The year was 1943.
The United States had been at war with the Axis Powers for over a year, yet it felt as though Americans were only getting started. The first half of 1942 brought a series of disappointing setbacks across the Pacific as Japan gobbled up as much of Oceania as it could. The Battle of Midway put a stop to that, at least for the time being, but even though the Americans had eviscerated Japan’s carrier-based offensive air-power it still faced the foreboding challenge of invading a vast Empire some ten million square miles in size. Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, American forces had not yet challenged the Wehrmacht, though their time would come soon enough.
For Elmer and the rest of the men aboard the Chew, calm seas returned soon after the storms of December 7th had moved on. Throughout most of the year, the ship stuck to its rounds off the Oahu coast. On some nights, only the moon illuminated the warm gray ship as it skulked across the sea, while on others only the dark shadows of mountains in the distance could blot out the impossibly thick carpet of stars overhead. Elmer loved nights like this while he was on watch, nights occupied only by the sound of the sea, the wind, and the heavens. On nights like those, the war raging around the world might as well have been on a different planet.
Overall, 1942 had been an exercise in duty, diligence, and patience as the destroyer busily escorted other ships around the Hawaiian Archipelago and sometimes beyond. Apart from a few possible submarine encounters, however, the year was relatively uneventful.
Of course, “uneventful” was not a bad state of affairs in wartime. There were far worse places to be than on a well-armed ship whose larder regularly stocked ice cream. But Elmer had spent the last two years of his life aboard the Chew, and he began to yearn for a change of scenery. “Right now a pleasant Spring would seem grand to me,” Elmer wrote on March 21st. “I can’t help but thinking how good it would be to experience the warm days of Spring (and the green covering the trees) . . . at sea it is a vast ‘blue’ – sky and water.”
These were slow news months aboard the Chew. Elmer reported missing his mother’s chicken dumplings and noted that his friends were razzing him about his “soup strainer.” On March 2nd Elmer reported having paid $59.00 to settle his income tax bill. “No doubt that every dollar is needed,” he wrote approvingly.
One interesting development arrived from back home: Keep Klean, his former employer in St. Louis, folded in late 1942 . . . not for want of business, but because most of its employees enlisted. Any business that principally employed young men, from Major League Baseball teams to auto detailing companies, struggled to stay open during the war. The American economy began to experience a problem it had not known for well over a decade: labor shortages. Of course, one positive aspect of this was near-full employment for women and the opening of skilled labor and technical positions formerly reserved for men. Perhaps the closure of companies like Keep Klean had less to do with the unavailability of men to do the work and more to do with the fact that both men and women had more important jobs to fill in a total war economy. Besides, car seat covers for new automobiles became unnecessary once the car companies themselves started making jeeps instead.
As usual, Elmer interspersed the “usual dope” on movies he saw and letters he received with his thoughts about the War. He was more cogent and perceptive than most people twice his age. “Yes, the war has made many economic and industrial changes for rich and otherwise,” he wrote on March 8th. “[It] Created new businesses, ruined old ones, shifted manpower to and fro; giving people more wages with which to buy nothing; and effecting [sic] all for better or for worse. But I believe the people realize it is the only way for total war. And we will win this war!”
April 1943 represents Elmer’s least prolific letter-writing month of the War thus far. As many as five days passed without a letter, which was unusual for him. The Chew was busy that month, and busy months had the dual effect of providing less time for letter-writing and, given the long list of banned discussion topics, simultaneously robbed him of things he could say. “This is another one of my short letters dear,” he wrote apologetically on April 27th, “but you said they are always ‘short but sweet’ so that makes me feel better.”
However, Grandpa believed that chattier times lay ahead. On April 27th he dropped a hint regarding his future plans: “I may have a surprise to tell you about in the near future.” While Elmer teased his parents, the Chew was just a few hundred miles southwest of the Olympic Peninsula as it cruised towards the States. Within a couple of days, new mountains appeared in the distance. Unlike the craggy volcanic summits in Hawaii, these peaks crowded together in an ancient, misty huddle. Their secrets were well-kept. The air around the ship had grown cooler, the skies were like a gray-scale print.
The Chew steamed into the Strait of San Juan de Fuca, bound for the Bremerton Ship Yard west of Seattle. Once it docked, Grandpa could begin to enjoy his first extended time off in nearly two and a half years. He had not written his parents since April 27, but on May 8th he sent his parents a telegram whose seven words were more exciting than a hundred letters:
“ARRIVE HOME NEXT WEEK ON LEAVE. ELMER” He had forty-two days off.
Elmer was coming home.