USS Cambria (LPA 36) - Naval Cruise Book

Text from Pages 1 - 82 of the 1952 volume:

Mediterranean Memories All Rights Reserved ALBERT LOVE ENTERPRISES 1090 Capitol Avenue, f. I. Atlanta, Georgia U.S.S. CAMBRIA APA 36 y  A a CR VISE LOG Sept. 2 Knrnuii- Mediterranean Sept. 12 Sept. 14 Oran, Algeria Sept. 17 Sept. 19 Porto Scudo, Sardinia Sept. 24 Sept. 26 Naples, Italy Sept. 30 Oct. 1 Valletta, Malta Oct. 3 Oct. 4 Augusta Bay, Sicily Oct. 6 Oct. 8 Naples, Italy Oct. 16 Oct. 21 Golf e Juan, France Nov. 2 Nov. 6 Valletta, Malta Nov. 9 Nov. 11 Suda Bay, Crete Nov. 13 Nov. 14 Iraklion Bay, Crete Nov. 17 Nov. 20 Phaleron Bay, Greece Nov. 27 Nov. 28 Suda Bay, Crete ... Nov. 30 Dec. 3 Naples, Italy Dec. 7 Dec. 11 Augusta Bay, Sicily Dec. 19 Dec. 20 Naples, Italy Jan. 3 Jan. 9 Syracuse, Sicily Jan. 15 Jan. 21 Naples, Italy Jan. 29 Jan. 29 Enroute CONLUS .Feb. 14 • - ■ COMMAND Captain Edward L. Schleif, USJV Captain Robert A . Alien, Lt. Colonel Lvnian n c y a„ D. Sp„ r l ock9 USMc Commander Otto C. Schatz, USN Lt. Colonel Walter B. Carr, USMC Commander John B. Nelson, USN Major Francis J. O ' Connor, USMCR GREETINGS . . . I am your host and a gay old blade. I am taller than three boat- swains and far thicker than the Army. I have weighed better than ten tons every day of my life. I have known the shock of the winter Atlantic over my head for days on end. I have shattered the light blue Mediterranean mirror ' til as far as you could see the shivering pieces bent their heads in quick liquid conference. I have watched the garbage lighters and bumboats as well as the barges and gigs that hovered round you. I have sat back idly at Naples and Phaleron Bay and Soudha and Valletta and Golfe Juan and left you to your dalliance. All but a few forgot me for days on end but when it came time to return to the loves you left adock, my response was immediate and my answer was sure and rhythmic . . . steady as a heartbeat . . .or steadier. Yes, I am just a Screw. Oceanic malteds made while-u-wait. Coast lines swapped while-u-wait. Strange faces manufactured while-u- wait. And home returned — while-we-all-wait. But this short work is in a sense my history. It is of the Turn of the Screw . . . the voyage of my charges . . . and, happily, of Return to America. I hope you have as pleasant Mediterranean memories as I have. Sincerely, P.S. I guess you know I could have gotten you home faster. But you know that screw front the White Marsh. SCREW NORFOLK rjlHE word was out in May . . . TransDiv 24 had drawn Mediterranean duty . . . underway from NORVA about 1 September. Over it, like the girl in the song, all hands had mixed emotions. The intervening months crawled for the single men — hustled by on the married ones. A merry-go-round of EXercises came. The sands of the Little Creek and Onslow beaching areas were numbed by simulated Navy gun-fire and worn smooth as cylinder walls by trained Marine feet. Through a hot T.A.D. and leave filled August the Cambria sat alongside — plying her innards for all eventualities. Canned pineapple, able able common, powdered milk, spare magnetrons and an auxiliary ocean of haze gray paint. USS Vulcan (AR-5) came down from Newport to provide a last tender period. At length, the final load of potatoes (below) was aboard, guys ' families lined adjoining 03 levels (top right), the in-port O.D. skied a thumb and the brow swung clear. One prolonged blast and the tugs started moving the Cambria out like a dispossessed family (right). So long, Pier 3. So long, fresh milk. So long, Cincinnati Reds. So long, New York Daily News and St. Louis Post Dis patch. In due course passed Buoy 2 Charlie Baker and altered course south to scoop up the 1st Battalion 6th Reinforced and re-enact the so long sequence for the men in green at the Marine port of embarkation — Morehead City, North Carolina. TransDiv 24 underway — USSes Lati- mer, Oglethorpe, White Marsh and Cobb. « MMr —  MOREHEAD CITY ■ ■ m  mmnmmm Steer Zero Nine Zero! A long watery way, go our small boy dropped by for a large dark. Apes Mountain to starboard — the Roek to port. We had steamed 14.5 miles farther from home every hour for eleven