Wednesday, January 21, 2015

As the NY Times might describe it: A Small Correction!

“LOST MUSKET DIARY” Wednesday January 21, 2015
Mostly Sunny 71°F/22°C in Rancho Santa Margarita
Buongiorno,
                When they do the next iteration of “The Wizard of Oz,” I want to audition for the part of the Scarecrow. Ray Bolger did a wonderful job in the 1939 MGM production, but I think I have aged into a place where I could be very convincing in that role in a new production, even though I certainly can’t tap dance like Bolger could. At 74, I periodically seem to be in need of a new brain.
                Earlier this week, I wrote about a visit to a medieval abbey that my son and daughter in law took me to last year when I was on my extended visit with them in Italy. While I could recall the weather that day and every detail about the church itself and what the local townsfolk were wearing, I could not, for the life of me remember the name of the abbey.
                Now, I wanted to tell that story on that day, and after a great deal of brain-wracking and attempts to clear the fog from my elderly memory, I went ahead and told it without providing the name of the place. This was an oversight that was quickly remedied by separate Facebook postings by my son, Michael and his sweetheart, Laura. So now, in the finest traditions of journalism, I am going to publish a correction, and update my blog.
                The minute he read my story, Michael responded by posting a link to the Wikipedia article about the abbey. This was followed moments later with pictorial proof that we visited there – a picture of my son and me in front of the ancient Farfa Abbey, which had been founded by the Benedictine Order.“The abbey had been built on the ruins of an ancient Roman estate, which, in turn had been built on the ruins of an even more ancient pagan temple. There had been a Catholic church on the site for a thousand years.” The abbey’s official website provided even more information. It’s definitely worth your time to visit the website. Here’s the link. http://abbaziadifarfa.com/default.asp
Los Dos MikeBos at Farfa, Italy
On Monday, I had written,
                If you are planning to explore Tuscany or Sabina on your next Roman holiday, I heartily recommend visiting Farfa Abbey, and make sure you stop by the Herbalist’s Shop at the front entrance. That’s where you will find the honey I mentioned along with other specialties like locally produced olive oil, soaps and ointments and other such items. The abbey is about an hour’s drive from Rome. It’s been there longer than I had thought. Its history as an abbey has been traced back to the 6th century, with the original structure having been destroyed after the fall of Rome.
                Here’s “Today in History” for January 21st.
1793 - Louis XVI of France is executed by the guillotine in Paris, following his conviction for high treason. (I mention this as a reminder to Islamo-extremists and others of a similar ilk to be careful when you piss off the French people.)
1968 - Vietnam War: Battle of Khe Sanh - One of the most publicized and controversial battles of the war begins. (You can either confirm this date in the Almanac, or call my Marine buddy Bruce Kaspari who was actually there and will be happy to share the fun times with you).
2008 - Black Monday in worldwide stock markets. (Was it a Monday? All I remember was the sun started coming up, then the world went dark until yesterday, when President Obama gave his State of the Union Speech). 
Ciao,

 MikeBo

Monday, January 19, 2015

If it's not going right, it must be Monday!

