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News of Delaware County, PA
Nov 10 2006
Albert Torcomian
By Phyllis Edwards, STAFF WRITER11/09/2006
Albert Torcomian served on many successful runs with the U.S. Navy
Submarine Corps during World War II but he recalls having three
problems to overcome.
"The first problem to overcome is fear," Torcomian said during an
interview at his Havertown home.
"It's a very difficult thing to do. The second thing for me was the
noise of the gunfire. You cannot believe the noise. I never heard
noise like that in my life. I had a very pleasant childhood and to go
through that was just mind-boggling. The third thing was saying
goodbye. You never get used to that," he said.
Torcomian was 17 and living in Lowell, Mass. when he joined the Navy
in January 1942. "I was going to school at that time and the whole
class decided to go downtown and volunteer as a group. Of course I
went along," he recalls.
When he returned home, his parents objected to him enlisting because
he was their only son. An Armenian priest was visiting the house and
he convinced Torcomian's parents to allow him to join up.
"So off I went," he says. "I wanted to join the Marine Corps but they
were only taking two that day for the Corps." He was one of the two
chosen but then a "much larger individual" walked in and Torcomian
was passed over. "The sergeant took me out and said you're in the
Navy," he says.
He went to boot camp at Newport, R.I. Boot camp lasted 16 to 18
weeks. Torcomian recalls the company commander giving a speech and
asking if anyone had any questions. "I always asked questions. The
chief was Armenian and I asked him a question. I didn't know you
weren't allowed to talk to anybody. He put me on the midnight to 4
a.m. watch. I used to walk the shore line in Newport from midnight to
4 a.m.," he recalls.
He was in the Navy for two weeks when they had a recruiting drive for
the submarine service. The commander volunteered Torcomian's whole
company.
"Only two of us passed the physical. I spoke with the recruiting
officer and he said it's an entirely voluntary basis," he recalls. He
also remembers the officer told him if he signed up he would get out
of boot camp that same day.
He signed and was sent to the submarine base in New London, Conn. for
school. "You have to go into Chief Spritz's Navy. All the new
recruits line in front of the administration building. Chief Spritz
walks up and down and gives you a real going over. I was told to make
sure my pea coat buttons are tight. I got my mother to reinforce
them. He would come down the line and pull you. If your button came
off you were in Spritz's Navy. You weren't allowed to go to school.
All you did was maintenance work until he decided you were to go into
submarine school," he recalls.
There were a lot of rules on the base and any infraction would cause
you to be sent to Chief Spritz. "He had authority over the whole
base," he recalls.
After submarine school he was sent to a submarine base at Mare
Island, Cal. "I was put on a boat. We called submarines boats," he
says.
"We went to Pearl Harbor and made a couple of patrols, a couple of
runs. The run averaged about two or three months. You do your
patrolling and fighting out there then you come in. I was assigned to
a boat in Freemantle, Australia," he says.
"I was out there for two and a half years. I had a lot of successful
runs. Runs are if you go out and have action and sink tonnage. I was
on seven different boats," he says.
His battle station was as a bow gunner with a dual 2 mm machine gun.
He recalls the decks were level with the water when they took their
battle stations. They would run down the deck holding onto rails. "I
was the first one up every time. When they opened the hatch it was 90
feet to my battle station. You stand there and shoot. It was spooky.
You had to be a kid to do it because you did what you were told. You
cannot think. The outstanding thing about the service was the
training. They kept training you all the time so no matter what your
personal thoughts were you did things instinctively. It's not like in
the movies. You were out there in your underwear firing a gun because
it was so hot. You wore your underwear and a helmet," he says.
He recalls getting left behind a couple of times when the submarine
submerged. "You're up there eight or nine hours. They teach you
floating. The thing that saved my tail was floating. When you give up
just before you die you float," he says. "All these God damn fish
came up. They're curious. If you're out and floating they'll come up
and take a bite out of you. If they don't like it they'll spit it
out. These schools of fish come up. If each one takes a nip you're
gone," he says.
When the submarine returned to base a chaplain would come out 10
miles to meet the boat. He would bring the mail and fresh fruit and
milk.
"When you come in and tie up they'd have a band there playing. The
squadron commanders came down and handed out medals. The commander's
statement was 'give me 10 submarine runs and I'll give you recruiting
duty in your home town.' So as soon as you came in off that boat you
would try to get another ride right away. You were a kid. You
believed everything," he says.
