I’m going down to the library and get a map and see where in the heck I am.
Boy it is cold here today. The wind blows constantly. Think it comes from Lake Erie...
This place would be much better in the summer. It is located on Lake Seneca. We can see across it easily here, but I understand it is 40 miles long. There are 40,000 men here, although it is split up into several units so we don’t come into contact with nearly all the others. –Robert Simmons (January 1944)
January and February 1944–and it seemed to twenty-six year-old Robert Simmons as if he’d been sent to the end of the world! Robert had entered the Navy in January and was beginning “boot camp” at Sampson Naval Training Station in the Finger Lakes region of New York. Since the attack on Pearl Harbor two years earlier, Robert and his wife Margaret had expected that he would be entering the military to join the U.S. forces engaged in World War II. In a letter to a relative Robert noted that he and Margaret had “almost lived out of a suitcase” after Pearl Harbor. After graduation from college in 1940, he had taken an accounting job at the Quaker Maid Company in Terre Haute, Indiana. He and Margaret had married in May 1941. Some other men in the family, including Robert’s younger brother Max and Margaret’s younger brother John had preceded him into the military. And now–finally–his time had come.
Robert began writing letters to Margaret soon after he arrived at Sampson Naval Station. He continued to write her almost daily for the remainder of his time in the Navy. She saved some of these and put them into an album. After Robert returned from the Navy, he collaborted with her to place some of the photographs he’d taken during the war into a companion album.
I discovered both of these albums among my mother’s possessions after she died in 2016. I never had a chance to ask her about them or learn why she’d kept them so long through at least a half-dozen moves. Whether she intended it or not, I now believe these letters and photos were kept just for me to come across at this point in my life. I’m not sure I could have appreciated them nearly as much–or in the same ways–if I’d found them earlier. The letters and photos give me a unique perspective on Robert and his newlywed relationship with Margaret in the context of those difficult war years. They present an opportunity to relive specifics of this portion of their lives that I would never have known otherwise.
Unfortunately none of the letters that Margaret sent to Robert during the war appear to have been saved. So I only have one side of the conversation. Yet what I do have is a treasure for me now. And the photos have enhanced my appreciation for my father’s visual and artistic sensitivities–qualities he seldom expressed later after he became my father.
*******
Prior to my parents’ generation, there were few males within my family who had served in the military. None of my grandfathers or great-grandfathers were soldiers, and the ancestor I heard most about in this regard as a boy was a “mixed read.” That was my great-great-great uncle John Wilson. He was the younger brother of my great-great grandmother Margaret Wilson Rapp and he served in an Indiana Volunteers regiment during the Civil War. He was decorated for valor in an 1862 battle in Tennessee and his medal was embedded into his gravestone located in a small rural cemetery near my grandmother Christine Rapp’s farm in southern Indiana. When I was a young boy I was taken by her to view the medal. Then later I was informed that John Wilson also suffered from war-induced depression and became an alcoholic; he died at the age of just 44. He became known to me within the family history as a tarnished hero.
World War II changed all of this. As a child and young adult, I knew a number of men–and women–in my parents’ generation who served in the military, and especially during World War II between 1942 and 1946. I myself spent four years as an Air Force officer at a base in Wyoming between 1968 and 1972, although it’s not my purpose in this essay to describe my own military experiences in detail. I will instead focus on my father’s time in the Navy during World War II, which was a period about which he himself seldom spoke.
Although I recall no extended conversations with my Dad about his military experiences, I do have a few fragmented childhood memories. For example, I remember as a young boy being introduced by him to a protocol for marching. He taught me to begin with my left foot and then he introduced me to one of the marching cadences he’d likely learned at Sampson Naval Training Station during boot camp. I’ve never forgotten it:
I left. I left. I left my wife with forty-six kids; do you think I did right? I left. I left.
When I was a young boy I remember him sharing just a bit more about living on the tropical Caribbean island of Trinidad. I had no idea where that was and he might just as well have told me he lived on Mars. I hadn’t see oceans at that point in my life and hardly had left the state of Indiana for that matter. Curiously, I never quizzed him about this time of his life. Even after our family later moved to upstate New York–and to just 40 miles from the site of the Sampson Naval Training Station–the subject never came up. I wish now he had offered to take me there and shared the place with me in person. Instead I’m left sifting through eighty year-old letters written about a place I’ve never been. Yet the letters are something–and they are written in his words.
