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World War II ship overdid it when ordering toilet paper

By Bill Whitaker

Normally, hurricane-force winds would be required to blow the crew of World War II Navy commander Jim Conlan into Abilene.

So how come they actually met in this town of devout West Texas landlubbers last weekend?

Jim Conlan, of course.

"He got me home," former crew member Lawrence Veley, 72, of Ellisburg, N.Y., told me when I asked about his old ship commander. "You know, there are a lot of guys who never made it back home."

Certainly, bonds were formed during the war-torn years Jim Conlan ran a Navy transport ship. Those bonds have held fast, too, judging from the dozen or so crew members who passed up a bigger Navy convention elsewhere to come to Abilene to fete their ailing commander.

"He was always a human being," 73-year-old Elbert Sawley of Jacksonville, Fla., told me. "He didn't let those bars stand up on his shoulder."

For his part, former Commander Conlan was pretty proud. Although his health has been uncertain the past few years, he rallied long enough to mount a party Friday night at the Petroleum Club, overlooking the city he is proud to call home.

Jim's wish: "I wanted to show my crew off to Abilene, however many of them might come, and I wanted to show Abilene off to my crew."

SEA BISCUITS, ANYONE?

Sure enough, Friday's gathering, high above Abilene, included many of Jim's local friends, including author and oilman Keith Wells, a former Marine who rode to such terrible places as Iwo Jima aboard Navy transport ships like the USS LST-120 that Commander Conlan oversaw.

While the ship's crew saw little of the combat men such as Keith Wells did, transport ships did often get fired upon.

"This was a blooded ship," Jim said, recalling sea missions that took his ship to some of the most war-ravaged islands in the Pacific. "We've been fired at and we've buried a bunch of good guys at sea. We saw the war at its worst."

Friday night, though, Jim Conlan and his men preferred to talk about other memories of those days, including the rather strange bakery built aboard the commander's ship by some terribly bored Seabees.

Why strange?

"Well, we were the only LST that went out to Guadalcanal with a bakery aboard it," Jim said. "We not only baked for our own ship but any other ship -- cookies, cakes, bread. I guess that's really what we became famous for!

"Another ship might come up alongside our ship for diesel and they had always been told to ask what baked goods we had. We made friends and influenced people that way. Of course, they finally made us take that bakery off because it was against Navy regulations."

The LST-120 had more going for it than fresh baked goods. Because toilet paper was in short supply and the supply officer routinely ordered far more than was needed, he was surprised one day when 10,000 rolls of toilet paper were delivered to the ship.

To hear them tell it, Commander Conlan's ship had more toilet paper than any other in World War II.

"The supply officer was stuffing it in gun turrets, we had so much," Bob Ransom recalled.

THE WOMEN ARE HERE

Some of the men also recalled Jim's passion for playing the trumpet.

"Once in a while, he'd play at night," Lawrence Veley said, recalling the sound of Commander Conlan's trumpet cascading off the waves of the Pacific. "He was kind of a loner, but that was because he had to be above the officers and above us."

The old commander preferred to let his men do most of the talking Friday night and they didn't disappoint him. However, Jim Conlan did make a few remarks, including launching into a brief speech about the evils of women in warfare.

"There's no place for 'em in the military," the old commander told his men. "It's kill or be killed, and I like women too much to have 'em killed.

"Of course," he added, "we don't want 'em trained to be killers, either!"

Then, from the bar, a tipsy voice cried out: "You're too late, buddy!"

 

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