Behind the Tapestry: How Pat&Norm Helped Win WWII

By Dennis F. Shaw

Politicians and generals, like Roosevelt and Eisenhower, design great tapestries of war. They win acclaim. Sailors and their wives, like Pat and Norm, just do their jobs. They win wars.
Based on family history, this novel depicts a young Navy signalman who marries an Irish girl as the World Fair ends and the Second World War begins. She moves to San Diego to be near him; he gets orders to Newfoundland. Homesick and hot-tempered, Pat works for the USO to help other Navy wives find housing, child care, jobs, etc. Norm performs his duties at Coral Sea, Midway, and the Aleutians despite coral reefs, Japanese torpedoes and suicide planes. He's invited to apply for a commission, leave his place in the crew, and become an officer. Can he make this shift?
Meanwhile, Pat adjusts to chicano culture as she begins to focus on similarities instead of differences. She uses her hat pin to discourage unwanted attention from amorous salesmen and sleazy bosses. She learns to "sell" landlords on the benefits of renting to Navy personnel, instead of preaching about "civic duty."
But neither can fully explain their daily lives to the other.
Long separations limit their shared
memories. Mail contact is unreliable. Nevertheless, each continues "just doing the job" quietly and competently "behind the tapestry."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis F. Shaw
• Release date: May 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301037971

Dennis F. Shaw

Peace Corps Volunteer, Ecuador. Then, conscripted into Army infantry--11 months as combat soldier. Professional writer for non-profits. Extensive work writing about how to live with chronic conditions. Expertise in veterans issues, brain injury, alcoholism, teaching non-traditional learners. Teaching Fellow, Writing Workshops, Johns Hopkins (MA, 1985). Have taught writing and literature at American U, Geo Wash U, College of Southern MD, FL Community College at Jacksonville. Long time volunteer with outpatients at Walter Reed Medical Center.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Buttons & Beaus

First, you unzip his pants, said Big Sister.

No, no, recoiled Alice. "I couldn’t do that.

They sat facing each other on two wobbly wooden chairs in the basement of the family house in Flatbush. Over Pop’s workbench, a fluorescent light fixture lighted up the careful example of a place for everything and everything in its place. With four siblings, order was always at a premium. And so was privacy.

If you don’t want my advice, why’d you ask me? huffed Big Sister.

Alice smiled and leaned forward. I need your experience, oh, Wise Big Sis! But this guy is a sailor; they don’t have zippers, they have buttons.

Where the zipper should be? You poor kid!

They put their heads together to explore the problem in loud whispers. Who knew, as the Ferris wheel turned a few miles away at the 1939 World’s Fair, men still buttoned their flies? Maybe one of the brothers had a pair of pants with a button fly. Or maybe they could sew a few buttons on a piece of cloth. Or maybe they could just forget the idea all together.

This guy is really cute, said Alice. But the ship is leaving Brooklyn Navy Yard soon, so Saturday could be our last date.

You surprise me, Little Sis! I had the same curiosity you did, only I was dumb enough to let Donal talk me into going all the way. And now I’m living back home with the Result.

He’s a great baby and I love being Aunt Alice!

Marie sighed, rummaged in her purse and lighted a cigarette. She explained there are ways to keep the guy happy without going all the way. The nuns’ advice—to carry a phonebook on dates, just in case it became necessary to sit on the boy’s lap while he was experiencing a hardness—was not practical. Besides, the nuns contradicted themselves: all creation was good; God didn’t create anything bad; therefore, hardness (or erection as real people call it) must be good, too.

Besides, the corporal works of mercy all focused on relieving suffering: feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, and so forth. Didn’t boys suffer when they had an erection? So wouldn’t it be logical to follow the Gospel and relieve their suffering? Especially, if it meant no danger of pregnancy. If God made a thing to begin with, and the thing caused pain, how could it be bad to reduce that pain?

Wish I had thought of this before, said Big Sister. By the time I found out there are other ways besides intercourse, it was too late. That won’t happen to you!

Alice rummaged through the dirty clothes hamper next to the dual sinks in the corner of the cellar as Marie finished her cigarette, opened the small window facing the backyard, and waved away the smoke.