*******
This place will be tough and confining and I’ll be glad to get out of here. But I’m sure it will do me a lot of good. (January 1944)
Although not as old or well-known as Naval Station Great Lakes near Chicago, the Sampson Naval Training Station was established in 1942 and subsequently trained about 411,000 naval personnel during World War II. This compares to the more than a million sailors who passed through the Great Lakes station.
Robert couldn’t have picked a worse time to be placed at Sampson or to get acquainted with the Finger Lakes region of New York. It was the dead of winter when he arrived and he alluded in his letters to the bracing conditions he encountered there. And it was boot camp after all, so he also wrote of the formative experiences he endured in his first few weeks with the Navy:
I am beginning to realize the meaning of “you are in the Navy now.” When we arrived here the first day we were given a physical and issued our “gear.” I never heard so much yelling and shouting in all my life. “All right” “Move on” “Come On” etc. All this by guys that have either been here three weeks or sailors who are stationed here. I am assigned to a company of 112 men. Two men have served 4 years in the Navy–one of them is our leader and the other is the Master at Arms. The Master at Arms has tattoos all over him and is decidedly screwy–shouts and yells all the time. The other fellow is OK. The company clerk is an attorney from Detroit. He and I are the only college graduates. (January 1944)
Today we had an hour’s gym this morning and a swimming test this afternoon. In the swimming test they lined all of us up and made each jump off a 5 foot platform–even the ones who couldn’t swim a stroke. Only one guy refused to jump but they had to fish several of them out. (February 1)
Still haven’t received any mail from you and I’m getting quite anxious for a letter. (February 2)
Still haven’t received any mail. Guess I’m farther from Seymour [Indiana] than I realize. (February 3)
Today we got our hair cut–now I’m a full-fledged “skin head” and can yell “barber bait” at the guys who are a day or two behind us. Our haircuts were mass production. They only used clippers and a comb–no scissors for straightening up. They cut my hair in less than a minute. (February 3)
We have to fall in and march everyplace we go. Sometimes we just get in the barracks, hang up our coats and then away we go again–always in a hurry. That is probably part of the training–to drop everything and get organized quickly. I’m getting calluses on my fingers from buttoning and unbuttoning my coat and boots. (February 3)
Haven’t seen a newspaper or heard a radio since I came here so I don’t know what is going on outside this place. (February 3)
Was glad to get your letter yesterday. It was the first one I have received. (February 6)
Had an interview and received a recommendation for a rating as a storekeeper. Have to have another interview or test or something to see what I can get, if anything. If I could type 30 words per minute I would have a much better chance, although I’m sure I could pick up the speed on typing quickly since I took it in high school. (February 6)
Went over to the Officer Procurement Office about two miles away–walked–only to be told by some gal that my eyes weren’t good enough [to be an officer] and that there wouldn’t be any use to fill out the papers and have the interview. I could have told her that before I tramped all that way! (February 8)
These Navy clothes are nutty. There isn’t any pocket room at all. (February 10)
Next week is dentist week. I’ve heard rumors that “special assignment” men [e.g. storekeepers] don’t go while here. Four of our guys went yesterday. On one guy they pulled six teeth and another they pulled nine at one time. (February 12)
I can personally relate to some of Robert’s impressions of boot camp. I too underwent boot camp as part of my Reserve Officer Training (ROTC) program during college. The account of receiving his initial “buzz” haircut was especially relevant to me. I remember mine like it was yesterday! I, however, went through basic training in South Carolina during August–so contending with the bitter cold of an upstate New York winter was not an issue for me.
Robert completed his training at Sampson Naval Station in late February 1944. After a brief furlough in Indiana he went on to learn to be a storekeeper at the naval station in Norfolk, Virginia. The next correspondence that was saved by Margaret, however, was dated August 1944. It was written soon after he arrived at Trinidad in the Caribbean to began his service at a large naval supply base located on the northwest corner of the island.
