FLOYD HUSTON MATTHEWS
Born Feb 3,1903 - Died February 24, 2008
Floyd At Bill's House in Killen, AL
Biography of Floyd Matthews as presented at
ships reunion in October, 2002
Floyd Matthews was born on 3 February, 1903 in Tennessee. In 1919 at the ripe old age of 16 he and a friend left the farm in search of adventure and a paying job. They encountered a Navy Recruiter on the way posting flyers that extolled the advantages of life in the US Navy. After listening to the Recruiter he signed on the dotted line after the Recruiter adjusted his birth date back to 1900 since 16 year old's were not eligible to enlist.
He was sent to the US Naval Training Center at Gulfport, Miss. Where he did typical "Boot Camp" activities for two months and upon completion was assigned aboard the USS Pueblo, a battle cruiser, scheduled for decommissioning in Philadelphia, Pa. At this point in time the US President was Warren G. Harding and the Secretary was Josephus Daniels who declared the US Navy would no longer allow alcoholic beverages aboard ship. The Pueblo was a coal burning ship
From the Pueblo, Floyd was transferred to the USS Kansas, another coal burning ship. Floyd can relate a lot of experiences about serving on a coal burner, none of which were very enjoyable. The USS Kansas, a World War I Battleship, true to the Navy motto ad of "see the world" received orders to proceed to American Samoa via the Panama Canal and to San Pedro where they embarked the appointed Governor of Samoa for transportation to that Island to replace the previous Governor who had committed suicide. The cruise continued via the Marquises Islands for a short visit and on to their destination. In route he was initiated into the Royal and Ancient Order of Shellbacks and met King Neptune after undergoing some rigorous tests. After two weeks in Pago Pago, Samoa the USS Kansas returned to the United States for decommissioning.
Next duty was aboard the USS Bobolink a WW I minesweeper that had been converted to a seagoing tug. This probably was a turning point in this young sailor’s career. His first enlistment expired while in Bobolink but by now he knew he was a career sailor. He then "shipped over" for duty aboard the USS Colorado, a super dreadnaught, under construction at the US Naval Shipyard in New York that was placed in commission 12 August, 1923. During his service in Colorado he applied for submarine duty.
After completion of submarine training at New London, Conn. he served aboard seven submarines. He then volunteered to serve in a Submarine Experimental Unit headed by the noted LCDR Charles "Swede" Momsen later to become renowned as the developer of the Momsen Lung which was developed to enable Submariners to escape a sunken submarine. This unit was also involved in developing the McCann Rescue Chamber (known as the diving bell) which was used to rescue some of the crew of the USS Squalus. During this period he served aboard the USS S 4 in 1939.
By this time Floyd had been promoted to Warrant Officer and was ordered to the USS Kalmia ATO 23 operating out of Portland, Maine. He was then promoted to LTJG and assigned as Executive Officer of the USS Diver ARS 5, under construction and when completed proceeded to Norfolk VA for duty. The Diver sailed in a convoy of 138 ships for Europe where it joined a salvage group headed by the famed Captain Ellsburg. The invasion of Europe was imminent. The USS Diver participated in D-Day operations and further duties on the European coast during WW II salvage operations.
In December 1944 he was ordered to Command of the ATR 59 which was under construction in Leesburg, New Jersey. Upon commissioning they were ordered to Bermuda where they picked up a tow for delivery to San Diego via the Panama Canal and other fueling stops along the way. The next was a tow picked up in San Francisco to Pearl Harbor. While operating around Pearl Harbor he received orders to leave ATR 59 and take Command of the USS Chickasaw ATF 83 relieving LCDR Olsen. The Chickasaw continued towing and salvage duties out of Pearl Harbor. Boson Harold Worrell was embarked in Chickasaw and a long friendship developed that lasts today between these shipmates.