“LOST MUSKET DIARY” January 19, 2015
Partly Sunny 71°F/22°C in Rancho Santa Margarita
Unleaded gas $2.45/gal or €2.11/gal (55¢/liter)
[Don’t be surprised if your gas station is mobbed by cars with Italian license plates!]
Buongiorno,
Greetings, everybody. This is your captain from the flight deck. We’ll be taking off for points unknown shortly, just as soon as we get final clearance from the tower, and your flight crew completes running through our checklist. We have no idea where we will end up at the end of today’s flight, but here on “Escapade Airways,” it’s not the final destination that matters but the adventure we have along the way.
Check list:
1-      Open eyes. Take pulse.  OK? Check!
2-      Get up. Head for bathroom. Don’t forget to brush teeth. Check!
3-      Head for kitchen. Pour water for coffee. Check!
4-      Notice plugged drain in kitchen sink. Check!
5-      Send email to apartment manager requesting drain repair. Check!
6-      Note that you are completely out of coffee. Check!
7-      Turn on whistling kettle for tea. Check!
8-      Make tea. Add lemon and honey. Check blog responses and email. Check!
9-      Check on Lola. Is she awake, asleep or deceased? One eye open and breathing? Good, you’ll have someone to pal around with today. Check!
My mornings start this way just about every day. I like to take a few minutes first thing to make coffee and take my personal inventory before I plug in my Sonicare and get dressed. Today I am cheered to read a new Tweet from Melissa Etheridge who has come across my blog and takes a moment to tell me that she enjoys it.  If I should die before breakfast, her note has made my day. The plugged kitchen sink drain and my stupidity in not buying coffee while I was marketing yesterday just rolls off my back. Even my homebrewed cup of tea tastes good this morning.
As I ladled the honey into my tea cup, I flash back to a Sunday morning last year during my Italian adventure. Mike and Laura were driving us from Rome to Selci, a small town in Sabina, in the hills above Rome for a weekend at her folks’ vacation home. On the way, Laura directs Mike to detour to a 12th century abbey. In the blink of an eye, we leave the 21st century and begin a trip back to the Middle Ages. Parking the car we walk along a path toward the abbey in the distance. The way is lined with vendors selling fresh fruit and vegetables from their makeshift stalls. We are greeted warmly along the path, and assure each vendor that we would stop and shop with them on our way back.
The abbey had been built on the ruins of an ancient Roman estate, which, in turn had been built on the ruins of an even more ancient pagan temple. There had been a Catholic church on the site for a thousand years. A sign at the entrance invited travelers to enter. I’m not a Catholic, but I enjoy visiting places like this. Moments after I took my seat toward the rear of the sanctuary, I heard some distant voices singing a Gregorian chant. Then, the sound of chimes as the scent of incense touched my nostrils. Preceded by a cadre of altar boys, the priest began his procession into the sanctuary to begin the celebration of the mass. As they passed my pew, I glanced across the church to see one of the faithful in a confessional opposite from where we sat. I couldn’t help but wonder what sins were being divulged at that moment. Our Sunday outing had transported me back to a very dark time in European history, but I realized that even in those trying times there were places that offered relief from the darkness and a respite for a weary traveler. Then, came the moment that connects my visit to the abbey and today’s cup of English Breakfast Tea. In the little abbey gift shop that we visited following the mass, was a display of souvenirs and keepsakes. The abbey’s shops financially support the church and the monks who serve there. The little shop stocked a variety of local delicacies which were grown in the fields around the abbey, and one of the most popular items were the jars of honey made by the bees that were tended by the monks of the abbey. Laura related the story of the monks and the abbey and the bees that inhabited the countryside. Much love and tender care were expended on the blossoms that flourished in the surrounding countryside, and the result was a continuous harvest of an especially fragrant and sweet honey. People come from great distances to visit the abbey and purchase it.
As much as I love honey as a sweetener for my tea or an ingredient in a delicate pastry, I always love a good story to accompany them. And, this was a wonderful story. I purchased several jars of this exquisite confection to give to friends as an accompaniment to my own story of our visit to the abbey.  On the way out, we stopped along the path to chat with the vendors, admire their wares, and make our purchases, as promised. Finally, it was back to the car and on to our next adventure, leaving our stopover in the 12th century behind us.
Ciao,
MikeBo


Footnote: Following my trip down memory lane, Lola and I went for our morning stroll, had coffee with some of the regulars downstairs in my apartment’s “social center,” and then trotted off to Trader Joe’s for a pound of their custom-ground Kona coffee ($19.99) along with some other supplies. When I returned, Juan, our miracle-working maintenance supervisor was knocking on my door to fix the plugged sink drain. By noon, my good ship “Lollipop” was back on course, and Lola and I were ready for our next adventure. 

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Today Is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life!

