Hickox (DD 673) - Naval Cruise Book

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THE END February 8th dawned damp and foggy and though to most of the world it was just another Monday that you couldn ' t hang out the wash, to us it was a big day — the day we were going home. The weather cleared later on in the morning and at about 1230, there it wasl We could see it now! Not Stromboli, not the White Cliffs of Dover, but the dim outline of the smallest state in the Union, in the greatest country in the world. It was Newport, R. I. We were to pass through its harbor and continue on to Fall River, Mass., where we would tie up to the USS Cassen Young. It wasn ' t long before we heard someone on the bridge say Mark the lightship abeam to starboard and we all began to think that it was almost worth going away just to experience this thrill of coming home again. Soon we were passing the landmarks that we know so well and they looked better to us than ever. Everyone milled around topside at first, talking and wondering who would be waiting for us. As soon as the special sea detail was set and our call letters went up, we all fell into quarters for entering port. Then we just stood there watching, waiting, and feeling very excited. As we steamed by the familiar Castle Rock, Coddington Point, Mellville and under the Mt. Hope bridge, we had many places and things to remember since the last time we were here. We had been to ten different countries . . . could say thank you in eight different languages . . . were l oaded with shillings, deutsche marks, lira, drachma, krone, francs and guilder but broke in American bucks. We had sets of undress blues that could walk by themselves, white hats ready for the rag bag, enough souvenirs to furnish the Taj Mahal . . . sea stories to bore our grandchildren for years to come. We had nineteen new fathers aboard who had not seen their offspring — somewhere over there on the beach, fifteen brand new little girls and four little boys waiting for their daddys. Pretty soon we started to make our approach and a couple of tugs came out to help us. We could make them out now — all the people standing on the Cassen Young — girls in bright red and yellow coats — some standing with babies in their arms, others waving frantically — children running up and down the deck — parents standing with searching looks on their faces. Everyone smiling. And so at 1407, 8 Feb. 1955, five months and 23,574 miles later, number one line was secured and we were there. The gangway went over, there was a mad rush and when we saw those happy, smiling wonderful American people, we knew we were home.

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The Rock The Azores THE WAY HOME Now there was only a small matter of about 3,000 miles of Blue Lagoon between us and the Mount Hope Bridge — Only 3,000 wet, angry, rocky ... I wish I wasn ' t a lookout . . . stew for chow, miles between us and Gene ' s Cleaners. Our thoughts were of home, and those that would be there waiting, as we pitched along, but we couldn ' t forget for one moment that we were at sea. We felt every inch of the way. We stopped at Gibralter for fuel for a day and got a good look at the bulwark of the Mediterra- nean. We took a tour of the Rock and made our way through its labyrinth of tunnels. We found out that in case of siege, the British could, self-sufficiently remain inside for five years. Hubbard and Harrison had their pictures taken for some English magazine. We found the famous apes that roam the streets at will, but failed to see the Prudential Life Insur- ance sign. Some of us took a quick ride over to Spain, just to say we had been there. We said goodbye to Europe and were off again. Things hadn ' t changed much in a day. It was the same ocean, with the same ideas about the same ship. We got another respite four days later on a little island almost plunk in the middle of the Atlan- tic — Ponta Delgada, Azores.. Once more we had to fuel and had time to see this beautiful little place with its yellow houses and red roofs. 1700 was underway time and at special sea detail it seemed hardly possible that the next time we put foot on land it would be in that land owned by Uncle Sam. To think that once more we would be wrapped in the loving arms of tropical Newport in the winter. To think that once again we could swing from a buoy and ride the boats. To think that seventy- two ' s and forty-eight ' s would once more be a reality. It was unbelievable. HOME ... The Sea

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