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Editor's note: This is the third in a series about Bert Gividen of Orem. Basic training for Gividen ends (after he battles double pneumonia and terrific headaches), and he declines Officer Training School (which would have meant extending his enlistment a year).
I found myself back at Fort Ord for Leadership School, after which I was advanced in rank to corporal. More money, anyway. I took one week's furlough, drove my car home, was ordained an elder, went through the temple, and took the bus back to Fort Lewis. My orders were to prepare to be shipped to Korea for active duty.
The ship took us from Seattle to Anchorage, Alaska, where we dropped off some of our soldiers. The huge mountains by Anchorage were covered with snow, and they dropped straight down into the ocean. What a magnificent sight!
Then it was across to the Aleutian Islands for refueling and supplies. As we headed out into the Pacific Ocean, I began to understand why our ship was ready to be retired from the fleet of troop ships. This would be its last voyage -- and it turned out to be nearly ours. We hit a big storm just as we approached the International Date Line. That bucket of bolts seemed to come apart when we hit that BIG storm!
We were forced to stay in our bunks and not allowed out of the deck at all. Try to imagine trying to feed 10,000 men breakfast, lunch and dinner, with no one allowed out on the deck.
One morning when we entered the mess hall for breakfast, we noticed that the bench seats had all been lifted up so no one could sit at the mess table. So you placed your tray on the stainless steel surface of the table, but as you reached for something, letting your tray go, the ship would pitch and your tray of food would go sailing down the table and off onto the floor. Then we realized why there had been trays, silverware, and food all over floor when we entered.
Very little food was consumed that morning. After this experience, whenever we approached the mess hall, it was "Hang onto your tray or put everything in your pocket before you start to eat, or you just might not eat for another three or four hours." It seemed that all we did was get in line, wind through the guts of the ship for three to four hours, eat in the mess hall, and then get back in line for the next meal.
I got so sick and tired of my bunk and standing in line that I finally found my way to the crew quarters (off limits), into a stairwell, and onto the deck. And that was the wildest experience I have ever had in my life.
I was the only one out on the deck. The wind was howling ferociously, and the ship was hitting waves straight on. The front of the ship would rise so high in the air you thought it was trying to fly. Then the bow would descend into a high wave and water would splash across the bow, washing down the entire ship. I would jump back into a stairwell and close the door whenever I saw one of those waves coming.
Sometimes the ship would get caught sideways, and as it rolled down into the depth of a wave, the railing would almost touch the water. The next roll in the opposite direction would rise so high that I could look over the bridge and see the ocean below me. I've never seen anything so powerful in my life. The ship was just like a cork on the ocean.
After about 15 minutes, a crewman spotted me from the inside, came to the door where I was standing, and ordered me below. I'd had enough anyway. I went to my bunk and left my fate in the hands of the ship's crew and God.
We were in the storm for a week, and the ship took 21 days to arrive at Sasebo, Japan, where we changed ships and eventually landed in Inchon Harbor, Korea.
These excerpts from local veterans are courtesy of the Orem Heritage Committee. Complete stories of the veterans will eventually be put on the Orem City Web site, www.orem.org. Readers aware of any veterans who have written about their military service are asked to arrange to have these archives in the Veterans History Project, Library of Congress. Phone Don Norton (225-8050) on how to do this. |