What are yese doin’ down there? called a voice from the top of the stairs.

Nuttin’, Ma! said the sisters, almost in unison.

It’s time for the radio show.

Okay, Ma. We’ll be right up.

Alice held up a pair of Brother Tom’s pants. Marie nodded her approval and demonstrated how to use the fingers of one hand to start at the top button and work down. Alice promised to practice. Marie promised to show her the next step, which involved a banana and a new wrist action. Then, the two sisters joined Ma and Pop in the parlor and listened to the Kate Smith show.

I’m hoping she sings ‘When the Moon Comes Over the Mountain’; it’s such a grand tune! said Ma, the Irish immigrant.

Better yet, ‘God Bless America’; that’s the one! said Pop, the patriotic veteran of the Spanish-American War.

Alice looked at Marie; they shared a smile. Both wanted to hear Make Believe Ballroom with the dreamy voice of Martin Block announcing current hits and introducing new releases from the record companies.

The whole family, including the two brothers and the youngest sister, had sat together in front of the radio a few months earlier when England declared war on Germany on September 3, 1939. The week before, Alice and her best friend Claire, had gone to the World’s Fair, paid 75 cents, and entered The World of Tomorrow where they marveled at the typical home of the future with its hard-working robot, Electro. The exhibit promised a new era without unemployment or crime.

Alice and Claire decided war should be added to that list. Until that happened, it was important to support American servicemen who might soon be dragged into helping the English.

In October, in this same parlor, Alice had reminded Pop she was now 20 years old, employed, and paying rent, and was going with Claire down to the Navy Yard to perform their patriotic duty at the Red Cross. Pop had removed his pipe, tapped the bowl against the side of the ashtray next to his easy chair, and sighed. Alice took that as approval and left before he could change his mind and forbid her to go.

Claire was meeting her date not at the Red Cross but outside the Anchor Inn, a bar on Sand Street, not too far from the Red Cross set up. The date was bringing a friend for Alice. To prepare, the two young women, who had been in the same class at St. Joseph’s All Girls Catholic High School, studied the World Series: Game 3 would be completed on the afternoon before their date. The friends met after work at the Horn & Hardart and poured over the afternoon edition of the Journal-American and the morning edition of the Brooklyn Eagle.

Damn Yankees! said Alice. Pop will really be mad.

The Dodgers lost? asked Claire.

No, Sweets, the Dodgers are not even in it. This year, it’s Cincinnati and they just lost to the Yankees.

They’ll get ‘em tomorrow.

Maybe. But right now, let’s cram for the exam. We can impress that sailor boy of yours and his friend if we can talk baseball.

Alice organized the information as she had in their World History class a few years before. First, the American League Yankees were playing the National League Reds of Cincinnati. Second, the winner had to take four of seven games. Third, the Yankees had won the first two games in their Bronx Stadium earlier in the week.

Fourth, now they were playing two games in Cincinnati. The Yankees won today, so they were ahead three games to none. Fifth, the score today was 7 to 3, New York.

Riding the A subway to High St/Brooklyn Bridge, Alice continued the tutorial. The sailors were waiting as promised. Frankie was a tall redhead from Fordham Road in the Bronx; Norman was short, dark, and handsome, from New England. The girls were prepared with small talk.

My Pop is a big Yankee-hater, said Alice. He’s really unhappy that they’re ahead in the series.

Especially today, chimed in Claire. October 7—should have been lucky; the Reds had twice as many hits, but still lost.

And that DiMaggio guy hit another home run, Alice added.

The sailors were silent.

We been real busy getting this new ship ready, explained Claire’s date.

And yeah, I come from the Bronx but I root for the Giants.

Where I come from, the nearest baseball is in Boston, but I’ve been in the Navy seven years and can’t keep up, said Norman. How about a beer?

The Yankees went on win the Series in four games, the sailors’ ship, the destroyer, USS Hammann went on its shake-down cruise and returned to the Navy yard for final adjustments. Frankie helped Norman with one of those adjustments as they sat on a bottom bunk aboard ship.

