Wow, Yorktown’s Flight Deck is beyond compare; however, these planes are from the Vietnam Era, so I don’t recognize them, except for Top Gun’s Blue Angel (those movies make me cringe) beside what looks like an amphibious Sea King helicopter.
Cosgrove leads me toward Yorktown’s bow, pointing out planes, but my mind veers to the steel plates under me. Essex carriers have wooden decks, so why doesn’t Yorktown? I prepare to ask Cosgrove but shut my mouth because I remind myself I’m only spending one day here.
Once Cosgrove and I pass the rest of the planes on the Flight Deck, the Charleston Harbor unfolds before us: the Cooper River Bridge, a sight to behold from here, and Downtown Charleston’s historic, clustered buildings across the river.
I wasn’t sure about moving down here at first, but after being here a week, I realize how much history Charleston carries and how much I have to see. The culture is vastly different, based primarily on the arts. However, how do South Carolinians feel about more Northerners moving here? They especially seem to hold a grudge against Ohioans—not that I blame them.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Cosgrove asks beside me, his hands in his pockets. “The best part of the ship is sitting in the Captain’s chair in the island.” He points it out to me. “Those pictures blow up on TikTok.”
Oh, gosh, don’t get me started on social media. Ted and I didn’t have that when we were kids. It’s incredible how times have changed in seventy years; people have switched from being social to being glued to their phones. I do not enjoy seeing children in a restaurant playing on an iPad. Ted and I would run outside and play tag while we waited for our meal. What am I going to do about it, though? After all, old geezers like me are beginning to feel like relics in a museum. Unless it’s a war, people no longer show much interest in our history.
Cosgrove reads my face and asks, “You not a social media person?”
“I hate it.” It’s not something I’m going to sugarcoat. “People overreact over the cringiest things.” I do, too, because I’m still grieving Ted after seventy years.
Don’t show emotion, Bill. I need to keep repeating that. It’ll save me from a meltdown.
“You’re a funny guy.” A hint of a Southern accent slips off Cosgrove’s tongue. “I’m curious to know your story.”
Too bad—I’m not going to share it. All Cosgrove needs to know is that Ted and I were childhood friends. We thought we were queer at one point but then decided our relationship was strictly brotherly.
Cosgrove lets my secrecy go and escorts me to Yorktown’s starboard side. He points out the long pier and a smaller ship—a battleship—just off it.
Oh! That’s the Laffey—DD-724, it looks like. She’s a baby compared to Yorktown, but something about her intrigues me. I bet it’s that unique nickname, “The Ship That Would Not Die”. “Whistling Death” was what drew Ted and me to the Corsair.
Cosgrove notices me staring at the Laffey and asks, “Would you like to learn more about her?”
Did I? At this point, I’m unsure about anything, yet I find myself saying, “So, she’s known as the Ship That Would Not Die because she didn’t sink when she was hit?”
Cosgrove nods. “Yes. Six kamikazes and four bombs hit her. She only lost thirty-two of her three hundred men.”
Thirty-two? That’s not bad. I wonder who Laffey’s captain was?
While Cosgrove and I head toward the elevator again, Cosgrove adds, “Yorktown has two nicknames: ‘Fighting Lady’, made famous by the 1944 documentary, and the ‘Lucky One’, for only enduring one bomb hit during her entire service. Five men died.”
Oh, wow... This ship is a tank. Only one bomb hit? And what’s this documentary Cosgrove mentioned? There’s so much to learn here, like the rest of Charleston, but... Ted, the Corsair. I may succeed if I stay away from that section of the Hangar Bay. Everything beyond the Corsair would be off-limits. I’m sure I’ll be okay if I only know Yorktown’s Flight Deck and a little about the Laffey.
The thoughts swarm through my brain like buzzing bees the entire way back to the Hangar Bay.
Cosgrove drops me off at the Information Booth and says, “If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I studied aircraft carriers in school.”
Did he ever fly off one into the frigid Korean mountains, where destiny turned to disaster, though? I don’t say this aloud because I don’t want to get fired on my first day as a Volunteer. Oh, who am I kidding? Who cares if Temple fires me?
I open my mouth to unleash my stubbornness but shut it when a family of parents and two children enter from Yorktown’s main entrance. I step back and observe how Cosgrove interacts with them.
“Welcome aboard the Yorktown! Is this your guys’ first time here?” he inquires.
“It is!” the mother says, holding her son up to the Info Booth. “Tommy here loves airplanes.”
I do, too, but not because I shot down enemies during the war. Aviation was freedom for Ted and me. We were like birds who had just fledged, and I still remember that amazing first flight. It was hard to see over the Corsair’s high nose and propeller, so Ted and I flew side-by-side and helped one another—all up to when we landed on Valley Forge. We celebrated that night with six rounds of diesel coffee.
Cosgrove grabs a map of Patriots Point resting on the Information Booth and opens it, sliding it between him and the family. “We have four self-guided tours on Yorktown. Tour 1 takes you down to the living spaces of the sailors and the Engine Room Experience. Tour 2 takes you up to the Flight Deck. Tour 3 is the Officers’ country, and Tour 4 is our museum tour, where you can see many naval exhibits, including a display of the famous Japanese battleship, the Yamato.”
