The Crescent Odyssey: From Ottoman Roots to American Warship Captain

By Rudolph Halouk Daus

When Rudolph Halouk Daus was born in 1933 in Paris, France, to an Ottomon princess and an American Beaux Arts educated entrepreneur with Jewish Rabbinical and French Catholic roots, no one had any idea that in just seven years, the German Army would invade France and uproot his family, sending all of them to fulfill new destinies.

Daus shares a fascinating story of his diverse background, his ancestors, and his personal odyssey as he progressed from extraordinary beginnings to a miraculous escape from Nazi-occupied France and finally to an incredible naval career capped with command of two warships. As he details his singular progress across continents, Daus provides an unforgettable glimpse into a circuitous and star-crossed life as he experienced adventures, challenges, and heartbreaking trials as an American Naval Officer and was eventually led into a second career as a law firm manager and a third career as an entrepreneur whose ventures steered him from America to Turkey, Japan, and the Wild East of Central Asia.

The Crescent Odyssey shares the fascinating story of a man for all seasons and his unique journey from his Turkey Ottoman soldiers roots to his escapades as an American warship captain and entrepreneur.

The Crescent Odyssey is a superb read and tells the story of the life and diverse background of an American Naval Officer, his shipmates, his family, his ancestors and his life at sea during the Cold War easy to understand for either the experienced sailor or one accustomed to life ashore ...

Admiral Frank Kelso, United States Navy (Retired), 44th Chief of Naval Operations

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491737132

Rudolph Halouk Daus

The author was born in Paris the issue of an American Beaux Arts educated entrepreneur with Jewish Rabbinical and French Catholic roots and an Ottoman Turkish princess, raised by an Ottoman nanny, escaped German occupied France, thrust into a blue-collar parochial schools in mid-town Manhattan, New York. The author’s circuitous and star-crossed life story leads through careers which seem like three life times. A naval career capped with command of two incredible ships and ship’s companies, a Destroyer Escort at age 33 and a Guided Missile Destroyer at 40, and shore duty as Program Sponsor of a new class of 60 Oliver Hazard Perry class Frigates. Over fourteen years, he managed 4 law firms, the last of which had offices in four cities, Washington, Chicago, Boston and Portland, Oregon. His entrepreneurial ventures over a span of over twenty years led to adventures in America, Turkey, Japan and the Wild East of Central Asia. He matriculated for a year at Fordham University in a liberal arts discipline before attending the US Naval Academy earning an engineering degree and a commission as Ensign, US Navy in 1956. The author is enjoying retirement with his wife of 58 years whom he has known for 63 years. They live in the Alexandria, Virginia, a suburb of Washington, D.C. in the Mount Vernon Estate area for the past 44 years. This is the author’s first book.

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From Ottoman Roots to American Warship Captain

RUDOLPH HALOUK DAUS

Captain, US Navy (Retired)

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The Crescent Odyssey

From Ottoman Roots to American Warship Captain

Copyright © 2010, 2014 Rudolph Halouk Daus.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-3714-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3712-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3713-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014913002

iUniverse rev. date: 09/10/2014

Contents

Illustrations

TABLES

Preface

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chronology

In Seas Lathered by Storm

Prologue

Chapter One Command of McMorris

Chapter Two The Captain and His Forebearers

Chapter Three The Father

Chapter Four The Mother

Chapter Five The Brother

Chapter Six The Boy

Chapter Seven The Dreamer

Chapter Eight The Midshipman

Chapter Nine The Ensign and the JG

Chapter Ten The Aide

Chapter Eleven The CHENG—at Sea

Chapter Twelve The LT—Ashore

Chapter Thirteen The XO

Chapter Fourteen The LCDR at Sixth Fleet Staff

Chapter Fifteen The CDR—the Navy AO

Chapter Sixteen The CDR—in SERE

Chapter Seventeen The Captain—Proud, Powerful Parsons

Chapter Eighteen The Captain Leads by Example

Chapter Nineteen The Captain Takes the Philippines

Chapter Twenty The Captain’s Farewell

Chapter Twenty-One The Sponsor for New Ships

Chapter Twenty-Two Setting the Anchor Ashore for Good

Chapter Twenty-Three The Director of Administration

Chapter Twenty-Four The Entrepreneur

Chapter Twenty-Five The Magistrate for the Commonwealth of Virginia

Chapter Twenty-Six Heredity or Environment?

Epilogue To Thine Own Self Be True— Who Is This Traveler?