I think we’re ready to move along with the girls. We should proceed to the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, the mysterious bra—like this one.

Where’d you get that?

Never mind. Wanted to show you how to unclasp it with one hand. Stretch this out, will ya? Now, notice my wrist action. Wanna try?

Norman attempted to nudge the eye from the hook. Using two hands made it easier. Frankie promised it would make the next date memorable because he was borrowing his cousin’s car and the two couples could park.

During that date, Alice and Norman sat in the back seat, kissing, as Norman moved his hand over the sweater covering her breast. Then he reached with one hand under her sweater and tried to undo the bra. At the same time, Alice began to feel her way to his fly and searched for the buttons to undo. The sweater got caught in the bra hook and bunched up. The sailor tried to undo the cluster; the girl continued to undo the fly buttons. When his Thing emerged, Alice remembered Marie’s lessons with the banana and stroked it gently. But the Thing exploded with a gush of sticky, creamy stuff that surprised Alice. She fumbled for a Kleenex as Norm got the sweater untangled from the bra hook. They both started to apologize at the same time, but then they looked at each other and laughed. Frankie and Claire, in the front seat, didn’t seem to notice.

Alice and Seaman Goudette continued to date. Practice did not make perfect, but several more dates did improve the techniques of each. They made each other laugh; they had both been to Catholic schools; and they knew they loved each other. Norman asked to meet Pop so he could ask for Alice’s hand in marriage.

Pop will be very impressed with your manners, said Alice. He’s an old-fashioned kind of guy.

So the Seaman dressed up in his formal blue uniform and sat with Pop near the bay windows in the parlor. Alice stood outside the door leading to the dining room with her ear pressed against the wood.

The sailor made his case: he and Alice had only known each other a short time, but they were both certain they were in love. The United States Navy offered a good career; part of his pay went automatically every month to his mother in New England, but in the future it would go to his wife. The ship would be leaving the Navy yard on 24 February.

With your permission, sir, I’d like to marry Alice before that date.

Marry? And take her away?

No, sir, at least not right away. I don’t know where the ship will be stationed.

What happens when you’re at sea?

I imagine she lives in Navy housing with other Navy wives.

Too good for her own family?

No sir, not at all! She has a great family! But a wife’s place is with her husband.

Tell me again, how long you’ve been in?

Almost seven years, sir.

And where have you been in that time?

Let’s see: Newport, Charleston, Norfolk; San Diego; across the Pacific; up a river in China; Saigon in French Indo-China; Subic Bay in the Philippines.

And you expect my darling daughter to bounce around like a rubber ball? California? China?

No, sir. The ship will have a home base, such as the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Alice will be in a permanent place; and I’ll be with her when I’m not at sea.

Where’s the home base?

Don’t know, sir.

Why don’t you wait until you find out?

Because I love your daughter, sir. And there’s no predicting the future about where the Navy will station the new ship.

So, you want to marry my daughter, but you don’t know where you’ll take her. Just that it will probably be away from Brooklyn and her family. You’re a career sailor and there’s a war in Europe. The Navy will probably be involved in protecting ships crossing the Atlantic. Pretty dangerous. A lot to worry about for a new bride. And you don’t make much money.

That’s all true, sir. But we both believe in God and we think it will all work out.

What if it doesn’t? I can’t see my daughter throwing away her life with a vagabond sailor! Nothing against you personally, but the situation isn’t right.

That means ‘no’?

That’s what it means, son. If this is true love, then the two of you can wait until things settle down a little. A few months, maybe a year, it will all be clearer.

Alice moved away from the door. The sailor got up from his chair and exited Alice caught up with him on the sidewalk and pleaded, We’ll find a way!

The sailor shook his head and walked on. She ran down the block behind him. Can’t we talk about this? We just took him by surprise, that’s all.

But the seaman just kept marching away toward the subway, the ship, and the unknown.

Chapter 2

Crafty Helper

February 10, 1940

Dearest Mother,

Early Valentine’s Day greetings from your loving son! I’m still tied up—literally to the dock in the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Most likely, we’ll be here until the end of the month and then sail on another short shake-down cruise to make sure the minor problems have all been resolved.

