Born To Be a Newspaper Man

by Martin J. McGowan Jr.

A Summer with the Navy

Despite my father's lack of enthusiasm for Hubert Humphrey, I supported him. I introduced him on downtown rallies when he came to Appleton. I walked around with him when he campaigned at the Swift County Fair in Appleton. He spent a night in our home after a rally at Milan. We farmed out some of our children for the night and gave him our bed. We called it the Humphrey bed and hoped one day to put a brass plate on the bed to proclaim "The President Slept Here." We came close. We could put a plate on the bed saying "The Vice President Slept Here." Our son, Dan, now has that bed at his lake cabin.

I supported Humphrey when he became vice president and initially backed President Lyndon Johnson in his conduct of the Vietnam war. Humphrey was in a box. Humphrey could not very well disassociate himself from his sitting president but gradually-and thankfully-he took some steps to indicate United States participation in that war was not working. I was at odds with some members of my family who did not support that war. Two sons were in military service during that war, Vince overseas and Dan in this country by virtue of the policy that two sons from the same family did not have to go overseas.

Sen. Eugene McCarthy, of Minnesota, spoke out strongly against the war and was a candidate for president leading a peace movement to end the war.

My personal contact with these two powerful senators paid off in several ways. In 1952 Sen. Humphrey asked me if I wanted to go as a newspaper reporter on a naval cruise to Europe. I was anxious to go but there were several complications. First among them was who would run the Appleton Press while I was gone for most of a summer? My father was not in condition to take an active part in that. Betty was expecting one of our children and had quite a bit of responsibility at home. Nevertheless, my father agreed to check on things occasionally and Betty, who always wanted to work in newspapers, also agreed that such a free trip does not come along very often and it would be a great experience.

So in June, 1952, I flew to Norfolk, Va., to join a convoy of ships, including the battleship U.S.S. New Jersey, the light cruiser Roanoke and several destroyers. The purpose of this trip was to train ROTC midshipmen from various universities. I was assigned a berth with some young officers and ate with them. Also with me was a reporter from the Milwaukee Daily Journal and two professors from universities sending midshipmen.

The trip across the Atlantic was uneventful and before long we arrived at the south coast of England. We went through the English Channel and into the Scheldt river to dock at Antwerp, Belgium. I had two first impressions. The first came as I looked from the deck of the ship and saw an open urinal in the corner of a nearby building-and a man using it. The other impression was some fenced-in ruins left from German buzz bombs that hit the town in World War II. After all, this was only seven years since the war ended.

The four civilians decided to band together and go overland to rejoin the convoy when it arrived in Lisbon, Portugal. We first viewed the paintings of Rubens at the Antwerp cathedral and then took a train to Paris where we arrived at the Gare du Nord, or the north depot. During our five days in Paris we saw the usual sights, Notre Dame cathedral, the Louvre museum with the Mona Lisa in an inconspicuous spot. We went to the Paris Opera and also attended the Folies Bergere.

Something unusual happened at the latter site. Francs had a value of about 400 to the dollar. One of the professors was approached on the street with an offer to exchange some dollars at a better rate. So the professor accompanied this stranger to a quiet area around the corner and the exchange was made. The prof thought he made a killing.

We went on to the Folies but could not get seats. The only thing available were standing places outside the seated area but looking through a window to the stage. The Can-Can dancing can keep a person's eyes fixed on the stage. The professor didn't notice until he left the theater that his pockets had been picked and all his killing in francs had been stolen. Maybe the deed was done by the fellow who sold him the francs.

From Paris we set off for Madrid. We made the border crossing at Santander. We had to get off the train and walk into Spain for another train because the French and Spanish tracks were not compatible. They had different gauges.

The Spanish trains had seats in compartments, six to a compartment. At first there was only silence and none of us could speak Spanish. Eventually the silence was broken and we tried to carry on with mostly with gestures.

It turned out that one of the Spaniards, a man, had worked in bull fighting. I forget in which capacity.

There is the picador who rides in on a horse with plenty of padding around his body and legs. The picador has a long lance with which he jabs at the bull's shoulders to soften him up. Then there are the bandoleros who come out with shorter spears covered with colored cloth streamers. They come at the bull with two spears and jab them into the bull's shoulders to soften him up some more. Finally comes the matador to pester the bull some more by holding a red cloth over his sword. The thrill comes when the matador works the bull almost to exhaustion as it charges back and forth at the red cloth as close to the matador as possible. There are loud "ole's" as the matador shows his bravery by how many close passes he can execute without getting caught by the horns of the bull. Finally, when the bull is staggering the matador approaches the bull directly and over the horns jabs his sword into the neck of the bull. If the sword hits a vital blood vessel the bull stops and falls down dead and there are more "ole's." Then a rope is fastened to the bull's legs. Then the bull is dragged off unceremoniously. The meat of the bull is used to feed the poor.