 “LOST MUSKET DIARY” January 17, 2015 - 74 Years to the Date
Mostly Sunny 75°F/24°C in Rancho Santa Margarita
Buongiorno,
                He: “Say, would you like to join me for lunch?”
                She: “I’d LOVE to. Just give me a second while I run and get my teeth.”
                Ah! Life in the post-soixante-dix lane. Life after 70. And the number keeps going up. But, that’s a good thing. Thanks to my Sonicare and lots of flossing not to mention the skills of my dentists over the years, I still have all my teeth. But not everybody reaches this point in life with all the ivory intact. So, gather around the campfire boys and girls and let’s all sing!
“Happy Birthday to ME! Happy Birthday to Me! Buon compleanno a mi! Buon compleanno a mi! Happy Birthday, Dear Mikie! Happy Birthday to YOOOOUUUUUU! (And…many more!)”
Hot damn. I remembered. That in itself is an accomplishment. The kid has reached 74. A good moment to count my blessings.
 I had no inkling just how completely my life would change from 2013 to 2014. A year later, and I’m still adjusting, but, enough time has passed since last year’s watershed moment that I feel that I can now share some highlights of my journey. It’s been a year of rebuilding and renovation, and that is an ongoing process.
Now, I know I should be sitting quietly in my old rockin’ chair, wrapped in a blanket, sucking on a lemon and listening to my surviving friends and family sing that ever popular anniversary ditty while I try to blow out the forest fire on the top of my birthday cake. But, DAMN! I’m the one that got to this milestone in my life, and I want to be the one to sing the solo. As this latest orbit of mine around the sun progresses, I will be on the record as having officially outlived my grandfather. He was 74 when he left us back in 19-ought-47. Now, with this latest birthday, I’ve managed to match his accomplishment. Not too shabby considering I lost one uncle in his 30s, another right after he turned 50, and my own dad at 57.  But, when my divorce lawyer told me that the actuary said that I was good to go until age 83, that I began, ever so slightly, to hope that I might escape what seemed to be a curse visited upon the male Botula children. So, my 74th is a special one for me, and I plan on doing some serious reflecting.
I’ve known almost from the beginning that I share my natal date with one of our Founding Fathers – Benjamin Franklin, a fellow Capricorn, who was also born on January 17th…. Not 1941 in New York City like me, but 1706 in Boston, Massachusetts. Franklin epitomized what I always hoped to become: He was a leading author, printer, political theorist, politician, postmaster, scientist, inventor, civic activist, statesman, and diplomat. In later years, I also discovered that he was quite a “ladies man.” Hearts and giggles punctuated his life into his 80s. “Go, Ben!” “Yay, Mikie!”
January 17th is also known as an important date for reasons other than a birthday shared by Messrs Botula and Franklin. Some of the highlights:
·         1861 - Flush toilet patented by Mr. Thomas Crapper. (This is probably my favorite next to sharing the day with Ben Franklin).
·         1893 - Queen Liliuokalani deposed, Kingdom of Hawaii becomes a republic. (Important date in the progression of US imperialism, and it happened before we stole Panama from Nicaragua to build the Panama Canal. I’m a History major. I notice things like this).
·         1920 - First day Prohibition comes into effect in the US as a result of the 18th amendment. (OMG! This happened on my birthday, for chrissakes! Next to Pearl Harbor, the darkest day in American History).
·         1977 - Gary Gilmore, convicted of murder is executed by firing squad in the Utah state prison. (My KMPC buddy Larry Reed actually bought one of those gag newspapers with a headline that read: “Gilmore, Botula Celebrate on Jan. 17th”. No Larry, I haven’t forgotten your dreadful birthday present).
·         1989 - Gunman opens fire in Stockton, California schoolyard; 5 students slain, 30 wounded. (In my opinion, this is where a lot of this madness began. Stockton was my home for ten years and I used to drive past the school from time to time and say a prayer).
·         1991 - Operation Desert Storm begins against Saddam Hussein. (Just a coincidence. We were having cake and ice cream in my office. I was the DA’s news secretary then. After that, my phone didn’t ring for a month).
·         1992 - My brother, Packy, celebrated my birthday in ’92, by flying two transatlantic missions on the same day. He was an Air Force pilot, attached to NATO Headquarters, assigned to flying the NATO Supreme Commander. He had just flown across the North Atlantic on the first trip, and moments after landing at Pease AFB in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, was told that he needed to turn around and fly the general back to Europe. Two transatlantic flights in one day in the dead of winter. He said it was a white knuckler both ways and after 25 years, decided to retire.
Among the other notables sharing my birthday are:  Actress Betty White-1922; singer Eartha Kitt-1927; hair stylist Vidal Sassoon-1928; ventriloquist/puppeteer Shari Lewis-1934; Heavyweight boxing champ Muhammad Ali-1942; First Lady Michelle Obama-1964.
It’s been quite an adventure, and I’m fortunate that I’ve been in a line of work that enabled me to see a lot of history in the making. This past year has been devoted to rebuilding, and I have to thank my kids – Mike and Dana - for their love and support for motivating me to do just that. Renovations include: getting cataracts fixed so I can see again, and letting me get my driver’s license renewed; picking up some other new parts like the new shoulder joint to be installed in a couple of weeks and getting my overall health back so I don’t have to use one of those walkers or scooter chairs. (Besides, I think a walking stick or cane gives an old guy some dignity that a walker or scooter chair completely takes away. And, don’t even get me started on “stair lifts” or “alert buttons” or [gasp] “Depends”).
I’ll be sure to check in again next year. Same time! Same station!
Ciao,

MikeBo!

Friday, January 16, 2015

What is a Trabuco? Give Up? Check it out!