Glossary

Notes

Illustrations

USS McMorris (DE-1036) at Bravo Piers, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

The Captain and his Lady on the bridge of USS McMorris on guest cruise, circa 1966

The Navy Wife and three Sons aboard McMorris, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, August 1966

Three Sons—William Bahri, John Djem, Daniel Halouk—aboard USS McMorris, circa 1966

USS McMorris underway North Pacific Ocean

Midships damage from collision January 31, 1967, USS McMorris

Damaged McMorris under tow to Pearl Harbor, February 1, 1967

Paternal Grandfather and Grandmother, Rudolph Lawrence Daus and Louise Perrin Daus, circa 1860

Rudolph Lawrence Daus, paternal Grandfather, circa 1900

Louise Perrin de Berar Daus, paternal Grandmother, circa 1900

Coat of Arms of Tavdgiridze, originating circa AD 1200

Çürüksulu Süleiman Bahri Pasha (Bahri Pasha), Governor of Skodra (Balkan) Province, circa 1890

Çürüksulu Bahri Pasha, Governor of Van Province (center), circa 1891

the Father William Thallon Daus Paris, circa 1915 (Note the uniform jacket and black armband)

the Father, at Country Home, Riverside, Connecticut, circa 1944

Gloria, the soprano clutching the author’s hand, with younger brother and parents’ guests at Country Home, Riverside, Connecticut, circa 1946

The younger Brother, Lawrence Bahri (Bob), and wife Hilda, Newport, Rhode Island, circa 1958

The younger Brother’s wedding, New York City, circa 1957 (Bob, second from left)

The younger Brother’s Daughter’s wedding, Connecticut 1989. In attendance, Brothers Djem, Halouk, Bob, and nephews Djem and Halouk

Younger Brother Bob, Nephew Bobbie, number three Son Halouk and author’s wife, Dolmabahçe Palace, Istanbul, summer 1990

The Mother Sadiye Aiche Sultan as schoolgirl, Istanbul, circa 1910

The Mother and the Brother (Djem Burhanedddin Efendi) Dolmabahçe Palace circa 1922

The Mother, in exile, Paris, circa 1928

The Father and the Mother in Packard Roadster with Turkish relatives, Istanbul, circa 1936

The Mother, the Dadi, and four Sons, Lisbon, Portugal, circa 1941

The Dadi with the Boy and younger Brother, Lisbon, Portugal, 1941

The Mother with four Sons, Estoril, Portugal, circa 1941

The Mother New York City, circa 1943

The Mother with her Grandchildren, William Bahri, John Djem, and Daniel Halouk, New York City circa 1979

The Brothers, Cannes, France, circa 1936

The Brother, Burhaneddin Djem Efendi, Dolmabahçe Palace, circa 1922

The Brother, Dolmabahçe Palace, circa 1923

The Brother, Second Lieutenant Djem B. Daus, US Army, Europe, circa 1944

The second Brother, Osman Bayazid Efendi, New York City, circa 1950

Nilufer Hanim Efendi (the Brother’s Half-Sister) and her mother, Paris, circa 1938

The Boy with Parents, older Brothers, and terrier, Ricki-tiki-tarvi, Nice, France, circa 1934

The Boy with Dadi and older Brothers, Nice, France circa 1935

The Mother and the Boy, Villa Valencia, Cannes, France, circa 1936

The Boy Paris, France, circa 1938

The Boy and younger Brother, Lawrence Bahri (Bobbie), New York City, circa 1942

The Father, the Mother, and the Boys in Palm Beach, 1945

The Boy, senior year at Xavier High School, circa 1951

Presenting Admiral Frank Kelso’s sword to Midshipman Henry John Donaghy, May 2009

The Midshipman and his OAO, Memorial Hall Tea Dance, circa 1952

The Midshipman and his OAO, Tea Dance, Carvel Hall, Annapolis, circa 1953

The Ensign, the Bride, and wedding sword arch, St. Francis Xavier Church, New York City, November 24, 1956

The Ensign (second from right) on his first visit to Turkey, summer 1957

LTJG’s landing party, Lebanon, circa 1958

The Aide, Hakone Hot Springs, Japan, summer 1960

USS Buchanan (DDG-14) during sea trials, December 1964

Executive Officer, USS Buchanan, circa 1964

The Navy Wife with the three Sons, USS Buchanan in background, San Diego, California, circa 1965

USS Buchanan, circa 1965

USS Buchanan in South China Sea, SAR Station, circa 1965–66

Three Sons on vacation in Volkswagen, touring France, Switzerland, and Germany from Gaeta, Italy, December 1968

The Commander with Admiral Elmo R. Zumwalt, Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) and Admiral David Bagley, Chief of Naval Personnel (CNP), circa 1972

The Commander receiving the Navy Commendation Medal with Navy Wife, for Duty on Staff, COMSIXTHFLT, circa 1970

