My Carrier War

If you have ever wondered what it was like to be a carrier pilot during 1941 to 1945, I recommend the book,
My Carrier War
, by Norman Berg. I was the author’s CO (commanding officer). We were both flying torpedo planes off the carrier USS
Monterey
in 1944.

I first met the author, Norman “Doc” Berg, in the fall of 1943 during the reforming of Torpedo Squadron 28 at the Naval Air Station in Alameda, California. We served together from October 1943 to January 1945.

Norm has done a wonderful job in relating the life of a naval aviator in wartime. As my executive officer, he and I were only in our mid-twenties when we were leading a carrier-based torpedo squadron into action. Fortunately for me, I was not married and had only three married pilots in the squadron. Norm’s family responsibilities understandably caused him much additional stress. The two other married officers had no children. In this regard, my overall responsibilities as commanding officer were much simplified. In wartime one has to condition oneself to the necessity of killing other human beings or being killed by them. As aviators, we could accept bombing airfields to deny their use to the enemy. When anti-aircraft gun emplacements were attacked, it was the guns we were hitting. When ships were attacked, it was the ships that were being hit. The fact that humans might be killed as a result of these attacks had to be incidental in our minds.

I think Doc’s memories in his book will stir the memories of many readers of that era as well as intrigue those readers who did not experience World War II first hand. I heartily recommend
My Carrier War
.

-Captain Ronald “Rip” Gift, U.S.N. (Ret.)

[
Captain Gift, U.S.N. (Ret.) was awarded the Navy Cross in 1944 while commanding Torpedo Squadron 28. He had a distinguished Navy career retiring as a captain. He now lives in California.]

It is with gratitude that I recognize The Tailhook Association, publishers of the magazine
The Hook: Journal of Carrier Aviation
, for allowing me to use pictures from their Winter 2000 issue. Also, grateful recognition is extended to the U.S. Navy for allowing people to access the wealth of information and photographs collected in its archives. Another source of descriptive photographs for which I am most grateful is my 1941 yearbook,
The Slipstream
, published by the aviation cadets of the USNAS located at Corpus Christi, Texas.

When one is fortunate enough to come under the wing of a dedicated teacher, very special things can happen. The inspiration and unending help of Marion Landew, my writing instructor at New York University, was instrumental in my developing my thoughts into publishable manuscripts, which also includes
Regret to Inform You: Experiences of Families Who Lost a Family Member in Vietnam
published by Hellgate Press.

There is no end to my appreciation for my wife, Diane Borst Manning, whose consistent encouragement and writing assistance helped nudge into existence this personal history of a most important part of my life.

In addition, I want to thank Emmett Ramey for publishing my writings, and his remarkable editorial and production team for their excellent work in bringing my story to life on these pages, especially Vickie Reierson for her guidance and keen editorial eye, Jan Olsson for his invaluable editorial assistance, and C. C. Dickinson for her easy-to-read design and skilled composition.

The watersheds of life—those events that occur, sometimes planned, but often seemingly by chance—invariably tend to transform one’s life. The planned events, such as graduations, marriages, and the births of one’s children, are easy. The other happenings—the unplanned ones—suggest that chance plays a significant part in life.

I was born on February 17, 1920 to Clarence and Lucille Berg. My father owned a gas station and my mother taught kindergarten in our home in the small town of Chehalis, Washington. My father did not finish high school; however, he was a highly intelligent man who firmly believed in learning from others. I still remember him telling me, “Norm, always listen to others, especially to those whom you admire and you’ll always learn.”

For a woman of the 1920s, my mother was well-educated. She had finished high school and had a teaching degree from Perdu Normal School in Nebraska. She was an ambitious woman, wanting a successful and happy life for her family. She was a strong influence on my father, my younger brother, and me.

Ours was an average middle class family. My life centered around my parents and home. Since Mother’s kindergarten classes were in our home, she was always there when my brother and I returned from school. My father was always there after work. Mother played the piano and Dad had a fine tenor voice; there were many evenings when we boys listened to our parents, enjoying the music they made together. We did not have a radio, although early in my life, Dad did build us a crystal set. It wasn’t much of a radio, but it was fun for us boys to try and find a station. We played a lot of card games, Old Maid and Fish to name a few. Then there were the books. My mother would take my brother and me to the library for books, and Mother would help us explore the pleasures of reading. As I remember, I was reading the funny papers to my younger brother by the time I was six. My life as a young boy was typical for the 1920s and 1930s.

Then in 1927, my father changed jobs and became a very successful salesman selling cookware for a large East Coast company. Mother and Dad did this by putting on dinners in private homes, and doing the cooking in the cookware they were tying to sell. Dad would then make appointments with the dinner guests to go the their homes and sell the cookware. As a result of his job, our family began to move on almost an annual basis. From the time I was seven until I was fourteen, I went to five different schools in three states—Oregon, Washington, and California. I remember it was kind of fun always meeting new kids and new teachers. I got along all right, although I don’t think I learned much. When the Depression of the 1930s hit, the company my father worked for went bankrupt. My father lost his position in 1933, and our family settled in the community of Bremerton, Washington, where my mother and father opened a highly successful restaurant. Chicken dinners were 35 cents and hamburgers 10 cents.