“LOST MUSKET DIARY*” January 16, 2015
Mostly Sunny 74°F/25°C in Rancho Santa Margarita
Shell unleaded $2.64/gal €2.38/gal (70 cents/liter)
Buongiorno,
If gasoline in Rome, Italy sold as cheaply as it does in Rancho Santa Margarita, California, Italian drivers would stampede to the nearest gas station knocking over everything in their path….the Coliseum, the Forum, the Vatican. Even Hadrian’s wall could not stand up to the surge. So if you Patriotic, God-fearing Americans have been thinking that the oil companies have been screwing you, just imagine the frustrations of the average Italian, or Greek or German or even English driver who has been paying the equivalent of $9 to $12 dollars a gallon for their petrol for a lot longer than we’ve been paying four or five bucks a gallon. And, sorry, Charlie, but I don’t feel one bit sorry for “Big Oil.” Maybe when the widows and orphans who depend on oil company stock dividends to live out their “Golden Years,” begin to starve maybe the politicians who want to take the Social Security pensions away from old geezers like me who worked all their lives to live in relative comfort instead of under a bridge somewhere, will back off. Somehow, I don’t envision the former chairman of British Petroleum to come knocking on my door at my 55+ “active senior” apartment house, begging for a crust of bread and some peanut butter to get him through until breakfast.
                I had fully intended to mention the gas price as an “oh, by the way,” when I started today’s blog. I had intended to write about my “project du jour,” but got carried away. So, let me get back to the subject at hand.
                This week, between the morning when I woke up and realized that I had recovered from “the viral condition” that had flattened me for nearly a month and the phone call that came from my doctor’s office informing me that my shoulder surgery is now scheduled for February 2nd, I decided that I needed to get my house in order. First step? Organize my sock drawer.  More on that in a moment, but first!
So, wow! I will be celebrating Ground Hog Day this year under full anesthesia while Dr. Sodl opens a five inch incision in my right shoulder and saws off the top end of my upper arm and hammers in a new ball joint. Then he will do a matching number on my clavicle and scapula to put a metal socket in. Then, he will join the two parts together, reattach all the muscles and, “Voila,” I will become “Mr. Titanium!” If that works on my shoulder, I’m going to talk to him about some other parts on my aging body. But, first, back to the sock drawer.
One of my first realizations when I resumed my bachelor’s life a year ago is the reality that my once vast empire lies now within the confines of a one bedroom apartment. So for the past year, I’ve been engaged in an overall reduction in resources. Frequent donations to Goodwill, trips to the landfill, giveaways to family and friends, having a crew from “College Hunks,” cart away the detritus of decades from my storage unit, donations to garage sales and rummage sales. And this morning after unwrapping my latest prize from Amazon.com, I decided to tackle my sock drawer.
I set a plastic storage container on my bed next to a big trash bag. The contents of the storage bin will go under my bed; the contents of the bag will get dropped off at Goodwill.  First thing was to lay out all the socks that have no mates. Those get trashed. I know I will find more odd socks in the future, but for now I’m winning. Then, I found a pair of gloves that I had bought last year at a flea market in Rome. They didn’t look right. The reason? Two left hands. Just as was about to toss them in the trash, I found another identical pair of gray gloves. I checked. Sure enough. Two right hands. Wow! I thought. A matching pair of gloves. Identical color and fabric. Now I have two good pairs of gloves. Elapsed time: 1 hour, 5 minutes. Plus, the time to start my daily blog on the subject. At this rate, I am going to have to live until my 84th birthday to get this job done, because right now I have to take Lola out for her midday walk around the block. At least the sock drawer is done. When we get back, I’ll start on the Tee shirt drawer.
                Ciao, MikeBo


*Lost Musket-approximate translation of Trabuco or musket. Spanish “conquistadors” were armed with trabucos or blunderbusses, which scared the hell out of indigenous natives, especially when the trigger was pulled and they went “boom.” In 1769 Spanish explorer and later California Governor-General Gaspar de Portola and his men stopped to camp in a canyon near present day Rancho Santa Margarita, California on route to the village of Los Angeles. During the stop-over, one of Portola’s men lost his Trabuco in the forest, setting off a massive search for the weapon, which was never found. The incident might have gone unreported, but for one of the monks who accompanied Portola, who later wrote about it. As a result, the name Trabuco has become an overwhelmingly popular place name in this part of Southern California. One version of the story has it that the soldier walked into the woods to answer a call of nature, leaned his Trabuco against an oak tree, and had the gun stolen when he wasn’t looking, either by a mischievous native or a passing bear.

Friday, January 9, 2015

My Muse Returns!

“LOST MUSKET DIARY” Friday January 9, 2015
Cloudy: 69°F/21°C in Rancho Santa Margarita
Buongiorno,
                To my surprise, I received a “get well” card from my periodontist yesterday. Strange, I thought, I didn’t realize anyone else knew I was sick. (For those of you who read my blog, you may have noticed that I haven’t posted anything new since December 7th. Pearl Harbor Day. Well, that is one reason. Another is the anxiety I’ve been experiencing as a lead-up to the shoulder joint replacement surgery that was originally scheduled for January 6th. (Nothing, like the prospect of having someone cut your shoulder open and take a Skil saw to your clavicle, scapula and humerus, to break you out in a cold sweat in the middle of the night). Between the new titanium shoulder joint and the silver amalgam fillings in my teeth, the airport metal detector should sound like a symphony orchestra on my next jaunt through LAX. (Damn! I wish I could take Amtrak to Rome, instead of Air Sardine). I promptly emailed my periodontist to thank him and his staff for their consideration, and told him that I was putting the Christmas cards away and holding his “shoulder joint replacement recuperation card” for the appropriate moment, and buying myself a “get well from the flu” card to put on my table top. I owe Dr. Chrispens a lot. I’m already over 70, but still have all my own teeth – minus four wisdom teeth.
                The doctor I saw for my “viral condition” last week was subbing for my regular guy, who, it was rumored was out sick with the flu. My HMO does everything but track their older patients down and restrain them until they get their annual flu shot. This year though, the pharmaceutical companies managed to turn out huge batches of vaccine that was only about 34% effective against this year’s strain of influenza. (Probably too busy lobbying Congress to prepare an effective vaccine). This year I not only got my flu shot, but a pneumonia booster as well.
Captain Harry N. Schultz
                I think it was Mark Twain who said, “first thing I do when I wake up in the morning, is to pick up the newspaper and turn to the obituary pages, and, if I do not see my name, I get dressed and have breakfast.” So, yesterday after typing my name into the Google web site, I concluded that I was still alive, so I made a pot of coffee and took Lola downstairs for her morning watering. (Blogspot December 7, 2014). Like so many of us, Kelly Schultz, retired Navy Corpsman and school teacher, periodically carried out random Googles as part of his daily internet surfing sessions. His latest Google has led him to my blog account of his uncle’s heroism during the U boat attack on his convoy off the coast of England in 1944. When we finally hung up the phone, I discovered that my muse, that fickle scamp, had returned. I had learned that there really are people out there that read my stuff. It’s not like being on television where people recognize you everywhere you go, but being a writer has its benefits, too…..as long as you have something to write about.
When I returned, I had just poured a cup, when my cell phone rang. There quickly commenced a nearly two hour chat with a nephew of my dad’s old Skipper from the LST 920.
                The younger Mr. Schultz told me that, in reading my story about his uncle, he had learned some new information about Captain Harry Niel Schultz that the old seafarer had kept from even the closest members of his family. It’s a common complaint among the offspring of the “Greatest Generation.” A lot of these guys and gals lived through some absolutely horrendous times. Then, when they had finished kicking the Axis Powers’ collective asses, just shrugged it off, gritted their teeth and came home to restart their lives. Returning veterans of all wars carry with them the same demons, but, each generation has a different name for it and a different way to deal with it.
     