Posters at going-away party, November 1972

USS Parsons (DDG-33) moored Yokosuka, Japan, circa 1974

Koinobori—flying carp for Boys Day

USS Parsons underway in South China Sea, circa 1974

The Captain, wearing fez, with three of the Band of Brothers—(L to R) Larry, Curt, and Dan—March 1975

Former Naval Officer with Wife and three Sons, Alexandria, Virginia, circa 1979

Eldest Son’s rehearsal dinner. Left to right, Number Three Son and Number Two Son handcuffed to Number One Son. Their uncle Bob and cousin Robert looking on. August 1980

Number One son married Valerie Carroll, Ft. Belvoir, Virginia, August 5, 1980

The Potomac Gentlemen’s Club at the Taberna del Alabardero, February 9, 1996

The Potomac Gentlemen’s Club at the Brasserie Les Halles, June 2006

Number Two Son’s graduation, with Mother, Father and number Three Son, Virginia Tech, June 1984

Number Three Son’s graduation with Mother, Father, and Number Two Son, Virginia Tech, June 1986

Rehearsal Dinner with groom’s uncles and father’s first Cousins, l. to r., standing, Melih, Fahir, brother Djem, the Author (Best Man), brother Bob, l. to r., sitting, cousins Refhan and Nurten, Jefferson Hotel, Richmond, Virginia, November 22, 1991

Number Two Son married Liz Reynolds, Richmond, Virginia, November 23, 1991

The Entrepreneur and his wife at Cousin Zekiye’s wedding at Istanbul’s Kuruçesme, August 2005

Number Three Son married Kristin Keller, Islamorada, Florida, June 25, 2011

TABLES

Table 1: Family of Çürüksulu Süleiman Bahri Pasha

Table 2: Genealogy: Tavdgiridze/Çürüksulu Line

Table 3: Genealogy: Line of Ruben family to Daus Hamburg, Germany, and Karlskrona, Sweden

For my dear wife,

Albertina Margaret Anna Leibana, née LoPrete;

the three sons she presented and raised,

William Bahri, John Djem, and Daniel Halouk;

and

other family, friends, colleagues, and fellow travelers

who inspired this wondrous life.

PREFACE

The distant cause for undertaking the writing of The Crescent Odyssey: From Ottoman Roots to American Warship Captain was the constant drumbeat by my wife of fifty-seven years, who suggested that I write a book on this subject and on that subject and at least put down on paper the many sea stories and anecdotes I am fond of telling. The proximate cause came from my Naval Academy classmate, roommate, and the best man at my wedding. He picked up the beat and prodded my wife to badger me without mercy. He even sent her a tape recorder to facilitate the recording of my endless anecdotes. Finally, with no resistance or excuse left, but with sufficient pencils and yellow pads in hand, I found the solitude and quiet of my garden and started writing.

The book was at first intended to address deeply held feelings about controversial current events. These included some of the Armenian Diaspora fascination with genocide: Do Armenians have a victim mentality or were Ottoman Armenians truly martyrs? Kurdish tribalism, mostly affecting Turkey and Iraq, is widely misunderstood. Few realize that their tribal mentality and culture has not changed in a thousand years. World leaders and secular democracies need to deal with them accordingly. Third, I wanted to explore whether or not evolving Turkey would break with its post-Ottoman secularism forged by Mustafa Kemal Ataturk and bend toward Islamist fundamentalism. Lastly, I wanted to investigate the nature/nurture question and how it affected my life.

After researching the topics at length and writing down these deliberations in some detail, it seemed best to leave most topics for another book or risk a feeble attempt at writing a one-thousand-page facsimile of Tolstoy’s War and Peace. The Crescent Odyssey is a more modest effort. It concludes by trying to answer the age-old question of whether heredity, therefore genetics or environment, therefore nurture, luck, and Kismet, are the primary drivers in the formation of the character and soul that define the person I have become.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost, Teena, gracious and dear wife, companion and soul mate for more than sixty-two years, who was responsible for my setting pen to paper and for providing the ever-constant beacon for this wondrous adventure.

Then the proximate cause for embarking on the task of memorializing in detail this Crescent Odyssey, Scott Chester, roommate for my last two years at the Naval Academy and the best man at my wedding. It was he who suggested that my Teena record my many sea stories and tales for posterity, and gave her a tape recorder to help the chore along.

Third and not least, Tom Gede, shipmate on the good ship Parsons and friend, who with gusto embraced the task of editing the manuscript of over five hundred pages to make it worth publishing. A true labor of love. Besides this yeoman’s task, his extensive research produced the rich lineage of the author’s paternal ancestors.

