In Search of Love and Glory

About the Book

I stand looking out over the newly harvested wheat.  August in North Dakota came in hot and humid.  I wipe the sweat off my brow and wish I were anywhere but here.  W.W.II has my two older brothers in the Army.  I’m missing all the action. But, in another couple of years I'll be eighteen

and then I’ll get off this farm the only way I can afford—I’ll enlist in the military.  

I knew my dad had other ideas; he’d already filled out papers requesting deferment when the draft board calls me up.  My dad, an all work and no fun kind of guy, expects me to slave away for no pay.  Well, I’d jump the gun on him and the draft board and enlist in the Navy.

I fill the boring hours with thoughts of heroism while the war rages on.  Oh, I think, to be somebody, to show bravery when the enemy wanted you dead.  Me, a nobody from nowhere, could I show that kind of courage?  I had always been meek and shy.  Some people thought me backward because I hid from confrontation.  

Some how, some where, I mustered up enough courage to enlist in the Navy and now I was close to being washed out.  I thought I was so smart choosing the Navy and not be an Army dog face in the infantry like my brothers.  I forgot one little detail, I didn’t know how to swim, a requirement to graduate from boot camp.

My brain fills with combatant signals as the Navy Chief stares his message to me, “Sink or swim, sink or swim.”

I feel my courage waning as I stand there naked watching the other bare enlistees jump in and swim.  There’s no place to hide, not this time.  I think, I’ll never become a man like my brothers.  I’ll never develop courage to ask a girl for a date.

Oh, yes, I was even too bashful to ask a girl for a date when I went to high school.  I dreamt of all

the girls I’d meet in the Navy hoping my sailor suit would get me past the first awkward introduction.  Sailors had a reputation and women expected them to live up to it.  Could I, would I, live up to this reputation?  Not unless this landlubber, who had never looked at water any deeper than in a galvanized tub, learned how to swim.  

I dog paddle my way across the pool and graduate from boot camp.  I’ve chosen communications as my preference.  My big farmer type fingers keep hitting two keys at once.  I must learn how to type thirty-five words a minute.  Graduation neared and my typing still a disaster—I was ready to send out SOS for help.  My ship is sinking.

I grow more brave approaching women.  The uniform helps.  My naivete exudes a certain innocence that attracts women to me. I lay awake at night in my bunk thinking what a chump I am.  Why can’t I just love ‘em and leave ‘em the so called “sailor way?”  Damn old traditional country values keep me from the bedroom scene.  

I love the sea as it washes away my timidity and  instills wanting adventure.  Caribbean Sea ports-of-call and experienced women untie the knots that hold my virginity.  I feel I’m shedding the barriers of my childhood.

Naval duties keep my head squared away.  Cockiness is not a trait admired in the military.  Climbing down the Jacob’s ladder with a transceiver on my back, I join gung-ho Marines as we head for the beach.  Sea water breaks over the gunwale and squelch my transceiver.  Radio contact to ship is lost and I know I’ll be in for a chewing out by my supervisor.

The Korean War brings me to San Francisco and over to the war zone.  Battlefield action does not reach me; I’m anchored in the waters off Japan where the infamous Captain Bungo Pete raised havoc with American submarines in W.W. II.

While overseas, thoughts of

About the Author

Warren Lang served in the Navy during the Korean War. Upon receiving an honorable discharge, he attended college in the San Francisco Bay Area. While working in electronic engineering, Warren pursued his avocation, creative writing. He attended college literature and writing classes to fortify his literary desires. Now retired, he and his wife live near Yosemite Park, California.