I wrote this piece on Veterans’ Day 2007. It was a favorite of my brother Walter, who re-posted it to his social media accounts every year. Republishing today in his memory.
These are the stories of two veterans of World War II, and the link between them.
The first is my father, who entered the Navy's advanced officer's training course and, through a series of attritting events not unlike those depicted in Wouk's The Caine Mutiny, ended up commanding an LST in the pacific.
The LST was an oversized version of the familiar landing craft, or Higgins Boat, designed to transport vehicles and armor onto beaches along with troops. Officially, the initials stood for "Landing Ship, Tank," though just about anyone who served on one referred to them as "Large, Slow Targets."
It was a heady command for a young ensign, and one he did not particularly enjoy. As he once said, "I've been shot at and bombed at and I'd rather not be either again."
But he served honorably, and remained in the Navy and Naval Reserve after the war, eventually attaining the rank of Lt. Commander before leaving the reserves.
He suffered, as near as any of us can figure, from PTSD, which he self-treated with alcohol in such prodigious quantities that his body gave out very early. He passed away in 1969 at the age of 45, having given all of his adult life to the service of his country, both in uniform and in the ranks of the pocket-protector-clad denizens that made up the Cold War-era Military Industrial Complex.
Like so many men and the machines they rode through the war(s), he came back too dinged up to be restored to his earlier operating condition. Rest in peace, Dad.
In the summer of 2002, I was privileged to meet another group of Navy vets, and a very special veteran they'd restored from a similar, broken-down state to ship-shape, duty-ready status.
The USS LST-325 served in the North African and Sicilian/Italian campaigns then in the Normandy invasion on D-Day and for many months afterward, making more than 44 trips across the English Channel throughout 1944 and 1945, transporting troops and equipment.
After the war, she was decommissioned, refitted, then recommissioned for service in the North Atlantic. In 1964, she was transferred to the Greek Navy, where she served until being decommissioned again in 1999. (Read the 325's service history here.)
Then, something miraculous happened. A group of veterans banded together under the name of USS LST Memorial, Inc., purchased the ship, repaired her and, against the advice of two navies and the Coast Guard, sailed her back across the Atlantic to Mobile, Alabama, where she was given more loving care.
Then the crew took her on a sentimental tour of the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers to Evansville, Indiana, which is her home port today.
In August, 2002, she and her crew, under Captain Bob Jornlin, stopped in New Orleans. It was with deepest respect and awe that I toured her decks, quarters and control rooms. I was especially moved peeking into the captain's quarters, thinking of the stresses my father lived through, shut up in an identical little cabin on a different ocean a world away.
Visiting the 325 gave me an opportunity to better appreciate what my father and the men he served with went through, pushing their Large, Slow Target up to strange beaches under bombs and shells, doing what they had to do to help this country and the vision of freedom and democracy survive.
My deepest thanks to him and to the crew of the 325 for saving this living memorial to all those who served in that horrible conflict. May I be strong enough to fight the forces who threaten our republic today, so that their sacrifice will not have been in vain.