ALFRED JONES

For those not familiar with Alfred, he is a fixed memory in Osceola's history. He was the owner of Jones’ Cafe on the comer of Main and Jefferson, which he advertised along the interstate as "Seats 500, 50 at a time." He later owned the A & W on West McLane. The book and play Mr. Roberts depicts his Navy years. His sons are Dr. Fred Jones of Indianola, Dr. Floyd Jones of Shenandoah, and John Jones of Osceola.

Alfred E. (Scrappy) Jones, a Clarke County native, was born January 20, 1920. He completed his formal education with a degree from the University of Iowa after graduating from Osceola High School. The following story is the account of his Navy career, condensed for the purposes of this book, from 146 pages, Alfred wrote for his wife, Catherine, whom he affectionately addressed as Kay Dee. They were married in the early part of his military service in June, 1943. Although this is not a chronological history of the U. S. S. Virgo, through his writing we have an on-the-scene report of this attack amphibious cargo ship and the crew, who had a long history of participation in the Pacific Theater of war.

Alfred's principal duty was to stand Officer of the Deck watches on the Virgo both underway and when anchored or moored. These watches rotated four hours on duty and eight hours off, seven days a week and week after week after week. For these veterans of eight invasions in the Pacific War, the real enemy was not the Japanese. ''The real enemy was the monotony and boredom in their twenty four hour day, day in, day out. ..week in, week out ... mere existence." This boredom and monotony erupted in rebellious thoughts and mischievous pranks carried out in ingenious ways to keep from "going Asiatic" - their expression for going berserk. These 60 years later, it seems more important for us to know what the men endured from which we reap benefits we are so often thoughtless of.

Alfred's first night at sea was a horrifying experience for a "landlubber from Iowa." His book describes this and the following nearly three years of service.

I had been assigned the watch in the bow of the ship from midnight to 4:00 a.m. The bow would shoot out of the water like a porpoise and then come crashing 15 or 20 feet down with the speed of a fast dropping elevator, leaving my stomach in the roof of my mouth. At the bottom, the stop was abrupt and the ship would quake, creak, shake, and shudder, till one would think it would surely break apart. And now it would be cutting virtually under the surf with water pouring back over the bow and the deck. One had to hang on for dear life to avoid being thrown or washed overboard. Add to this the constant and irregular side-wise roll and you had enough to make any young recruit wish he had never chosen the Navy. It was worse than any roller coaster at Riverview Park in Des Moines. To make matters worse, you had to take this ride in the pitch black of a dark and uncertain stormy night. During all this I was supposed to be watching for the enemy? It was all I could do to assure my own safety. I will never understand why it didn't make me seasick. However, I knew if the success of the war was to hinge on my spotting an
enemy submarine this night, the United States was in for a very rough time indeed!

The United States being faced with the unenviable position of fighting two different wars on two fronts concentrated initially on stopping the Japanese threat, which involved invasions on various islands in the South Pacific. No two operations were alike. Every invasion had its own personality and was an unwelcome and unique experience, all were approached with dread, apprehension, and anxious concern. In June 1942, the Battles of Midway and the Coral Sea were fought successfully by the United States, crippling the Japanese Navy. The Pacific invasion threat by the Japanese was ended. They were further stopped in their expansion by the invasion of Guadalcanal and the fighting there between August 1942 and January 1943. At this point, the emphasis of the United States shifted to the European Theater, and the American soldiers on New Guinea and Guadalcanal were saying, "We are fighting the forgotten war." They felt abandoned with no help forthcoming.

My personal orders had been totally unexpected.  I was to command the first wave of boats to land on the beach. Three LSTs (used for landing troops and heavy equipment on beaches) were to appear and rendezvous with us during the morning hours. They would be carrying Marine re-enforcements and amphibious tanks. There was no certainty they would arrive but thank God, as daylight broke through, the LSTs made it! As it turned out, if they had not arrived, the battle of Tarawa very possibly would have been lost and the whole course of the war might have been altered.

