No Ordinary Joes: The Extraordinary True Story of Four Submariners in War and Love and Life [NOOK Book]

Overview

On April 23, 1943, the seventy-man crew of the USS Grenadier scrambled to save their submarine—and themselves—after a Japanese aerial torpedo sent it crashing to the ocean floor. Miraculously, the men were able to bring the sub back to the surface, only to be captured by the Japanese.

No Ordinary Joes tells the harrowing story of four of the Grenadier’s crew: Bob Palmer of Medford, Oregon; Chuck Vervalin of Dundee, New York; Tim McCoy of ...
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No Ordinary Joes: The Extraordinary True Story of Four Submariners in War and Love and Life

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Overview

On April 23, 1943, the seventy-man crew of the USS Grenadier scrambled to save their submarine—and themselves—after a Japanese aerial torpedo sent it crashing to the ocean floor. Miraculously, the men were able to bring the sub back to the surface, only to be captured by the Japanese.

No Ordinary Joes tells the harrowing story of four of the Grenadier’s crew: Bob Palmer of Medford, Oregon; Chuck Vervalin of Dundee, New York; Tim McCoy of Dallas, Texas; and Gordy Cox of Yakima, Washington. All were enlistees from families that struggled through the Great Depression. The lure of service and duty to country were not their primary motivations—they were more compelled by the promise of a job that provided “three hots and a cot” and a steady paycheck. On the day they were captured, all four were still teenagers.

Together, the men faced unimaginable brutality at the hands of their captors in a prisoner of war camp. With no training in how to respond in the face of relentless interrogations and with less than a cup of rice per day for sustenance, each man created his own strategy for survival. When the liberation finally came, all four anticipated a triumphant homecoming to waiting families, loved ones, and wives, but instead were forced to find a new kind of strength as they struggled to resume their lives in a world that had given them up for dead, and with the aftershocks of an experience that haunted and colored the rest of their days.

Author Larry Colton brings the lives of these four “ordinary” heroes into brilliant focus. Theirs is a story of tragedy and courage, romance and war, loss and endurance, failure and redemption. With a scope both panoramic and disarmingly intimate, No Ordinary Joes is a powerful look at the atrocities of war, the reality of its aftermath, and the restorative power of love.


From the Hardcover edition.
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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"This meticulously researched and thoroughly well-written book adds much to the literature of the WWII generation." —-Booklist
Library Journal
Colton, whose Counting Coup (2000) was an American Library Association Best Book for Young Adults, here tells the extraordinary story of four young crewman of the USS Grenadier who exhibited real heroism in the dignified way they endured dehumanizing treatment as World War II prisoners of war. After their submarine was torpedoed, the men, given up for dead, were held captive and tortured by the Japanese for over two years. Colton poignantly illustrates their bond, their resilience, and their struggle to resume everyday living once freed, while Audie Award nominee Robert Fass creditably evokes all their complicated emotions. Recommended. [The Crown hc was recommended for "veterans' communities and World War II buffs," LJ 10/1/10.—Ed.]—Scott R. DiMarco, Mansfield Univ. of Pennsylvania Lib.
Kirkus Reviews

Four survivors of a World War II Japanese prison camp are the subjects of this gripping story.

Colton (Counting Coup: A Story of Basketball and Honor on the Little Big Horn, 2000) picks up his subjects at a young age. While they came from different parts of the country and different backgrounds, they had in common impoverished childhoods and were hit hard as the Depression took its toll on their families. Chuck Vervalin, from upstate New York, dreamed of becoming a harness race driver; Bob Palmer, from Oregon, joined the Navy when his girlfriend dropped him after she entered college; Texan Tim McCoy figured the Navy would be easier than the four jobs he was working to support his mother; Canadian-born Gordy Cox, growing up in Washington State, dropped out of school because the work was too hard. All ended up on the U.S.S. Grenadier, a submarine patrolling off Malaya early in the war. Bombed by a Japanese plane, its captain and crew were taken prisoner in April 1943. From then until the end of the war, more than two years later, they were imprisoned, beaten, tortured, starved and forced to work in Japanese factories. Colton tells their stories in unflinching detail, looking at their different survival stragegies. McCoy played the tough guy, even taking on one of the guards in a wrestling match; Cox tried to fade into invisibility. Liberated after the Japanese surrender, they returned to their lives in the United States, looking for a new, normal life. The author follows them for a short time, then jumps to the present day, wrapping up their stories in a final epilogue chapter for each man. All showed signs of what in more recent veterans would have been diagnosed as PTSD, though they would have rejected that term. All had marital troubles, and all were at one point heavily dependent on alcohol. But each of them made it into their 80s with full mental acuity, and Colton has given them a fine last chance to tell their stories.

