Dad
never talked about his time in the Navy.
As
a child I saw photographs of him in his uniform and on top of his dresser there
was an 8 x 10 picture of him standing by an airplane, dressed in pilots gear. For
the longest time I thought he was a pilot, but later found out he was a
mechanic servicing the navy bombers on base and on the aircraft carrier, Enterprise. With an enlistment date of
1-13-42, Dad’s naval career was his launching pad to a better life than what
his parents could have ever imagined.
Among my dad’s papers was a
faded and badly stained blue notebook, filled with class instructions, notes
and diagrams. For some reason there were no dates on these papers which made it
quite frustrating to keep a chronological timeline on his navy career. 
On
April 14, 1943, one year and three months after enlisting, Dad received a Navy
Training Course Certificate having completed the Navy Training Course “Aviation
Machinist’s Mate Seaman Third Class” from N.A.S. Jacksonville, FL. Five months later in September 1943, he
completed another training course, achieving “Aviation Machinist’s Mate Seaman Second
Class.”
During this time, Dad listen
to the radio, enjoying the “wonderful dance music coming from Chicago that put
him on “cloud nine.”
He
wrote, “I just couldn’t get enough of the
good listening. I had made a promise to myself that if time should ever arise
I’ll not lose any time in getting to Chicago and get to see and dance at those
big beautiful ballrooms.”
Then he got his chance . . .
Dad wrote, “I was
already with the Navy two years and graduated two aviation engine schools.
About the time I was getting to graduate the second school, I heard there was a
large far-advance school in Chicago, so I had asked the Personnel Officer in
charge at school, what does it take to get to Chicago? He looked at me in an
amazement way and said there was very little he could do and that made my blood
run cold in my veins. I just cannot forget that moment of time. Then he
approached me and said that he looked over all of my personal records from the
time I enlisted into the Navy and all of the examinations I had taken to get
into the Navy, and that I had the capability and could be eligible for more
advance learning. Before we parted he said I would have to see my Naval Air
Commander from the PBY air squadron to which I was attached to before I had
gone to that second school.
After
graduating I felt there could be a good chance for the advance school in
Chicago, but also knew there was a Navy rule to wait six months after leaving
the school. During the waiting time I kept to myself in obeying all the rules
working and observing everything in flights. I was one who was in a squadron of
twenty PBY planes that patrolled the Atlantic coast line all the way down to
many small islands like Bahamas and Puerto Rico. The PBY stands for Patrol
Bomber and Y for observation equipment plus sub-machine gun and bombs to look
for German submarines.
About
seven months that had gone by and the weather was too cloudy to go out on
patrol, I said to myself this is a good time to see the Naval Air Commander
Officer for the Chicago school. As I walked up to his large office, I stepped
into the doorway and made a strong military salute like I was trained in the
boot camp. He looked at me and said, “Come in Sailor. Sit down.” After sitting
down he said, “What brings you
here?” Holding onto my tense moment and not to show any excitement, I said, “I
would like to go to the school in Chicago for more learning in aviation
engines.” He gave me a strong look and said, “Didn’t you just get back from
school here on the base just shortly?” I said yes I did. “Well, he said, there
is a lot of sailors here that hadn’t any school at all.” I said maybe they are
not trying. That’s all he had to hear and he will check in sometime soon and
told me to leave. I gave him another salute and left with a big question in my
mind. Was there any good of see him?
About
two weeks later I got a report to go and see him, at that moment I didn’t know
why. I had thought something had gone wrong on our air patrol. As I stepped in
the doorway, I gave him another salute and sat down. He said, “You are going to
the Chicago school,” and signed his name, Arthur J. McCoy to the request forms
for transfer to Chicago Engine Aviation School. I saluted him for the last time
and went down the long stairs like I had wings on. In three days I was on my
way to the Chicago school.
After
checking into the school and much to my astonishment, it looked like I was in
some big college. What a big surprise that was. It was some two weeks later before I started
the class and during that time I had time to get acquainted with the school and
some of the Chicago city streets all by streetcars. My biggest desires were to
check out those big beautiful Ballrooms and they were something, big and
beautiful beyond my wildest imagination.
The
closet one to the school was the Trianon. It would be too hard just to try to
explain the beauty of the big place. I had gone dancing there at least once or
twice every week. After about two months of going there I met a beautiful
Italian girl, Dorothy Albano, who became my wife (3
½ years later).
During
my six months of school and going too many places of interest, we got well
acquainted and took a liking for each other. Just before I had graduated I said
if I survive the war and be in good excellent health, I’ll come to Chicago,
which I did.