days. Then, on 12 September, we raised the Straits, gat e- way to Sixth Fleet stamping grounds. This was the beginning. We were joining the sprinkler system over the powder maga- zines of the Near East and Balkans. We were the amphibious portion of a huge, we-hoped-tough, western bloc check valve. And wc all knew it. PA ORAN I A September — two days past the Rock. Oran, Algeria on the Dark Continent our first port-of-call. No giraffes. No sultans. No harems. A French Admiral. And kids with dirty knees and a built-in love for the American Tobacco Company. Kids who smiled fast, talked fast, cleaned pockets fast and ran fast. Kids with the marks of war and malnutrition on them. We went alongside at Mers-el-kebir near the white cliffs. Chartered buses took us into town. Once there we wandered amongst date palms, coconut palms and palm palms. We found leather- faced men with wire-brush beards strolling in double-breasted sheets. We saw tattooed women ' heading ' home the family supper. We ate camel steaks and drank warm beer . . . and paralyzed our digestive systems. But there was far more new than old in the Africa we saw. Modern cars, modern appliances modern dress dominated the main streets. It was a mixed-up town of ' Quarters ' that would never add up to halves. It was nice to have visited. It was nice to leave. HHMHHHMHM Western ways . . . eastern churches . . . and warm beer, - ' i Where S. P. Means Sahara Patrol ' ' P he French Foreign Legion makes its administrative home at Sidi-Bel-Abbes. Orders to the desert units come from here X— and this is the spot where the original records of the famed Blue Hats are kept. For an insight into the Legion ' s past daring- do, note the panels on either side of the gate. Above — The main streets in Oran reflect little of the expected Arab influence, chiefly because the Arab groups prefer to keep to their own backways and allevs. There is nothing foreign about this Legionnaire ' s gesture. Below — An attractive vocalist intrigued many, until they found the trumpeter (standing) was her husband. E X E R C I s E S SARDINIA f 5 r oat Team 7-1, lay up to Blue 5. Boat Team 7-2 . . . The Marines piled over the side into waiting LCVPs and headed towards the beaches for the first mock landing of the cruise. The coxswains rammed their boats up on the sand, dropped their ramps and the Leathernecks stormed ashore. While other boats landed equipment, the foot sloggers passed thatched roof houses and threaded their way to about six miles inland where the bivouac areas were set up. During the three days ashore, Italian military and naval officials, including the Commandant of the San Marco Marines, observed the C-Ration Marines carry out live-fire infantry and artillery problems. Upper right — Boat Team 7-2 . . . Below — Boat Team 7-1, lay up to Blue 5. - ■ ' -.mi ' M M « Hw $V %- % Center right — The coxswains rammed their boats up on the sand . . . Right — . . . other boats landed equip- ment . . . m r • Above — . . . Leathernecks stormed ashore . Upper right — over the sides into waiting LCVPs . . . Belotc — . . . Italian military and naval officials observed the Marines . . . Lower right — . . . bivouac areas were set up. Below — . . . passed thatched roof houses . . • NAPLES You Speak, Joe! They ' ve finally unstrapped me from my hos- pital bed Fully recovered. Shock they said. I ' m free to go, sane as before, Unless I return to that Place once more. That Place that I speak of I ' ll always re- member, So old to me note but so new last September. T ' was a routine cruise to Italy and Greece, Sardinia, Sicily, Cannes and Nice. These ports of call we made at random, none too bad. For a fete days you stand ' em. But this Place that I tcrile of, yet wish to forget, We saw most frequent, ten limes I bet. It was as if some magnet was drawing us there, To soak up its filth and choke on its air. But then came the day for us to leave, Sort of a pardon, or timely reprieve — We were on our way. at sea once more, To find liberty later on some Spanish shore. The thought of Spain with its wines and laces And senoritas ' veil-clad faces Induced my pulse from slow to fast