I want to reassure you, dear Mother, that Brooklyn is not to be confused with the fleshpots (and reputation) of New York City. Brooklyn is geographically just across the East River, but historically distant from Manhattan. Until Grandfather’s time, Brooklyn was a separate city, with a population well over one million. Many, of course, were new immigrants. Nevertheless, to manage such large numbers, the city of Brooklyn provided public parks, such as Prospect Park, which contains a riding stable where I often rent a steed for a solitary ride along the wooded bridle paths. There is also a free public library and a free zoo with a large number and variety of residents.

You will also be pleased to know the Brooklyn Art Museum is a traditional building, built in the Greco-Roman style of stone. It holds a large collection of ceramic artifacts from all continents and eras. It also presents good examples of American painting from the colonial times.

I often visit alone since, alas, there are no other sons of the South among the small cohort of officers. In fact, some of them tease me, purposely confusing Cavalier (as in graduate of UVA) with Musketeer (as in silly Hollywood cartoon). But the teasing is affectionate, not mean-spirited, in the ancient tradition of the military.

The enlisted men are competent and respectful. Most, of course, are Yankees, but there are several Southerners who also complete their duties with vigor and competence. Their time ashore, as you might discern, eschews the cultural attractions described above for those of a more earthly nature.

I am quite content with this phase of my Naval service. The news from Europe, of course, is not promising, but that will continue to be a land war with little input from the Navy. Therefore, there is no need to worry, Mother. I am safe, well fed, and satisfied with my choice to serve in this uncertain time.

Affectionately,

Charles

Ensign Charles Wallace folded the stationery in thirds and inserted it in an envelope. Before he could complete writing Culpepper, a loud splash interrupted him. Did someone fall overboard? He tightened the sash on his bathrobe and double-timed to the deck. Two sailors were running toward the fantail on the stern of the destroyer. As Wallace started to follow them, someone yelled, Dumb cop! Old bastard. I’ll fix . . . He turned around toward the bow. On the gangplank from the pier, two sailors were helping a third navigate.

Wallace proceeded and met them as they staggered aboard.

Well, to coin a phrase, ‘what shall we do with the drunken sailor’?

Who you calling drunk? slurred the sailor in the middle.

Keep it down! said one of the helpers.

I want a drink!

Not now, good buddy, not now.

Is that you, O’Hara? Are you aware of the time? asked Ens. Wallace.

Sir, we can explain, if you just let us get Goudette to his bunk, we’ll come back, Frankie replied.

Please, sir said the other helper. He just needs to sleep it off; no sense waking up the whole crew.

All right, conceded Wallace. I’ll expect you back here in zero five.

They two sailors offered sloppy salutes and staggered off with the drunk buddy between them. From the fantail, two other sailors returned and mentioned false alarm to the Ensign’s query.

Quite a coincidence, men. Loud commotion at the stern of the ship just as three sailors who missed curfew are coming back on board.

Strange things happen, sir.

Turns out, it was just a barrel that fell over the side, somehow.

Can’t argue with that, agreed Wallace. Good night, men.

A few minutes later, the other two sailors returned from their mission of mercy and asked to speak in private. The three men proceeded to the fantail and found a space to sit.

We need some mercy, sir.

We weren’t late because we were messing up, sir. We were trying to help our buddy.

What happened? Somebody poured whiskey down his throat and made him yell like some demented redneck?

No sir. Worse.

He met with the father of his girl and asked the old man’s permission to marry her.

And the old man insulted him—‘vagabond sailor’, no housing for the girl, no permanent station for the ship and so forth and so on.

Old man said NO. Gaudette stomped off and got drunk.

We stood by to keep him out of fights, ‘cause he was in a fighting mood.

And he knows how to box.

And you rigged that accident with the barrel?

Probably just a coincidence sir.

Okay. I admire loyalty. Looks like our shipmate has a problem and not much time to solve it. We’re scheduled to shove off in ten days.

We know, sir.