A compelling glimpse into forgotten World War II history.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780307717245
  • Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 10/5/2010
  • Sold by: Random House
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 384
  • Sales rank: 524,474
  • File size: 5 MB

Meet the Author

Since his days as a pitcher for the Philadelphia Phillies, LARRY COLTON has taught high school, worked for Nike, and written four books. His articles have appeared in The New York Times Magazine, Boston Globe, Sports Illustrated, Ladies’ Home Journal, Esquire, and elsewhere. His three previous books are Idol Time, Goat Brothers (a main selection for the Book of the Month Club), and Counting Coup, which in 2000 won the Frankfurt eBook Award (FeBA) for nonfiction.


From the Hardcover edition.
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Read an Excerpt

1

Chuck Vervalin of Dundee, New York


It had been a wet spring in the western foothills of the Catskill Mountains in 1928, and the rivers ran dangerously high. Arthur Vervalin told his wife not to let the kids anywhere near the water. People from those parts knew not to mess with the rivers.

Chuck, seven years old, heard his father's warning, but when his thirteen-year-old sister, Beulah, set out for the swimming hole, he tagged along anyway. His concern was not the danger--only that they might get the belt when they got home.

In Chuck's eyes, Beulah could do no wrong. All the Vervalin girls were pretty, but she was the prettiest, with green eyes and chestnut brown hair that fell in ringlets to the middle of her back. She watched over him and took him into town to buy candy, never making him feel like a pest. He loved the way she sometimes carried him on her hip or let him lick the bowl when she made cookies. She also took him with her whenever she ventured down to the swimming hole at the Unidilla River. She was the best swimmer in the family.

At the river, Beulah told Chuck and a couple of friends to wait on the bank while she tested the water. Her plan was to swim out to the sandbar in the middle where they usually sunned themselves, and if it was safe, she would come back and escort Chuck across. She'd done it dozens of times.

Halfway across, she began to flounder, the current pulling her downstream, away from the sandbar and the bank. Flailing her arms, she yelled for help. A man standing nearby heard her scream and dove in after her. But the current was too strong, and he turned and struggled back to shore. Beulah disappeared under the water.

Chuck was still standing on the bank an hour later when several men carried his sister's body on a board across the field. He watched them load her into the back of a truck and disappear down the road. Three days later, he was sitting in a pew at the front of the Congressional Church, Beulah's pansy-covered casket nearby. Next to him, his mother and sisters wept, and his father fixed his cold glare straight ahead.


The Vervalins were a close family, all the kids helping with the chores, but there was also an abusive edge to family life, even before Beulah drowned, mainly because of Arthur. An imposing 300-pound Dutchman who liked to drink, he often took his belt to the kids, including the girls. Sometimes there seemed to be no reason for his outbursts. Chuck, the oldest son, caught the greatest share of his wrath.

Arthur and his wife, Florence, scratched out a living on a 140-acre farm on the outskirts of Sidney, New York, with a couple of workhorses, a milking cow, pigs, chickens, vegetables, and an orchard with apples and pears. To help make ends meet, Arthur, an eighth-grade dropout, took an occasional job in town. Florence, an Irish redhead, worked from dawn to dusk, fixing meals, washing clothes, milking the cow, and feeding the pigs. Being pregnant, which she always seemed to be, didn't slow her down. After each birth, she'd be back at work the next day, picking potatoes and cleaning the barn.

Like her husband, she'd dropped out of school before the ninth grade, but she loved the written word and she read to her children every night, including the poetry of Longfellow. She sometimes wrote poetry herself but rarely shared it. Arthur thought it a waste of her time. She also read the Bible a lot, especially after two babies were stillborn. She found comfort in the Scriptures.

As the Depression spread across the country, the Vervalins were unable to sell their milk, buy feed for their animals, or keep up with their taxes. They lost the farm in 1930 and moved fifty miles west to Binghamton. Some of their friends and neighbors suspected the move had as much to do with what had happened to Beulah that muggy day in June 1928 as it did with the Depression. Arthur couldn't stand looking at the river anymore. He never talked about it, but the kids knew that down deep he blamed his wife. If she'd heeded his warning, Beulah would still be alive.

After the move to Binghamton, Chuck missed the farm, especially the horses and riding on the tractor. There were now ten kids in the family, and times were tough. Even so, Chuck was energetic and quick to adjust. His mom signed him up for Boy Scouts, and he set his sights on making it all the way to Eagle Scout, earning half the necessary badges in his first two years. His other passion was baseball, and he and his friends cleared a makeshift diamond out of a farmer's pasture. They had only one ball and bat among them, the bat held together by screws and electrical tape.