And brought mind to that Place as a thing of the past. We steamed and sailed, circled and veered. Then the day when land appeared. No more guides and grubby vendors, Here came liberty in all its splendors. I dashed below and leaped into my clothes, How I made it God only knows, But I made the first boat, was whisked to the pier And hired the first cabby who happened near. In broken Spanish (high school edition) I asked and got  -hut caused my condition — Where ' s the Arena, when ' s the bullfight be- gin? He replied: You speak, Joe, YOU ' RE IN NAPLES AGAIN! by Joseph Laird, BM3 USS WHITE MARSH (LSD4) I A Imiilr of vino in the Italian nun, with Naples Bay sprawled below and Vesuvius in the liaek- ground. Every restaurant had a terrare over- looking something. We had to overlook a few ourselves. K 1 1 ..« • taiPMn r v. 14 Right — The (.rami Palace. Below — The Fleet Landing. Lower left — Where you go, Joe, I lake you. Lower right — Every cabman had two broth- ers. One sold cameos. The other — spa- ghetti. UOA Below — . . . and little cars with big horns ft INCNELM ' s home town. Over thirty days of grated parmesan and grated nerves. Towards the end we had found every 100-lire-a-heer parlor in town and we spun spaghetti into a spoon so deftly we took the napkins out from under our chins. And we spoke, Joe! From quanta costa to sold for a carton of Pall Malls we breathed American cigarette smoke into merchants ' faces to lessen price resistance. We made one-hand-on-the-door last offers for half hours at a time. We wound up paying only double local prices. But no one could say we didn ' t buy wisely. Pasted mosaics that dissolved in water. Cameo lamps to light the cockroaches to the spud locker. Paper cutters, cut glass bowls, kid gloves, portraits of wives. And enough musical cigarette boxes to stock a chainsmoking R ussian through two 5-year plans. When we weren ' t buying we were dodging. Guide service to Pompeii or Amalfi. Hustling pedestrians. Small cars with big horns. And if those small car drivers weren ' t dodging the law . . . the Italian law ought to be revised. The last remnant from the days of the Grand Tour is the saying See Naples and die! From the King ' s Palace to the ZigZag to the Opera House to the Snake Pit and Moulin Rouge we saw it. It was no natural death. We were slaugh- tered. A • it surrendered to beauty . . . onmpromiited by war. A city of many architectures and many moods, where all the light shines through a few windows and people have arguments for hreakfast. A city that took us, hut not our clothes, to the cleaners. POMPEII T wenty -TWO twisting kilometers from down- town Naples sits a city still hunched from the once hot breath of a now becalmed Vesu- vius. It is a dusty Old World ghost town — originally embalmed in volcanic cinder, now two-thirds laid bare to the tourist ' s cold eye. The Pompeii story is one of partial then total destruction. In 63 A.D. earthquake cracked the foundation stones of the city, then, 16 years later, the volcanic eruption that drowned Herculaneum incidentally eliminated Pompeii. Deadly gases, coupled with the en- suing ash, killed most of the 25,000 inhabi- tants so that today, nearly a thousand years later, bread is still found in the ovens and jugs of wine sit in vinegary testimony to the powers of 79 A.D. The first traffic regulators — stones set across streets for dry passage from sidewalk to side- walk, spaced the width of a chariot ' s wheel apart — still mark many intersections. Phallic symbols adorn many houses. In effect, Pom- peii is a city one day called to its death. It laid down its needles and butter knives and hammers and hoes . . . and went. Today its statues and its dogs are equally well preserved in Naples Museum. o CAPRI NCE UPON A TIME there was an island. Sur- rounded by blue, blue water. There was not much vegetation — but what there was — was very green. Legend said that wherever flowers were found blooming in the shade of an old walnut tree, there would be found romance. The name of this wondrous island was Capri. And it still is. A rugged rock bastion with a prize fighter ' s profile. Cliffs so steep mountain