the way, thanks for treating us guys last night it was a blast!” Todd saluted with a wave of the nightstick and reluctantly entered the darkened hangar.
Making an initial inspection round Todd returned to the shop and poured a cup of coffee. He was learning to drink it “Regular Navy.” He was raised with it cut with cream and sugar, however drinking it black was growing on him…it was part of the journey. He cleaned up the mess area and walked back out into the hangar bay. He wondered why the overhead lights could not be left on overnight. Standing orders allowed only exit, fire and a few specific night-lights on after-hours. It didn’t make sense, but then he wasn’t the Skipper. He started another round…
Menacing forms seem to appear among silhouetted aircraft and shadowy recesses. These psychological images combined with the resonating cracking and grating sounds within the huge metal structure put Todd over the edge. His irrepressible fear of the dark surfaced…panic overcame reasoning. He ran to his plane leaping through the open hatch in front of the wheel well. Locking it, he checked the other hatches as he made his way aft to his station in the starboard blister. Dropping his watch gear he strapped himself in and pulled the bolt back on the empty chamber of the fifty-caliber machine gun. Ramming the bolt home he sat in vigilant readiness for the demons of the night…
Foot Note: Approximately 4000 PBYs were built. [P-patrol B-boat Y-for Consolidated Aircraft the builder of the aircraft] The seaplane entered naval service around 1933 and the last plane was retired in 1956. Many modifications were made during that period, particularly during the war years. Some are still in private use in isolated parts of the world…
By the way, my first trip into the wild blue was in 1949. I was a nineteen-year-old PO3 and the aircraft a PBY Catalina! I rode in the starboard blister. At 100 mph the graceful bird floated like a feather among the cotton like clouds. The pilot of my inaugural flight was a decorated Commander of the Pacific campaigns. He was affectionately dubbed “Nature Boy” as he often flew the plane barefoot! He said flying the Boat without flight boots enhanced the feel of the controls through direct contact with the rudder-petals, making him one with the aircraft! And so it goes…