In April 1946 the Chickasaw joined the Task Force that conducted Atomic Bomb tests in the Atoll of Bikini. After much hard and dangerous work in Bikini the Chickasaw was ordered to Guam for an upkeep period. While there she experienced one of Guam’s famous Typhoons. Chickasaw was then assigned to retrieve numerous tows in various islands while cleaning up the WW II leftovers. This eventually led to Chickasaw's return to the United States with a tow followed by a trip to Panama and return.
After arriving back at Long Beach, CA, LCDR Matthews was presented with orders to New Orleans where he ended a long and illustrious career with the United States Navy. He went back to his roots in Tennessee for further career with the VFW and served as Chairman of the local Selective Service Board then again retired to go to sea on his own craft as Skipper. When tired of this he moved to lovely Pensacola, Fl in 1976 where he retired for good. We are fortunate to have this fine Naval Officer as our Shipmate and Friend.
One of the greatest fears I have in writing a Book of Memories is the danger that what I am thinking is not what I end up writing. That is, everything is clear in my head, but something gets lost in translating it into proper order.
When you are reading this, roll back your thoughts as if you were age two at the beginning of the twentieth century, trying to recall what you did, or what you thought you did. Now you understand the fears I have, at age 94, as I put on paper, from memory, things I did, things I thought I did and things I wish I had done.
He was sent to the US Naval Training Center at Gulfport, Miss. Where he did typical "Boot Camp" activities for two months and upon completion was assigned aboard the USS Pueblo, a battle cruiser, scheduled for decommissioning in Philadelphia, Pa. At this point in time the US President was Warren G. Harding and the Secretary was Josephus Daniels who declared the US Navy would no longer allow alcoholic beverages aboard ship. The Pueblo was a coal burning ship
From the Pueblo, Floyd was transferred to the USS Kansas, another coal burning ship. Floyd can relate a lot of experiences about serving on a coal burner, none of which were very enjoyable. The USS Kansas, a World War I Battleship, true to the Navy motto ad of "see the world" received orders to proceed to American Samoa via the Panama Canal and to San Pedro where they embarked the appointed Governor of Samoa for transportation to that Island to replace the previous Governor who had committed suicide. The cruise continued via the Marquises Islands for a short visit and on to their destination. In route he was initiated into the Royal and Ancient Order of Shellbacks and met King Neptune after undergoing some rigorous tests. After two weeks in Pago Pago, Samoa the USS Kansas returned to the United States for decommissioning.
Next duty was aboard the USS Bobolink a WW I minesweeper that had been converted to a seagoing tug. This probably was a turning point in this young sailor’s career. His first enlistment expired while in Bobolink but by now he knew he was a career sailor. He then "shipped over" for duty aboard the USS Colorado, a super dreadnaught, under construction at the US Naval Shipyard in New York that was placed in commission 12 August, 1923. During his service in Colorado he applied for submarine duty.
After completion of submarine training at New London, Conn. he served aboard seven submarines. He then volunteered to serve in a Submarine Experimental Unit headed by the noted LCDR Charles "Swede" Momsen later to become renowned as the developer of the Momsen Lung which was developed to enable Submariners to escape a sunken submarine. This unit was also involved in developing the McCann Rescue Chamber (known as the diving bell) which was used to rescue some of the crew of the USS Squalus. During this period he served aboard the USS S 4 in 1939.
By this time Floyd had been promoted to Warrant Officer and was ordered to the USS Kalmia ATO 23 operating out of Portland, Maine. He was then promoted to LTJG and assigned as Executive Officer of the USS Diver ARS 5, under construction and when completed proceeded to Norfolk VA for duty. The Diver sailed in a convoy of 138 ships for Europe where it joined a salvage group headed by the famed Captain Ellsburg. The invasion of Europe was imminent. The USS Diver participated in D-Day operations and further duties on the European coast during WW II salvage operations.