goats get vertigo. A national museum that serves old Spanish brandy beside a blazing fire. Grocery stores that sell American chocolate pudding for addition to water to make Caprisian fudge sauce. And stand- ard Mediterranean-style villas spotted in wherever the slopes ease off. A red finicula up to the town of Capri. From there, all styles transportation to the Caesar Augustus, to Mussolini ' s or Ginger Rogers ' pensione, to Frederick Barbarossa ' s or the Emperor Tiberius ' castle. The slogan of the hardy: grin and burro it. Way back below at sea level is the Blue Grotto where the sun ' s rays filtering through the water outside the c ' ave entrance create a mystic blue- lensed world within. A low rock tunnel guards the interior. If the wind goes wrong, forcing the swell against the tunnel mouth, it takes nice timing to regain the outside. Yes, it ' s a straight-up-and-down lovers ' lane. Surrounded by blue, blue water. And its name is Capri. ROME NEARLY all of us managed to get away from the trials and tribulations of shipboard life for a few days to see the town that all roads used to lead to. On the way up we passed famed Anzio beach- head, the time-proof Appian Way and many of the ancient viaducts. Once at our hotels, even before we could test the bedsprings, the Aloschi combine took over. Our stops included: St. Peter ' s, with its colonnade- surrounded square and gigantic but beautifully proportioned ornamentation; the other three Bas- cillicas; the Pantheon, with its poured-cement dome ; the Roman Forum ; the Colisseum, where the faithful were martyred by down-turned thumbs ; the monument to Victor Emmanuel, first king of United Italy; Capitoline Hill, where Brutus punc- tuated his last remarks to Caesar; the Catacombs, painstaking dug and painstakingly re-excavated; and the Vatican City, the home of the Pope and the fountainhead of Catholicism. In the Sistine Chapel, with our necks ashamedly stiff, we viewed in wonder the works of Michelangelo, Raphael and Bernini. There were monks everywhere, each order serving as the custodian of one of the significant shrines. The Benedictines were at St. Paul ' s. The Franeescans acted as guides at the Catacombs under St. Sebastian ' s. Night life was surprisingly calm. Some tried the musical comedies. Some tried the ballet. Some tried penny ante back at the hotel. More checked the wine cellars and turned in early.. For most of us though the climax of the tour was an audience with the Pope. Some of us met His Holiness at his summer retreat where he held audience for thousands at a time. In this case he would speak in seven or eight languages to ac- commodate the different groups present. Others had a private audience in the Vatican. Regardless of the situation we were all impressed by his command of our language, his graciousness and serene dignity, his warm majesty. After blessing all those present together with their re- ligious articles he obliged us by permitting a group photograph to be taken. Upon his arrival and again when he left we gave the traditional American HIP, HIP, HOORAY! Though approved by custom it almost seemed like sacrilege. We were relieved when he seemed pleased. After pitching a coin in the Fontana di Trevi to insure our return, we headed back. Even for a short time it was a real pleasure to get away from seaport towns and ' you speak ' and ' turn to. ' ' ., ry,:. - •j - I ) B l B jmH }j« f 1 t 1 _ 1 y i I ' . J ft ■ tt Above — Arch of Constantino. Right — Temple of Antonino and Fausina. Below — Monument to Victor Emmanuel II. r w , _( W MALTA A SPECK of Mediterranean rock rising out of the sea haze like the Camelot of old. Home of the fabled Knights of St. John, of baroque cathedrals and dzingha boats. A walled island of walled cities — rented from the Queen o f England in this day of landlord troubles for one Maltese falcon and five grains of wheat a year. We were mighty happy when we went ashore. At last — liberty in a mountainless English-speak- ing port. We took the open elevator from Customs House Landing to the Hotel Phoenicia level and looked around. Not a wooden structure in sight. Almost every building