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Page 27 text:
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THE SAGA OF THE BENSON By E. M. NICKERSON. BMIc Since all good biographies begin with vital statistics, so must this Saga of a sound and trusty ship, our home for the last fourteen months, conform with standard procedure. The Admiral W. S. Benson, (API 20) was conceived in the Bethlehem shipyard, Alameda Branch on 10 December, 1942, and designed for ultimate use as a luxury liner of 22,380 tons, with an overall length of 608.1 I feet. Built on temporary lines as a navy transport with a pas- senger capacity of 4800 enlisted and 263 officers and spaces for ship ' s company of 533, she was the first of a fleet of ten ships of her class with a cruising range (without refueling) of 34 days, and capable of a speed of 21.3 knots. She was the largest ship constructed on the West Coast since the Battleship California was launched on 20 November, 1943, and was turned over to the Navy on 23 August, 1944, on which date she became our home. Commissioning day will be a long remembered event in our lives. The almost unbelievable confusion, mislaid equipment and all the attendant misfortunes which all ships undergo while in the throes of labor-pains, were with us on that day and then some. Surely, we thought, we can never get this ship squared away, plus the fact that seventy-five percent of the crew had never been to sea before, which didn ' t help matters any. But commission her we did, and in grand style too; and when the Bos ' un piped for his mates and set the first sea watch, little did we know that in the next fourteen months, she would take us all over the world and cover almost 150,000 miles; most of it in overseas waters to be considered one of the most efficient transports in the service. After spending about five days at the Naval Supply Docks taking on provisions, we sailed for San Pedro to undergo our shakedown cruise. Now a shakedown cruise Is difficult to explain to a landlubber, for It is an experience so startling, soul-shaking, and disillusioning as to beggar description. For three weeks you are subjected to drills, more drills; rigging every conceivable piece of equipment, and then unrigging it, and learning to do right the hard way; refueling at sea, crash stops, zig-zag, firing practice, fire drills, collision drills, abandon ship, gas attack, drills, drills. Practice must make perfect. By the end of the first week, you greet your buddies with a malignant stare; you hate the navy and wonder how in the devil they ever won a battle, and you mutter dire imprecations against your officers. This finally came to an end for us — only to start all over again! For several more weeks we became a training ship and proceeded to train pre-commissioninq crews in the same manner, until finally the ship and crew, on the verge of collapse, retired to Todd Shipyard in San Pedro for 30 days rest and badly needed repairs. Would we ever go to sea, we wondered? We began to refer to our Big B as the U. S. S. Never-Sail. TRIP NO. I The great day finally came. 28 November, 1944. We set sail from San Pedro with a capa- city load of Doggies bound for Bombay, India. Before we were out of sight of the Breakwater, most of our passengers and crew were sea-sick. What a mess! The first big event at sea came on 6 December, on day north of the equator. For several days previous, conspirinq shellbacks had gathered in dark corners to plot unspeakable indig- nities upon the lowly pollywogs, which, unfortunately for them (the shellbacks) outnumbered them about eight to one. So this day, pandemonium reiqned supreme. The pollywoqs had done a little conspiring on their own, and loosed all available firehoses on the boat deck upon their salty brothers in the traditional water fight. The shellbacks had their revenge the next day with interest, however, for as we crossed the line . King Neptune and his diabolical Court came aboard and subjected the neiphytes to a rigorous initiation (a gross understate- ment), the likes of which, to quote the Captain, he had never seen in all his naval career. Several days later, we crossed another rubicon — the I 80th Meridian, and thus also became members of the Realm of the Golden Dragon. Now were salty indeed, albeit somewhat black and blue, but then it was worth it, and we knew we ' d have our turn next time — if our wounds healed by then. 19 ' ■ ' yyyyy l ' '
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Page 28 text:
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Melbourne, Australia, our first port of call. What a city! Beautiful parks and buildings, the quaint British trains with their first and second class carriages, the winding Yarro river snaking its way through the city under frescoed fairy-book bridges, the tall cathedral spires, congenial buxom bar-maids serving the finest beer in the world, and the national dish of styke and iges ; — oh yes, and men-hungry hoards of gorgeous girls swooping down upon whole liberty parties and picking them off the streets like June-bugs off a bush! December was mid-summer here, and the city was a riot of vivid color from millions of flowers and summer dresses. Balmy nights on moon-drenched beaches. Certainly there never was a sailor ' s heaven like this. At least, we ' ve never found another to compare with it. All too soon we sailed to plunge into storm-tossed waters for the second leg of our journey. Around the Bight into the placid Indian Ocean, where we had our first Christmas at sea. An ingenious Christmas tree built of scrap lumber with twists of wire for evergreen spikes; a tur- key dinner with all the fixings — but all this did not compensate for home and family. We were a lonely and thoughtful bunch that day as we opened our Red Cross boxes. Across the Equator again, where we were picked up by two British destroyers to escort us through the Arabian Sea, and finally on the bright morning of December 31, the mystic domes and spires of Bombay came into view. After being warped into Ballard Pier by panting coal- burning tugs, and discharging our load into the maw of an odorous warehouse, we set out to see and smell the wonders of the Far East. Our first impression of the stronghold of Allah, Brahma, Buddha, and forty-eight other and lesser Deities was a series of strange and almost overwhelming stenches, each one competing for the utter dismay of our olfactory senses. The city itself proved to be a chaos of architecture, as though the incredibly old and the very new had been dumped into a bowl, thoroughly mixed with an eqg-beater and spewed forth all over the landscape. Modern office buildings crowded ancient mosques, while creaky ox-carts vied with the latest in motor cars and double-decked busses. All these wonders we viewed ' midst ear-shattering cries from thousands of almost naked children with the national greeting of Haba Haba , followed by a declaration of the nation ' s foreign policy — Baksheesh, oh Bis- mallah Sahib, Baksheesh for the love of Allah! , then an amazing round of obscene curses when their plaintive cries failed to move us to the point of scattering coins largess among them. The Taj Mahal, Green, and Argentine hotels became Benson hangouts with bad liquor at three rupees a throw. For five exciting days we shopped and took in the sights. Haggling until ex- hausted with well fed merchants who called loudly upon Allah to witness our intention to ruin them with our niggardly offerings for their exquisite wares, and finally emerging from the shops loaded with goods which cost us only three times their worth. — Wandering mendicants everywhere with baskets of cobras and mongooses on leash — A beer party at a nearby beach — Lepers displaying their mutilations — beggars — peddlers — smells everywhere; basking in the cool of the evening on the roof garden of the Green Hotel watching red sails in the sunset and the grotesque skyline of the city fade gracefully into the shadows. Such is India — an aura of mysticism faintly sensed through a babel of confusion and smells. Finally, we shoved off. Homeward bound, loaded to capacity with war-weary troops, mis- sionaries from China, evacuees, and Chinese army and navy cadets. Wonderful Melbourne again, then at long last San Pedro. Bands on the pier and crowds to greet us. Three weeks availability in the shipyard again, with short leaves and Stateside comforts. TRIP NO. 2 26 February, 1945. A cold misty morning. Loaded with troops, army nurses and Red Cross lassies, we slipped our moorings at San Pedro and steamed down the channel, bound for Bom- bay again. Once more across the equator and the Domain of Neptunus Rex. Now did the initiates of two months ago wreak their vengeance upon a handful of hapless pollywogs; the 180th Meri- dian — the unbelievable South Pacific sunsets — afternoon dances on No. 5 hatch for crew and passengers (the peace-time Navy was never like this) — the coast of Australia, and Melbourne, here we come! Our arrival was greeted with astonishment at this time, for we were not expected. It seems that we were supposed to have been diverted to Sydney three days previous by radioed orders, a message we never received. The girls knew we were coming though; they have a strange 20 i
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