It is impossible for me to list the many others who assisted me in innumerable ways over four and a half years. But I would be an ingrate if I did not at least take special note of those who encouraged the task and made the telling worthwhile. Kim Wolfe, who without hesitation unselfishly offered to transcribe and type the handwritten text. She did most of the early chapters before technology came to the rescue with workable voice-recognition software, which facilitated the typing of the final chapters. Levant Bilgen, a Turkish diplomat and longtime friend, who made helpful suggestions in the early construction of these memoirs and assisted in researching the Turkish general staff’s archives for the storied career of Bahri Pasha, my maternal grandfather. I am particularly grateful to those who read the manuscript in part and offered friendly-fire suggestions: David Ewing, USS McMorris’s Executive Officer, who shared the heartrending experience of her collision at sea; Brian Banner, Esquire, attorney par excellence and steadfast bon vivant of the Potomac Gentleman’s Cigar Club; and Frances Taussig, widow of a grand WWII Marine and Semper Fi friend.

I am grateful that my publisher, iUniverse, saw fit to undertake the project and masterfully produce these memoirs, of which my progeny and friends can be proud.

It is with humility that I recognize that the odyssey would not have been memorable and worth the taking if it were not for these and so many other remembered fellow travelers.

INTRODUCTION

This is a tall tale where the raconteur seems to have lived several lifetimes in the space of eight decades. It spans three generations of adventurers over 130 years, between the nineteenth and twenty-first centuries, and across four continents, along with innumerable fellow travelers. It is a case study in diversity.

I was born the son of an Ottoman princess whose father was Cürüksulu Bahri Pasha, an Ottoman soldier who became the governor of several provinces of the Ottoman Empire. My father was an intrepid entrepreneur with both Jewish rabbinical and French Catholic roots. Ruben Renner, on his maternal side is the progenitor of a long line of descendants that built up the wealth and strength of the Jewish community in theHamburg-Altona-Wandsbeck boroughs of Germany. My great-grandmother was Emma Ruben, whose progeny include a number of renowned persons. These distant cousins include the composer Mendelssohn Bartholdy, banker Baron Maximillien Goldschmidt-Rothschild, and vintner Baron Elie de Rothschild of Chateau Lafite Rothschild fame.

I was strongly influenced in adolescence by a devoted Muslim nanny and a Catholic nun. When I reached my majority, I chose Christianity, married a devote Catholic lady, and raised our three sons Catholic.

Cervantes might have written a sequel to Don Quixote using the life experiences of a man for all seasons, whose journey along a tortuous path between heredity and environment led to the creation of an adventurous, seafaring man, a Renaissance man. Along the way, The Crescent Odyssey explores the origins of character, heart, and soul. Where does character take root? How does it blossom? Good and worthy character is easily recognized. It contains a measure of courage, compassion, loyalty, fairness, and a moral center. These attributes are also at the core of a pied piper, the person all will follow along an uncertain path into harm’s way.

In exploring the matter of recollection of past events, studies have often been conflicted in the understanding of the function of the right and left brains. Apparently the left brain handles speech functions and is the more structured of the two. If perceived facts are incomplete, the left brain fills in the blanks and rounds out the recollections. It files a well-edited and complete event in the right brain. The right brain accepts the filing, and when called upon to release the file, it releases the edited, filed event as if factually correct. When called upon to recollect, the right brain does not edit further. This may explain the embroidery of stories over time. The facts may have been hazy, but when an event is recalled, it is with full and complete clarity.

When two or three shipmates gather and old tales are retold, the recollections may be contradictory, but a kernel of fact is present in each remembrance. Overly precise readers may observe that an anecdote or two conflicts with their own recollection. I quickly confess that mistakes may exist owing to lapses in memory or my inclination to embroider. There is no malice intended. I easily agree that each person believes his recollection is the most accurate. Indubitably, each person may be right!

So often truth is deemed to be fiction, and, more often, fiction is presented and accepted as fact. Truth, like beauty, is most often in the eyes of the beholder. The border between fact and fantasy is blurred by the passage of time and the telling and retelling of particular anecdotes. The distilled product is the truth.

To avoid hurt to any, I deem this work more a fictional novel. To avoid sounding overly egocentric, I wrote it in the third person, referring to myself as the Raconteur, the Author, the Boy, the Midshipman, the Ensign, the JG, the Lieutenant, the Exec, the Captain, the DOA, the Entrepreneur, the Magistrate, etc. Fellow travelers are identified in various ways. Sometimes, though rarely, a full name is used. More often, I only use first names or the role the person played in the story as it unfolded in the odyssey. The intent is to protect their privacy. Certainly, those who recall the incidents know they are remembered. Others not mentioned need not feel slighted. They may be featured in the sequel.