One photo from Robert’s time in Trinidad especially calls to me now. It was probably taken by another sailor and is not dated, although his rank as a Storekeeper 3rd Class suggests it was earlier in his stint. I’ve spent time studying his youthful face in this photograph and tried to imagine who he was then. I have little doubt that if I’d just been one of the other sailors in the barracks at the base, he and I might have become good friends. Yet I didn’t regard him as a “friend” when he was my father. I have known some who claim they looked upon their fathers as close friends, but that wasn’t my experience.
*******
I think it will be pretty hard to write very interesting letters from here but I will do the best I can. (August 6, 1944)
I am getting myself mentally prepared to stay here for quite some time. The hardest part of it will be being away from you. There are plenty of other people in the same boat–I realize that.
When I arrived at my duty station in Wyoming in November 1968, I knew my tour of duty would end in June 1972. However, when Robert arrived in Trinidad in August 1944, he had no idea how long he might be there. The news about the war was becoming more favorable by then; the D-Day invasion of Europe had been successful and Allied troops were making steady progress in their advances towards Germany. Similarly the war in the Pacific was progressing, although the prospect of needing an Allied invasion of the Japanese homeland still clouded the picture.
This is my second day here [at Naval Base Trinidad]. This morning I was assigned to clean a barracks and I have to check back at noon to see what else I have to do the rest of today. (August 6)
Last night I went to the movies, which are outdoors. They have a change of picture every night. I saw a serial and a Hopalong Cassidy western. It was one of those you chase me then I’ll chase you affairs. I have seen much better but it was entertaining anyway. (August 6)
If you leave the base, everyone has to be back by ten o’clock at night. I am waiting for a day off so I can go into town and see the place in daytime. (August 10)
If I am kept on this work [schedule] I will have Sundays off as free time. I go to work at 7:30 and get through at 4:30. The work is not hard or strenuous but I think it will be interesting. (August 10)
…before going to work the Captain gives us a personal inspection–haircuts and clean clothes and shined shoes. Sometimes the inspections are in our whites, but this morning it was in dungarees or the working uniform...Also the white [sailor] hat must be worn “square” at all times. You were always after me to wear my hat back on my head. I think it pays though to get into the habit of wearing it square. Then I don’t get into any trouble. (August 26)
We got a typewriter in the warehouse this morning so until somebody comes and takes it away from us, I will have an opportunity to type most of my letters to you. I am pretty rusty on this typing but I need the practice. (August 29)
I am seeing so many movies now that I don’t see how Hollywood is going to keep up with me. (September 4)
For the first few weeks of his time in Trinidad Robert was occupied with settling into his new life on the base and getting acclimated to his job as storekeeper in one of the base’s warehouses. In an August 1944 letter to another relative, Robert explained that his living quarters and recreational facilities were better than he’d anticipated they would be. He noted that sailors were offered free outdoor movies every night and he went to see LOTS of movies during his time in Trinidad. When I was a boy, my father often went to see matinee movies by himself, and I suppose that’s a habit he acquired during his time in Trinidad.
Another thing I haven’t mentioned is about the radio. We have radio programs all day and there are enough radios in the barracks. The leading radio programs–Bing Crosby, Bob Hope etc are brought down here, transcribed and rebroadcast from a local station. They are only a few days late and the day of the week doesn’t make any difference anyway. Bing Crosby is on the radio now. (August 18)
Radios were an important form of entertainment for Robert in his barracks. During his time in Trinidad he purchased a new General Electric radio for twenty-five dollars at the base exchange.
The native laborers work for 18 to 20 cents per hour and prices for clothing and food are higher here than at home. I can see how these guys have a mighty tough time making ends meet. For the most part, though, they are a happy-go-lucky sort… (August 29)
He explained to Margaret that he was an assistant to the lead storekeeper and had seven “natives” working for him. They did the physical labor in the warehouse. He was shocked at their low wages considering the high costs of Trinidad’s war-time economy.
On a lighter note, he reported that there were two parrots and three monkeys that had been adopted by soldiers within his barracks complex. One parrot’s name was “Joe” and he was allowed to roam free all the time. Robert was impressed that the parrot was “quite a talker” and said things like “Come here, Joe” and “Knock it off.” He was clearly intrigued by these animals. In an August 1944 letter he remarked:
One of the sailors was telling me about seeing Joe the parrot barking at a dog and the dog barking back. I would like to have seen that. I did see the parrot sitting on a Chief’s shoulder and he kept lifting the Chief’s hat off with his beak.