I once belonged to a fraternity where one of the brothers had a similar situation and a small group of us helped the couple elope. I might be able to offer some guidance in this situation.

But you’re an officer, sir.

Yes, that’s right. However, you could probably arrange one of those private party rooms upstairs above the Admiral Inn or someplace similar. And I might just stumble in by accident.

We’d have to keep it small, sir.

"Neither of us have the watch tomorrow night, sir.

Nor do I. I might be near there around 2100.

We might run into you, accidentally, I mean, sir.

All right then. Go check on our shipmate. Good night, men.

Back at his desk, Lt. Wallace jotted notes on a legal pad:

WHAT’S THE PROBLEM? Sailor and girl want to get married. Father objects. Wants them to wait. But ship is leaving in ten days time. Future course uncertain.

WHAT CAUSED THE PROBLEM? The girl is 20, the sailor 24. He’s been in the Navy since high school. Sailed in China, West Coast. Girl graduated high school, lives at home. She’s the youngest and the last unmarried. Big sister has illegitimate child.

WHAT CAN WE DO ABOUT IT? Plan an elopement. Things to Be Done:

Marriage license; church and preacher; wedding rings; hotel for short honeymoon; dress for the bride; transportation; gain support from ship’s Old Man; collect money; enlist support from officers; find crew member who knows New York.

Note to self: these notes are not for distribution to Mother!

Feb. 15, 1940

Dear Diary,

Who was the Yankee wit that observed no good deed will go unpunished? Despite my best efforts over the past week, it seems that sage was correct. I have tried to imitate that great hero Odysseus and remain anonymous in helping to arrange the elopement and marriage of this young couple. Seaman Goudette and Ms. Murphy are decent folks who can use a bit of help. But because I am an officer and forbidden to fraternize (cf. Latin, frater) with the enlisted men, I must remain in the shadows. From there, I recall the witty response Odysseus made when Cyclops asked who had hurt his only eye: No man. Literally true, but very accurate! So if the Commander of the ship or the father of the bride ever asks a similar question, I’ll be able to make the same response: No (enlisted) man.

Odysseus also remained silent when he washed up on a strange shore, having lost his ship, his crew, his booty—but not his cleverness. He conceals his identity from the winsome princess and her father, at least until they have fed him. In like manner, I allow the crew to feed me with a greasy hamburger, a few handfuls of unshelled goobers, and a couple of glasses of beer. Seamen Frankie, Arnie, and Chief Jack all share parts of the background so I get a clearer picture of the situation.

In my mind’s eye, I have them tie me to the mast and pour wax in my ears, just as Odysseus did, so I won’t listen to nor act on any dangerous ideas. My enlisted shipmates do not lack for imagination! Suggested schemes include kidnapping the bride, confronting her father in uniform and en masse, and asking the Mayor of Brooklyn to intervene.

Instead, I quietly (i.e. as quietly as possible in a sailor bar) suggest a division of labor: Frankie, as best man, will arrange the church via his cousin a Papist priest who has connections at St. Patrick’s Cathedral! Frankie’s girl, Claire, who introduced the couple in the first place, arrange the honeymoon hotel in Manhattan; Marie, older sister of the bride, arrange the trousseau and facilitate the blood test. My job, if necessary, is to make sure Seaman Goudette gets time off to visit the civilian physician for the obligatory blood test. The bride has sworn the family doctor to secrecy and he has agreed to draw the blood from her and her husband-to-be. Seaman Arnie is in charge of logistics, which means checking on subway routes so the couple can get to Borough Hall for the marriage license after they receive results of the blood test, and then, along with the few guests, ride to Manhattan and the Cathedral of St. Patrick on 53rd Street.

To me, at least, the project seems similar to the task of that Greek hero steering his ship through the dangerous passage between the Scylla (i.e. the regulations of the U.S. Navy) and the Charybdis (i.e. the ire of an Irish father).

Substantial danger resulting in expert sailing and happy results! I hope. . .

February 17, 1940 (0730)

Yesterday, for the first time, one of the seamen told me about Murphy’s Law that states that if anything can go wrong, it will! I scoffed at this tidbit of Celtic cynicism until my well-laid plans began to unravel as I willed them to unfold.