As our task force worked their way into the lagoon just a few hundred yards off shore, the Virgo took two shells that fell short, sending high geysers of water into the air and spraying the ship. They had come from a shore battery and certainly signaled that the Japanese were not all gone or dead. In fact, through our binoculars we could see the form of an occasional soldier running on the beach. There was nothing else of distinguishing characteristic on the beach except a blockhouse still intact. There were lots of palm trees that somehow had withstood the withering assault that our ships and planes had made on this diminutive atoll now for several days.

The bombardment continued this morning from the battleships, cruisers, and destroyers with unbelievable fierceness. Surely no one on this little island could survive such a bombastic assault by the most powerful guns of our fleet. Combine this with the dive bombing and machine gunning of the planes from our carriers as they peeled out of the sky and made their dives almost to the ground before leveling out and going skyward once again to make another run.

There was the whistle of two more shells. This time they passed overhead of the Virgo. Two geysers shot skyward just off the port beam. Now the Japs had the range. We could expect the next shots to be on target. Reinforcements were called into the lagoon in the form of a couple destroyers. They proceeded along the beach firing point blank and were successful because that was the last of the large caliber shells to be fired at the ships by the Japanese on Tarawa.

The designated hour had arrived. The landing craft of the Virgo and the other amphibious assault ships of the task force were launched. My orders were to form a moving circle of LCVPs while the other ships completed the launching of their boats and formed up in their own moving circles. At the given time, I commanded my coxswain to give the flag signal for the boats to follow us in single file. We approached the flag ship on the starboard side. Four cargo nets had been dropped on each side. We were to load at the most forward net while three boats loaded behind us and four loaded on the other side of the ship. My boat crew lifted the net into the boat as the Marines in full battle gear scrambled down the net and into the boat. Fortunately the sea was as smooth as silk because when seas were rough, a life could easily be lost when a Marine or solder in full battle gear would lose his footing or balance and plunge into the sea. He would be lost because of the weight of the pack and his inability to shed it before drowning.

With the 16 boats of my wave now fully loaded, we proceeded to our pre designated area to go into our circling routine awaiting our time to proceed to the beach. "H" hour of ''D" day had arrived. Wave One composed entirely of amphibious tanks was proceeding to the beach. These vehicles were open boats with track treads that gave them the ability to travel both in the sea and on land. According to reports coming back to our radioman, the first wave underwent intensive small arms fire as they landed. They were proceeding inland. The second wave landed under relatively little fire. The reports coming to the radioman and being relayed to us were most encouraged. "They are proceeding to the airstrip!" The radioman was elated. This was too good to be true, and too good to be true it was! The face of the radioman turned white. He lost his starch and his expression became worried and drawn. "All hell has broken loose!" It was a trick! The Japanese had lured them in with light resistance and were mopping them up.

"The radio has gone dead, Sir." These were fateful words. We looked at one another with blank stares. We knew all too well what this meant. They had been wiped out!

It was the designated time for our wave to head for the beach. I gave the coxswain orders to give the boats the flag signal. Our position was to land right at the blockhouse - all boats simultaneously. Our wave was supposed to hit the beach in a matter of minutes, but we were about to be victimized by one of the worst bits of Navy Intelligence of this whole war. The hydrographic charts the Navy was using were dated 1848. Our boats could not reach the beach to make the landing because we were dragging on coral! If we were to proceed, it would tear at the hulls of our boats and rip gaping holes, or it would knock out the props so the boat would hang up on the coral and lie dead in the water.