He was also popular, in large part because he always took the dare. When a pal challenged him to shoot a rubber band at the backside of his teacher Mrs. Sabercool, he did it, and got caught. The principal took the belt to him. Even when he wasn't at fault, he was one of those kids that trouble seemed to find. If somebody threw a snowball and hit a passerby, Chuck got blamed. When a buddy threw a rock through a neighbor's window during a game of cowboys and Indians, Chuck got the belt.

In 1935, when Chuck was fourteen, the Vervalins moved again, this time to a tenant farm just outside of Dundee, New York, in the Finger Lakes area, population 1,000. Dundee was only five miles from Seneca Lake, where summer yacht folks in fancy slacks vacationed, but to Chuck the lake seemed as distant as New York City. The family had moved to Dundee from Binghamton when natural gas was discovered in the area and Arthur got hired to head the purification plant, making him one of the lucky ones to have a job in the depth of the Depression. But his luck was short-lived-a coworker turned him in for drinking on the job and he got fired.

After that, Arthur worked a series of jobs for the Works Progress Administration (WPA), the largest New Deal agency, which employed millions across America during the Depression to work on buildings, roads, and other projects. Sometimes he'd go off to Binghamton or Elmira for weeks or even months at a time, sending part of what little money he made back home. Chuck wasn't up on politics, but he heard his mother give thanks many times to President Roosevelt and his New Deal.

To Chuck, it was his mother who held the family together. Although she was usually soft-spoken and gentle, she was resolute, and sometimes showed a glimpse of a fiery Irish temperament. She never took a day off from caring for her family, even when she was sick. Chuck loved the way she read to him and his siblings, especially the westerns of Zane Grey. It provided an escape from the hard times and his father's absences. He also appreciated the way she could stretch the little food they had, whether it was by making a big pot of soup out of milkweed or baking bread out of the buckwheat that grew on their property. She was adept at improvising, as when she brewed a home remedy for cuts from the leaves of plants that grew along the road.

Chuck did what he could to help. He especially liked going out to hunt or fish for food. He'd learned to shoot at an early age, and had a 16-gauge shotgun to go with his .22. He'd killed a lot of different animals for dinner-squirrels, woodchucks, rabbits, and even raccoons. He scrounged for whatever jobs he could find, such as selling magazines, but many nights he went to bed without anything to eat, or at best, a bowl of beans and a little cornbread the neighbors had brought over. In school he'd get so hungry he couldn't concentrate.

Another job he had was picking berries. The Dundee area liked to think of itself as the berry capital of the world, with thousands of acres of blackberries, raspberries, and thimbleberries, and Chuck thought of himself as one of the best pickers around. He was a wiry 5 feet 6 inches, 120 pounds, and tireless, even on the hottest, muggiest days. On good days, he made a buck, turning all his earnings over to his mom.

Working so many jobs meant he had to quit the Boy Scouts. It was a hard decision. He loved earning his merit badges--he had thirty-four of them--but he knew he'd never make it all the way to Eagle Scout because he didn't have the time, and he knew he could never pass the lifesaving test. He could swim, but not well enough to haul somebody to safety.

One day, just after he'd turned fifteen, Chuck was walking home with his dog at dusk, feeling pretty proud of himself, his .22 rifle in one hand, two dead rabbits in the other. He knew his mom would make a good meal out of the rabbits, hopefully a stew. It'd been a week since the family had had any meat on the table.

Chuck walked down the quiet main street of Dundee, passing the hardware store and lunch counter where two of his sisters worked. Down a side street, he saw a commotion at a WPA work site where construction workers were digging a water line. He figured his father most likely would be there. Approaching the small crowd gathered around the WPA work site, he heard his father's muffled voice. A friend of his father's pointed toward a ditch, four feet deep and two feet across. Chuck moved closer, peering down into the ditch. Mounds of freshly hoed dirt were piled to the side, and down inside the ditch, covered in dirt and wedged in too tight to move, was his dad, all 300 pounds of him. From the look of it, he had been drinking, had tried to jump over the ditch, and hadn't made it. In trying to extricate himself, he'd gotten so twisted around that it looked like it would take a major excavation effort to free him. Embarrassed, Chuck backed away from the crowd.

At dinner that night, everyone ate rabbit. Except Arthur, who didn't get out of the ditch until after midnight.

The family moved again in 1936, this time into town, with the ten kids squeezed together in two small bedrooms. The house was a big black box with chipped paint, no front yard, and a rotting outhouse out back. But the house didn't embarrass Chuck as much as his clothes did. Although none of the boys at school dressed like Ivy Leaguers, Chuck would wear the same shirt three or four days in a row, or until his mother did the laundry again. His only pair of shoes had holes in the soles, and he stuffed cardboard in them to keep his feet dry.

He got teased about his clothes, and he fought back. Fistfighting was a popular sport with the boys in Dundee, a town with not much to offer in the way of entertainment. Chuck was smaller than most boys his age, but he had a reputation as a scrapper, somebody who didn't go around picking fights but who wouldn't back down.

