When Time Stood Still: The Sinking of the S.S. Dorchester

By Chester J. Szymczak

When Time Stood Still, first published in 1956, is the account of the sinking of the S.S. Dorchester, an army transport ship, by a German submarine in the North Atlantic in February 1943. Author and crewman Chester Szymczak was working aboard the Dorchester, and was one of nine survivors of the crew of 23. Tragically, of the 900 military servicemen traveling aboard as passengers, 678 were lost in the frigid waters. Also of note was the presence of four chaplains, each representing a different faith, who went down with the ship as they worked together in assisting passengers with lifejackets and in helping them get off the rapidly sinking ship. Fortunately, three U.S. Coast Guard Cutters were part of the transport convoy, and were able to pull a number passengers from the sea.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barajima Books
• Release date: Jan 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781839741623

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Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

WHEN TIME STOOD STILL

The Sinking of the S.S. Dorchester

CHESTER J. SZYMCZAK

When Time Stood Still was originally published in 1956 by Dorrance & Company, Philadelphia.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 4

DEDICATION 5

ABOUT THE AUTHOR 6

AUTHOR’S NOTE 6

FOREWORD 7

CHAPTER ONE 8

CHAPTER TWO 10

CHAPTER THREE 13

CHAPTER FOUR 15

CHAPTER FIVE 17

CHAPTER SIX 20

CHAPTER SEVEN 22

CHAPTER EIGHT 24

CHAPTER NINE 26

CHAPTER TEN 28

CHAPTER ELEVEN 30

CHAPTER TWELVE 32

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 34

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 37

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 39

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 41

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 43

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 45

CHAPTER NINETEEN 47

CHAPTER TWENTY 49

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 51

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 54

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 56

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 58

Appendix: The Four Chaplains 60

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 63

DEDICATION

To the memory of those who died in the wars of our country—and to those who lived to tell the story.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chester J. Szymczak was born of Polish immigrant parents on the north side of Milwaukee. He studied journalism and Liberal Arts at Marquette University in Milwaukee and graduated from the University of Wisconsin with a B.A. degree. He has been writing since school days, and has been employed as a radio and news editor and has worked for the Associated Press in Des Moines and Buffalo, New York. Mr. Szymczak has an enviable war record, having enlisted in the Navy in September, 1940. After graduating from the signal school at the Naval Armory in Chicago, he served on the U.S.S. Wyoming and the U.S.S. Alcor in the transfer of flag. He volunteered for Army transport duty and was assigned to the Dorchester as a signalman and was a survivor of the tragic sinking. Mr. Szymczak received an excellent discharge in 1945, and has since pursued his writing. At the time of the book’s publication, he was county editor and photographer at a newspaper in Waukesha, Wisconsin.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Though some of the names and characters in this story are fictitious, the events portrayed are based on true facts.

FOREWORD

This is the story of the sinking of the transport Dorchester, which went down with 678 men, including the four chaplains, after being hit by an enemy torpedo at one o’clock in the morning of February 3, 1943, about a hundred miles out of Greenland.

The author is one of nine Navy survivors out of a crew of twenty-three. He was a signalman aboard the ship for five trips and writes a moving story based on fact from personal experiences.

It is difficult to do full justice to a great story when one has to relive a personal experience and feels that memories of the sinking only time can heal. But the book is one that had to be written, and the author found himself with the task on hand.

Some of the material in the book happened on other trips and not the fatal voyage. Running into a convoy at night, and a submarine scare were inserted to acquaint readers with just what the ship went through before disaster finally caught up with her.

A ship is a machine of steel, but a ship is no ship without men. A ship is identified only by the men who sail her. The men who sailed the Dorchester, like those who sailed the Atlantic during the war, were heroic men.

CHAPTER ONE

My name is Johnny Westcott. I am an Army corporal who has never been to sea. I came from the plains of Texas to the big city after a brief stay in an army camp in Arizona. I received my corporal stripes because I was tall, not because I loved Army discipline. On my first visit to New York in January, 1943, the full harbor of ships surprised me more than any other wonder in this metropolis. My immediate destination was the Port of Embarkation at Staten Island. With a dufflebag and a guitar slung over my shoulders, I stumbled along with my six-foot frame on the docks, searching for my ship. I finally threw down the heavy load off my tired shoulders, arched my back, and lit a cigarette. I took one long puff, stretched myself, heard my joints crack, and heaved a sigh. I looked intently through a haze of smoke at the ships tied to a dock, then my gaze wandered across the harbor where transports were working up steam before departure.

The cigarette didn’t taste right in my mouth and the smoke parched my throat, I felt the sweat roll down my warm body through the sticky, heavy uniform. I was wet from the armpits down to my leggings and tossed the half-finished smoke into greasy water that lapped gently against the pier. Why should I be so nervous? I was already out of my teens and a married man. I was no youngster. Perhaps I was worried about what I was leaving behind, or about what fate awaited me. I was shipping out, but so were thousands of other soldiers. True, I didn’t have to enlist in the Army; my wife told me that. I could have been exempt. But all my friends were going. I wanted to be with them, and I was, in the Army camp, before we separated.

Hesitating, I pulled out a paper from an inner pocket, unfolded it, then read the name: Dorchester and almost crushed the white scrap of writing as I returned it to my brown jacket. Then I glanced back at the long dock as if expecting someone. I sat down on my bag, lit another cigarette, and looked dreamily at the gray planks worn by the many feet that had passed over them. I smiled at my own uncertainty. I took out the paper to check my orders, again harnessed myself with what belonged to me, and walked toward a sailor who kept watching me from a railing of a transport at the dock.

"Ay, mate, is this the USAT Dorchester!" I shouted.

Hell, no, this is a good ship! the husky sailor, wearing a wool pea cap and navy blue coat, leaned over and answered. "This is the Asiatica. Dorchester, did you say?"

The sailor looked over the dock. "The Dorchester is docked at the second pier. There, by the tug!" he pointed to the single, dark stack of a ship visible through the masts and rigging of other vessels.

Thanks, sailor. I waved. He also waved, then added, And you won’t be needin’ that geetar where you’re goin’. Good luck, soldier! he kidded the tall blond Texan.

I turned around after the last remark, then continued to my ship, where I joined other troops near the army transport. I was still unsure of myself as I trudged up the uneven gangway of the Dorchester, looking back again in the direction of the Asiatica, much larger than the ship I was boarding. The words good ship bothered me a little, especially when I was shown to my quarters—and found them far below the main deck. I muttered to myself, but a soldier with me let himself be heard. Heavens! How’re we goin’ to breathe down here? He helped me with my pack. I comforted him, Well, we’re not going to live here forever. We’re just taking a free ride as passengers.

The soldier calmed down. I guess you’re right. My name is Dan Wilkinson, I come from Oklahoma. What’s yours, Slim? The short, stocky man, much older, kept on talking, before I could introduce myself. "You’re right, so long’s we’ve a place