When we realized that the first wave of boats could not get to the beach and there were dozens of waves of boats yet to come, we realized this was an entirely different ball game. All the months of planning and training had suddenly been dealt a disastrous blow. The previous battle plan suddenly had to be scrapped. At this point Colonel Shoup, Commander of the Marines, gained my respect to the point that I credit him with being totally responsible for the invasion of Tarawa. He was certainly cool under fire. He ordered me to have my wave of boats lay off just beyond the coral. By now we were receiving only sporadic small arms fire. A few of the amtraks (amphibious tanks) had survived and were returning from the beach having discharged their troops ashore. He ordered them alongside my boats and they took leave to proceed to the beach in the tanks. The amtraks had no difficulty moving across the coral. LCMs were called up because they could carry more men and materials and they made landings by way of the narrow channel that led to the blockhouse. The invasion progressed with the wave of boats merely stopping at the edge of the coral and the Marines scrambling overboard, wading the treacherous half mile to the narrow beachhead.

At that point I had no choice but to order the boats of my wave to return to their mother ship. By now dozens of Marines were being driven from the island into the sea. Many of them were wounded, some so badly they were helpless in the water. Many appeared to be dead along the beach. Many were trying to get out to sea and to the safety of the boats by treading the impossible and irregular coral and half-swimming to reach us.

I ordered the coxswain of our boat to take us as slowly as the boat would maneuver back into the reef to pick up what we could of the struggling Marines. We didn't dare go far because with every new individual we added, our draft would increase. As we came closer to the beach, the Japanese became aware of what we were doing, and we came under increased small arms fire. Finally, in our boat designed for only 26 passengers, we had taken aboard 32 Marines, many of whom were seriously wounded. A few times we hung up on the coral reef but were able to rock the boat free.

The TBS (telephone between ships) was quiet - until mid-morning when, without warning, there was a message for all ships anchored in the lagoon to prepare to get underway. A submarine periscope had been sighted 1,000 yards to the stem of the U.S.S. Zeilin, our flagship. I immediately dispatched a messenger to the Captain's quarters, alerted the engine room, the Executive Officer, and the First Lieutenant. It was our Quartermaster Doty who clarified the situation, reporting that he had spotted the periscope but it was, instead, a boat hook. These were wooden poles with a steel hook, used for grabbing and hanging on. If dropped overboard, they would float straight up and down with the wooden handle remaining a few inches out of the water.

I made a decision that amounted to risk being skinned alive in front of the entire crew, because no one dared to make the Admiral look bad, but he was not immediately available and time was of the essence. Using the code name of the Command Ship, I sent a message on TBS that the reported sighting may be a floating boat hook. As minutes passed, Captain McLaughlin came to the bridge and through binoculars confirmed the object to be a boat hook. He let out a guffaw that could have been heard from the bow to the stem of the ship. After what seemed an interminable period of time, a message was brought: "Secure from preparations to get underway." I had been vindicated, but what is more, it was probably this act that got me out of small boats and made me part of ship's company. Soon I was charged with the duties of Second Division officer.

Tarawa was secure now. Six thousand bodies, Japanese and American, lay in only 300 acres of coral and sand. The United States had 1,027 killed, 88 missing in action and presumed dead, 2,292 wounded. The Virgo was ordered to take aboard 1,900 wounded and three dead Marines. There was an incident involving the Virgo being ordered to take 12 Japanese prisoners of war, which Captain McLaughlin strongly resisted. It finally became necessary to take aboard the scrawny, scared, dirty, disheveled lot, who were secluded in number five hold with no sanitary facilities whatsoever.

The invasion of the Gilbert Islands was over and we were underway to Hawaii. All that remained was to bury our dead. The bodies had been placed in the frozen food and meat locker and the second day out McLaughlin announced that plans should be made for burial of the men at sea. No one knew how to proceed. No one had experience with burial at sea and we could find no directions in any of the available training manuals. All we had to draw on was memory of Hollywood movies in which this situation had occurred. Neither the Captain, Commander McLaughlin, nor our Executive Officer was religious men. Fortunately there was one officer, Netch, who was very religious. He expected to enter seminary at the end of the war, and he conducted non-denominational Sunday services whenever they were held aboard ship.