In December 1944 he was ordered to Command of the ATR 59 which was under construction in Leesburg, New Jersey. Upon commissioning they were ordered to Bermuda where they picked up a tow for delivery to San Diego via the Panama Canal and other fueling stops along the way. The next was a tow picked up in San Francisco to Pearl Harbor. While operating around Pearl Harbor he received orders to leave ATR 59 and take Command of the USS Chickasaw ATF 83 relieving LCDR Olsen. The Chickasaw continued towing and salvage duties out of Pearl Harbor. Boson Harold Worrell was embarked in Chickasaw and a long friendship developed that lasts today between these shipmates.
In April 1946 the Chickasaw joined the Task Force that conducted Atomic Bomb tests in the Atoll of Bikini. After much hard and dangerous work in Bikini the Chickasaw was ordered to Guam for an upkeep period. While there she experienced one of Guam’s famous Typhoons. Chickasaw was then assigned to retrieve numerous tows in various islands while cleaning up the WW II leftovers. This eventually led to Chickasaw's return to the United States with a tow followed by a trip to Panama and return.
After arriving back at Long Beach, CA, LCDR Matthews was presented with orders to New Orleans where he ended a long and illustrious career with the United States Navy. He went back to his roots in Tennessee for further career with the VFW and served as Chairman of the local Selective Service Board then again retired to go to sea on his own craft as Skipper. When tired of this he moved to lovely Pensacola, Fl in 1976 where he retired for good. We are fortunate to have this fine Naval Officer as our Shipmate and Friend.
One of the greatest fears I have in writing a Book of Memories is the danger that what I am thinking is not what I end up writing. That is, everything is clear in my head, but something gets lost in translating it into proper order.
When you are reading this, roll back your thoughts as if you were age two at the beginning of the twentieth century, trying to recall what you did, or what you thought you did. Now you understand the fears I have, at age 94, as I put on paper, from memory, things I did, things I thought I did and things I wish I had done.
Navy veteran, 103, is living history
By Lisa Horn
Montgomery Advertiser
Lawrenceburg - Thanksgiving Parade
FLORENCE -- More than 30 miles from home, a recruiting poster tacked to a pole in Florence caught the eye of a 16-year-old runaway.
Now almost 90 years later, Floyd Matthews has returned to the town where his Navy career began. His move from Florida earlier this year makes him Alabama's oldest World War I-era veteran and Alabama's oldest veteran, according to Veterans Affairs officials.
He is living history. But Matthews, who produced a book of memoirs at 94, doesn't see himself that way.
"I've never been a 'living history' before, so I don't know what it would be like," said Matthews, whose 103 years haven't faded his sense of humor.
Alabama's last World War I veteran was Charley Newton Cook of Scottsboro, who died Dec. 20, 2005, at age 107. The last World War I veteran from the tri-county area was Henry Abram of Millbrook, who passed away just two weeks before Cook.
Their deaths and the passing of three World War I veterans in the past month have left the total number of World War I veterans nationwide at a meager 10.
Will Everett, who produced a program on World War I vets for National Public Radio earlier this year, and Richard Rubin, a freelance writer who is working on a book, "The Last Doughboys," have interviewed both World War I and World War I-era veterans from around the country.
More than half of the 36 veterans who were alive when Rubin began his research in 2003, have since died, he said.
"These are among the most remarkable people that I have ever met," he said. "It's sad because you get attached, but that's how it is."
Because Matthews joined the Navy in May 1919 -- six months after the armistice officially ended the war -- he is considered a World War I-era veteran, said Chris Scheer, spokesman for the Department of Veterans' Affairs.
"There is no real definition of a World War I-era veteran," Scheer said. "It's a semantic thing, I guess. The era would simply mean that benefits were extended to veterans who served beyond that period."
Leaving the farm behind
When Floyd Matthews left Loretto, Tenn., in 1919, he went in search of an opportunity greater than life on a farm could offer. Following miles of railroad and sleeping alongside the tracks, he and a like-minded friend made it to Florence.
Tired and hungry, the two tried to find jobs in Florence. Matthews' uncle, a local shopkeeper, was doubtful that the two boys would have any luck. A Navy recruiting poster provided the answer.