I started my freshman year at Bremerton High School in 1934. As the new kid on the block, I discovered that most of my classmates had started the first grade together and had been together ever since. I made some friends, but my friends, Rex, Ralph, and Chuck, were not, in my mother’s eyes, the kind of boys she wanted me to associate with. When two of them lit up cigarettes in front of her, she suggested I make some new friends.

Then there was my school work. My record of changing schools had affected my ability to do the classwork expected of me. Mathematics, algebra and geometry were complete mysteries. English was even worse, especially spelling. I found I could not write an assigned paper without the use of a dictionary. If I had to write in class, I was lost. The result? My grades were barely passing. One positive attribute I had going for me was that I had an outgoing personality and dealt well with my peers and teachers. I spoke well on my feet, and I was an avid reader. Consequently, I did well in the history and literature courses—that is, if I didn’t have to write.

I found a summer job after my freshman year. I had no close friends, although I still saw Chuck and Ralph when I wasn’t working. I didn’t tell my mother, but I had to have someone to pal around with. In September 1935, I started my sophomore year, which I finished, still on probation, with grades that were barely passing. I was 16 and had no idea what I was going to do with my life. My father dropped out of school when he was 16 to work on his uncle’s farm. I knew I didn’t have that option. My mother had already made plans for my brother and me, and that was college. It seemed to me that more than half the kids in school knew exactly what they were going to do after graduation. Those with good grades were headed for college. Others were planning to go to work in the Bremerton Navy Yard as apprentices. They were going to learn a trade and spend their lives in Bremerton. Then a chance happening entered my life. Her name was Jean Devaney.

It was a Saturday. My mother told me that all of us, including my brother and me, had been invited to have evening dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Devaney, friends of my parents, at their beach cabin. I can still hear my mother saying, “You know, Norman, the Devaney’s have a daughter, Jean. I think she’s about your age. Do you know her?” I nodded that I did to my mother. Sure, I knew who she was. She was one of the most popular freshmen girls in school. I’d seen her on the tennis courts too. Boy, was she good-looking. Great legs. Tall, with reddish-brown hair. I tried to beg off going but mother insisted. I worried all the way to the Devaney’s beach cabin. Jean Devaney! What was I doing meeting Jean Devaney?

We left the Devaney’s beach party about ten o’clock that night. I sat in the back of Dad’s car thinking about the evening. Jean had been wonderful—so friendly—so easy to talk to. We had played badminton, eaten a home-cooked chicken dinner, and after dinner, we had a beach fire. Jean turned to me and asked, “Norm, did you bring a swim suit?” When I replied I had, she said, “Good. Let’s change, and we’ll go swimming. It’s a nice, warm night and the moon is so pretty. Wait until you see the phosphorus in the salt water. It will look like it’s covering your whole body as you swim through the water.”

We quickly went up to the cabin and changed into our suits. Jean came out of her room in a white bathing suit that outlined her figure. I remember how beautiful she looked as we ran down to the water’s edge and walked into the small waves washing against the sandy shore. Jean struck out swimming ahead of me. The sparkle of the phosphorus was streaming off her body as she swam, bathing her legs and arms in bits of light. As she slowed down, we began swimming side by side, looking into each other’s face, so aware of each other. Jean’s smile was warm and friendly and I was tempted to kiss her. She turned away, saying, “I’ll beat you to the beach!” We changed into dry clothing and finished the evening in front of the fire roasting marshmallows.

The memory of that long ago evening is as bright as if it happened yesterday. Sitting in Dad’s car on the way home, I wondered if I’d ever be with Jean again. Oh, in front of the fire she was nice to me—really friendly, but she was so popular. Hell, I figured I didn’t have a chance.

I started my junior year in 1936, and every day at school I’d see Jean in the halls. She was usually with her girlfriends, but she would always say hello to me. The sight of her would trigger the image of the night we went swimming when the phosphorus clung to her body. I thought to myself, “Ask her out. Ask her to go to a movie. Do something!” I couldn’t; she was too popular. I’d wait—maybe someday. Then in October 1936, chance once again presented an opportunity that would affect my life.

Bremerton High School had a championship football team that year. All we had to do was beat a team from Everett, and Bremerton would be the Washington State football champions. The school P.T.A. arranged to charter a ferryboat to take all the students and some parents as chaperones from Bremerton across Puget Sound to Everett for the game. The end result? We won the game by a field goal in the last minute, and the trip back to Bremerton was very exciting. Everyone was thrilled with the win over Everett. Our high school dance band was on board the ferry. It wasn’t long before the dancing started.