Members of the crew came up with a supply of heavy canvas from ship's stores, and shrouds were sewn for each body. Heavy brass cases were sewn into the shrouds so the bodies would not float. At the designated hour the bodies were brought out and placed on deck, and a United States flag was draped over each shroud. The Marine passengers who were able assembled with the members of the ship's crew. Captain McLaughlin made a very brief statement about the bravery and patriotism of these men in the service of their country. Ensign Netch said a brief prayer. Boatswain Webb falteringly blew the appropriate pipe, everyone saluted the shrouded bodies which were slid from under their flag down a plank one at a time. The ship's flag was lowered to half staff. Three of America's finest young men had been committed to the sea, their final resting place, and for the officers and men aboard the Virgo the final chapter of the invasion of Tarawa had now been written.

We arrived at Bougainville with replacement troops and supplies five months after the initial landings were made by forces under the command of the Army's 25th Regimental Combat Team, and left the area early the next morning. We were hoping and expecting we might be sent to Australia to load troops and supplies, but instead we were drawn deeper and deeper into the war and farther and farther from the good old U.S. of A. We departed for New Guinea, where we were assigned a passenger - an Aussie, Scott Adams, who wanted to scout an area where there had been a small battle in which American troops had wiped out a tiny encampment of Japanese.  He wanted to determine if there were still Japanese living in the area, members of the group that might have escaped the massacre and fled into the jungle.

A boat crew was assembled and I went along, welcoming the opportunity to set foot on land. We scouted out the area with Scott Adams intently surveying the palm trees for snipers. Adams apparently saw indications that two Japs had survived but the rest of us saw nothing that would suggest that to be true. We kicked around in the debris and were able to bring to the surface cooking utensils, remains of uniforms, books, and reading material all printed in Japanese. I picked up a Japanese helmet and took it with me for Kay Dee's nephew who had written that he wanted a war souvenir. I realized later than I had also picked up one of the most severe cases of jungle rot, particularly in my feet, our Navy Doctors had seen. It plagued me whenever we were in the tropics. The bug remains in my system and has plagued me all my days.

The diary shows arrivals and departures from March 31, 1944 through May 10 including Milne Bay, Cape Sudest, Beli Beli Islands, Tanamerah Bay, Hollandia, Saidor, and Aitape. We felt deep compassion for some members of the Army's 24th Regimental Combat Team and 36th Infantry Division. These were some of the forgotten men of World War II. They helped to stem the tide of Japanese penetration toward Australia and New Zealand and then were left to languish in this deplorable tepid jungle environment while Douglas McArthur was awaiting his opportune moment to return and fulfill his historic prophecy,” I shall return." The men contended daily with malaria which was more deadly and more greatly feared than Japanese bullets. There was also fungi, heat rash, and jungle rot. It was hard to explain to these men why Americans would be placed in this position by their government while virtually every able bodied man from Australia and New Zealand was sent to the other side of the world to fight in Europe. When we took them aboard our ships, these soldiers thought they were finally in heaven, and made us aware of how thankful we were we had chosen the Navy.

There came a period characterized by apathy, ennui, and occasionally monotony. These seemed to be almost constant companions as the USS Virgo sailed from atoll to island with little challenge to break the routine for the officers and crew. The sea itself in the South Pacific can be calm and unchallenging for days on end. And it would be hot ...always hot. I recorded June 6, 1944 as the Normandy invasion of Europe. We were enroute between Guadalcanal and arrival at Kwajalein.

Changes began September 15th, 1944 when the Virgo, along with its companion ships of an amphibious task force arrived off Peleliu of the Palau Islands and launched their landing craft. The boats loaded with Marines hitting the beach at about 0830 and these troops stormed ashore against very light initial resistance, which by mid-morning had changed into a bloody war. It developed into some of the most severe hand to hand fighting of the entire Pacific War.  The Marines had to pay with blood for every foot of newly won soil. The Japanese were dug in throughout the island in interconnecting caves, and in many cases the Marines had to literally go into the caves themselves to blast the Japs out or burn them to death with flame throwers.  In fact, the flame thrower became the primary weapon during much of this fighting.

