EPILOGUE
...what's past is prologue...
by Joe Hafford

Unfortunately I kept no written record of any kind. Virtually all of what I have written is from memory - admittedly poor. (It has gotten to a point where I like to make the joke that my wife lets me hide my own Easter eggs.) Fortunatly the Coast Guard provided me with my wartime record, so the ships I served on and the times are authentic. The rest is from memory, but I did my level best to associate events with proper times and ships. There were numerous lesser episodes that I haven't included largely because of lack of space. In some cases I may have misidentified exactly when and where something happened, but the events are factual, just possibly the chronology may be a bit suspect.

When I was a senior in high school, I had no intention of going back to sea. I was a fair football player and may well have gotten a football scholarship somewhere. The war changed all my plans for going to college and it is safe to say that I indeed did give my country four years of my life. It was a good bargain considering how many gave their entire lives. To say I was lucky is a tremendous understatement. It certainly wasn't a total loss as I learned a great deal and much of what I learned stood me in good stead in later life.

The typical seaman, myself included, felt that there was a job to be done and gave little direct thought to the dangers involved, but reality was always present and always there in the back of ones mind. For years afterward, any sort of alarm bell would bring me to an instant alert. I used to joke that while I was sleeping, if an alarm clock erupted, by the second clap of the hammer on the bell, I was a foot above the bed, still horizontal.

I have always liked to take pictures. I had acquired a nice 35mm Kodak camera fairly early on and enjoyed using it. I had an interesting collection of pictures after the war but somehow they got lost. Some were lost because my former wife had such a negative attitude toward my wartime experience that I disposed of many pictures in order to placate her and keep 'peace in the family'. I am very much ashamed of myself for that action, it was typical of my personal cowardice and fear of confrontation. However, I thought I had kept the negatives, but a thorough search has failed to unearth them. I suspect that I had left them with my parents and when they left Montrose, all my stuff was assumed abandoned and disposed of. Again, this was an outgrowth of the hostile attitude my former wife had toward every member of my family. Another thing I am not proud of, i.e. the way I dealt with it.

I have chronicled with reasonable fidelity my relations with women; not every little episode, but most of them. That is particularly the case for contacts in this country as I did relatively little waterfront 'slumming', actually only in the French Quarter in New Orleans and little of that. Overseas, however, was another matter. About all that was available to a seaman was the waterfront milieu.

Tedium is endemic aboard a ship at sea. Sleeping eight hours and working eight monotonous hours still leaves eight hours a day to fill. Eating, washing, etc. still leaves about five hours a day. A few men adopted hobbies, such as the Bosun that endlessly tied knots with string to make belts, wallets, etc. Most of the men occupied themselves with bull sessions and card games, particularly poker. Without the refining presence of women, language quickly became vulgar in the extreme. It seemed that at times a special effort was made to include as much as possible scatological terminology and the 'f' word. If necessary, invent opportunities. (Today, I am afraid the presence of women would not have much of a 'refining' influence.)

Conversation at sea for the most part revolved around women. Each man citing exploits, many of them unbelievable. Before the war I found about four out of five men were promiscuous, married or not. As the war progressed, more of the married men remained faithful to their wives as the typical seamen's ranks became diluted with wartime recruits who had no intention of making a career of the sea. By war's end, I would judge that, except for the higher ranking officers, 90 percent of the crews entered after the onset of the war. Even so, I would say at least half of a crew would seek female companionship whenever possible. The sailor's reputation of a girl in every port was not entirely unjustified.

One might wonder as to the prevalence of homosexuality aboard ship. In my life I worked aboard 15 to 20 different ships and I never encountered a single openly gay man. Most of the seamen I knew were openly hostile to homosexuality and a gay man would be in serious danger if he were discovered. I was and am largely indifferent toward homosexuality. There was an openly gay pianist, one Danny Wolf, that regularly entertained at the Music Box and I got to know him personally. He lived in an apartment in Upper Manhatten and a couple of times invited me to little parties he gave. One time I took Lydia Diaz with me. Perhaps she had never encountered homosexuality before and her remark after we left was "He's more of a woman than I am!" It completely broke me up. I must say Danny never made overtures to me.

I recognize that during the war I led a charmed life. The only action I observed at all was the sinking of a submarine right outside the Trinidad harbor. I never made a conscious choice to avoid action. Many ships I was on experienced action before or after I was a member of the crew. I always volunteered to help the Armed Guard on every ship I was on and I am sure I would have acquitted myself favorably had the occasion arose. I went from adolescence to manhood during those years and the experience certainly impacted my behavior and attitudes ever since.

The nearest I ever came to being seriously injured was after the war on one voyage to Brasil. A wiper was wrestling a 50 pound keg of grease up a ladder over my head when it slipped from his grasp. It bounced off of structural member and struck me on the back of my right shoulder while I was sitting relaxed on a bench by the log desk. A couple of inches to the left and it could have killed me. (A couple of inches to the right and it would have missed me altogether.) It layed me out for a couple of days.

Life is full of pivotal events. Many we never know of, because few are so dramatic as missing a plane connection that crashes and kills everybody on board. There are some I am aware of such as the very first ship I was on in Mobile that I left in a huff. Doubtless it completely altered my wartime experience. Also, how about my missing D-day because of a disagreement with the Chief? Most such events probably occur without ever knowing about them. Any professional career is bound to be affected in this way. After all, how often can we be privy to the discussions of supervisors regarding assignments, promotions, or even layoffs.

Many events throughout my life have had profound consequences both good and bad, but I cannot quarrel with fate at all as I am wonderfully happy today and living well. I can't think of a single thing I would change if it meant altering what I now have.

...living well is the best revenge...

AFTERWARD ...now to pick up where we left off...