Lt. Charles Botula, Capt. Harry Schultz
           My dad never knew what happened to his old skipper after the war. And, he had no way of knowing that Captain Schultz had survived the sinking of his old destroyer and the loss of its entire crew during the invasion of Guadalcanal. Years later, crewmen of both LSTs that I wrote about- the 920, my dad’s ship and the 921, the U-boat’s victim, remarked that Harry Schultz always seemed like a distant figure to his men. A ship’s crew, especially in wartime, is a family. Everybody knows everybody else, and there are no secrets. Family gossip is called “scuttlebutt” in the Navy, and “scuttlebutt” is the lubricant that keeps everything running smoothly. Harry Schultz didn’t hang out at the water cooler on his ship, and it took years before the reason for that came to light. He had lost his entire shipboard family to the Japanese in one horrendous moment, and he was not going to allow mere orders to keep him from disobeying those orders to save members of his new family from a watery grave. My dad frequently said that during the time he was serving under Captain Schultz – from the ship’s commissioning in June, 1944 until he left to come home to the states in November 1945; through U boat  “Wolf Packs” in Europe and swarms of Kamikazes in the South Pacific, no crew member of the LST 920 was injured or killed in combat.
Michael and Harry Schultz
                I really appreciated Kelly Schultz’ update on his uncle. I had learned that Harry Schultz stayed in the Navy after the war and retired as a Commander. I knew that he had a son, Michael, but, I didn't know until Kelly told me that Harry was one of several Schultz brothers who served in the Pacific during World War II. And, most of all, I was able to tell Kelly, that I had talked with more than one veteran of the LST’s 920 and 921 who are still singing Harry Schultz’ praises to this day because their Skipper brought them all home safely. His uncle was a real hero, and I'm glad that I was the one who finally got to tell his story. It would have been a shame if he had simply done his job and slipped away into history.

Ciao, MikeBo

Sunday, December 7, 2014

"A Day That Will Live in Infamy!"

“LOST MUSKET DIARY” December 7, 2014: 73 Years to the Date
Sunny, Patchy Clouds 73°F/23°C in Rancho Santa Margarita
Buongiorno,
Sunday Morning! Sunny. Just like it was on that other Sunday December 7th, the day that President Franklin Delano Roosevelt called, “A Day That Will Live in Infamy.”
                In their all-out attack on the U.S. Pacific Fleet, the key targets for the Japanese were the battleships. They sank Arizona, California, Oklahoma, West Virginia and Utah. 
USS Arizona December 7, 1941
Today, the USS Arizona still rests on the bottom, a war grave with more than a thousand valiant souls still aboard. In the midst of all of this flame and carnage, one scrappy destroyer escaped to fight another day, and took her fair measure of vengeance on the attackers. She was the destroyer USS Jarvis (DD 393) and on board was a young Quartermaster named Harry Schultz who would one day follow the lead of his ship’s namesake and disobey a direct order during the heat of battle to become one of the true heroes of World War II.
                Lest his name be completely lost to history, let me introduce you to Midshipman James C. Jarvis. Three U.S. Destroyers have carried his memory into battle: Jarvis I DD 38 which saw combat in World War I, Jarvis II DD 393 which escaped the Pearl Harbor attack, and Jarvis III, DD 799, which saw service from the end of World War 2 through the Vietnam War before it was decommissioned and given to the Spanish Navy. Midshipman Jarvis was born in 1787 and appointed as a Midshipman from the State of New York in 1799. As was the custom of the day, Midshipman Jarvis went to sea aboard the famed frigate Constellation. During its battle with the French frigate La Vengeance Deux in February 1800 young Jarvis was sent aloft to secure the ship’s mainmast. At one point he was ordered down for fear the mast might topple. He yelled down, “My post is here. I can’t leave it.” The mast crashed down and Jarvis went over the side with the rigging and was drowned. He was 13 years old.