The sign, which promised, "'Join the Navy and see the world,' pulled me in the Navy," Matthews said. "At that time, I think it was a wise choice because I didn't have that much opportunity to make a success of myself."
Matthews' mother died when he was 4 and the family soon fell on hard times. Later, Matthews' father sent him and some of his siblings to live with other families. He attended school only on days the weather was bad.
"His younger brother went to one family and he went to another family," said Matthews' son, Bill, who lives in Florence. "He was farmed out and there's not a lot of future in that."
Matthews approached the Navy recruiter who was tacking up the poster. There was just one problem. "At 16, he couldn't enlist without a parent's signature," Bill Matthews recalls. "And there was no way he would get his dad's signature, so he said he was 19."
The fib that got Matthews in the service 87 years ago still stands. Born on Feb. 3, 1903, his military identification card and last driver's license still state that he was born three years earlier.
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Now almost 90 years later, Floyd Matthews has returned to the town where his Navy career began. His move from Florida earlier this year makes him Alabama's oldest World War I-era veteran and Alabama's oldest veteran, according to Veterans Affairs officials.
He is living history. But Matthews, who produced a book of memoirs at 94, doesn't see himself that way.
"I've never been a 'living history' before, so I don't know what it would be like," said Matthews, whose 103 years haven't faded his sense of humor.
Alabama's last World War I veteran was Charley Newton Cook of Scottsboro, who died Dec. 20, 2005, at age 107. The last World War I veteran from the tri-county area was Henry Abram of Millbrook, who passed away just two weeks before Cook.
Their deaths and the passing of three World War I veterans in the past month have left the total number of World War I veterans nationwide at a meager 10.
Will Everett, who produced a program on World War I vets for National Public Radio earlier this year, and Richard Rubin, a freelance writer who is working on a book, "The Last Doughboys," have interviewed both World War I and World War I-era veterans from around the country.
More than half of the 36 veterans who were alive when Rubin began his research in 2003, have since died, he said.
"These are among the most remarkable people that I have ever met," he said. "It's sad because you get attached, but that's how it is."
Because Matthews joined the Navy in May 1919 -- six months after the armistice officially ended the war -- he is considered a World War I-era veteran, said Chris Scheer, spokesman for the Department of Veterans' Affairs.
"There is no real definition of a World War I-era veteran," Scheer said. "It's a semantic thing, I guess. The era would simply mean that benefits were extended to veterans who served beyond that period."
Leaving the farm behind
When Floyd Matthews left Loretto, Tenn., in 1919, he went in search of an opportunity greater than life on a farm could offer. Following miles of railroad and sleeping alongside the tracks, he and a like-minded friend made it to Florence.
Tired and hungry, the two tried to find jobs in Florence. Matthews' uncle, a local shopkeeper, was doubtful that the two boys would have any luck. A Navy recruiting poster provided the answer.
The sign, which promised, "'Join the Navy and see the world,' pulled me in the Navy," Matthews said. "At that time, I think it was a wise choice because I didn't have that much opportunity to make a success of myself."
Matthews' mother died when he was 4 and the family soon fell on hard times. Later, Matthews' father sent him and some of his siblings to live with other families. He attended school only on days the weather was bad.
"His younger brother went to one family and he went to another family," said Matthews' son, Bill, who lives in Florence. "He was farmed out and there's not a lot of future in that."
Matthews approached the Navy recruiter who was tacking up the poster. There was just one problem. "At 16, he couldn't enlist without a parent's signature," Bill Matthews recalls. "And there was no way he would get his dad's signature, so he said he was 19."
The fib that got Matthews in the service 87 years ago still stands. Born on Feb. 3, 1903, his military identification card and last driver's license still state that he was born three years earlier.
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The Adventure Never Ends
Where is it written that adventures must end at 60 or 80 or most certainly, 100? Well, if you find it etched somewhere, don’t tell Dad. Let me tell you about his latest adventure when against some darn good advice and good sense, he attended the christening of a guided missile destroyer named in honor of one of his old Navy friends.