The Virgo was anchored off shore until the 3rd of October supporting the troops on the island. After two weeks of continual hand to hand fighting during which time the Marines took only nine prisoners, they were finally withdrawn and fresh Army troops newly arrived by separate convoy were inserted. The second day after the exchange, the Japanese started to surrender in droves. The Japanese knew they could not surrender to a Marine. It was not their policy to take prisoners but, when the Army was brought in, the word spread rapidly. There was no doubt now about the eventual outcome although pockets of resistance held out for months.

On October 3, 1944 the Virgo departed the Palau Islands and sailed by way of the Russell Islands to Guadalcanal. Everyone knew that the Virgo would load for the invasion of the Philippine Islands. General McArthur would not be denied the heroics of his prophecy, "I shall return." The Philippine Islands would be next. No one dared think about going to the States now... But then, there it was! The message, "Proceed forthwith to San Francisco for major overhaul and repairs ...!" Everything changed! The anticipated joy of just seeing the United States began building each individual's planning and preparation to a feverish pitch. The laundry was working full time trying to get everybody's "duds" in order. A favorite topic of conversation became what our first meal would be when we arrived. The mind and heart of every man was functioning with one common purpose and desire. The men were even thinking and openly talking about girls who were seldom mentioned prior to this time because it was such a struggle to sublimate one's desires.

The morning of the day the ship was to reach San Francisco Bay all the men, the entire crew, was out on deck topside anxiously awaiting that exhilarating moment when they would have that first glimpse of the coast. Fog made it difficult to see, but suddenly there came a shout from high up in the craw's nest, "There she is! There she is!" The Virgo was sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge! It was October 29, 1944. Nothing went as smoothly as it might have gone. There were complications, delays, and red tape, but finally the Captain announced liberty for all enlisted men except for those who had the watch on the port section. With cheering, whooping, and hollering, the crew of the Virgo accepted the news, dropped whatever they were doing to prepare for departure at 10:00. I was on my way to catch the first train out for Florida.

It was a long, hard trip from San Francisco to West Palm Beach by train. The Zephyr from Frisco passed through Osceola so I stopped off in my hometown for a couple days enroute and saw my mother and father. It was a great reunion even though things had changed from the way I remembered them. None of my friends or former classmates was there. They, too, were off to war, had followed their spouses, or gone off to work in war essential employment. Rationing of gasoline and tires made it virtually impossible to travel about except for the most essential reasons. Even meat and sugar were in short supply and strictly rationed - in the heart of the farm belt - the bread basket of the world. Even the old Civil War canon and its canon balls we used to play on, were gone from the courthouse square.

He showed me the messages he had just received. The losses were staggering. The Japanese, in one last desperate stand were expending everything and anything they could make fly and the last of anyone who could fly those machines on a one-way trip to be crashed among our ships in a final suicide mission for the glory of Tojo and the Rising Sun. For the most part the Japanese pilots would come in low over the water to avoid detection by the radar, swing their planes high over the task force and dive for the sea, setting a course for one of the ships. Almost always the pilot would be dead from anti-aircraft flack before the impact. If the pilot determined that his plane might be blown out of the air before impact as he attempted to penetrate one of the prime targets - the carriers or battleships - he would set a course for a secondary target - one of the cruisers or a destroyer. The height of indignity and disgrace would be failure to make a strike. However, with all these huge losses, there was no threat to the overall mission - the impending invasion of Okinawa. This had to be Japan's last gasp and we all knew that with the successful completion of this invasion, Japan would be left totally defenseless.

Okinawa was the largest amphibious operation of the Pacific War. The Navy was forced to stay and absorb 1,465 aircraft attacks mostly from kamikazi planes. The destroyer Abele was sunk by a new weapon, ''beka," used for the first time by the Japanese. It was a rocket-powered glider crammed with explosives and towed by a bomber-guided pilot. The Navy had 36 ships sunk, 368 damaged. In all, the United States forces at Okinawa suffered 13,000 killed, 3,600 wounded, and 4,900 Navy personnel were lost.