USS Jarvis in 1937
               On the Sunday morning of December 7, 1941, the second destroyer Jarvis was moored next to another destroyer, the USS Mugford DD 389 and their tender, USS Sacramento, 1914 vintage gun boat. The “after action” reports of all three ships show the Japanese attack beginning at 0758 on that Sunday morning. General Quarters was immediately sounded and all three destroyers opened fire on the attacking aircraft with anti-aircraft machine guns and their five inch guns. The ship’s log notes that the machine guns commenced firing at 0804 hrs., with the five inch gun firing the first shot of any five inch gun in the harbor 60 seconds later. The USS Jarvis was credited with shooting down four enemy aircraft during its escape from Ford Island to the open sea. It is believed that Jarvis was the first to draw enemy blood on that bloody Sunday. Among the seamen receiving special commendation for their action during the attack was Quartermaster First Class Harry Niel Schultz, who had been with the Jarvis since it was commissioned in 1937. 
Harry Schultz
Schultz was later given a commission and eventually commanded the LST that my dad sailed on in WW2. But, on December 7th, Schultz, a career peacetime Navy enlisted man, was aboard the Jarvis. The Jarvis fought its way to the open sea and safety. Its gunners shot down four enemy warplanes and evaded the attackers’ efforts to sink it and block the harbor entrance.
 Schultz and the Jarvis survived Pearl Harbor, and about two weeks later Jarvis left Pearl Harbor with the carrier Saratoga to join the Task Force assigned to relieve the Japanese attack on Wake Island, but, in a controversy that resounds to this day, that mission was scuttled and the Japanese took the island on December 23rd. In January 1942, while on an anti-submarine patrol the Jarvis rescued 182 survivors of a Japanese torpedo attack on the fleet oiler Neces. By July, 1942, Schultz and the Jarvis were on their way to the Solomon Islands to take part in the invasion of Guadalcanal on August 7th. The transport ships that Jarvis was escorting came under a heavy attack and the destroyer was torpedoed in spite of the fact that only 9 of the 26 attacking Japanese planes were able to penetrate the American defenses. After the battle the ship moved to Tulagi where seven wounded crewmen were transferred to a hospital on shore. Quartermaster Harry Schultz went ashore with them to make sure they were cared for. That assignment saved his life.
The Jarvis’ skipper, Lt. Comdr. William Graham, Jr. ordered the ship to steam for Sydney Australia for repairs. Shortly after, she steamed across “Iron Bottom Sound” and ran into the approaching fleet of Japanese Admiral Mikawa’s heavy cruisers, which had mistaken the destroyer for an American heavy cruiser. As she continued to steam westward, the Japanese again attacked her with a force of 31 planes, raking her with machine gun fire and torpedoes.
Jarvis Casualties Lans & Billy Wilson
USS Jarvis went to the bottom of Iron Bottom Sound at 1 o’clock in the afternoon on August 9th with all hands. Brothers Billy and Lans Wilson were among the 233 crew members who died that day. Quartermaster Harry Schultz went on to a new assignment.
Rising from the ranks, Schultz earned his commission in 1944, and took command of US LST 920, a landing ship that saw action from the beaches of Normandy to the invasion of Okinawa back in the Pacific.  He was one of only three members of the 920’s crew of 110 or so who had ever been to sea. Schultz’ executive officer was my father, Lt. Charles Botula, Jr. But unlike my dad, Harry Schultz didn’t talk about his wartime experiences.
Schultz' Command - LST 920
On August 14, 1944, the LST 920 and its sister ship the LST 921 were sailing in a convoy across Bristol Channel, about 70 miles from Lands’ End, England. At 4 p.m. the LST 921 was struck by a torpedo and broke in two, the aft portion sinking.   Half the crew was lost. A second torpedo launched by the attacking U667 was aimed at the 920. My dad recalls seeing the torpedo’s wake, but a British escort vessel came between the attacker and his ship


Killer Sub - U 667
and was blown out of the water. Standing orders were for all ships to remain with the convoy if attacked. Captain Schultz ordered Radioman Fred Benck to send a message to the convoy commander.  "WHO IS PICKING UP SURVIVORS?” The reply was an order, “DO NOT BREAK CONVOY!" This message was delivered to the captain. In about two minutes, he came into the Radio Room and ordered Benck to send the message again. This time he waited for the answer which was "DO NOT BREAK CONVOY!" As Benck told me years later, “H N SCHULTZ then used these words, ‘TO HELL WITH HIM’ and we pulled out of convoy to turn back and pick up Survivors! A message came from the Commander of the convoy to get back in the convoy. The message was never answered!”