The sailors were sent to the hospital for a check up. Then they were
put up in a hotel in town for two weeks while the submarine was
refurbished.
He recalls there were beautiful parks in Freemantle and Perth. "I
would just go there and lie down in the grass and eat fruit - apples,
oranges, pears, tangerines. It was the best fruit I'd ever tasted. I
wasn't a drinker. That's what I did," he recalls.
They would take the submarine for a shake down cruise to be sure
everything was in working order. They'd put the ordinance back on and
load up on provisions and be out to sea again.
"After a couple of days the captain would open the orders. It was
difficult. Submarines operated on their own. You had naval
intelligence would give you certain information about ship movements
here and there. You'd fight in a lot of naval battles. We always
stood air sea rescue. You'd sit about 15 or 30 miles away from the
battle and pick up the pilots as they were ditching their aircraft
coming back," he says.
He recalls some of the hardships on the boat. "You can't take a
shower on a submarine. All the water you manufacture was to water the
batteries and for cooking. No showers. We used to hang buckets up for
condensation from water to brush your teeth. The temperature in a
submarine averaged between 110 and 130 degrees all the time. That's
why they called them pig boats. You smelled those boats. When you
went topside the fresh air stunk. You try to maintain no friends if
you can because you lose so many men. Every run you lose 10 to 15
men. First run, second run you have friends. All of a sudden you
don't bother with anybody you just do your job," he says.
His base was moved to Subic Bay in the Philippines. "We were there
about a month or so and they dropped the atomic bomb on Japan. We
loaded our submarine to come from Subic Bay to Japan, drop off
whatever provisions we had to help some of those people," he says.
They were ordered back to San Diego. He called his mother. Because of
the time difference it was the middle of the night and she thought
she dreamed the phone call. The next morning his sister called the
telephone company and verified that he had indeed called from San
Diego.
He was sent to a naval hospital in Virginia. His boat came around and
up the East Coast. He picked it up in Norfolk. "We went to Navy Day
in New York City on Oct. 29. President Harry Truman was there. All
the ships and boats tied up on the East River," he says. His entire
family came down to New York. A cousin who lived in the city threw a
party on his roof for the entire crew.
"My mother and father went home. I decided to go home with them. I
figured that's it. I was home about a month. I went to the movies
with my friends at the Strand Theater. All of a sudden the lights
came on. The shore patrol came in and they announced my name on the
speaker. They put me under arrest for desertion," he recalls.
They were going to have a formal court martial for Torcomian until
they examined his war record. "I had a terrific war record. Everybody
was getting out of the Navy. Instead they sent me to teach school at
Key West, Florida," he says. He had been injured twice during his
duty. One a shell hit him in the head. "It spun my helmet around," he
says. The helmet was compressed and had to be cut off his head.
"On May 3, 1946 they called me in and said you're going to be
discharged," he recalls. On May 6 he was formally discharged and went
home.
He became ill following his discharge and was hospitalized in a naval
hospital in Maine for six months.
"That was the end of my experience with the U.S. Navy," he says.
One of his old commanders worked for International Harvester Co. He
got Torcomian a job as an engineer. He traveled up and down the East
Coast. He met his wife Veronica at an Armenian Christian Youth
Organization meeting in Philadelphia. The Torcomians have three
children: Lynn (Baboujian), Thomas and John and eight grandchildren.
"Submarine sailors had a certain arrogance about them," he recalls.
"We've been around, done a lot of things. It's a pretty tough life
but you could get off anytime. Just tell them you had enough," he
says. "You got through things that are totally unnatural."
Nov 10 2006
Albert Torcomian
By Phyllis Edwards, STAFF WRITER11/09/2006
Albert Torcomian served on many successful runs with the U.S. Navy
Submarine Corps during World War II but he recalls having three
problems to overcome.
"The first problem to overcome is fear," Torcomian said during an
interview at his Havertown home.
"It's a very difficult thing to do. The second thing for me was the
noise of the gunfire. You cannot believe the noise. I never heard
noise like that in my life. I had a very pleasant childhood and to go
through that was just mind-boggling. The third thing was saying
goodbye. You never get used to that," he said.
Torcomian was 17 and living in Lowell, Mass. when he joined the Navy
in January 1942. "I was going to school at that time and the whole
class decided to go downtown and volunteer as a group. Of course I
went along," he recalls.
When he returned home, his parents objected to him enlisting because
he was their only son. An Armenian priest was visiting the house and
he convinced Torcomian's parents to allow him to join up.