The man in the train compartment said he worked in some capacity for Manolete, the famed matador of that time. The man showed us a funeral Mass card which indicated Manolete came to an ill fate as the bull won that match.

When we arrived in Madrid we attended a bull fight just to say we had seen one. Seats in the round bull ring are sold on the basis of how much sun and shade affect the seating. Some seats are sold in the sol section, the cheap seats in the sun. Then there are seats in the sombra section, the best seats in the shade. The remaining seats are called sombra y sol, or seats that start out in the shade but become sunny. I can't say I thought much of the performance but it was interesting to be there and see the reaction of the spectators.

When we got to Portugal we learned that they also had bull fights. However, they are more humane and don't kill the bull.

In Madrid we made the usual tourist rounds. We went to the Prado museum to see the paintings of Goya, which can be startling and even shocking. We learned of a café called the California which we heard made American malted milk shakes. They tasted very good after not being able to have them for some time.

I went to Mass at a large church in downtown Madrid. From the outside it didn't look much like a church. I entered through a small door on the side of the building. Inside there was a small attendance and nobody seemed to be paying any attention to the priest saying Mass at the altar. People were coming and going and others appeared to be wandering about apparently saying the Stations of the Cross. When the priest was done he left the altar without any fanfare. Those still in the church continued whatever they were doing.

This visit to Spain occurred during the Franco regime. What impressed me about that era was the visibility of the security police, the Guardia Civil, with their black leather flat topped hats with the back straight up. They seemed to be stationed at all intersections with guns slung across their shoulders.

It was on a trip to the Escorial, a library near Madrid built in 1567 that we spotted the Guardia Civil along the highway. The Escorial is famous for a painting on the wall and ceiling showing Christ drawing a line in the sand. This allegory related to Christ telling the crowd that anyone without sin could cross the line. When Christ looked up nobody was there.

Somewhere in all these museums we saw the paintings of Velasquez, noted for his paintings showing all people as tall and thin. It was thought he probably had a vision problem that he viewed all his subjects that way.

It was then time to move on to Lisbon and rejoin the convoy which came down from Antwerp. The Roanoke was berthed in the Tagus River, ready to head home. The return trip was much more interesting than the trip over. There was some serious business to do.

While in Lisbon a busload of sailors and some of us civilians made a trip to Fatima. This is a religious shrine where the Blessed Virgin was said to have appeared to some children in the mountains. There was one day a month when large crowds gathered in an open area to commemorate the event. The day we were there was a quiet one.

One unusual thing happened that day. As I looked out of the bus a young boy appeared hawking American cigarettes. He had a small box filled with the cigarettes and he walked along the bus hoping some of the sailors would buy from him. It seemed so strange to see this young boy, about 10 years old, with American cigarettes in that location so far from any city.

Before we left Lisbon one of the civilians decided to get a deck chair to sit on. It was common after supper for some of the young officers to go out on deck and sit on gun turrets or any vacant spot to enjoy the weather. There weren't any comfortable spots so one of the civilians thought a deck chair would provide more comfort for that occasion.

The deck chair had a canvas seat with bright red stripes. None of the military could be seen on one but nobody raised any objections if we brought it out on deck. There was one condition. The chair had to be set on the deck on the side away from the admiral on the New Jersey. It was felt he might not take so kindly to this breach of military standards.

When we were well out at sea preparations began for some firing practice. For one practice we were taken to the New Jersey to witness the firing of the big guns. There were nine 16-inch-long guns on the battleship. For one test they fired all nine of them at once broadside. The recoil came in the water as the giant ship backed away and down as the shells went off.

On another occasion there was target practice. One of the destroyers was deployed well away towing a floating target at the end of a long rope. Then individual shells were fired from the long guns and the projectiles could be seen like footballs on a long pass to the target six miles away. The aim was quite good.

In one other drill drone airplanes, much like large radio-controlled model planes, were sent up as targets for the smaller guns. When one of the drones was hit a parachute opened up and the drone fluttered down to the ocean. A destroyer then proceeded to go after the drone and retrieve it. These drones cost about $2,000 each at that time and they were too expensive to just let them sink at sea.

These drills continued off and on as we headed for Guantanamo Naval Base in Cuba. There we all went ashore for a few days and I enjoyed the free bus service around the base. I made one significant purchase there. I bought a twin lens Rolleiflex camera, then a highly prized camera, which I hoped to use back home on the Appleton Press. I managed to put together all my available cash to make the purchase, which was done without any tax. From there we went back to Norfolk to conclude my six weeks as a guest of the U. S. Navy.

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