My father was a member of what Tom Brokaw so aptly called "The Greatest Generation". He proudly served in World War II in the United States Coast Guard. He saw action in the Pacific arena in the Philippines and in Okinawa. He passed away in 2003 at the age of 86. Here are two of the letters that he wrote to his mother while on board LST 20 in 1945.
April 20, 1945
Dear Mumsey,
March winds brought indications of new developments.....All signs pointed towards Japan. Every port we hit seemed to be packed with ships making ready.
It was quite a cargo which came aboard early in the month.....Later we opened the bow gate to receive a handful of men....All was set for invasion.
The lads turned out to be a fine group and very quiet.....Some were veterans of many campaigns....The others had been to Guam or Siapan....To kill Japanese fighting men was natural, but thoughts of the civilian suicides on Siapan were nauseating.....Ahead was nearly a half-million civilians.
Perhaps because idle minds are to be avoided, they were given a choice of painting or standing watches....An erstwhile doleful interior now wears a new paint job...Meanwhile, the Navy had given the hull a new coat...Our passengers mixed freely with the crew off as well as on duty and evidently appreciated the privileges extended them.
For 3000 miles we rolled, pitched, shuddered, shivered, shrieked, rattled, squirmed and slid through rough waters....Benches were likely to topple at any time....anything not securely fastened either rattled or flew about. A steel cabinet in my office which had never so much as moved before, broke loose from its fastenings and started for the deck....Two of the boys caught it in time.
Bunks trembled and men tossed bout in them....Sleep ended abruptly offtimes as the large swells hit....Men in the galley held on to ropes but came through with good meals....Stomachs were, however, delicate.
Dark clouds afforded a welcome shield from Jap planes.
Time, in its inexorable passage, brought us to the gateway of Japan....Above the dismal peaks of Okinawa flashed an ironic moon.
Uncle Sam had again paraded his galaxy of fighting power across the sea...It was unleashed into the Mikado’s stronghold with a fury the Jap could not begin to halt.
For many days before troops landed, shore installations had been blasted and Navy Guns long afterwards continued to cover the advance...Dive bombers obliterated enemy obstacles...Ground, Naval and air forces coordinated in successful landings along a wide front.
It was the first time in months that we were out of jungle climate...Days were cool and nights cold. Heavier clothing was issued.
Ships sprawled far beyond the horizon. Brilliant displays of Ack Ack lighted the skies for miles around as the Bettys, Vals, et al droned over….At night the sea radiated lustrous hues from reflections of blue and yellow searchlights blending with bright molten white of tracers and bursting crimson shells...Men stood behind their guns, praying, cursing, joking, silent, as they poured lead into the skies and felt the heat of bombs and shrapnel.
Many of the sons of heaven spiraled downward in a crescendo of flame as they met their ancestors and the destiny of the Rising Sun...Some exacted a stiff price.
We were within eyesight of the battle raging ashore for days...Dive bombers and tanks were being used effectively against the tenacious Jap. The foot soldier, however, still bears the brunt of battle.
Sometimes it was close...Our cargo was seriously threatened on a number of incidents...Finally there came the day of unloading.
Love,
Roy
Sunday, April 22, 1945
In Port
Dear Mumsey,
It’s Sunday – Skies are clear, winds are cool and brush off what might otherwise be a balmy sunshine.
Waters underneath are an unusually deep shade of Blue...Sunlight penetrates Neptune’s wastes and reaches the plant life and coral beneath.
Night before last was the first I had slept in my hammock in weeks...The rough waters along the way to Okinawa had made the fantail a noisy place...Each time the ship pitched it caused a slack in the ropes holding the hammock, allowing a strong wind to blow wrinkles in the canvas...as the roll reached an even keel, the ropes snapped taut and this became quite annoying.
The nights had become cold by this time, so I retired to the bunk again. I watched the celestial panorama for awhile before falling asleep....Only a few stars were out and glittered against a background of clear sky brightened by a bland moon....In the distance, clouds moved about in clusters and I wondered if they would bring rain when they closed in.
There were quite a few souvenirs to be had at Okinawa....I looked at the kimonas, pottery and other articles which were being bartered and became sick...I welcome the opportunity to come to grips with the Japanese military forces, but to buy, steal, or otherwise be a party to Plunder is something which I cannot countenance.
Love to all,
Roy
After the war he and my motherspent some time in New York city so he could attend Columbia University and pursue his dream of becoming a writer. I never heard my father discuss this dream. He became a CPA and enentually went to work for the US government He retired from civil service as an accountant. I knew he had attended Columbia University for a time but I always thought that it was to study accounting.
Here is a paper I found that explains how he decided to go to Columbia University to pursue his dream of becoming a writer:
ROY J. TOURNE
2126 COLUMBUS ST., NEW ORLEANS, LA.
LOCAL ADDRESS: 508 W. 114th, NY. 25, N.Y.
PHONE NO. CAthedral 8-7621
During those months in the Pacific aboard the LST 20, many evenings were spent atop the bow, in the company of our combat correspondent. While watching the nocturnal panorama we sometimes permitted ourselves to speculate upon a nebular future and his high praise of Columbia University is one of the principal reasons for my being here.
Plans for the future, at that time, were hardly to be considered in the realm of certainty. Christmas Eve night found the Japanese air force visiting us six times in what what was substantially more than nuisance raids.
On Christmas Day at Morotai N.E.I., troops came aboard and we found ourselves in the midst of a huge invasion force destined for Luzon, Philippine Islands. As Uncle Sam’s armada sailed into Lingayen Gulf the participants could derive some degree of comfort in knowing that we were landing at exactly the spot at which the Nipponese had begun their conquest.
Some weeks later that immortal barge, the LST 20, found herself departing Guadalcanal gaily loaded with a cargo of aviation gasoline and Marines. After a 3000 mile trip through rough waters, the jagged peaks of Okinawa came into view and the final battle of the war had begun. The Marines were landed immediately but for one reason or other, 30 days had elapsed before the authorities decided the gasoline was needed. And so, after a month of Jap suicide planes and shrapnel, the well-scarred and battered Hooligan hull discharged its volatile cargo and made an exit from the scene of battle.
After the incongruous longevity of World War 2 and the subsequent return home, with attendant rehabilitation, the inevitable problem of an occupation posed itself.
There existed the obvious courses of earning a livelihood, i.e., returning to a former employment as an accountant at Higgins Ind., Inc., or to begin a new business.
However, as I have long had a desire to write and am so fortunate as to have that ambition and belief shared by the paragon among women to whom I am married, New York was selected as the logical locale. It was decided that such an eventuality, if it be possible, would be likely to occur only through a concerted effort in that direction.
Through education, contact, advice, and criticisms, I hope to find a way to make a beginning in that field.
