Phyllis Naegle Purdy Ensign Phyllis Naegle was commissioned a U.S. Navy Nurse in May 1943. By July, she was at her first duty station at the naval hospital at Mare Island, California. This was a well-established hospital that undoubtedly received some of the more severe, long-term casualties from the island fighting. In May 1944, (about the time of the Battle of Tarawa and the invasion of the Marshall Islands) she was sent to Fleet Hospital #104 in New Zealand. In the hierarchy of evacuation, the wounded would go first to hospital ships, if they had to be evacuated from the battle area, then to land-based hospitals in theater (such as #104) and finally, if longer term care was needed, they would be evacuated to the States. While in New Zealand, Phyllis worked in hospital wards. In July of 1944, she was sent to Fleet Hospital #106 in French New Caledonia. There were two land-based hospitals at that location. Again, she worked in the hospital wards. About the time of the Jimmy Doolittle's raids on Japan's mainland, the battles for Iwo Jima and Okinawa and the Japanese Kamikaze attacks on the U.S. Naval Fleet (January, 1945), Phyllis was sent to Fleet Hospital #108 at Guadalcanal. She served in various wards and was in charge of the amputee ward. She tells a story of a sailor who had his arm amputated just below the shoulder. She intuitively knew the man wanted and needed to work out the issues associated with the loss of a limb, and she wanted to help him. She always allowed him to make his bed in his own way, in his own time (all patients were required to make their bed if they were able). One day he said to her, 'I like you the best because you don't help me make my bed.' Again, her humility understates the tremendous role she played. She returned to the United States in August 1945 (three days before the first atomic bomb dropped on Japan) where she concluded her tour of service at the St. Albans Hospital in New York. Lieutenant Junior Grade Phyllis Naegle returned home to Utah in March 1946. In July, she married David James Purdy, also a veteran of WWII. They live in Ogden, Utah. Submitted by Michael Naegle, nephew Melborne (Mel) Roberts I enlisted in the United States Navy on Nov. 18, 1943, and was honorably discharged December 18, 1946. My first memory of naval life took place at boot camp in Farragut, Idaho. I was standing in line waiting to receive some required inoculations when all at once I felt dizzy and nauseated. I soon fainted and was later told that I had been 'out' for several minutes. This was my first battle: overcoming the smell that permeated the inoculation area as well as the fear that I've always had of needles. That was 'Battle Number One.' Another vivid memory took place several hours later when I was standing in another line, the 'chow' line. When the line advanced enough so that I could see some of the food being served, my eyes settled on a very large container filled with chopped up ingredients, including lettuce, cabbage, carrots and other vegetables. 172 I was hungry enough to eat the container and everything in it; and as I scrutinized its contents; I saw what looked like a piece of green pepper plant, about an eighth of an inch wide and an inch long. When I saw it moving I quickly became discouraged! But even though my appetite may have diminished somewhat, I was still able to put away a pretty good meal. That had been 'Battle Number Two.' While at Farragut, I auditioned and gained a position in the 'Happy Hour Dance Band.' Because of frequent and long rehearsals I was often absent from some of the basic training that I was supposed to receive. According to one friend, whenever my company commander would call the roll and I wasn't there, he would make some remark like, 'Well, I guess Roberts is goofing off again in that damn dance band.' I don't know what he had against the band since we provided a lot of entertainment for the enlisted men as well as the officers. It did, however, save me from having to attend some of the required, but not so pleasant, duties the others endured. After several months of this I was selected to attend signal school. The tools of this trade were the semaphore, flashing light and special flags, which had a predetermined meaning when hoisted in a particular way on a halyard. It was a very interesting way of communicating. When we weren't in school, we conversed with miniature semaphore flags by holding our arms and hands close to our body and moving our fingers to make the alphabet signs. For flashing light we would say 'dotdash' for the letters of the word. Graduation day came, and I was sent to San Francisco to receive further orders. During those weeks while waiting for my orders, a friend and I were frequently sent to San Francisco to do shore patrol duty. We were 'armed' with a billy club, a four-inch wide light colored belt, and a ten-inch square of cloth attached to our shoulder with the letters 'SP' on it. Our job was to help sailors when they were in trouble and when possible, to keep them out of trouble. One night while on duty my shipmate and I were standing by a hotel in San Francisco. Suddenly there was a commotion inside the hotel, so we decided to go in and see what was going on. There were many people inside the hotel, and I noticed that the majority of them had on uniforms or parts of uniforms which designated them as Shriners (they were having a convention there). I had heard about Shriners' conventions before, and what I had heard certainly was true. Wild! Wild! Wild! Before I knew what was happening, one of the revelers came up to me from behind and kissed me on the cheek and said something like, 'Oh, you are so cute!' I don't remember how I immediately responded to this tender heart, but I can say that the word 'shock' is much, much too mild. With lips so tight they were white, my face screwed up so my companion hardly recognized me, my eyes nearly closed and the corners of my mouth pointed downward, showing my teeth in a grimace. I clutched my billy club and endured the rest of that very long evening. That was 'Battle Number Three!' Happy day! My orders came, and I boarded my ship, the USS George F. Elliot, a troop transport. The sea was somewhat rough until we got out a few miles away from San Francisco. Some service men were leaning over the rail doing their thing. I never did get seasick; and since I was at sea so much, I consider this a real blessing! I soon adjusted to life aboard ship, enjoyed my shipmates and learned to tolerate signal watches of four hours on and eight hours off around the clock. I really didn't mind beans for breakfast and Spam for dinner. Two thousand troops and two hundred crewmen were the complement of our ship when it was fully loaded. When we had troops aboard we didn't eat very well, but we knew we would not have the troops on board very long; and we knew that we would soon be going back to the States where we would take on more fresh food. The worst thing about having troops aboard was that fresh water was available for drinking only. We, the crew (or ship's company), learned to watch the weather with utmost vigilance during this time. At the first sight of a cloud burst or rain squall, we stripped, grabbed a bar of soap and headed for the deck. This attempt to lessen body odor usually worked out quite well, but on occasion the rain didn't last long enough for us to rinse the soap off! Another problem was that if, upon sight of rain, we didn't move fast enough to get to the deck there would be no place to stand. I learned to move very fast! 'Battle Number Four!' Pleasant memories abound when I think of life aboard ship. My shipmates came from various parts of the country, all with different backgrounds and a diversity of beliefs. It was always interesting to me when they would relate some of their life experiences, or express themselves on various subjects, such as their religion and their life goals. I soon discovered that America is truly made up of a diversity of cultures. One thing for sure: spending three years together for twenty-four hours a day made us much more than just mere acquaintances. The scenery at sea, to me, was never boring. My duty as a signalman was much like being a lookout. For many hours at a time I enjoyed watching the various moods and changes of the ocean and the unpredictable weather patterns of sudden cloud bursts, strong winds, weird cloud formations, waves whipping over the bow, tossing the ship, and then, suddenly, a smooth, glass-like ocean, followed by a beautiful rainbow and sunny tranquility. 173