Robert was also impressed by the ingenuity and skill of his “native” workers. One of them climbed a coconut tree in front of the barracks to retrieve some nuts. He observed:
He walked right up that tree in nothing flat. When he came down he slid. The tree is at least 40 feet tall and straight up and down.
But the newness of his life on the base soon wore thin and Robert confided to a relative in a letter that “this place will get pretty boring before I get to leave.” About three weeks after his arrival at Trinidad he wrote to Margaret:
Most of the fellows who have been here for a year or more are pretty well fed up with the place, and I am sure I will be too–but I am going to try to make the best of it. Writing to you each day makes this place more interesting because I am always looking for different incidents to tell you about. (August 21)
And there was still the island beyond the base’s perimeter to explore, and the principal city on the Island–Port of Spain–was a relatively short distance away.
*******
I did buy a book today, which I will mail to you in the next day or so. It has some pictures and some information about the island in it. (August 16, 1944)
Robert’s initial foray from the base to Port of Spain took place about two weeks after his arrival. In one of his letters he gave Margaret a description of some of what he saw and did on this adventure:
It was about a 45 minute ride on the bus into town so I left right after noon. Three buses run per hour and it doesn’t cost anything. The road into town is along the foot of mountains, which rise up from the sea. They are not real big mountains, but they are bigger than any of the Jackson County [Indiana] hills. They rise steeply too. On the way there were shacks scattered along the road and two settlements or villages…There were also stretches of swampy coconut groves along the road. (August 15)
As for my trip to town…I didn’t see nearly all of it. Several of the parts of the city are restricted to the Navy personnel. Next time I am going to try to see some of the nicer districts and the botanical garden that I have heard about. (August 24)
It’s evident that Robert aspired to explore more of this land to which he had been unwittingly assigned–and his accounts to Margaret and the accompanying photographs became his primary means for documenting and sharing his adventures. He had no idea, of course, that eighty years later I also would be benefiting from them too.
After his initial foray into Port of Spain, Robert resolved to return to explore more of the town. That venture turned out to be more of a “baptism” than he had expected. This is his account of the outing:
Yesterday was Sunday and my day off so I will tell you how I spent the day…Right after noon chow we had our usual rain so I waited for it to quit about three-quarters of an hour later. I then went to the office, picked up my liberty card and caught the 1:00 o’clock bus for town. I decided not to take a raincoat as it had quit raining and cleared.
Before we got to town it was raining again so as the USO was on the bus route in town my friends and I got off there to wait for it to stop again. As soon as it quit raining we started for the Botanical Garden. We caught the Navy bus again for another few blocks and then transferred to a tram.
[A tram] is like the old-fashioned street cars [in the U.S.]. The windows and doors were open and for seats there were wooden benches. The tram only travels top speed about 5 miles per hour and the tracks were in bad shape. The streets were so narrow that there was just room for cars to pass on either side. The fare was 4 cents. It was about a mile ride starting in the downtown district and ending at the end of the car line…[There] the car started back and we were at the edge of the gardens and started in.
Just as soon as we got into the place, one of the natives rushed up and said he would show us some orchids that had been on the island for twenty years and had just bloomed today. One of our guys started talking to him so we had a guide whether we wanted him or not. He was spieling off the big names of all the trees and flowers as we went through–but most of them were already labeled. He took us to a sort of greenhouse where he turned us over to the attendant who showed us the orchids and some lilies and other flowers. You and my mother and your mother would probably have known what it was all about.