The Yamato? Heck, yeah! Now, I have to give Patriots Point a chance. The Yamato was the biggest Japanese warship; the only problem is that she was built for World War I, not II. Her guns did not compare to an aircraft carrier’s, which could shoot 100 miles out. Yamato only lasted a few battles before we sank her. However, at least she managed to sink the USS Gambier Bay, an escort carrier. Wow, do I seriously still remember these facts? World War II fascinated Ted and me, which is another reason we ended up on an aircraft carrier.
The family thanks Cosgrove and leaves. I wave goodbye and find him observing me.
“That’s just a simple pitch you can try until you learn more of Yorktown's history,” Cosgrove explains. “The most common questions are ‘Where’s the bathroom?’ and ‘How do I get to the Flight Deck?’”
“Don’t forget CV-5!” the other veteran behind the counter blurts.
CV-5?
“Oh, yeah.” Cosgrove shows me Patriots Point’s map. “The Yorktown that came before us, CV-5, was sunk the day after the Battle of Midway in 1942. People confuse this ship with her. CV-10 was supposed to be named Bonhomme Richard, but we renamed her Yorktown to honor CV-5.”
I want to say, “Stop with the facts,” but what Cosgrove’s explaining intrigues me in ways I haven’t felt since the war.
He notices this and points down the Hangar Bay toward the Corsair. “There’s an exhibit in Hangar Bay 1 about the Battle of Midway and CV-5. Would you like me to take you there?”
And face the Corsair again? I don’t think so.
I shiver and quickly say, “You know, I think I want to check out Laffey first,” as calmly as possible. I’ll likely break my cane if I knock it against the Corsair’s propeller again. I must avoid that plane as much as possible, especially since the museum is open now.
“Oh, okay.” Cosgrove seems a little disappointed. “Will you be okay finding her?” It’s like he’s never seen another older person.
“I’m fine.” Now is my chance to grieve peacefully on a smaller, quieter ship. The Ship That Would Not Die will be my sanctum in Hell.
I leave the Information Booth and step back outside to Charleston’s hot summer air, Laffey before me below. I carefully clutch the steep stairs’ railing and use my cane to trek them. Natalie would be all over me if she were here. However, I intend to prove to her that I can still care for myself.
My worries fade when I step onto the pier and have a good look at Laffey up close. She needs a painting touch-up, but other than that, she’s well-preserved like Yorktown. She carries three gun mounts, one on her fantail, where the ramp that leads to her exits from. I cross it and find myself beside the mount. It looks like it’s been changed into an exhibit. A door leads into it, and I hear a movie playing on the other side.
I follow Laffey’s deck to her bow, passing openings on my left that I want to check out, but only when I see her bow. A gush of cooler air tickles my mustache, and I scratch it.
When I reach Laffey’s bow, before another gun mount, I examine the marsh and a marina over yonder, and another memory plays in my head—Ted and I’s first night on Valley Forge’s Flight Deck. We tapped our coffee cups and puffed out a cloud from our cigarettes.
A little taller and skinnier than me, Ted mimicked my cheeky smile and asked, “What do you think’s out there, Bill?”
“Freedom,” I answered, “and a chance to prove to our parents that we’re finally men. We’ve been treated like old maids all our lives.”
Ted moved closer to me. “It’s time to change that, brother.”
I beamed. “Yes, it is.”
I stop a tear from falling and feebly smile at the gun mount behind me. Something about this ship’s demeanor entices me. I want to know her history; no, I need to. I need to know all this history. If only I had learned it during Ted and mine’s service. I may have saved him and learned not to succumb to the Lieutenant’s rule: “If the plane looks like an enemy, shoot her down.”
And I did. We tried finding Ted via Identification Friend or Foe, but he had disappeared from the radar.
It’s all my fault. My heart pounds, and I clutch it, stumbling. No! Not another panic attack! I haven’t had one in five years.
“Ted,” I whimper, sinking to my knees. I drop my cane and cover my face. “I’m so sorry.” My heart pounds faster, and I attempt to control my breathing. This isn’t a heart attack—just something I can’t control. He was my best friend, and I murdered him. If only I had called Ted beforehand and asked him where he was—if only I didn’t wait until afterward. I want him back, but I’m never going to. This is one scar that will never heal, no matter how hard Natalie and Patriots Point try. I don’t care that it’s been seventy years; he was my best friend.
“Ted!” I yell, closing my eyes. To Hell with not showing emotion. If I’m going to cry, I’d rather it be on the Ship That Would Not Die. I feel safe here, not being near the Corsair.
My hand falls into my pocket, and I draw the locket, opening it.
I hate you, Ted. I hate that you didn’t tell me. But maybe he didn’t recognize me, either? After all, we were two young, inexperienced pilots who believed that even though it was a war, we would live; therefore, it wouldn’t matter if we were shot down because we would be together.
Well, together ended up being forever, and I’ll never forgive myself.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