After he graduated and went back to Jacksonville, FL,
Dorothy wrote to Dad 17 letters, dated 1-16-1945 to 6-1-1945. When I found this
stack of letters, the old string tightly binding them together was very
endearing, I could feel how precious these old letters were to my Dad. I wish
there were more. 
After
graduating the
Naval Air Technical Training Center in Chicago with
good marks I got rated as AMM3/C (Aviation Machinist Mate 3rd Class)
the school, I was sent back to the big Naval Air Station in Jacksonville,
Florida, and attached to the large P.B.Y. (US Navy medium to heavy twin
amphibious aircraft used for maritime patrol, water bomber, and search &
rescue) sea planes squadron. There, my job was to check in some of the planes
that came in and some others to check or just good looking over before they
went out. After being with the large squadron for about two months, I put in
for engine school there on the base. First I had to pass an examination on some
math and English which was quite easy all because I had plenty of before
enlisting into the navy. About a month later I went to the engine school for
four months.
After graduating and was sent back to the same
PBY seaplane squadron. This time I was assigned to one plane and had to fly
every time it went out. Every month I would log anywhere from 50 to 120 hours
of just flying, patrolling all east coast of Florida from Jacksonville all the
way down to Cuba, South East Islands, some like Puerto Rico, Dominion Republic,
Bahamas. Sometimes we would land there and come back the next day. After nearly
three years of duty with the PBY Squadron of just flying, I had logged over
2,000 hours of flying time.
Dad must have enjoyed this Thanksgiving Dinner because he saved the menu. Now how funny is that!
One of the most difficult
things about writing someone’s story taken from an at-random scribbling’s and
writings, is piecing the story together in a cohesive manner. Such as when Dad wrote,
“It was
the second week of February 1946 when I was discharged from the Navy. Believe
me I was more than happy that I came out with good excellent health and not a
cripple. Although there was one time I had a very close call . . .
Early one
morning on the 20th of March, 1945 at about 5:30 a.m. there was
three separate waves of Japanese suicide planes called Kamikaze. I was on that
mighty big aircraft carrier called USS Enterprise, somewhere out near south
east of Philippine Islands when we were attacked.
The very last wave got us. A Kamikaze hit us down about 50 feet below the top
of the flight deck in the middle of the ship. At that very time I was stationed
way down, to the back end of the hanger were the air plane engine room was.
Right after the hit there was a great big explosion. The impact was so great,
whatever was not secured properly was thrown around and then a lot of smoke
kind of dark yellow color.
The electric lights went out, I could not breathe, burning of the eyes. I somehow
made it up to the other part of the ship
where there was lot of air and no smoke. After when most of the very hot fire
was put out by the fire fighters, we were called out to start cleaning the big
mess. Anything that was loose, overboard it went. The fire was so hot. It’s
hard to imagine how hot a fire can get. That Japanese pilot who hit us, there
was no part of him found, he just burn up in his suicide plane. The damage was
very big. The reports made said nearly over 100 hundred airplanes and over 500
sailors killed, some burn up alive. Ship was out of commission.
We made
it back to San Francisco in about one week or there about on our own power.
There the ship builders put the big ship in dry dock and went to work to fix
it. All of us sailors were put up at Alameda
Naval Air Station, those who were hurt went to the hospital. After about a
month & half we were put back aboard with new replacements and went out
again. It was something like 11 months later the war with Japan was over. Boy
oh boy, was I glad I couldn’t wait until we got back to San Francisco.
By this
time it was the month of January 1946 already. It was the first week of
February that I had arrived in New York at a Navy discharge center to be
released from service. It took five days to complete all the process that we
had to get through and a complete physical examination before I left for home.”
That was it. Nothing more. Never
heard any of this story until I found his writings.
Just before Dad was
discharged from the Navy, he received a letter from his sister-in-law Peggy
Yuknavich, living in Spangler, PA.
Peggy had not heard from Dad in a while until she found his address had changed
and Dad’s mother gave her his new one. She wrote about his brother Julius and
his wife and baby girl, and how much she missed her husband (my dad’s brother
Jack) who was stationed in Seattle and couldn’t get home. Peggy wrote how she
felt terrible after getting her daughter Peggy Joan excited that her daddy was
coming home. Peggy also asked how Dorothy was, being that Dad never mentioned
her anymore.
(There were several gaps in
those 17 letters dated Jan 1945 to June 1945 from Dorothy to Dad.
None from him to her. Maybe because Dad was on the Battleship Enterprise which
was attacked.)
Peggy goes on to ask if Dad will settle back in Bakerton, PA
after his discharge. She also sent this picture and one of her daughter, and
thanked him for the book “Kitty” he sent to Peggy Joan.
Next Post: My Dad * His Story - Part III