made of a local soap- sandstone. The only trees — RHIP — fenced off about the Governor ' s summer palace. We found the Maltese a friendly, well-traveled people . . . just back from Pittsburgh ... or with a brother-in-law in Seattle. And they be- lieved in pedestrians ' rights! At rush hours they blockaded the main streets and rambled in a trafficless world. There are still some gutted reminders of the war (upper right). But in the main reconstruc- tion has come along amazingly considering that Malta has the dubious honor of being the most bombed spot on earth. Of her first three bi-plane defenders — Faith, Hope and Charity — only the stripped down fuselage of Faith remains — safely hangared in the Armory of the Governor ' s Palace. St. Mary ' s (lower left), the most modern ca- thedral on the island and possessor of the third largest dome in the world, was built over and around a small church. This church continued to function until the Cathedral ' s completion, at which time it was torn down by the townspeople and carried out through the doors of its prede- cessor. During the war the dome took a direct hit. Miraculously, the bomb was a dud — and the 300 worshippers were spared. We went to Malta twice and liked it both times. In fact, we ' d have been glad to go again. Right — Between crowns and guineas we never knew what the lace cost . . . but we were sure it was worth it. Below — The Royal Band gets ready for a royal set-up. Note leg protector on drummer to right of truck. Lower left — Gozo boats — named for island immediately to northeast of Malta — act as sea-going produce trucks to Valletta markets. Lower right — The honor guard snaps to as a British flag rank gives it the once over and all that mess. N t tS l ) The main drag inside . . . the fortress . . . and a dry-walled touch of New Englandism. ■ A «NrfS  LIFE AT SEA TVf ovies have so long pictured seamen as whittlers, home-made astronomers and midwatch philosophers that the public seems to imagine them only spinners of tall tales and a strong lobby for the coffee industry. That salt air and water make love to steel like Delilah did Samson has apparently slipped by unobserved. It takes a chipping hammer, a paint brush and a strong stomach for work to make a modern seaman. He has no rest. And while he works, he is watched like a World Series 3 and 2 pitch. For the embarked Marine ... he is to remain crisp as lettuce while living in a six-decker human sandwich. He is to stow his gear neatly — in mid-air. He is to stay out of the way usefully. Above all, he is to not stand here! These pages try to catch something of this life that begins and ends with the boatswain ' s piping. It ' s a womanless, PA system universe, where at any moment an unseen voice can command action. There are no eve- nings off or weekends. There is little news. There is no mail. Water is water. When underway, in a sense, every man is without a country. Lathes anil turbine and mil- were turned . . . while the weather had a Com- modore ' s inspection. kBVIOUSLY life at sea can ' t be all work. There were movies in the after- noons and evenings. There was the duty piano that took a pre-invasion bombard- ment daily. There was the C-Ration size drug store — the coke machine — that once served 3000 cups in a day. When possible there was basketball in No. 3 Hold. And there were bull sessions where scuttlebutt had us heading everywhere from Kansas City via inland waterway to troubled Suez. It wasn ' t all work. Not by a long shot. ataXnT . V 1 I - L I AUGUSTA r W his port was the southern terminal of the TransDiv 24 Naples-Sicily Ferry. Here again we were met by little kids whose greatest pleasures came twenty in a pack. They pulled and teased for just one cigarette, Joe. Their big brothers wheeled pushcarts through the streets selling genuine cameos, music boxes, mandolins and accordions. Makeshift signs jut- ted out along the stucco buildings assuring us that the respective Peroni beer establishments were in bounds and the shore patrol was. on hand to remind us that the bicycle shops were out of bounds. The you speak boys could have made a for- tune selling linament