What an unbelievable experience! I drove down through the rear gate at the Freedom Park Naval Museum, on down to the bank of the Missouri River, and there she sat, the USS LSM 45. Like so many of us World War II veterans, she appeared somewhat old and weary from her many long journeys, which began some 55 years ago. She originally traveled across the Pacific and back during WW II, and across the Atlantic later to serve in the Mediterranean with the Greek Navy for about 35 years. Having become too old and worn to travel on her own, she was finally towed back to New Orleans by a Russian tug. She was later towed up the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers and arrived at Freedom Park in 1998. America was her birthplace. America will be her final resting-place. The USS LSM 45 is now back home.
With her mast and part of her con removed for passage under the lower bridges of the Missouri, and with patches of rust and dents in her hull from many encounters with docks, storms, and who knows what, she still looked powerful and tough, and much more like an aggressive fighting machine than I remembered. She stood there like a symbol of the staunch determination we all felt during WW II. A determination to defeat the enemy who had attacked our very own shores at Pearl Harbor.
My emotions ran rampart on first sight. By the time I stepped out of the car, I was all choked up. When I walked up the ramp and set foot on the deck of an LSM for the first time in 53 years, I lost it for a few moments, tears welled up in my eyes and I could hardly speak. I felt embarrassed at the time, but learned later that many other veterans, who served on these rugged little ships over a half-century ago, experienced the same problem. I felt a little better when I was told that another veteran cried openly when he came aboard a few days earlier. Of course, it is not the ship itself. It is the onrush of memories that become so overwhelming. I had stepped off an identical ship as a teenager in 1946, and now stepped aboard as an aging 73 year-old in 1999, but with memories which immediately flooded my mind as fresh as if they had only happened yesterday.
As I began to take my first tour through the ship, all of the visions of my shipmates began to come back as young and as carefree as they were back then. I stepped into the chart and communications room, where I served as a radarman, and immediately recalled our young radarman Jack Bennett with his neatly trimmed mustache, and the young radarman Joe Neary. I recreated visions of our radiomen, Bobby Mann and Aden Langford. I thought of my pal, Joe Bruzek, our quartermaster, and I could visualize him plotting our course on the charts with his various instruments. Climbing into the control room of the con, I began to remember the lonely nights while underway in the Pacific. I remembered the feelings of homesickness that would often come on suddenly when my mind raced back to thoughts about my family and loved ones on the other side of the world.
Climbing up and down the ladders into various compartments, I discovered that they were not quite as easy to manipulate as they were 53 years ago. The old bones are a little stiffer and I found that I had to back down the ladders while holding on to the side rails. In my younger days, I could trot down forward while holding my food tray in balance. As I entered the crew's quarters below, more vivid memories returned. Four bunks, consisting of sheets of canvas were attached to each side of two pipe stanchions, and suspended by chains. This allowed only about a two-foot clearance between each bunk. Each of the quarters had a table with a raised edge to prevent our food trays from sliding off in rough seas. We had a lot of good meals on those tables and played many games of cards when not on duty. As I climbed up the steps to the galley, I immediately remembered our two friendly cooks, Vincent Peer and Ed Fortner, both of whom are no longer with us. I recalled the time I told Ed that the next day was my birthday and that he should bake a cake for me. He did. (It wasn't really my birthday!)
I climbed down the ladders and walked through the passageways of the engine room. The giant engines were now silent, but served to remind me of the constant hum and vibrations that radiated through every deck and bulkhead, day and night, when underway. So many odors were still there; the diesel fuel, oils, and paints. It was yesteryear all over again.
During the four days that followed, I returned every day to help restore the ship. Chipping away the many layers of paint and sometimes heavy accumulations of rust, I was constantly reminded of the decades of time that have passed since both the ship and I were young. Yet, at times, I almost felt as if I had stepped through some magical time warp and had once again been transformed back into a teenager. I would occasionally leave my work-post to wander again through the various compartments while experiencing a gamut of emotions. At times, I walked around in disbelief that this was really happening and would be filled with joy and excitement. I would walk into another area that would bring back a flood of old memories and I would once again find myself all choked up. The experiences and excitement from that important time in our lives, along with the wonderful days of our youth, are now gone forever and can only be relived in our memories. How terrific it is to be able to step aboard an LSM once again, and recall so many memories from the days of our youth so vividly.
(T. D. Burns - USS LSM 299 - May, 1999)
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