In reading The Crescent Odyssey, if you like what you read and think you recognize yourself, good on you. Read on! If you think you recognize yourself and don’t like what you read, get real and still read on. You might even find yourself fully engaged in a fantastic odyssey. If you remember a specific anecdote differently, your indulgence is sincerely requested. No malice is intended. Come along and raise a cup of cheer to the journey! Some will just enjoy a good yarn. Others will be moved by some facet of it. It may even be the spirit awakened by William Shakespeare’s words in Henry V:

Whoever does not have the stomach for this fight, let him depart. Give him his money to speed his departure since we wish not to die in this man’s company. Whoever lives past today and comes home safely will rouse himself every year on this day, show his neighbor his scars, and tell him embellished stories of all their great feats of battle. These stories he will teach his son and from this day until the end of the world we shall be remembered. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for whoever has shed his blood with me shall be my brother. And those men afraid to go will think themselves lesser men as they hear of how we fought and died together. (4.3.35–65)

Others may harken to the telling of the sign of the Crescent: fate, providence, the hand of God, Kismet, or just plain good luck, all of which helped the formation of the character and soul that define the person I have become. These memoirs are a record of a truly fortunate traveler, blessed by being born under the light of the Crescent.

The book is organized as follows:

• Chapter 1 sets forth the adventures, challenges, and heartbreaking trials of the first command at sea at age thirty-three. It takes the reader straight to sea, on shipboard, and in the daily life of Navy officers and men.

• Chapters 2 through 7 introduce the reader to the paternal and maternal ancestors and explore the influence of the Father, the Mother, and the elder Brother on the Boy. These three had the greatest influence on the character development of the Boy. The Dadi (Ottoman nanny) and a Jesuit priest had definitive impact as well. In these chapters, there are reminiscences about the Boy’s early years, and insight into the Boy’s character by describing the lucid dreams he encountered in adolescence and later. These dreams illuminate his relation to the Brother and others in his life, and continue as he reached his majority.

• Chapters 8 through 14 provide the most enjoyable recall of a conglomeration of sea stories, down to the sea in ships. These include the early years, from Midshipman days through junior-officer duties at sea, what might be called the story of young studs, old fuds, and Lieutenant Commanders. This follows the warrior as Executive Officer of a guided missile destroyer (DDG) during the Vietnam War and his adventure as Anti-Submarine (ASW) Officer on the Staff of the Commander Sixth Fleet in the Mediterranean Sea during the Six-Day War in the Middle East.

• Chapters 15 through 20 include time ashore in the Pentagon, subsequently undergoing the stresses of SERE training, and finally, the second command, USS Parsons (DDG-33) at age forty. This assignment is covered in several chapters, recounting adventures at sea and ashore, where command at sea brings tremendous pride of accomplishment.

• Chapters 21 and 22 recall the shore-bound sailor, including staff duty in the Bureau of Naval Personnel and in the Pentagon.

• Chapters 23 through 25 chronicle the second career managing four law firms over fourteen years. They further explore the entrepreneurial years in going for the long ball in the pursuits of International Crescent Ltd. and managing a residential cleaning service. Lastly, they cover a short stint as a Magistrate for the Commonwealth of Virginia.

• Finally, chapter 26 seeks to resolve the competing influences of heredity and environment.

Join me on this odyssey. It is a pleasure to have you aboard!

Chronology

IN SEAS LATHERED BY STORM

You can just call me Sailor. My name doesn’t matter but my story does. It matters to all of us who spent all or part of these past few years at sea. It is said that ships are classified in several ways; by the materials of which their hulls are built, by their methods of propulsion, by their ownership, and even by their use. But what makes a ship stand out from all the rest are the men—the men who tend the lines, the men who make the steam, the men who shoot the bullets and missiles, and the men who cook the bread. Their backgrounds are as wide as our homes are varied. They come down to the sea for many reasons. But let no man who has been humbled beneath the cathedral of stars or prayed for the light of day in a sea lathered by storm say that they are not shipmates; they are Destroyermen all.¹

PROLOGUE

COMMAND AT SEA

What propels a man to become a leader? Is it inherent from birth? Does it arise from the jumble of random and unpredictable events that happen to him? When he chooses a path, does his choice arise from personality traits inherited from his father and grandfather, or his mother and grandmother? Or from circumstances partly of his choice and partly not of his choice? Surely, he will make choices when events take their turns, and it is then that he will stake his fortune and his future.

A ship’s Captain takes absolute responsibility for the lives of others and for a massive and valuable piece of machinery, and then he heaves both of these into capricious seas and perilous ventures. When he does this, he stakes all that he is as a person—his manhood, intellect, and character—on a challenge like none imaginable. It is not a Sisyphean task, though it may resemble one. It brings along with it terrible risks and burdens, which, through a Captain’s optimism and fearlessness, may resolve into successes, victories and exhilarating achievements, and a deep and satisfying fulfillment.

