Death of a Wooden Shoe - U.S. Coast Guard

June 8, 1942, Monday; U.S.C.G. Cutter Sea Cloud
Damn!
I have been transferred from the beautiful U.S.C.G. Cutter Sea Cloud to the
Coast Guard Receiving Station in Boston , Massachusetts . The station is the
ancient Brunswick Hotel on Boylston Street , around the corner from the elegant
Copley Plaza Hotel.
The Brunswick is so old, toilet flush water tanks are mounted high on the wall
behind the sit-on poop buckets. To flush, one must pull on a chain that hangs
from the bottom of the tank and voila! you get a superb flush with suction enough
to make a giant hickey out of your entire backside. The flush also thrashes your
behind with some of your own dirt. You soon learn to get up off of the seat before
pulling the chain, and quickly jump away after the chain is pulled.
I will not miss the North Atlantic weather patrol duty of the Sea Cloud, but I
already miss the comradery of the buddies I had acquired. Weather patrol duty
consists of wallowing in the ocean somewhere far out in the North Atlantic, thirty
to forty-five days at a time. Every hour or so a helium filled balloon is sent aloft
with a box of weather sensitive devices attached. The device radios back high
altitude weather data that is invaluable to American warship and plane
movements on both sides of the Atlantic . All large scale military actions require
accurate weather information.
June 9, Tuesday; Brunswick Hotel
Boston overflows with servicemen, mostly sailors. Bostonians are kind to us. The
ladies seem to adore us. Someone said, "whenever a Boston damsel’s eyes light
up, they glow red, white and navy blue."
Boston , where so very much of America ’s march toward independence began. I
am in awe of the many historic landmarks that still stand, and I feel I must touch
everyone I am allowed to. I pause at various places and ponder the events that
had taken place there. From my youth I recall Faneuil Hall, "the cradle of liberty,"
the Market Place and Public Hall of early Boston . It is a mere eighty by one
hundred feet and just three stories high, once the home of "the Ancient and
Honorable Artillery Company of Massachusetts ." I spent at least ten minutes
standing at the March 5, 1770, site of what is known as the Boston Massacre,
where a squad of British soldiers were struck by debris thrown at them by a
crowd of demonstrators. The soldiers fired into the crowd killing five men. Without
having been there when there incident had taken place, I had to conclude the
punishment hardly fit the crime. The soldiers were tried for murder and were
defended by John Adams and Josiah Quincy. Two were convicted of
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