A PT Skipper in the South Pacific: A Naval Officer’s Memoir of Service on PTs and a PT Boat Tender

By Kenneth W. Prescott

by Kenneth W. Prescott, Captain, USNR (Ret.)

Merriam Press World War II Memoir

From training at Melville, Rhode Island, to the South Pacific where as XO and CO of PT 61 and CO of PT 48 he served at Tulagi-Florida Island, Guadalcanal, and the Russells, as well as on different assignments in Torokina, Bougainville, and Emirau, New Ireland, back to Melville and on to the USS Jamestown (AGP-3) as XO, home based in the Philippines, and finally to his post-war career in the Navy. Included are his bird collecting and taxidermy efforts during and after the war, as well as an encounter with future president John F. Kennedy.

100 photos

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781312646285

Book preview

Chapter 1: Pearl Harbor and Joining the Navy

To some of us there comes a time in life when suddenly everything changes, when well-laid plans go out the window and one’s mind focuses on a future, never contemplated before. This happened to me, as it did to so many others, on December 7, 1941. At the time I was in my last year of college at Kalamazoo, Michigan, and on that Sunday I was listening to a church service on the radio, when it was suddenly interrupted by the announcement that Pearl Harbor had been bombed by the Japanese. This is the story of my experiences in the U.S. Navy during World War II and some years thereafter, following that horrendous event. It is but a minuscule piece of a huge puzzle. The larger pieces of that picture are well known by now, but not then to most of us who served. We are grateful to all of those who sacrificed their lives and to those who suffered mental or physical wounds, carried with them for the rest of their lives. We stand in awe when confronted with the heroism that took place in the air and on land and sea.

After the announcement, I rushed over to my fraternity house. There, everybody was excitedly talking about the event, each one wondering whether he should join the military, and if so, what branch? The Army Air Corps, the Marines and the Navy were all being considered. No one had any interest in joining the Army. Some left to join the Marines right away.

As soon as I could get away in December, I took a bus to Detroit and went directly to the Naval Reserve Building on Jefferson Street, located on the banks of the Detroit River. I went through the physical examination, filled out some forms and was told that I had passed. Then they asked for my birth certificate. I did not have one; I had never had one that I knew of. Told that I was to acquire one and then return, I was heart broken. I had wanted to join the Navy in December, the month of the Pearl Harbor attack, and not in the following spring.

Neither my mother, Harriet Mae Prescott, who lived in Detroit, nor my father, Edward E. Prescott, separated from my mother, had my birth certificate, but Dad remembered the name and place of the doctor who had delivered me. Home to both my father and me at that time was Stanhope Farm, outside Grand Rapids, Michigan, which belonged to his sister Gayle and her family, husband Stanton Ellett and their girls, Nancy and Louanne. The girls were like sisters to me. Off I went to Jackson, Michigan, to look up the doctor. I found the address and knocked on the door. There he was, sitting at a roll-top desk, and when he looked up, he exclaimed, My goodness, you must be Ed Prescott’s son! I got a copy of my birth certificate, which proved I was born on August 9, 1920, and headed straight for Detroit.

The first week of January 1942, I joined the Navy of the United States and was the proud holder of a card to prove it. I was told to stand by and wait for the Navy to contact me. The Navy took its time. I finished my last quarter and graduated from Western Michigan College. While waiting for my orders in the weeks that followed, I took a job as counselor at a nature camp in northern Michigan. In the meantime, I was chafing at the bit, thinking of my ancestor, Dr. Samuel Prescott, who, at a moment’s notice, went on horseback with Paul Revere, took over when Paul was captured by the English, and rode on to deliver the message that the English were coming. No time wasted!

In the summer of 1942, I finally received my orders to report to the Navy at Notre Dame University in Indiana. The orders said to bring only essentials. The Navy would furnish the uniform and other needed gear. Once there, I was one of many. We were issued clothing and sent to Howard Hall dormitory. During six or seven weeks, we learned the essence of military discipline and attended classes in naval subjects.

On August 31st, on active duty with pay, we went by train to Chicago. Upon arrival, we temporarily stopped traffic while marching to our new quarters at Abbot Hall, next to the famous Water Tower. On weekdays, we marched to Northwestern University, where we attended classes, taught by naval officers. Saturday mornings were devoted to inspection and Saturday afternoon and Sundays were free for all hands.

After inspection, we were allowed to visit downtown Chicago, wearing the midshipman dress uniform. To some, we looked like uniformed officers on the street, and many enlisted men threw us a salute that we did not deserve but secretly enjoyed. We learned quickly enough to return it smartly. I soon discovered the museums, the likes of which I had never seen before. Then one day I noticed an offer on the bulletin board of seats for the Saturday afternoon opera performance. I asked ENS (Ensign) King, who was in charge of our floor, how one would respond, and he gave me the time, location and the contact person of the Opera House.

When the next Saturday inspection was finished, I hurried to the Opera House and was taken to the man in charge of seating. After a short wait, he took me upstairs to the balcony, and to my great surprise ushered me down to where the opera boxes were located and pointed to the central one. The family for whom the box was reserved was not attending that afternoon. It is all yours!

The opera was the first one I had ever seen. I could hardly believe that this world of sound and visual feast was not just a dream! I left with the crowd and after some nourishment in a Chinese restaurant close by, returned to the Opera House in hopes of catching the evening performance. My new friend was surprised but pleased, and once more he ushered me to the boxes, one of which had an empty seat. He introduced me to the occupants, already seated, and they graciously invited me to join them. Every Saturday thereafter, while in Chicago, I went back to the Opera House and saw the performance twice, as I had the first time.

One day, after several weeks of routine activities, we marched to a lecture hall to hear as speaker a PT (Motor Torpedo Boat) officer, who had just returned from Manila in the Philippines. LT (Lieutenant) Robert B. Kelly gave us an exciting rendering of how small PT boats had been harassing and attacking Japanese ships and, in turn, had been attacked by their ships and planes. The Philippines by now were in the hands of the Japanese. It was PT boats, one of them Kelly’s, that had been called into action to perform the risky business of transporting General MacArthur and his family to the southernmost island, from which they flew to Australia. The hour-long talk was exceedingly