I awoke this morning and lay in my bunk thinking of how well the project was developing. I had fulfilled my role and the seaman and the bride got to Dr. Flynn for the blood test. Somehow, the good doctor managed to get the results stat and the couple, escorted by Seaman Frankie and Girlfriend Claire, rode the subway to Borough Hall and procured a marriage license.

Meanwhile, Seaman Frankie had bribed his cousin somehow to get a side chapel reserved at the Cathedral, which I am told matches some of those in France. Claire also knew someone who knew someone and that person reserved a room for one night at the Waldorf Astoria. Sister of the bride, Marie, had purchased a new dress, hat and gloves for the bride—business attire, not the full regalia.

But this morning—just a short while ago—someone banged on my stateroom door. I stepped into the passageway to speak with Frankie who was quite agitated.

He reported that Goudette had awoken with cold feet and wanted to call off the wedding.

The mountain sighed and gave birth to a mouse (as Horace would have it).

But not on my watch! The wedding is scheduled for high noon. I am going now to talk to the nervous groom, in person. Alas, I have no experience as groom, but I am an aficionado of Odysseus and I recall his leadership being tested and how his craftiness won out. More later. . . .

February 17, 1730

In talking with the seaman, I had few arrows in my quiver, so I used them all!

I tried to be conversational and not overtly obvious in producing feelings of guilt.

First arrow: Does she love you? He acknowledged that she did. I suggested she was sacrificing the good will of her family by defying her father, not having the wedding her mother hoped for, and not being able to invite all her siblings. Perhaps, this situation was not fair to the bride.

Second arrow: How will this decision affect our shipmates? I pointed out that not only Frankie and Arnie, but also a dozen other sailors had a role in this little caper.

All had risked punishment by bending the rules in some way to facilitate this rare but exciting event. His decision not to go through with the ceremony might not be fair to those shipmates.

Third arrow: How would the officers react? I reminded him that a destroyer is a small vessel with a small crew. The group aboard had been with the ship almost six months and were shaping themselves into the initial and original crew. Shared memories would bind them into a team that functioned effectively. This result was particularly important because of the impending war in Europe. It would be unfortunate to ship out with the last memory of Brooklyn being negative.

Then, dear diary, I had the hubris to quote Henry V’s speech about we few, we happy few, we band of brothers. The poor lad had not read that much Shakespeare but he caught on to the idea of a small group of military men, outnumbered and dismissed contemptuously by the French, rallied and defeated a much larger, more seasoned force.

Then I said I would leave him alone for a few minutes to think it over.

I went into the passageway and leaned my back against the door, to protect it from my roommate and to prevent the sailor from fleeing in panic.

I had not mentioned my personal worry about a lieutenant junior grade bending Navy regs to promote such an unusual project. If it failed, my chances for quick promotion would probably sink along with it.

I could certainly understand his reluctance. I suspect I felt something similar when I got my orders to proceed from Norfolk to the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Looking at the situation objectively, I could see the disadvantages of getting married and then shipping out a week later, of transferring the monthly allotment from mother to wife, of starting a new life with no control over orders, geography, or war.

Not exactly the formula for living happily ever after! Surely not at all similar to those ceremonies I had witnessed in the chapel in Charlottesville! But I had tried my best; I had even purchased a wedding gift, following the dictum that the best present is something I’d like for myself.

And so, with some hesitation, I knocked lightly and then entered the stateroom. Goudette was standing, his back against the upper bunk. He snapped to Attention and saluted.

Sir, I just want to thank you for taking the time to talk to me, like man to man. And for all you did to make this happen. I’ve thought about all the points you made, and I’ve decided. Sir, I want to get married!

And so he was!

I truly believe this event has unified the crew, officers and men, toward being a unit. And I am sure the Captain will give me permission to present the new Mrs. Goudette with my wedding present, a bottle of Moët & Chandon, so she can break it against the

Chapter 3

Sailing to San Diego

On Washington’s Birthday, 1940, Alice Murphy Goudette dressed for work, kissed Ma