Eight days after the celebration of Germany's surrender, with their mission at Okinawa accomplished, the Virgo hoisted anchor and set sail in convoy for Ulithi Atoll. They sailed unmolested by enemy aircraft, not once being called to General Quarters. It was quite a contrast to the trip when they were arriving. Reports coming back from the island were of the bitterest hand to hand combat of the war with casualties running very high. I suspected Kay Dee's brother, Bud, was one of the Marines, and I learned later he had fought with valor on Okinawa and had received a field commission during the battle.

From this point, things began happening is succession: Diary notation April 12, 1945: During the invasion of Okinawa, President Roosevelt died in office; President Harry Truman becoming the new Commander in Chief. May 7, 1945; Germany surrenders in Europe. May 15 depart Okinawa. Set sail for the United States with stops at Ulithi and Pearl Harbor. June 20, 1945: Arrive San Francisco ...From this point on, the Virgo ceased to participate as an amphibious ship but was a straight cargo carrier. August 3, 1945: Departed San Francisco. August 6, 1945: Atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima; ...August 9, on Nagasaki. August 15, 1945: Hostilities with Japan ceased. August 19, 1945: Virgo arrived in Ulithi. August 20, 1945: Departed Ulithi with Task Force 30.8 to provision ships of the 3rd Fleet in Japanese waters. Much of this time we were within visual sight of the Japanese coast. September 2, 1945: Japanese formally surrendered. September 9, 1945 arrived Tokyo Bay. The USS Virgo now served as a station store ship in Yokosuka. There were, of course, incidents we experienced, but the awareness of this part of my life coming to an end gave a different slant on it all.

Early October 1945, I returned to Seattle, Washington aboard the destroyer U.S. S. Halsey Powell, and was discharged at Great Lakes Naval Training Station, Chicago, Illinois. Kay Dee made the trip from West Palm Beach to San Francisco. The happiest day of my life was when I met her train. We spent some glorious days being tourists of the area. During this time, emotional goodbyes were said to men who were bonded together through these years of shared experiences. Tom Heggen had written about them all along. He combined the humor, pathos, and psychological undertones in a book which he named Mr. Roberts. He collaborated with Joshua Logan and Mr. Roberts became a play which, at that time, had the longest run of any in the history of Broadway.

Eventually Kay Dee, our boys and I returned to Osceola. My career was floundering and we explored several possibilities before my father suggested I go into business for myself with the restaurant business being most attractive. Thus Jones Cafe opened on the southeast corner of the square, advertised as "Osceola's largest. Seats 500, 50 at a time." I ran for State Senator and was elected for a second term.

When the opportunity came, we went to see John Forsythe in Mr. Roberts at the KRNT Theater in Des Moines. Sitting through it was an experience I shall never forget. In three hours, nearly three years of my life passed in review, and I came away totally exhausted and emotionally drained. I am glad to have recorded the events of those years, but am grateful that I survived and Kay Dee and I adjusted our lives to small town Iowa.

*******

The "rest of the story," added in 2005: Alfred died on February 15, 1989. Catherine Virginia Dickinson Jones, born February 3, 1921, earned her RN degree in Florida. She died August 26, 1989.

They had three sons. Twins: Frederick Otis and Floyd Arden, born February 1, 1944, and John Hammond born five years to the day later - February 1, 1949.

Fred earned his PhD and is a professor at Simpson College, Indianola, Iowa. He and his wife Julie have two children, Jason Jones and Jackie Gibbons, and two step-sons, Jason and Chad Prall.

Floyd is a physician practicing in Shenandoah, Iowa. He and his wife, Sue, have four children - Bryan, Eric, Justin, and Jessica.

John and his wife Jennie live in Osceola. John followed Alfred into the restaurant business, owning and operating the A & W Drive-In. In 2005 they operate Jones Vending Machines. They are the parents of three daughters: Rebekah Webb, Monika Kay Davis, and Heather Ann Seymour.

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