When it started to rain [again] we got under a high, dense tree and for awhile it kept off the rain. But it was pouring down and before long it started coming through and I got soaked. The rain finished our sightseeing so I caught the tram back. When we got off the tram we started walking to catch the bus [back to the base] at the USO. We got caught in another shower. I got back to the base in time to ride [in a movie] with “Kit Carson” after a rather damp trip. (August 28)
*******
I did swing a small deal and drew a sun helmet and a pair of heavy work shoes as free issue. I really wanted one of those sun helmets to keep the sun from blinding me. Those little white hats are no good for anything. (October 12)
Yesterday I took a trip to Blue Basin Falls (shown in the book I sent you.) Rozel, Roper and I left right after noon chow. We took the regular Navy bus almost into town and got off at a side road. The falls were six or seven miles from the main road so we started walking intending to catch the native bus when it came along. It rained and we had to get under some trees. When the bus did come, it was a covered truck crowded with natives. We pushed in the rear of the truck, paid the attendant 18 cents for three and the bus took off in the rain. The bus line only went within about one and a half miles of the falls so we got off to walk again…The road from there was through a government estate. There were oranges, cocoa, bananas, limes, rice, and sugar cane growing alongside the road. I picked some oranges and grapefruit but while there were plenty of stocks of green bananas, we could not find any ripe ones. The falls were pretty, as you can see from your picture [in the book]. Some natives were swimming in the basin right beneath the falls. It is about the only fresh water swimming place on the island. We didn’t stay long so we started back and caught the bus to the main road and were back on the base before dark. It was a good sightseeing trip. (October 23)
When I arrived at my Air Force duty station in Wyoming in fall 1968, I spent as much free time as possible exploring the environs of the base. I especially liked to do so on foot, and Robert seems to have been similarly inclined. During his first few months he didn’t have very much “liberty” time available, but he used what time he had to see sights in the town of Port of Spain, as well as to view natural attractions in his area such as Blue Basin Falls. I could especially relate to one sojourn that he made to climb one of the mountains in his vicinity of the base–just to see the view from the top. I sometimes did that in Wyoming and Colorado too during my Air Force time–and like Robert, I was never disappointed by the views either.
*******
I was surprised to see that they have golf here so I asked one of the fellows about it. The golf course is quite some distance from here and is open to sailors in the mornings when they have time off. From what he told me it is fairly expensive and takes quite a good ride to get there, so I won’t be playing regular. But I am going to try to play the course one of these Sundays just to see what it is like. (August 11)
Robert grew up in a very small town in southern Indiana. There were no golf courses in his vicinity so I expect he had never experienced the game first hand until at least he got to college at Indiana University–or perhaps even later after he began his job in Terre Haute. However he became acquainted with the game though, it’s evident that upon learning that a golf course existed on the island within a reasonable distance of his base he was determined to give that course a try.
In the almost three-month period spanning the letters that Margaret saved, it doesn’t appear that he went to play golf. However, his photographs show that he did eventually go there, and one later letter sent to another relative in April 1945 revealed that by then his “routine life” included “playing golf on Sundays.”
I know nothing of the men with whom he played golf, some of whom are pictured in his photographs at the course. I like to think that some might have even been officers, which may help account for the frequency with which he played. Yet since I never discussed his involvement with golf in Trinidad, I’m left wondering.
I can say, however, that twelve years after he returned from Trinidad my Dad did introduce me to the game. It was during the fall of 1958 when I was just turning twelve years old. I hadn’t gotten my “growth spurt” yet and so I was quite short for my age. I was selected to be a member of the 7th grade boys basketball team at my school, but I seldom played in games.
My father took this as an opportunity to inform me that football and basketball were probably not likely to become my sports in high school (unless I grew more). He said I should learn to play golf because it wasn’t a sport where size mattered–plus it was “a game you can play the rest of your life, Steve.” I don’t remember whether such reasoning carried much weight with me then, although I did agree to give the sport a try.
My Dad arranged for me to take lessons indoors during the winter of 1959 from a guy he knew from a local tavern who was purportedly a “golf pro.” Whether he was or not, he did teach me to swing a golf club correctly. I then played on my high school golf team for three years, and I now regard the decision to take up golf as one of the best pieces of advice my Dad ever gave me. And it all started at the only golf course in Trinidad during his time there.
