There was a train headed for Buffalo, and Ted Whitney was bound to be aboard. He had given himself a choice between going to Buffalo or to bed. The latter would have meant waking to a another day like the one before: unfreezing the lock of his car door with his lighter after shoveling a path to pull the car out of the driveway. He’d done that; he’d had enough. In Buffalo he would train to become a Naval Officer. It was 1943 and it was the obvious alternative, join the Service, do something for the war effort. Besides, in the Navy He’d likely find himself in the Pacific - somewhere warm. He visited his family Doctor who classified him 1A but tried to talk him out of going. Being a friend of the family, he didn’t want him to go to war.
Four months after first leaving his job in Rochester, New York, he found himself headed out to sea aboard the carrier USS Bougainville. From there he would to catch up to the USS Medusa and take his place as Assistant Optical Repair Officer. The Medusa was a repair ship that had survived the attack at Pearl two years earlier. It downed two Japanese planes that historic day.
2nd Lt. Whitney boarded the Medusa on a clear morning in 1944. Protocol required that he present himself to the ship’s captain, a short stout man in a tank shirt named Kuter. “Welcome aboard Mr. Assistant Navigator!” The captain greeted Whitney. Apparently the ships navigator had died six months earlier, had not yet been replaced, and Whitney was to take on both jobs. In another six months, he was promoted to Navigator but continued as Optical Repair Officer.
One particular night, Whitney came back from the bridge to his stateroom and found his friend lying on his back, staring at the ceiling with a stopwatch in his hand. He was timing the rocking of the ship. It was close to capsizing. The fuel oil tanks housed at the bottom of the ship were causing an imbalance. The center row of the six tanks had been used up during their voyage. Now the empty tanks were merely pockets of air. Ordinarily this would not have been a problem but a short while earlier, a report had been received that a typhoon was developing in their path. There was no getting round it and no turning back. The Medusa would have to fare the storm, but she would not survive if not stabilized.
At 2:00 AM, the two men made the decision to wake the Captain. After explaining the situation, he agreed to the plan they had devised. Holes had to be cut through all the decks to the tanks below. For two days seawater was pumped into the empty tanks while the storm drew near and the sea grew restless.
From the other ships in the fleet, the silhouette of the great vessel blended into the ominous gray sky. The Medusa’s profile was long and proud. From stem to stern she measured five hundred and ninety five feet and her hull cut twenty feet into the water. It was forty-four feet from water level to the helmsman’s level of sight, known to sailors as the “height of eye”. But with each swell, the bow raised higher and dipped lower as the ocean crashed over the deck. In time the tanks were filled, and the Medusa entered the typhoon stabilized.
The dark sky became black as night fell. Heading into the wind, the ship took on each wave. Now the sea came up to eye level as the Medusa’s bow dove into the water. It was apparent now that this storm would last more than a few hours. The captain forbade Lt. Whitney to get sick as so many others already were. He would have to keep occupied if he was to keep that order. Whitney looked on from the bridge. The deck lights shone out in the consuming black void illuminating an emerald sea. One hundred feet from base to crest, the green mountains of water came one by one charging the ship like mad elephants. Each wall of water barely reached its peak before the fierce gale blew ten feet off the crest into a mist that draped over the sky like the wings of a great bird. The image would forever remain in Whitney’s memory.
The night became day and faded to night again four times before the storm had passed. The USS Medusa and the many others in her entourage emerged on the other side of this great storm, and the sun shone again. Even then the waves tossed for days. The Medusa and her crew had survived, but many had not. A number of ships from the seventh fleet were lost in that storm - many more were damaged.
Soon the war ended and the Medusa docked in Los Angeles for a brief time before moving on to San Diego. The ship docked in the harbor and the engines were shut down. Whitney stopped to listen. Something was different. Nothing was wrong this time, but it was quiet, and he realized it was it was the first time he had heard the engines silent. It marked a turning point. Not only was it the end of a voyage, but the end of an era.
In San Diego Ted Whitney ended his service to the Navy. He left the ship that day having navigated a course that covered the Pacific. Another course lay ahead just a short walk from the harbor. Eighteen holes later, he would complete that one too.
Author Unknown
Published U.S. Legacies May 2003
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