It started quite innocently in late July when he called me and asked if Mason would like to attend the christening in Bath, Maine, on his behalf. I don’t think he even gave any thought to attending since it’s almost half a country away and his vision is failing, and his hearing and sense of balance are poor. Mason, Dad and I had attended three christenings and one commissioning, all in Pascagoula, MS, not far from Pensacola. So he know how much Mason relishing attending these Naval events.
The ship scheduled for christening was the USS Momsen, DDG 92, named for Admiral “Swede” Momsen who earned a presidential citation after successfully rescuing 33 sailors from the sunken submarine, the USS Squalus, off the coast of Portsmouth, NH in 1939. Dad was on the rescue vessel and had trained with the then Commander Momsen at the naval submarine training center in New London, CT. Dad was one of the early divers who experimented with a number of means of escaping from great depths, often using devices that CDR Momsen designed. He and Momsen were associated for several years.
I told Dad I was sure Mason would attend for him, just as long as he could get away from work for that long weekend. It was scheduled just about 10 days later. But while we were talking on the phone, I asked if he would like to go. Of course he said he would, but he didn’t think he could make the trip. I said, “What if Mason and I went with you? Between Mason and me, we could easily take care of you. Vena could put you on the airplane in Pensacola and I could meet you in Atlanta, so you would be by yourself just for a few minutes on that short flight. What could go wrong there? Then we’d fly together from Atlanta to Boston. I could rent a car, and we’d drive up to Maine.” He hemmed and hawed a bit, but I could tell he was interested. I don’t think we talked more than about 10 more minutes before he decided he would do it! I then called Mason and he was raring to go. Dad talked with Vena, and she thought it would be good for him, and agreed that he would be alone for such a short time, and told me he can still get along quite well with a cane. So it was a done deal, short of getting our airplane tickets.
The christening date was August 9, so on the morning of August 8 I arrived at the Atlanta airport, got my boarding pass, and sat down to check my cell phone voice mail. I had messages from both Mason and John, all of them a bit tense. I immediately called Mason and learned he had been up all night with a stomach virus and couldn’t keep anything on his stomach. Just a couple hours earlier he had called John for some advice and they agreed that it wouldn’t be wise to possibly expose Dad to anything contagious. Mason also had a terrible case of diarrhea. So they decided he should stay home. (Over the next 4 days he lost 12 pounds)
So my assistant, who so much wanted to see yet another christening with Dad, couldn’t join us. The weekend before, Mason came to my house to fish and brought with him a book he had brought two years ago—about none other than the Bath Iron Works! How appropriate and even a bit eerie.
So after that telephone conversation with Mason, I looked for Dad’s flight gate. People started coming up the covered ramp, and when it seemed everyone was off, I saw Dad walking up the ramp, carrying a hanging bag with a suit in it in one hand and a small suitcase in the other. He was using a cane and moving along like someone not a day over 75! Vena had requested a wheel chair at each of his arrival gates, but he didn’t need it. With the luck of the Irish, our departure gate for Boston was only 50 paces away.
He was excited, it was obvious. He sensed the adventure, and I guess as much as anything, wanted to show everyone he wasn’t ready to be counted out. We picked up our rental car at the Boston airport and headed north. By that time it was a bit after 5:00pm EDT and neither of us had eaten anything other than a light breakfast. As we drove north toward New Hampshire and Maine, he started talking about how much he wanted some really good clam chowder, the kind only the New Englanders make. Well, I love it too, so we worked it each up thinking about enjoying some authentic clam chowder.