The Royal Navy’s great accomplishments were to control the seven seas with the aim that the sun would never set on the British Empire and, importantly, to weave tradition into the mantle of the Master and Commander. Service at sea is demanding on the minds and bodies of sailors. The sea’s changing mood often frustrates the spirit and safety of ship and complement.

In ships under sail, men and boys were often pressed into service. Masters and their agents would shanghai drifters in seaports or those they simply caught unaware to fill out the complement of a ship about to set sail. These ships would ply the seas to the far reaches of the earth for endless years. Strict discipline, sometimes meted out arbitrarily and brutally, was the norm and deemed necessary. It is said that the Royal Navy maintained discipline by the lash, rum, and sodomy. The cruelest of punishments was to be lashed about the fleet; that is, to be punished with a full five hundred lashes. The beneficiary of this favor was hitched into a ship’s long boat which then made the rounds to each accompanying man-o’-war for fifty full lashes, until the five hundred lashes were delivered. This punishment was likely worse than keelhauling or walking the plank, since the culprit usually did not survive the punishment.

While British traditions of pomp and circumstance persist, punishment in the American Navy has evolved from Rocks and Shoals justice to a more restrained disciplining under the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ). The UCMJ provides a ship’s Captain significant latitude in the use of nonjudicial punishment in lieu of a summary, special, or general court-martial. Nonjudicial punishment at captain’s mast permits an award of any combination of or all of the following: loss of one third of pay for two months, two hours of extra duty per day for ninety days, restriction to the limits of the ship for thirty days, and reduction of one pay grade. Confinement in a brig for thirty days and confinement on bread and water for three days can be awarded if brig facilities are available. Captain’s mast is the Captain’s most unpleasant duty and needs to be exercised only when normal inducements fail. The frequent use of nonjudicial punishment seems to this author a failure of leadership that reflects the inability of officers and senior ratings to create good morale, the spirit of followership, and ship cohesiveness. The right shipboard atmosphere, peer pressure, and pride in one’s ship works wonders. An old Navy ditty speaks to that spirit:

Away, away with sword and drum

Here we come, full of rum

Looking for something to put on the run

The Armored Cruiser Squadron.

Captains come in all shapes, forms, and disciplines. They are first and foremost sailors and professionals. The call of the sea requires of them the highest standards of integrity, loyalty, and intellectual honesty. Right is right, wrong is wrong. There is no acceptable gray, except that applied to the hull of the ship. It takes courage to accept that standard and live it day by day. But doing so earns the respect of the entire ship’s company and the sailor’s right to wear the Navy blue and gold.

This is the story principally of a Navy Captain and his singular progress across continents, from his extraordinary beginnings, a veritable Turkish tapestry of family, relationships, and experiences, and ultimately, of a quintessential American triumph. It begins here with the Captain, the Captain of a Navy ship.

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USS McMorris (DE-1036) at Bravo Piers, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

CHAPTER ONE

COMMAND OF MCMORRIS

My name was Halouk Rodolphe at birth in Paris. I became Rudolph (Rudy) Halouk when my family and I rejoined my father in New York after the occupation of France in World War II, and I started at St. Agnes Elementary School. I was called Mister when I became a Naval Officer. Now you can call me Captain.

Though a memoir is usually linear from birth, this telling starts at age thirty-three. That is because achieving command of a warship had been the ultimate goal of this sailor, and the story of command of the McMorris is central to my odyssey. Every sailor hopes that going down to the sea in ships will lead to the challenges of command.

It was 1966. Ten years out of the Naval Academy and thirty-three years old with three young sons, the Lieutenant Commander (LCDR) had completed a tour as Executive Officer of a guided missile destroyer, USS Buchanan (DDG-14), home-ported in San Diego. The LCDR stepped up to read his orders aloud to the ship’s assembled officers, crew, Squadron Commander, guests, and families, on board McMorris in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. He turned to his predecessor, saluted, and said, I relieve you, sir. He turned to his Squadron Commander. "I report for duty as commanding officer, USS McMorris, sir."

The Commodore responded, "Very well!"

The new Captain then turned to the microphone. It is usual for a new Captain to make some remarks at length, relevant platitudes—again at length—to thank the previous Captain for turning over a fine ship, et cetera, et cetera. Instead, in his hubris, the new Captain said, Fair winds and following seas to you, Commander. All orders currently in effect will remain in effect until changed by me. Executive Officer, take charge!

Without hesitation, the Executive Officer responded, "Aye, aye, sir!" and saluted. The Captain returned the salute and went to kiss his wife and three sons, sitting in the first row.