during our second visit. There were falling arches, rising blisters and creaking joints throughout the Marine compart- ments after the conditioning hikes which took the boys in green out a winding road past tan- gerine orchards and half-plowed fields. It was beautiful country. Some went to see it a second time. With the same results. mm aHH Above — Overlooking Augusta Bay. Left — Cameos, music boxes and mandolins. Below — The end of the journey. RIVIERA 1J£7 e HAD HEARD a lot about France so when we pulled into Golfe Juan we were an eager bunch of poodle petters and perfume buyers. We came, we saw, we were conquered. It was all true. Though out of season for the bikini bathing suit and Ali Kahn set, the Riviera was still a livelv spot. Soon wise in the ways of the land we substituted ooh la la ' ' for hoop-te-do ' and made plans . . . most of which included standbys. With Cannes only three miles to the west of Golfe Juan and Nice about eleven to the east, we spread our francs out all along the Cote D ' Azur. Equipped with two key phrases, Je ne parle pas bien and lentement, si vous plait we managed to buy souvenirs and a spot of something along the boulevards of almost all of the fashionable seaside hotels where the select of Europe spend their leisure months. Chanel, Arpege, Joy and Nuit de Noel were a part of every- body ' s conversation and perfume shops did a gas-station-size business. Many would-be buyers put off the aromatic step — after all, we ' d be back for Christmas. Plenty of time. Some guys put on yodeling hats and took the Swiss tour. They came back with watches, cuckoo clocks, music boxes that worked and tales as tall as the Alps they had seen. Twelve calendar moments later it was time to leave. We debated about going over the hill in wine buckets. Instead we picked up our liberty boats and steamed out — with great plans in store for our visit to Marseille in the near future. But Manana never came . . . Above — Perfume shops did a gas-station-size business. Below — Views of Golfe Juan. Lef ( h ' d° ng ,he bou, cvard 8 of tels . 8CaSide reSOrt hc CRETE r T 1 HE Natives of Crete will swear that it only rain? five or six days a year. We were there for those five or six days — and, incidentally, it ' s six. The sun did come out long enough for us to parade up and down the street, buying Greek vases, letter openers and fried egg sandwiches from the peddlers who had hurriedly set up stands for our convenience. When it was time to make a landing it was a different story. We got a day of good weather on our first landing on the tiny island off the coast of Greece. But then the wind blew and the rain fell. By the time we secured the three day problem and left the beaches of Iraklion we were a wet bunch. The second landing, although a one day deal, was none- theless memorable. When the first foot hit the beach, it must have pulled the plug. Again the rains came. This time accompanied by deep-freeze temperatures. Soaking wet in cold-stiffened fatigues we spent the night in a mud-puddle, and in the morning, just as wet and cold, we took down our shelter-halves, if we were ' - Hfe . • .; •- lucky enough to have them standing, and went to the beach to wait for boats back to hot showers. Entered in the unforgettable words column : Hot soup and coffee waiting for you on the mess deck — Commander Nelson. Zigzag streets . . . the bar of renown • . . and housewives loitering on the way to town. 1 GREECE VJf - hen we lf.ft Cbete we were still shivering from our drenching or shuddering from the hours spent in replenishing our fleet brethren. The type exercise period that followed our swan song to Soudha built us back some, but now our morale, not our reefers and holds, needed replenishing. That ' s why when we dropped the hook 12 fathoms down in the unprotected ' summer ' anchorage of Phaleron Bay, our spirits headed straight for the summit of Mt. Olympus. Long before the Special Sea Detail had been secured we had our liberty shoes shined and resting on the main deck — with us in them. From our pigtail-pulling, two-a-cat days we had heard about Athens. As the home of wisdom and beauty, as the