With the traffic heavy—after all, it was a Friday evening in the summer and thousands of Bostonians were heading to the beach resorts north of the city—I decided not to stop until it eased up. But it was almost bumper to bumper, 4 lanes going north all the way into New Hampshire. No place to conveniently get off to eat and back on. So we went to Portsmouth, drove around downtown, and with the traffic congestion, couldn’t find a place to park close to a restaurant. Maine was just 5 miles away, so we continued to drive, still with no dinner. A couple miles into Maine, we stopped at a large seafood restaurant called the Weathervane, and after a 20 minute wait got our chance to order. Dad ordered a bowl of clam chowder and a seafood platter. Finally some of that wonderful chowder. It was all we remembered it to be. But the serving was so large, all Dad could do was pick at his seafood platter, leaving shrimp, scallops, clams and haddock to take out in a doggie bag.
By then it was close 8:00pm and we had no motel reservations. My fault, not Dad’s. We drove to Portland, which was only 35 miles from the site of the christening. The first motel was full, but we got referred to another, away from the major highways. A good night’s rest and we were ready to go.
We drove on up toward Bath on Saturday, and after getting a tourist map of the city, we pulled into town about 10:20am. We passed the Bath Iron Works shipyard where 150 or so demonstrators were singing and waving signs, and on to the Maine Maritime Museum. We were directed to the overflow parking and as we entered, someone stopped us and asked for our guest badge. I got a bit flustered. We had never gotten one in the mail. Had I forgotten to do something? So I told the man, “May Dad is 100….is there some way you can let us in?” That seemed to mean something to him, so he asked what his name was. I told him, and he said, “Yes, we are expecting him” and gave both of us a guest pass. We boarded a shuttle bus for the christening site at the Bath Iron Works. In a couple minutes we pulled up to a staging area near the ship, decked out with bunting. Ahead of us was the covered stage. We were seated in the first row behind the crew’s seating. There must have been several hundred people. Off to our left was a huge video screen showing still images and some films of Admiral Momsen. The Bath Municipal Bank played patriotic and Navy music.
A bit after 11:00am the ceremonies began, with speeches by congressmen, naval officials, and the Bath Iron Works executive. The keynote address by a Department of Navy admiral was moving, humorous and quite a tribute to the honoree. Dad could hear everything perfectly from the loudspeakers. He could even see the speakers reasonably well on the large screen.
Evelyn Momsen Hailey is the ship’s sponsor. At 82 and only a month after a quadruple bypass surgery, she had the honor of christening the ship named after her father. On the fifth swing of the bottle, and with a little help from a naval officer, the Champaign bottle burst over the front of the bow. At that moment, red, white and blue confetti was shot up into air all around us. It was a memorable sight. Evelyn had visited Dad and Vena a year or so ago in Pensacola. She was researching material for a book on her father.
Music continued to play as we walked back to the shuttle bus. It took us and other special guests back to the museum, where after showing our guest badge, we passed through the gates onto the lawn and walked toward a large white tent, by this time filled with other guests. The reception was packed with people. We wandered around a bit, snacked on the lobster rolls and desserts, and knowing that Dad couldn’t converse with anyone in that noisy environment, we walked out the other side and down to the water to a small sailing ship. It was one of the museum’s life size exhibits. Some of the USS Momsen’s crew members were sitting at picnic tables near the water, so I gathered a few of them together for a picture with Dad. It turned out well.
That night we drove back to Dover and after an hour or more looking for a motel (again, I had made no reservations), we were directed to an exceptionally beautiful hotel operated by the University of New Hampshire in Durham. That evening we had dinner with my Aunt Dot Michaud and her son Brian and girl friend Cindy at Fogarty’s Restaurant in S. Berwick, ME. Dad ate clam chowder again and I had lobster stew. The next day, Sunday, we spent a few minutes with my cousin, Ed Tuttle, and drove to a hotel near the Boston airport. After a much-too-early wake-up, we got to the airport and flew on to Atlanta. In Atlanta I stayed with him as he entered the down ramp for his flight to Pensacola. And he made it home along on the last leg of the trip just fine!
Adventurous? For someone 100+? Of course. Lesson learned? Go for it!
