World War II Chronicle: August 7, 1943
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Pictured on the front page is the former SS Normandie, formerly the world’s largest and fastest ocean liner. In December 1941 the French ship was moored at Pier 99 in New York Harbor. ocean liner captured by the United States. The U.S. Coast Guard had assigned a detail to protect Normandie from sabotage and on Dec. 12, 1941, the detail took the ship over from the French captain and crew and captured the ship. President Roosevelt approved a transfer to the U.S. Navy on Dec. 20. Renamed USS Lafayette, the United States was converting her into a troopship when a fire gutted the vessel and water from firefighting operations capsized the ship.
![](https://www.untothebreach.net/wp-content/uploads/2024/08/J4F_Widgeon_flies_over_wreck_of_Lafayette_in_New_York_1943-600x469.jpg)
Shortly after the fire broke out the ship’s designer tried to tell crews to flood the lower decks, which would cause the ship to settle on the bottom and help with firefighting operations. Unfortunately, police kept him away from the scene. Firefighting was complicated as FDNY crews weren’t able to connect to the French systems, and onboard fire pumps had been turned off. Nevertheless, the firemen brought the fire under control after several hours. But all that water caused the ship to list and ultimately capsize…
Lt. Gen. George S. Patton, commanding general of Seventh Army, has written the Sicilian people to inform them the United States is only liberating them (see page three)… Patton is also mentioned on page 12, who owes Rear Admiral Alan G. Kirk a bottle of whiskey for a betting the Navy couldn’t unloading at Sicily in less than eight days… George Fielding Eliot column on page six…
Sports on page 17, which reports the St. Louis Cardinals have put an end to Pittsburgh’s slow-throwing Rip Sewell‘s 11-game win streak. The Redbirds must have Sewell’s number because they were the last team to beat him before his streak began. Stan Musial went four-for-four, but the player of the game was first baseman Ray Sanders who doubled and tripled with two outs, driving in five runs…
Page 25 has an ad for incredibly talented comedian/pianist Victor Borge, who is playing at the Hotel Statler. The Danish-born Borge boarded the last neutral ship to leave Finland and sailed for the United States in 1940, arriving with only $20 and not knowing a lick of English. He learned the language by watching movies and started appearing on radio in 1941, beginning a unique and incredibly talented career. At the 16-minute mark of the video below he tells about coming to the United States as a refugee.
Roving Reporter by Ernie Pyle
SOMEWHERE IN SICILY — A few more sketches of men on our ship.
Dick Minogue. He has been in the Navy six years and intends to stay. He is a bosun’s mate first class, and may be a chief before long. He comes from White Bear Lake, Minn., and they call him “Minny” aboard ship.
It is men like Minogue who form the backbone of the present-day Navy. He is young and intelligent, yet strong and salty enough for any job. He definitely has the sea about him, but it is modern sea. He wears his bosun’s pipe from a cord around his neck, and a white hat cocked way down over one eye. He says the worst moment he ever had in the Navy was while piping a British admiral over the side. Dick had a chew of tobacco in his mouth, and right in the middle of his refrain the whistle got full of tobacco juice and went gurgly.
Arch Fulton. He is an electrician’s mate second class, from Cleveland. Before the war he was a lineman for the Cleveland Illuminating Co. He is married and has two children.
Fulton is 37 — much older than most of the crew. He is a Scotsman. He came to America 20 years ago. His parents are still living at Kilmarnock, Scotland. He has a brother who is a sergeant-major in the British army, and a sister who is a British WREN.
Arch has a short pompadour that slants forward, giving him the effect of standing with his back to the wind. He has a dry Scottish humor and he takes the Navy in his stride. He used to read this column back in Cleveland, so you can see he’s a smart man.
We have 11 negro boys aboard, all in the stewards’ department. They wait table in the officer’s mess, and run the wardroom pantry that keeps hot coffee going 24 hours a day. They have a separate compartment of their own for quarters, but otherwise they just live as the white sailors do.
They are all quiet, nice boys and a credit to the ship. Three of them are exceedingly tall and three exceedingly short. They all have music in their souls. Sometimes I have to laugh — when the wardroom radio happens to be playing a hot tune during meals I’ve noticed them grinning to themselves and dancing ever so slightly as they go about their serving.
I haven’t room to give more than a couple of their names. One is George Edward Mallor, of Orange, Va. He is 32 , and before the war worked as an unloader at a chain grocery store in Orange. He has been in the Navy for a year and has been operated on for appendicitis since coming to the Mediterranean. He got seasick once but it doesn’t bother him any more. He has never waited tables before, but he’s an expert now.
Another one is Fred Moore, who is the littlest, meekest and blackest one on the ship. Fred has a tiny mustache that you can’t even se, and a perpetually startled look on his good-natured face. He is very quiet and shy.
His home is South Birmingham, Ala. He is just 21 and has been in the Navy only since March. He likes it fine, and thinks he may stay in after the war. Before joining up he did common labor at Army camps and fruit farms.
Fred has a gift. He is a wizard at baking delicate and beautiful pastries. He makes all the pastry desserts for the officers’ meals. He had never done any cooking before joining the Navy, except to fry a few hamburgers at a short-order joint. He can’t explain his knack for pastry-baking. It’s just like somebody who can play the piano beautifully without taking lessons. The whole ship pays tribute to his little streak of genius.
Fred says he has never been seasick nor very homesick, but during some of our close shaves in action he says he sure was scared.
Evening star. (Washington, D.C.), 7 August 1943. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Lib. of Congress.
https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045462/1943-08-07/ed-1/