Photo5.jpg

The Captain and his Lady on the bridge of USS McMorris on guest cruise, circa 1966

Photo2.jpg

The Navy Wife and three Sons aboard McMorris, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, August 1966

Photo3.jpg

Three Sons—William Bahri, John Djem, Daniel Halouk—aboard USS McMorris, circa 1966

The Executive Officer, also an Academy graduate, two years the Captain’s junior, had a slight frame, sandy hair, and intelligent, sensitive eyes. The Captain felt that together, he and his Number One would do well by the good ship McMorris. The Captain was right. The XO was a great ship handler with a terrific touch. He applied that same touch in handling the crew, eleven officers, and a complement of 157 Bluejackets.

The first underway was from Bravo Pier at Pearl Harbor, nestled between a pair of destroyers fore and aft. That bright summer morning, the XO came to the Captain’s cabin and reported that the Special Sea and Anchor Detail was set and they were ready to go. A tug was standing by off the stern.

Thank you, XO, the Captain said. Have the Officer of the Deck call me when we are ready to get underway.

Aye, aye, sir! the XO said, and left the cabin.

The Officer of the Deck (OOD) soon called. Ready to get underway, Captain. Main engines are ready to answer all bells.

Very well, the Captain responded, and proceeded to the bridge.

Captain’s on the bridge, announced the Bridge Messenger.

The Captain went to the starboard wing, looked over the side, and called the OOD front and center. You are not ready to get under way. Your lines are still doubled up, he said quietly, and left the bridge.

The OOD called a few minutes later. Captain, the ship is ready to get underway. Main engines ready to answer all bells. All lines are singled up.

Very well, the Captain said, and returned to the bridge.

Captain’s on the bridge, announced the Messenger once more.

Take in one, three, four, five, and six, the Captain said. Main control stand by to answer all bells. He strode to the starboard wing and looked over the side. His sharp crew understood the meaning. All lines, except for the number 2 line, were already loosed and almost on deck. The line handlers formed up in single lines and stood tall.

Right full rudder, ahead one third, he ordered. As the ship strained forward on the number 2 line, the stern swung out. As the stern cleared the outboard of two destroyers astern, he ordered in quick succession, All stop, rudder amidships, take in two. All engines back two-thirds.

As the ship got sternway, number 2 line slacked, and the line handlers took it aboard smartly.

What a ship! It was like squeezing toothpaste out of a tube. In the stream away from the pier, the ship turned to head fair and moved out to sea at two-thirds speed. What a crew! Sharp and responsive. They stood tall. They appeared proud that their Captain could handle their ship in a most seamanlike manner without depending on tugs. They would get along, this Captain and crew.

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USS McMorris underway North Pacific Ocean

They got to know each other as they headed for Midway Island and the North Pacific on a highly classified surveillance operation. Prior to arriving at Midway to take on fuel, he Captain studied the Sailing Directions. The current in the channel ran seven to ten knots and changed direction as it ricocheted off the coral on either side of the entrance passage. Arriving at Midway, the Captain took the conn—his first mooring of McMorris—then ordered eighteen knots and entered the channel. He adjusted course to compensate for the shifting set of the current opposing the ship. As they entered the basin, the opposing current slacked off and the ship surged quickly to eighteen knots.

Left standard rudder. Engines ahead two-thirds, he ordered.

McMorris came left and slowed. The basin was smaller than he’d expected. He looked for the assigned pier. "XO, where is our berth?" he asked.

Right there! We’re going by it, responded the XO as the ship passed it by at ten knots.

Okay, the Captain said calmly. All engines stop, half-full rudder.

The ship made for the next pier smartly and moored. The Harbor Master ran over from the first pier and hollered, You’re at the wrong pier, Captain.

No, we’re not. Your hoses are at the wrong pier. We are refueling at this pump. Fill her up, the Captain responded.

And so it went. Full up, they got underway and headed for their operation, or op, area. The Special Operations (SPECOPS) went without accident. McMorris did her duty well. On the way home, the second Midway fueling stop was smoother.

The Captain and his family were assigned quarters at Barber’s Point, the patrol squadron base. What an idyllic setting, two blocks from the Pacific beaches at the seaward end of the Pearl Harbor channel. The commute to and from the ship was by boat, the best commute ever. The Captain’s gig, a motor whaleboat, would pick him up in the morning at 0700, with hot tea, newspapers, and the message board. They returned in the evening just in time to pack up a barbeque set to have dinner with the family on the beach. The Captain felt life could not get better than this.

There were ups and downs, of course. The valleys matched the peaks. The weather in the North Pacific was unpredictable. Meteorological forecasts were rudimentary and unreliable. An Aerographer was assigned to McMorris because of her classified priority mission. He would come to the bridge and present the Captain with wet, still smelly facsimile transmission sheets depicting the weather maps for the operating area. Those who have experienced the acrid smell of mimeograph will never forget it.