Like the Wilson brothers on the Jarvis at Guadalcanal, two brothers were serving on the two LSTs in the convoy. One of the Forty-seven crewmembers of the LST 921 pulled on board the 920 was Seaman Gerald F. Hendrixson, the twin brother of LST 920 crew member Harold Hendrixson. Thanks to Harry Schultz, the Hendrixson brothers both made it through their ordeal.  A few days later Captain Schultz was called before a court martial but later cleared of any charges. Many years later I learned from Schultz’ family and friends that he had never gotten over the loss of his shipmates at Guadalcanal, and he was not going to let any more good sailors die if he could help them even if it meant disobeying orders. Shultz’ left his command of the LST 920 in 1946, stayed in the Navy after the war, and eventually retired as a Commander. Two of the officers from the 920 that I talked with in researching this story told me that Schultz always “kept a certain distance” from his officers and crewmembers. Knowing about his earlier career as I did, I realized that he had already lost one shipboard “family” in the war, and he probably didn’t want to form any close personal ties with his new one. And, my dad, who was on the bridge at the time of the U-boat attack, never knew why his “Skipper” disobeyed orders that August afternoon. He said he was “stunned” when Captain Schultz broke that convoy rule and gave the order to come about.

Post WW2: Schultz & son Michael
               A few months later, Captain Harry Schultz and LST 920  sailed through the Panama Canal and on into the Pacific Ocean. Next stop? Pearl Harbor - on route to the invasion of Okinawa and the end of World War 2. After the war, Schultz stayed in the Navy, eventually raising a family. His son, Tim, told me that his father never said much about his wartime experiences. He had only a few wartime snapshots and several of his father's letters and Navy documents, so his knowledge of his father's Navy career was quite limited. That's a situation now faced by so many heirs of "The Greatest Generation."


Ciao, MikeBo



Tuesday, December 2, 2014

After the Battle, a Postscript!

“LOST MUSKET DIARY” Wednesday December 3, 2014
Rainy 61°F/16°C in Rancho Santa Margarita
Buongiorno,
                As we count down to the 73rd anniversary of that “Day of Infamy,” as President Franklin D. Roosevelt called it, I’m still digging into another story about World War 2, the U boat attack on my father’s ship in the Bristol Channel off the coast of Britain, later in the war than December 7th 1941. His high seas adventure took place on a sunny summer afternoon in August 1944.

Lt. Charles Botula
               My father, Lieutenant (jg) Charles Botula, Jr, never had a chance to meet Admiral Karl Dönitz, and to my knowledge, he had never heard of Karl-Heinze Lange either. However, he certainly had a chance to witness their handiwork. The World War II “Battle of the Atlantic” got very up close and personal for my dad and the crew of his ship, the LST 920.
LST 920 at Normandy 1944
 On that long ago afternoon, it was a few minutes before 5 p.m. and the crew was getting ready for chow, when the convoy they were sailing in - EBC-72 - came under attack by the German U Boat 667, commanded by Karl-Heinze Lange. A torpedo had struck the 920’s sister ship, LST 921, breaking it in two. Then, as my father watched from the bridge, a torpedo trail headed relentlessly toward his ship, the 920. It would have struck dead amidships had it not been for the British Corvette that was escorting the convoy from Milford Haven, Wales to Falmouth, England. The Brit, LCI(L)99 took the full brunt of the torpedo’s wrath, blowing it out of the water just a short distance from its intended target, the 920.

Ill-fated LCI(L)99
               The attack was followed by a courageous move by the 920’s skipper, Lt. Harry N. Schultz, who, in a violation of the hard and fast order to stay with the convoy, ordered his ship to come about to pick up any survivors from the LST 921 and the LCI(L)99.
LST 920 Skipper Schultz
In Schultz’s mind, an ancient law of the sea trumped any contemporary rule for navigating a war zone. While the enemy sub stayed in the area, looking for an opportunity to resume the attack, the rescue effort continued into the night. As survivors were pulled from the chilly waters of the Bristol Channel, the sub stayed just out of the range of the new three inch gun Captain Lange thought the LST 920 was carrying. Lange was wrong. The 920 was equipped only with 40 millimeter weapons. Another bit of luck for the rescuers. The next day, it left the area and sailed to its home base in France to report a successful mission to Admiral Dönitz. U 667 never reached its home port. Neither my father, nor any member of his crew knew who had attacked them or what fate had in store for the enemy.
Admiral Karl Donitz
A clearer picture of what happened on August 14, 1944, comes into focus if you know a little bit more about Admiral Dönitz and his philosophy of waging war. Simply stated, it was to destroy completely the enemy’s ability to wage war, a practice by great commanders past, present and future from Alexander the Great to Julius Caesar to Genghis Khan to Napoleon Bonaparte, to American Civil War Generals U.S. Grant and, especially William Tecumseh Sherman. Karl Dönitz learned the craft of submarine warfare during World War I, when Germany terrorized the Allied shipping lanes and initiated its own downfall with the torpedoing of the Lusitania, bringing the US into the war.
                Being an island nation had kept invaders out of Britain from the time of William the Conqueror in 1066 right up until the eve of World War 2. As Germany shook off the shackles of The Versailles Treaty, Adolf Hitler and his generals began to plan for an invasion of Britain. From the rubble of the First World War Germany had built a massive military machine with its Luftwaffe, Wehrmacht and Kriegsmarine. Grand Admiral Karl Dönitz’ purview would be the Navy and its fleet of unterseebooten, the dreaded U boats. When WW2 began in 1939, so did the Battle of the Atlantic, the longest naval struggle in history from outbreak to Germany’s surrender in 1945.  The Allies lost 3,500 merchant ships and warships. The Germans lost 783 of its 1153 U-boats. By the time that LSTs 921, 920, AND LCI(L)99 met up on August 14, 1944 with U 667, the war was in its final year and the Germans had already lost the Battle of the Atlantic.
                When I first heard the story about this U boat attack, it was little more than a wartime anecdote that my dad told over the Sunday dinner table as I grew up. Dad was proud of his wartime Navy service and he loved to regale his two young sons with his “war stories.” My brother and I grew up listening to them. The whole story played out over just a few days’ time in late 1944, but it took years for me to find out all the facts. Apart from the names of his own shipmates dad was in no position to learn any of the details relating to the other ships involved or their crews. It was not until after I retired that I started treating this story as I had done so many other stories that I covered during my long career as a journalist. And as I carried out my research and each new fact came to light, I was on to one hell of a war story.