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It started quite innocently in late July when he called me and asked if Mason would like to attend the christening in Bath, Maine, on his behalf. I don’t think he even gave any thought to attending since it’s almost half a country away and his vision is failing, and his hearing and sense of balance are poor. Mason, Dad and I had attended three christenings and one commissioning, all in Pascagoula, MS, not far from Pensacola. So he know how much Mason relishing attending these Naval events.
The ship scheduled for christening was the USS Momsen, DDG 92, named for Admiral “Swede” Momsen who earned a presidential citation after successfully rescuing 33 sailors from the sunken submarine, the USS Squalus, off the coast of Portsmouth, NH in 1939. Dad was on the rescue vessel and had trained with the then Commander Momsen at the naval submarine training center in New London, CT. Dad was one of the early divers who experimented with a number of means of escaping from great depths, often using devices that CDR Momsen designed. He and Momsen were associated for several years.
I told Dad I was sure Mason would attend for him, just as long as he could get away from work for that long weekend. It was scheduled just about 10 days later. But while we were talking on the phone, I asked if he would like to go. Of course he said he would, but he didn’t think he could make the trip. I said, “What if Mason and I went with you? Between Mason and me, we could easily take care of you. Vena could put you on the airplane in Pensacola and I could meet you in Atlanta, so you would be by yourself just for a few minutes on that short flight. What could go wrong there? Then we’d fly together from Atlanta to Boston. I could rent a car, and we’d drive up to Maine.” He hemmed and hawed a bit, but I could tell he was interested. I don’t think we talked more than about 10 more minutes before he decided he would do it! I then called Mason and he was raring to go. Dad talked with Vena, and she thought it would be good for him, and agreed that he would be alone for such a short time, and told me he can still get along quite well with a cane. So it was a done deal, short of getting our airplane tickets.
The christening date was August 9, so on the morning of August 8 I arrived at the Atlanta airport, got my boarding pass, and sat down to check my cell phone voice mail. I had messages from both Mason and John, all of them a bit tense. I immediately called Mason and learned he had been up all night with a stomach virus and couldn’t keep anything on his stomach. Just a couple hours earlier he had called John for some advice and they agreed that it wouldn’t be wise to possibly expose Dad to anything contagious. Mason also had a terrible case of diarrhea. So they decided he should stay home. (Over the next 4 days he lost 12 pounds)
So my assistant, who so much wanted to see yet another christening with Dad, couldn’t join us. The weekend before, Mason came to my house to fish and brought with him a book he had brought two years ago—about none other than the Bath Iron Works! How appropriate and even a bit eerie.
So after that telephone conversation with Mason, I looked for Dad’s flight gate. People started coming up the covered ramp, and when it seemed everyone was off, I saw Dad walking up the ramp, carrying a hanging bag with a suit in it in one hand and a small suitcase in the other. He was using a cane and moving along like someone not a day over 75! Vena had requested a wheel chair at each of his arrival gates, but he didn’t need it. With the luck of the Irish, our departure gate for Boston was only 50 paces away.
He was excited, it was obvious. He sensed the adventure, and I guess as much as anything, wanted to show everyone he wasn’t ready to be counted out. We picked up our rental car at the Boston airport and headed north. By that time it was a bit after 5:00pm EDT and neither of us had eaten anything other than a light breakfast. As we drove north toward New Hampshire and Maine, he started talking about how much he wanted some really good clam chowder, the kind only the New Englanders make. Well, I love it too, so we worked it each up thinking about enjoying some authentic clam chowder.
With the traffic heavy—after all, it was a Friday evening in the summer and thousands of Bostonians were heading to the beach resorts north of the city—I decided not to stop until it eased up. But it was almost bumper to bumper, 4 lanes going north all the way into New Hampshire. No place to conveniently get off to eat and back on. So we went to Portsmouth, drove around downtown, and with the traffic congestion, couldn’t find a place to park close to a restaurant. Maine was just 5 miles away, so we continued to drive, still with no dinner. A couple miles into Maine, we stopped at a large seafood restaurant called the Weathervane, and after a 20 minute wait got our chance to order. Dad ordered a bowl of clam chowder and a seafood platter. Finally some of that wonderful chowder. It was all we remembered it to be. But the serving was so large, all Dad could do was pick at his seafood platter, leaving shrimp, scallops, clams and haddock to take out in a doggie bag.