*******
In the Navy there is as much difference in the officers’ life and the enlisted men’s life as there is between civilian life and the Navy. The officers down here have a paradise and live like kings. Aside from being separated from their families, most of them are living better than ever before in their lives. (October 1944)
I noted earlier that I didn’t regard my relationship with my father during my growing-up years as a “friendship.” However, I did receive worthwhile advice from him. For example, I recall when I was transitioning from my elementary school sixth grade class (with only 12 students) to junior high seventh grade class (with almost 300 students). I was apprehensive about it all so my Dad advised me to learn the names of as many of my classmates as I could–and to call them by name whenever I saw them in the hallways. He said, “If you do this, Steve, you’ll be one of the most popular kids in your grade.” He was probably right, but my inherent shyness at that point of life precluded me from following his advice. And no, I did not become one of the most-popular students in my class either.
Seven years later, I was completing my sophomore year at college in 1966. The Vietnam war was becoming serious. At that time ROTC was mandatory for male students at Purdue University for their first two years. Like most of the other males in my sophomore class, I was intending to bail out of ROTC at the end of the school year. No more “spit-shining” shoes for me!
My father got wind of this and advised me against it. I recall that he said to me, “This Vietnam war is getting hot and if you end up going into the military, you’ll definitely want to go as an officer!” He didn’t elaborate then, but I see now that his advice stemmed directly from his own experiences with the Navy twenty-two years earlier. After reading my dad’s letters from 1944, it’s clear to me that he would have preferred to be an officer during his tour of duty in World War II. Without providing personal backstory, his advice was intended to steer me in that direction.
I did heed my father’s advice and continued in the advanced ROTC program at Purdue. With encouragement from a fellow student in my fraternity, I chose to shift from Army to Air Force ROTC. I also received a scholarship from the Air Force that paid most of my tuition and academic expenses for the final two years of my undergraduate education. It also put me on course to be assigned as an officer to Warren Air Force Base in Wyoming. And because of my tour of duty there, I met and married my wife Mary Ann (who lived in Cheyenne) and I developed long-term friendships with others that have influenced and enriched my life ever since.
*******
One of the strongest impressions I have of my father from childhood was his love of popular music. He had a pretty fair singing voice and would sometimes sing along with the radio whenever we took drives together. And I remember he especially liked the calypso songs that were popular during the mid-1950s by singers such as Harry Belafonte and Terry Gilkyson. I recall that these songs elicited from him some of the few comments I heard him make about his time in Trinidad. He told about the “steel bands” he had seen there and explained to me that the musicians in such bands played large drums made out of something like the “trash barrels” we had in the alley behind our house. It was hard for me to imagine making music from such an “instrument.” I don’t recall ever seeing an actual steel drum band perform until after we later acquired a television.
When the guys moved over to the beer garden on base, I went along intending to then go on down to the movie. But they insisted that I stay and sing [with them] so I figured it was my duty to lend them my voice and my experience in singing sad songs. We stayed until the SP’s made us get out and turned out the lights. I was rather disappointed in the general tone and harmony. What seemed to be the trouble to me was that there were some young guys very inexperienced in the art of beer singing… I was wishing that [college friend] Art had been there so we could have given them a few strains of “You Are My Sunshine” and showed them what it was all about. (October 15)
One of my father’s best friends before the war–and his singing buddy–was a man named Art Grimm. Art enlisted in the Navy a bit earlier than Robert and became a PT boat commander in the Pacific. During Robert’s time in Trinidad he received occasional letters from Art, which always gave him a lift. And on one occasion he wrote to Margaret of imagining Art and him together giving the younger men at his base a much-needed lesson in the true “art of beer singing.”
Art remained my Dad’s close friend after the war. When he and his family came to visit us in Terre Haute, there was almost always singing around our piano with Art’s wife, Vera, tickling the ivories! And the song “You Are My Sunshine” was almost certain to make an appearance.
Art eventually moved to Alabama where Vera died suddenly of a heart condition. My father immediately took a plane down to spend time with Art in the aftermath of her death, an indication of the depth of their friendship.
*******
The thing that stands out to me is that these natives carry almost everything on their heads. It is common to see a woman walking along carrying a basket full of stuff perched on her head. They carry it by balancing too as they do not tie it on. (September 29)
My father loved to watch people. He seemed to be happiest when he was in a public place and observing people as they passed by him. He sometimes engaged in conversation, but mostly he just watched.
