To Commander Sanger - Skipper of VPB-54
In January of forty-four
To the San Diego Naval Base
There came the strangest assortment of men
A squadron Skipper'd ever face.
Now some were seaman minus their rates,
And some wore oak leaves, if you please,
The usual petties, and several chiefs,
With red-tinted ensigns, cocky jay-jees.
The Skipper's fortune was not to draw
A powerful weapon of the skies.
Instead the Navy blessed him with
Eighteen beautiful PBY's.
The Catalina's a graceful thing;
Sets down on land as well as at sea,
But oh, how slow and helplessly armed,
A sitting duck for the enemy.
But into each kite the Skipper placed
A PPC and a motley few
And started a high powered-program to train
Every group as a fighting crew.
They flew by day and they flew by night;
Torpedo drops dive bombing and then
Dog fights, nav. hops, sweating the beam,
A hundred and eighty tired out men!
But finally all were whipped into shape,
The rugged Black Cats of Fifty-Four
Packed up their gear and loaded their planes,
By the middle of May were off to the war.
The night of the TransPac was deathly long.
Shortage of gas was each pilot's dread.
But dawn after two thousand miles of flight,
Saw lovely Hawaii just ahead.
A trip to Midway, then on down south;
With Guadal and Espirutu their base,
A Dumbo jaunt to Saipan and Guam,
And anti-sub till blue in the face.
But all wasn't work in all this time;
For Madame Johnson daily swung out
In Hut Forty-Nine, and incoming planes
Zoomed to knock coconuts all about.
Groups went to Emirau and Palau,
Daily rained Phosph'rous on Jap machines.
The climax came when the squadron en masse
Went booming into the Phillippines.
With salt water eating their planes apart,
Enduring the tender's torrid heat,
They smuggled guns to guerilla bands,
Rescued survivors they chanced to meet.
The Skipper himself brought back quite a few
And up near Formosa another he found,
Then varying things at midnight one time,
He tackled a cruiser and kicked it around.
The Phillippine business under their belts,
Old Fifty-Four is back in the states.
Their job is done, they're back in one piece,
They're sitting right here with their party dates.
From: All the members of Fifty-Four;
To: Squadron Skipper mentioned above;
Via: These few verses of corny rhyme.
Subject: Appreciation, expression of.
So here's to the Old Man, drink him good cheer,
Be it with high-balls, zombies, or beer.
Wish him "Good Luck" what'er he's about,
Roger, wilco, over and out!
In January of forty-four
To the San Diego Naval Base
There came the strangest assortment of men
A squadron Skipper'd ever face.
Now some were seaman minus their rates,
And some wore oak leaves, if you please,
The usual petties, and several chiefs,
With red-tinted ensigns, cocky jay-jees.
The Skipper's fortune was not to draw
A powerful weapon of the skies.
Instead the Navy blessed him with
Eighteen beautiful PBY's.
The Catalina's a graceful thing;
Sets down on land as well as at sea,
But oh, how slow and helplessly armed,
A sitting duck for the enemy.
But into each kite the Skipper placed
A PPC and a motley few
And started a high powered-program to train
Every group as a fighting crew.
They flew by day and they flew by night;
Torpedo drops dive bombing and then
Dog fights, nav. hops, sweating the beam,
A hundred and eighty tired out men!
But finally all were whipped into shape,
The rugged Black Cats of Fifty-Four
Packed up their gear and loaded their planes,
By the middle of May were off to the war.
The night of the TransPac was deathly long.
Shortage of gas was each pilot's dread.
But dawn after two thousand miles of flight,
Saw lovely Hawaii just ahead.
A trip to Midway, then on down south;
With Guadal and Espirutu their base,
A Dumbo jaunt to Saipan and Guam,
And anti-sub till blue in the face.
But all wasn't work in all this time;
For Madame Johnson daily swung out
In Hut Forty-Nine, and incoming planes
Zoomed to knock coconuts all about.
Groups went to Emirau and Palau,
Daily rained Phosph'rous on Jap machines.
The climax came when the squadron en masse
Went booming into the Phillippines.
With salt water eating their planes apart,
Enduring the tender's torrid heat,
They smuggled guns to guerilla bands,
Rescued survivors they chanced to meet.
The Skipper himself brought back quite a few
And up near Formosa another he found,
Then varying things at midnight one time,
He tackled a cruiser and kicked it around.
The Phillippine business under their belts,
Old Fifty-Four is back in the states.
Their job is done, they're back in one piece,
They're sitting right here with their party dates.
From: All the members of Fifty-Four;
To: Squadron Skipper mentioned above;
Via: These few verses of corny rhyme.
Subject: Appreciation, expression of.
So here's to the Old Man, drink him good cheer,
Be it with high-balls, zombies, or beer.
Wish him "Good Luck" what'er he's about,
Roger, wilco, over and out!