By then it was close 8:00pm and we had no motel reservations. My fault, not Dad’s. We drove to Portland, which was only 35 miles from the site of the christening. The first motel was full, but we got referred to another, away from the major highways. A good night’s rest and we were ready to go.
We drove on up toward Bath on Saturday, and after getting a tourist map of the city, we pulled into town about 10:20am. We passed the Bath Iron Works shipyard where 150 or so demonstrators were singing and waving signs, and on to the Maine Maritime Museum. We were directed to the overflow parking and as we entered, someone stopped us and asked for our guest badge. I got a bit flustered. We had never gotten one in the mail. Had I forgotten to do something? So I told the man, “May Dad is 100….is there some way you can let us in?” That seemed to mean something to him, so he asked what his name was. I told him, and he said, “Yes, we are expecting him” and gave both of us a guest pass. We boarded a shuttle bus for the christening site at the Bath Iron Works. In a couple minutes we pulled up to a staging area near the ship, decked out with bunting. Ahead of us was the covered stage. We were seated in the first row behind the crew’s seating. There must have been several hundred people. Off to our left was a huge video screen showing still images and some films of Admiral Momsen. The Bath Municipal Bank played patriotic and Navy music.
A bit after 11:00am the ceremonies began, with speeches by congressmen, naval officials, and the Bath Iron Works executive. The keynote address by a Department of Navy admiral was moving, humorous and quite a tribute to the honoree. Dad could hear everything perfectly from the loudspeakers. He could even see the speakers reasonably well on the large screen.
Evelyn Momsen Hailey is the ship’s sponsor. At 82 and only a month after a quadruple bypass surgery, she had the honor of christening the ship named after her father. On the fifth swing of the bottle, and with a little help from a naval officer, the Champaign bottle burst over the front of the bow. At that moment, red, white and blue confetti was shot up into air all around us. It was a memorable sight. Evelyn had visited Dad and Vena a year or so ago in Pensacola. She was researching material for a book on her father.
Music continued to play as we walked back to the shuttle bus. It took us and other special guests back to the museum, where after showing our guest badge, we passed through the gates onto the lawn and walked toward a large white tent, by this time filled with other guests. The reception was packed with people. We wandered around a bit, snacked on the lobster rolls and desserts, and knowing that Dad couldn’t converse with anyone in that noisy environment, we walked out the other side and down to the water to a small sailing ship. It was one of the museum’s life size exhibits. Some of the USS Momsen’s crew members were sitting at picnic tables near the water, so I gathered a few of them together for a picture with Dad. It turned out well.
That night we drove back to Dover and after an hour or more looking for a motel (again, I had made no reservations), we were directed to an exceptionally beautiful hotel operated by the University of New Hampshire in Durham. That evening we had dinner with my Aunt Dot Michaud and her son Brian and girl friend Cindy at Fogarty’s Restaurant in S. Berwick, ME. Dad ate clam chowder again and I had lobster stew. The next day, Sunday, we spent a few minutes with my cousin, Ed Tuttle, and drove to a hotel near the Boston airport. After a much-too-early wake-up, we got to the airport and flew on to Atlanta. In Atlanta I stayed with him as he entered the down ramp for his flight to Pensacola. And he made it home along on the last leg of the trip just fine!
Adventurous? For someone 100+? Of course. Lesson learned? Go for it!
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These pictures were taken when Uncle Floyd was 103 years old, at his home in Pensacola, after Vena's Funeral. He found his old bike in the garage and off he went, down the street. We had a fun time catching up with him and getting him back home.