Based on the number of photographs he took of “native” people in Trinidad (as he referred to them), I think this quality was already in him then. Again since I never spoke with him about these pictures (I didn’t even know they existed) I have little context for them. In some cases, such as the ones he took of a family on a donkey cart hauling fodder, he seems to have perhaps known who they were. Yet in others, such as the one of a nicely-dressed young woman standing in front of her house (probably in Port of Spain) or of a young man carrying what might have been an artificial Christmas tree, he may not have known them. Whatever their backstories, these photos and others he took are exceptional.
Trinidad woman in front of her home
*******
As I’ve read Robert’s accounts of his time in Trinidad, I have tried to imagine how I would have responded to spending almost eighteen months on this island during my mid-20s. I’m sure, like Robert, that photography would have been one outlet for me to pursue and document my experiences. And in this regard, I would have been especially drawn to St. Peter’s Chapel in the village of Carenage, which was located near Robert’s Naval base. He didn’t single out this village in his letters and I only know of one photo he took of the Chapel there–and that was from across the bay. However, I would have liked to photograph it at closer range.
I have researched this Chapel and know that it was built in 1876 by the people of Carenage under the guidance of their priest at the time. It was named for the patron saint of fishermen (St. Peter), which was consistent with the fact that most of the village residents at that time made their livelihoods from the sea. And on the side of the Chapel facing the sea was a large statue of St. Peter. I have a hunch this little Chapel would have become a favorite place for me and I would have returned there time and again.
*******
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love-light gleams
I’ll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams… –from I’ll Be Home For Christmas (1943)
On October 1, 1943, Bing Crosby recorded the song “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” It was released as a 78 rpm record and within a month it had reached number 3 on the charts and remained there for eleven weeks. The U.S. War Department also released Crosby’s performance of the song from a December 7, 1944, radio broadcast.
Being “home for the holidays” is an aspiration of many within American culture. However, during my initial two years with the Air Force (before I was married) I was required by my duties to remain at my base in Wyoming. I was not able to be “home” with my family then. So I do have a sense of what Robert felt as the war slogged through Christmas 1944 and into the new year of 1945. I know from his 1944 letters that he missed Margaret greatly–it’s something he commented upon in almost every one. Yet being apart during the holidays must have been especially difficult. I’ve been fortunate to be with my wife on Christmas Day in every year of our marriage.
Christmas Day also happened to be my father’s birthday, which made separation even harder for both of them. And although the war ended in August of 1945, Robert wasn’t permitted to leave Trinidad until the following January. That meant yet another Christmas (and birthday) apart from Margaret.
As for Christmas presents, there isn’t anything I need that I know of. I know there isn’t much here that I can send to you. (October 23)
I just heard on the [radio] news broadcast the preliminary plan for demobilizing the Army on a point system. Sounds more complicated than rationing or income tax. It will be a long drawn-out process until Japan and Germany are both defeated. I do not expect to get out of the Navy until Japan is licked. That does not look very soon right now. (October 10)
That is all for this letter. I love you, Darling, and that is for certain. Always, Bob (October 23)
*******
The last of Robert’s letters to Margaret (that was saved) was written on October 23, 1944. She did also retain some later letters he wrote to her Aunt Matilda (with whom she was close). Those reveal that as Robert’s time extended into the year 1945, his boredom with base life and his yearning for the war to end became even greater. He also mused about the next chapter of his life with Margaret after they were finally back together again:
My life on this island is getting more boring all the time but I try not to let it bother me too much. It is the most routine life I have ever lived. There is no predicting when I will be released from here. (May 1945)
…maybe considering that there is a war and I am in a military outfit, I don’t have it so bad. But believe me I can hardly wait to get back home with Margaret. We will have so many things to do establishing a home, buying furniture and household goods. It is also high time Margaret and I were having a baby, don’t you think? [bold added] (May 1945)
Robert left Trinidad and returned to the U.S. in January 1946; he was discharged from the Navy in February. He and Margaret were reunited that month and immediately reestablished themselves in Terre Haute. He returned again to his former job with the Quaker Maid Company.
And I made my appearance in late-November 1946. It was “high time” after all.
___________________________________________________
Steve Robert Simmons wrote this personal essay in 2024. All rights reserved.
Double Agent 