Typhoon!

By Laurie (Colley) Raciappa

As we sailed for Shanghai in September 1945 we made a dramatic stop in Buckner Bay near Naha on the island of Okinawa. A fierce typhoon bore down on the port, and Captain W.O. Britton thought the hospital ship would be able to sort of skirt the outer edge of the storm. Not! We were drawn into this monster with 75-foot waves and winds of 173 miles per hour. The barometer dropped to 26 inches of mercury, which indicates a storm of historic proportions.

Earlier on, before we encountered the severest part of this great sea storm, we were told to remain in our quarters unless we had specific duty assignments. Moving around the ship only courted further injuries. Many of us gathered in the Officer's Ward Room.

Some of those memories are dramatic, some whimsical. Although the room was on the main deck there was much of the briny sea that came aboard. For a time, some men worked at returning some of this displaced liquid to its rightful place. As the ship lurched to port they would open the starboard hatches. As we started to lean starboard some of the water would rush out, and those hatches were quickly secured while the port hatches were opened and the process repeated. A difficult maneuver, but an effective one.

Morale remained high. And we were entertained, would you believe, by a troop of olives? A bottle of olives was spilled on the deck as the tables were cleared, and the tasty treats began to roll to the side of the room that was thrust downward, and then back across as the ship tossed in the opposite direction. This olive lineup was something to see! Back and forth they rolled in almost perfect alignment. It is really a pleasant sight to remember.

Well, hours passed and the typhoon grew worse. Patty Green, my roommate, needed more people around her for her sense of security, so she went down to the Officers' Ward Room. I preferred to stay in our room. Being "alone" didn't bother me, because I never really felt alone. He was always with me.

Our skipper announced that he had no control over the ship — that we were in the hands of God. Our radar was destroyed, and a life boat, I believe, was lost. We received distress signals from other vessels, but there was no way to help them. That was emotionally very painful for all of us. We were supposed to be on a mission of mercy, for heavens sake!

As always, there were things that were amusing, in retrospect. Our quarters were on the next to the top deck, and yet there was a few inches of water on the deck of our room. Strange, but the water on the deck was sort of clay colored. I assume the color came from whatever was used to glue down the deck covering. Our bunks, as well as our steel "dresser" that served as desks were built into the bulkheads. The double decker bunks had two adjacent drawers below the lower bunk. The latch on my drawer came undone and as we rolled to port the drawer would slide out, then slam shut as we rolled to starboard. For awhile I would wade in the water to try to fasten the drawer latch. Although remaining somewhat upright, I was thrown about as I clung to the drawer and whatever else was handy. At this time of crisis, I couldn't believe that I was repeating an expression that my Emory roommate used to use, "D___ it to h___!" when I couldn't get the catch on the drawer to fasten. Finally the drawer was secured and I reclaimed the security of my bunk.

I tried to recall my family – but, for some reason unknown forever to me, I couldn't get a clear picture of my mother's face. At one point there was an illusion of my Aunt Sylla coming into the cabin with a glass of ginger ale on a pretty little tray. However, nothing imaginary or real stayed down that day. For the next three days only a little tea and dry crackers remained with me.

As we passed through the typhoon's eye the barometer read 25 inches. The seas were flat and the winds 0 miles per hour. We were later given a card to keep as a souvenir of this experience, which my husband John framed for me many years later, along with my "Golden Dragon" card I received when the Repose crossed the International Date Line on our way to Okinawa.

Somewhere during the ship's journey through the storm I faced a decision while alone in my room. Should I go out on deck with the others where there was a minuscule hope of rescue should the Repose go down? Or should I just remain in my room and go down peacefully with the ship? It really wasn't difficult to choose the latter. Fear of dying never entered the picture. What better place to go to Him, really, than from the sea and from the ship that I loved. I remember hoping that my family wouldn't grieve too much and that they would enjoy the life insurance money.

Needless to say, the Repose remained afloat, battered but safe. And it didn't hurt this nurse at all to have survived three days on tea and crackers. Piece of cake! What hurt was seeing the wreckage of other ships in the bay and knowing that so many did not survive the wrath of the winds and the waves. A haunting memory even today.

Laurie (Colley) Raciappa

January 2001