olive-growing rootbed of modern-day democracy. We went off in search of clear-eyed, noble-browed Minervas. Off to see the meeting places of the boule and epistatoi. Off to see the slanted columns of the Parthenon that by architectural genius were to appear vertical from any angle. And we were not disappointed. We saw temples to Zeus and Apollo and Dionysius. We stood on the hill called the Areopagus and sum- moned up images of grape chewing sages passing through the business of the day with reason and justice. We took in the tiny Agora, remembering it had once been the cross roads of world trade. About the size of one super- market, yet the world ' s finest had been displayed here. We were told of the ancient Dionysian rite of changing water to wine. We discovered the secret tunnel and door where a temple priest could hide and upon signal dis- charge wine into a pool. We realized more than the Phidian pediment and Triglyph walls had originated in the Athens area. Apparently ' cut ' liquor had too. A lot of modern-day Greece intrigued as well. The floor shows of the Argentina and Femina beckoned some. After the rock-n-roll of shipboard life the rock bottom prices at the American Club called others. Then there was the Sixth Fleet Canteen. Good music, handsome Hellenic hostesses, free food . . . and no Shore PatroL From Ouzo to the Acropolis we liked Greece. Expen- sive but nice. About the hardest thing to get used to was standing on the street corner you were looking for unable to read the sign that said you were there. The Gnekl may have a word for it. But they certainly keep it a secret! 11 1 jp jr !?IW wwu Wind-blown streets . . . that caught cafe life in their drafts . . . and cleared the crowd from the Theater of Dionysius before Achilles had a heel. rV ■xn. i $S vf ftf o v %■ f 1 .rtf ' 4 -« 3 Above — The Temple of Jupiter in isolated circumstances, Right — Present Olympics stadium, replica of the old. {, ,„„ — Bearded Greek Orthodox priests guide the nation ' s religious thinking. Below right — Hard-headed ancient lovelies show what to do when the roof falls in. U 4 Completely civilized . . . but not completely ' westernized. ' Open air rcslaur-ant. Temple of Mysteries. Mayor of Athens conies to grips with the Navy. TRANSFER AT SEA r T , HE SEKGEANT fits himself on the board seat . . . takes a range and bearing on the rainbow-shot frazzle of foam below. With hands locked close under the snatch block he is hoisted clear of the rail — then hauled away — and across I Upon arrival, the young quartermaster logs transferred with records and cour- age in hand, and another transfer by breeches buoy is completed. SYRACUSE TTisroiiY tells that Syracuse was once a ranking Mediter- ranean power. This is where history comes in handy. Left to our own imaginations we never would have guessed. Founded hy Phoenicia as a strategic •northern ' port, en- larged upon under Greek rule to become a rich Athenian grain source, Syracuse was a prosperous city when the Romans arrived. When they left — at the cold suggestion of Saracen scimitars — Syracuse faded from the scope. Today much of Syracuse has turned back to the sea. A battered fishing armada rides in the basins along the water- front — its main goal: sardines. Squiggling netfuls of pros- pective sandwiches sit on the cracked decks, trembling silvery tidbits awaiting canned deportation. The most interesting place most of us found was the Orecchio di Dionisio . . . The Big Ear. A huge, man-made hillside cleft with rare acoustic properties. Originally a marble quarry it later became a slave barracks. The owner, Dionysius, built his home-on top to overhear any mutinous talk from below. Even now, one flat spot near the entrance renders a 4-part harmonic echo while the tearing of a single paper sounds like the ripping of a yard of cloth. When it was time to go — we went. Syracuse, when last seen, was still making love to a marble memory. ■■■■ -.. • . :- ' « Isolated ruin- reminded us of Ozymandes. These old Greek quarries were later used as prison cells. Fleet Landing and Customs. A clean face — but dirt behind the ears. 5th Century Greek amphitheater — the heat came from the sun. Naples again . . . the fifth time in town we ' Troc ' ed on down. SPORTS D ETWEEN the Navy and Marine basketball, soflball, soccer and track teams, we came home with our share of the victories. In a 32 game schedule the Marine basketball team carried home the bacon 29 times. They were undefeated in the 14 con- tests with European teams and two of the three losses against Navy teams came from the Cambria sailors. The Navy hoopsters claimed nine of their 13 matches. Like the Marine quintet, they too walked off on the high end of all games with European teams. On the softball diamond against other Sixth Fleet teams the Navy sluggers took nine straight, dropped one and then finished their schedule with a win for a 10-1 record. With the exception of a win over the Latimer and one over a Sicilian team, our soccer season wasn ' t up to par. The kickers ended with eight losses. The Leatherneck track team surprised everybody. Sadly out of condition, they took on a track team in Syracuse. Sicily and brought back a big, shiny trophy and a majority of the first place medals. During the Christmas holidays in Naples boxing took the s| otlight. Contenders from the Latimer, Oglethorpe and White Marsh came over to join with our leathersmiths in a 13 bout smoker on the mess deck. With that we rest on our laurels. m «t .il agi PARTIES TTerk lie the remains of parties. Whether on the giving or receiving end, whether for the orphans of Naples or the orphans of the Camhria, there were always parties. When birthdays and anniversaries rolled around the bakers whipped up icing bedecked cakes suitable for the occasions. On November 10th, the Marines marked the 176th birthday of the Corps with a cake cutting. On December 12th, cake was passed again, to celebrate the first anniversary of TransDiv 24 under the command of Commodore Schleif. In Greece it was a party every night at the Sixth Fleet Canteen. Our host was the American Colony of Athens, a group of state-siders with jobs in Greece. Every night we filled up on free franks and burgers, gulped up coffee and soft drinks and almost tripped ourselves up doing a medium-light fantastic with aspiring goddesses. We gave two parties for orphans. The first, on Thanksgiving, was for a group of Greek orphans. And the second was in Naples just before Christmas. There we watched eager-faced boys and girls wait- ing in line to get presents from ' Papa Natalie. After that one, we chased wrapping paper from the buffalo ' s head to the after 5-inch. On Christmas Eve we stayed home and had a party of o ur own. Our singers, musicians and thespians staged a Happy Hour. It included a little bit of everything. Music ranging from hillbilly stompings to swing, skits taking off roach hunts and boatswains ' piping, and in between, round noters and slow boaters giving out in a variety of vocals. And then there were the Navy beer parties and the Marine dances in Naples. Yes there were always parties. ' In Greece it was a party every night. ' ' KU SAIOKI li Center — Dec. 12: two-layer transfer at sea. Right — Nov. 10: the Colonel ' s sword went on T.A.D. ■ ■ ' ■ ■■■■ ■Jty On Christmas Eve we had a party. Without mopheads and hairy legs it wouldn ' t have heen a Happy Hour. Nothing left but time between us and Home. CRUISE BOOK STAFF 1st Lt. D. R. Gaudio, Editor Copy Lt. (jg) R. H. Heydt Collings, W. V., ET3 Sgt. B. A. Goodrich Art B. R. McCauley, RD3 Pfc. W. H. Asher Pfc. E. J. O ' Brien Sales and Administrative Lt. (sg) O. Weber Pfc. M. D. Heard, Jr. Cpl. W. G. Eisler Sgt. R. E. Stephenson Cpl. C. L. Hardesty Sgt. D. E. Fleenor Pfc. R. C. Lambert Baker, L. F., RD3 Colon, G., SN Photo Contributors Baker, D. E., Cpl. Fischer, J., PHAN Zechender, R. F., Pfc. Chapman, W. H., TSgt. Sawyer, K. L., Cpl. Reihing, C. L., SN Harper, J. E., SSgt. Dean, C. A., Sgt. Hayes, W. H., Lt. (jg) Campbell, W. W., Sgt. Clapp, C. E., Lt. (sg) Simmons, D. E., Cpl. Collings, W. V., ET3 Loose, R. K., ET1 Lease, D. W„ Pfc. Braswell, J. Ei, Pfc. Hodges, E. E., Cpl. Price, G. W., Sgt. Goodrich, B. A., Sgt. Mericle, R. B., END1 Russo, J. A., YN1 Biikovecky, V., SH3 Conger, G. R., END2 % 0 -