On one occasion, the Aerographer was confused by two lows and fronts that seemed to depict two equal-force typhoons. Even more confusing were the erratic tracks painted on two prior traces. When bad weather was expected, a trace was run every half hour. It appeared two typhoons were moving northeast approximately 150 nautical miles apart. McMorris could not remain on station. The storms would pass, one to the northwest and the other to the south.

The Captain said, Run off four more traces and return. We will decide which way to go in two hours.

The Aerographer left the bridge, obviously concerned. He had no recommendation to make. After two hours the plots were still confusing. He had never seen anything like them during his training courses and his three and a half years in uniform. Nor did his two years at a liberal-arts college help solve the dilemma.

He returned to the bridge. The Captain studied the traces. Ten minutes passed. The Aerographer fidgeted. The Captain gave him his six traces and said, Thank you.

The Captain turned to the Officer of the Deck and ordered, Come to course 225 and flank speed!

Aye, aye, sir! the OOD said. He turned to the Helmsman and ordered, Left standard rudder, steady on course 225. All engines ahead flank.

The Helmsman repeated, Rudder is left standard, coming to course 225, sir.

The Lee Helm repeated, All engines ahead flank, sir, and added a few seconds later, All engines answer ahead flank, sir.

The ship leaned into the turn and surged ahead. The Helmsman reported they were steady on new course 225.

McMorris was powered by four Fairbanks Morse diesel engines as large as railroad train engines. Normally, two were on line for steady steaming. An hour earlier, in anticipation of full power, the two standby engines were warmed up and brought on line.

Course 225 was intended to thread the needle between the two typhoons bearing down on the ship. If the storms followed historic tracks, the ship would remain the minimum amount of time in their dangerous semicircles. The course would also, with a bit of luck, take advantage of a confused sea caused by two storms 150 miles apart.

The sky darkened, the barometer glass fell, the wind increased to a steady sixty knots, and the swells began to rise to over twenty feet. For eighteen hours the ship tossed and swirled, rolled side to side thirty-five to forty degrees, pitched up and down, riding up to the crest of each wave and diving into the valley, the horizon obscured. In time the sea became increasingly confused as crossing swells from the two storms met. The mixed sea promised a safe passage. As fuel tanks were drained, sea water was taken on as ballast. No one was allowed on deck. The ship was secured for heavy-weather seas by the well-trained crew. Not too soon thereafter, the wind abated. The salt spray lessened, and the main deck was no longer awash. The ship reached the safe semicircle of the northern storm; and within the next few hours, the southern storm moved on to the southeast. The crew was allowed to come on deck and found clear skies and billowing white clouds. With a clamp down fore and aft, McMorris was again shipshape and Bristol fashion.²

The Aerographer came up with the latest trace of the storms. Captain, he asked, how did you know it would be safe to go between the two storms instead of beating directly south?

Nothing in life is certain, explained the Captain. Southwest seemed the quickest way to get out of the dangerous quadrants of the two storms. Any other course would have kept the ship in the most dangerous quadrant of the southern storm longer.

The Aerographer understood and was satisfied. He’d heard it from the Captain and the Captain was always right.

There were other stormy patrols. None were quite as challenging as the twin typhoons. Winter in the northern Pacific defied the abilities of the best navigators. The constant overcast precluded celestial navigation. The Loran fixes were inaccurate in northern latitudes. NAVSAT³ satellite navigation did help pinpoint the ship on the face of the globe, but it was new to the fleet. Normally, only aircraft carriers and submarines would get the best equipment, but McMorris and other SPECOPS ships were able to get the equipment because of those important Special Ops and their need for precise navigation.

Each day underway brought new pleasures, a new symphony of sound, a deeper cohesion between a man and a ship. McMorris is mine, thought he Captain. The feeling was delicious. The tactile touch was almost erotic.

* * * * *

McMorris and sister ships were required to rendezvous at predetermined latitudes and longitudes to affect a physical handoff of documents and operational responsibility. Regardless of weather, a whaleboat would be launched to transfer op orders, communication key cards for secure top-secret communication, and to provide a face-to-face briefing by the outgoing Ops Officer.

As luck would have it, two days of storms and their attendant overcast, coupled with the breakdown of the NAVSAT equipment, left McMorris dependent on LORAN fixes of more than ninety square miles and dead reckoning.⁴ The relieving ship arrived at the appointed time and place. McMorris was nowhere to be found.

Car 54, where are you? called the jocular Captain of the relief destroyer escort over the secure tactical voice circuit.⁵

McMorris responded, We are here, where are you?

"Don’t kid the kidders, McMorris. We see that your NAVSAT is CASREP [listed in a casualty report]. The weather has been ugly for days. You got no celestial fixes. LORAN is useless up here. Don’t tell me you’re not lost!" The Captain was correct on all counts.

The two ships tried everything possible to locate each other. They shut down all