Chuck wasn't much of a student. Reading came hard for him, and he'd been held back a grade when he was nine. He frequently skipped school, usually to go fishing or hunting. But he was still popular, mainly because of his sense of humor and the pranks he pulled: hoisting an outhouse up a telephone pole; setting two skunks loose in a school restroom; coaxing a cow into the school and tying its tail to the school bell; dousing so much moonshine on another kid in class that the boy smelled like the town drunk--a smell Chuck knew well. Trouble was, he never learned the art of stealth.

He had, however, learned the art of being generous. On Christmas Eve 1938, Chuck, now seventeen, and his sister Ynez sat at the kitchen table using newspaper and yarn to wrap their presents to the family. Like every other Christmas at the Vervalins, this would be a lean one. But unlike the other kids in the family, Chuck and Ynez at least had presents to wrap. Ynez had saved a few dollars from her job at the library, and Chuck had squirreled away money from his paper route. He'd bought each of his sisters a small dispenser of talc and a California orange.

Wrapping his gifts, he daydreamed, as he often did. He thought about traveling. He'd never been to New York City, let alone California, and except for the time he'd made it to Ithaca traveling with the town baseball team, fifteen miles from Dundee was the farthest he'd been from home.

Baseball was one of his escapes. Chuck had developed into a good third baseman, lettering on the varsity his sophomore year, one of only two kids from the team to be picked to play with the older guys on the town team. It had taken him months to save up enough to buy a glove. Sometimes he'd leave the house at seven in the morning to walk to an afternoon game in the next county. He still wasn't very big--5 feet 6 inches, 135 pounds--but he'd gotten strong from a summer job lifting seventy-pound bags of cement. He took special pride in having a good arm.

He fantasized about getting a tryout with a pro team, but his real dream, and he thought about it every day, was to be a harness race driver, and maybe even own his own pacer or trotter. Harness racing was a popular sport in New York, and his plan for the coming summer was to travel the racing circuit and hang around the tracks and stables, maybe getting hired to help with the horses. His father, on the other hand, told him he should start thinking about joining the service when he turned eighteen.

As he continued to wrap his gifts, his mind drifted to girls, especially one named Irene Damien. Not only was she really cute, she liked him too. They passed notes back and forth in class, flirting like crazy. But there was a problem. Her parents had forbid her to go out with him. They thought he was too unruly.

Undeterred, he had persuaded his friend Ernie, who was nice and polite, to go to Irene's house, make nice with her parents, and then escort her to the movie theater, where Chuck would be waiting. Ernie would hang around until the end of the date, then escort Irene back home, her parents never suspecting. The plan worked repeatedly, but other than a couple of harmless games of spin the bottle, Chuck never got past first base. But that was okay. The good girls of Dundee knew their boundaries, and the boys accepted them.

On Christmas morning, all of Chuck's sisters beamed as they opened their gifts. The last to open her gift from Chuck was Ynez. Peeling away the wrapping paper, she gasped. It was a doll he'd rescued from the doll graveyard, repainting its face and body and dressing it in a salvaged flowered cloth napkin. Ynez reached out to hug her brother. He shied away. Boys, he'd learned, weren't supposed to show affection.


From the Hardcover edition.
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Table of Contents

Prologue 3

Part One Surviving the Depression 9

Part Two Submariners 51

Part Three Assignment: Grenadier 103

Part Four Captured 133

Part Five The Convent on Light Street 151

Part Six From Bad to Worse 181

Part Seven Saved by the Bombs 259

Part Eight Going Home 287

Part Nine Sixty Years Later 323

Epilogue 379

Author's Notes 385

Acknowledgments 394

Index 396

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Sort by: Showing all of 4 Customer Reviews
  • Posted January 19, 2011

    This is another awesome book by The Great Larry Colton.

    I must admit that I originally began reading this book simply because it was written by Larry. Larry had written a previous book, Counting Coup, about my hometown basketball team. Larry of the Prairie, as my dad called him, had a entertaining way of describing his life. I was curious to see how he would change and write about such a traumatic time in the lives of others. I am extremely pleased and impressed. My generation generally doesn't understand what those in WW2 went through. Not everything is in history books. Too often, I talk with elderly patients (I am a nurse) and wish that I had a tape recorder to capture their stories before it is too late. Larry has done this and taken it to another level. I couldn't put this book down. I feel like I now have a better understanding of how life was back then and the struggles they faced (although I will never truly understand how tough it was). I appreciate Larry giving me the opportunity to step back in time and appreciate what I have today. I highly recommend this book to all-even those who aren't necessarily intested in military history. You will find yourself pulled in at the very beginning. Great book!

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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