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This story appears courtesy of and with thanks to Robert H Allison.

Bloski and I received orders to report to Green Cove Springs Naval Air Station near Saint Augustine, Florida. We received 6 days travel time to go about two hundred miles. What to do with 6 days? We decided to go to New Orleans. Even though it was in the wrong direction it wasn't far and we had neither been there before. Good idea! Besides, it would give me a chance to find out what had happened to B.J. Moise.

We bought bus tickets, boarded the bus, walked to the seat that crossed the back of the bus and flopped. Lots of room and besides there were only about five people on the whole
bus. The bus didn't move. The driver just sat there in his seat and kept looking in the rear view mirror at us. Finally he got up came back and said: " You boys will have to move forward. This section is reserved for the "Colored". OK! We moved forward. This was my first, last and only experience with " Jim Crow". We arrived safely in New Orleans with no further incidents.

I knew that B.J.'s parents lived in the Roosevelt Hotel and that his father was president and general manager of Maison-Blanche Department Store in New Orleans. So this was the place to start. We entered the store and asked a clerk where we might find Mr. Moise. She directed us to the offices on the second floor. At the end of the hall was an office door that bore the name: Benjamin J. Moise, President/General Manager. We entered to find in the first office, Mr. Moise's secretary. We introduced our selves. She picked up the phone and in an instant we were sitting in this gigantic office talking to B.J.'s father. After a few minutes he called his secretary and asked her to find his wife-she was in the store. In a couple of minutes she was in the office treating us like long lost kin. I would have to say they couldn't have been more accommodating. Mrs. Moise invited us and insisted upon showing us the town. She called for her car and upon leaving the store we were to enter a big long black limousine which she drove. After picking up B.J.'s sister we were treated to lunch at Antoine's then shown every point of interest in New Orleans from the "French Quarter, Bourbon Street, the cemeteries where everyone is buried in vaults above ground because it is not possible to keep the bodies under ground because of the water level, and also a trip to Lake Pontchartrain. The answer to my quest of B.J.'s fate was that he had left the Navy and had been drafted as a buck private in the Army. We were invited to dinner but had begged off because of another commitment. Wasn't true but they didn't know. We were more interested in Bourbon Street. After two days in New Orleans we were off to Green Cove Springs.

As student officers, Bloski and I, being numbers one and three on the alphabetical list, were assigned as roommates again. Don't know why I didn't draw Bates. There were seven students in our flight, five of whom I hadn't met before. They were Harry Bates, Walt Glista, Sy Gonzalez, Mike Michelich and Bill Tuohimaa. Bloski was also in the Flight. The instructor we were assigned to was Lieutenant Quentin Crommelin. . He was a full Lieutenant, a graduate of the Naval Academy and had been on sea duty as a gunnery officer prior to entering flight school. No experience in combat as a pilot and he was teaching us how to kill and not be killed.
There is an interesting story about Lt. Crommelin. Not only was he a graduate of the Naval Academy but he was the youngest of five brothers who were all graduates of the Naval Academy. The eldest, Captain John Crommelin was an Aviator and was on the USS Liscome Bay, CVE 56, when it was sunk by a Japanese U-boat in the South Pacific Ocean. He survived. Second was Commander Charles Crommelin, who died in combat as a fighter pilot.

Third, a Lieutenant commander, whose name I don't remember, was the captain of a destroyer. Fourth, Lieutenant Commander Richard Crommelin, also an aviator who flew back to his carrier in a damaged plane with his body racked with shrapnel and one of his eyes hanging on the outside of his cheek. He landed but couldn't control the plane. It crashed into the bridge of the carrier. He survived only to become a fatality in a mid-air collision with another Navy plane during the Okinawa campaign. The fifth and youngest was our instructor.

The Crommelins were true Southerners from Alabama. One day, our instructor arranged for us to go to the skeet range where we were to learn to lead a moving target when shooting at it. Everything was going along fine until a mockingbird made the mistake of landing on a fence on the side of the skeet range. Bates couldn't resist the temptation. He blasted that bird into guts and feathers. The Lieutenant blew his stacks and we were off to the B.O.Q. Someone came up with the idea that the mockingbird is the Alabama state bird. Well, maybe so, but I believe his attitude had a little something to do with safety.

Continued.....
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