Dad, Mom and me June 1944
I have distant memories of a June day in 1944, when my mother took me to Boston by train from New York. My father had already been away from home for almost a year by then. I was about four and we were in Massachusetts to attend the commissioning of my dad’s brand new ship. By the time the new crew took its new ship out on its shakedown cruise, the LST 920 was sporting a brand new camouflage paint job and was getting ready to head to the Pacific. But orders changed at the last minute and it headed to Philadelphia to pick up a “secret cargo.” The 920’s sister ship, LST 921 received the same orders and the two new ships headed to Philadelphia toward the end of July to pick up their mysterious cargo. Both received new paint jobs, literally overnight, along with new orders – to join a one-thousand-ship-convoy off Nova Scotia and head across the North Atlantic. At about the same time, July 22, 1944, U 667 set sail from its base at St. Nazaire, France with its new commander, Kapitan Leutnant Karl-Heinze Lange in search of allied shipping. Along with its new skipper, U 667 had been outfitted with the new
                By August 9, 1944, Convoy HXM 301 with the LST’s 920 and 921 had successfully crossed the Atlantic and arrived in Liverpool, England. As the long journey ended for them, their nemesis, the U 667 was already drawing blood. The day before, on August 8th, U 667’s new skipper had scored his first kills; a US Liberty ship, the SS Ezra Weston and a Canadian escort vessel, HMCS Regina.
HMCS Regina
The Ezra Weston took the first torpedo, and, as the Regina came to the stricken ship’s aid, it too was torpedoed. One officer and 27 men aboard the Regina were killed; the ship’s commander and 65 crewmen were saved, although two of the survivors died before they could reach a hospital. All 71 crewmen aboard the Ezra Weston survived the attack. Now, on the afternoon of August 14, 1944 the two LSTs were en route from Milford Haven, Wales to Falmouth, England toward their ultimate destination – Omaha Beach in Normandy. U 667 spotted their convoy in the Bristol Channel.

The Attacker U 667
U 667 was one of 1153 German submarines commissioned in World War II. It was a Class 7C submarine which first saw action in 1942. Its first Captain, Heinrich Schroteler, was in command for four missions. While U 667 is credited with shooting down an RAF bomber, it did not score any “kills” against Allied shipping. on his next command, the U 1023, Schroteler did sink a British minesweeper and a Norwegian tanker in the waning days of the war in 1945. His successor on U 667, Captain Lange, had better luck, scoring four kills within two weeks in August 1944. The Weston and Regina on August 8, and LST 921 and LCI(L)99 on August 14th.  Later, as Lange and U 667 steamed away from the site of their latest victory, neither the Captain or his crew could know that their luck was about to change.
U 667's Captain Lange
                In all of the research I did for this story, the archives of the Navies, US and German, revealed only that U 667 struck a mine on or about August 25th on the way back to a hero’s welcome at its home base at La Rochelle, France. I found the answer on a specialty internet site uboat.net, which is devoted to the archives of the Kriegsmarine and especially it’s Unterseebooten.
                According to the archives, the RAF had carried out a series of aerial mine-laying missions off the coast of France right about the time that U 667 was carrying out its last deadly mission. Mine-laying had been carried out by both sides in the Bay of Biscay and the English Channel. The Germans to keep the Allies away, and the Allies to keep the Germans bottled up in their home ports or to snag them on the way home. In a report on the August 1944 mine laying sweep, the map coordinates of the area sown match the location where the wreckage of the U 667 was finally located and examined by diving crews. The loss of the U 667 was recorded by the Kriegsmarine when it missed a scheduled radio check-in on August 25th. By then, Admiral Dönitz and his high command had begun to assume that if a scheduled check-in was missed by one of his U-boats, it meant that the sub had been lost. In fact, U 667 did become a war grave less than two weeks after it’s most recent victory. Ironically, none of the survivors of its last wartime attack ever knew what happened to the submarine that had so impacted their lives.
Ciao, MikeBo