"So off I went," he says. "I wanted to join the Marine Corps but they
were only taking two that day for the Corps." He was one of the two
chosen but then a "much larger individual" walked in and Torcomian
was passed over. "The sergeant took me out and said you're in the
Navy," he says.
He went to boot camp at Newport, R.I. Boot camp lasted 16 to 18
weeks. Torcomian recalls the company commander giving a speech and
asking if anyone had any questions. "I always asked questions. The
chief was Armenian and I asked him a question. I didn't know you
weren't allowed to talk to anybody. He put me on the midnight to 4
a.m. watch. I used to walk the shore line in Newport from midnight to
4 a.m.," he recalls.
He was in the Navy for two weeks when they had a recruiting drive for
the submarine service. The commander volunteered Torcomian's whole
company.
"Only two of us passed the physical. I spoke with the recruiting
officer and he said it's an entirely voluntary basis," he recalls. He
also remembers the officer told him if he signed up he would get out
of boot camp that same day.
He signed and was sent to the submarine base in New London, Conn. for
school. "You have to go into Chief Spritz's Navy. All the new
recruits line in front of the administration building. Chief Spritz
walks up and down and gives you a real going over. I was told to make
sure my pea coat buttons are tight. I got my mother to reinforce
them. He would come down the line and pull you. If your button came
off you were in Spritz's Navy. You weren't allowed to go to school.
All you did was maintenance work until he decided you were to go into
submarine school," he recalls.
There were a lot of rules on the base and any infraction would cause
you to be sent to Chief Spritz. "He had authority over the whole
base," he recalls.
After submarine school he was sent to a submarine base at Mare
Island, Cal. "I was put on a boat. We called submarines boats," he
says.
"We went to Pearl Harbor and made a couple of patrols, a couple of
runs. The run averaged about two or three months. You do your
patrolling and fighting out there then you come in. I was assigned to
a boat in Freemantle, Australia," he says.
"I was out there for two and a half years. I had a lot of successful
runs. Runs are if you go out and have action and sink tonnage. I was
on seven different boats," he says.
His battle station was as a bow gunner with a dual 2 mm machine gun.
He recalls the decks were level with the water when they took their
battle stations. They would run down the deck holding onto rails. "I
was the first one up every time. When they opened the hatch it was 90
feet to my battle station. You stand there and shoot. It was spooky.
You had to be a kid to do it because you did what you were told. You
cannot think. The outstanding thing about the service was the
training. They kept training you all the time so no matter what your
personal thoughts were you did things instinctively. It's not like in
the movies. You were out there in your underwear firing a gun because
it was so hot. You wore your underwear and a helmet," he says.
He recalls getting left behind a couple of times when the submarine
submerged. "You're up there eight or nine hours. They teach you
floating. The thing that saved my tail was floating. When you give up
just before you die you float," he says. "All these God damn fish
came up. They're curious. If you're out and floating they'll come up
and take a bite out of you. If they don't like it they'll spit it
out. These schools of fish come up. If each one takes a nip you're
gone," he says.
When the submarine returned to base a chaplain would come out 10
miles to meet the boat. He would bring the mail and fresh fruit and
milk.
"When you come in and tie up they'd have a band there playing. The
squadron commanders came down and handed out medals. The commander's
statement was 'give me 10 submarine runs and I'll give you recruiting
duty in your home town.' So as soon as you came in off that boat you
would try to get another ride right away. You were a kid. You
believed everything," he says.
The sailors were sent to the hospital for a check up. Then they were
put up in a hotel in town for two weeks while the submarine was
refurbished.
He recalls there were beautiful parks in Freemantle and Perth. "I
would just go there and lie down in the grass and eat fruit - apples,
oranges, pears, tangerines. It was the best fruit I'd ever tasted. I
wasn't a drinker. That's what I did," he recalls.
They would take the submarine for a shake down cruise to be sure
everything was in working order. They'd put the ordinance back on and
load up on provisions and be out to sea again.
"After a couple of days the captain would open the orders. It was
difficult. Submarines operated on their own. You had naval
intelligence would give you certain information about ship movements
here and there. You'd fight in a lot of naval battles. We always
stood air sea rescue. You'd sit about 15 or 30 miles away from the
battle and pick up the pilots as they were ditching their aircraft
coming back," he says.
He recalls some of the hardships on the boat. "You can't take a
shower on a submarine. All the water you manufacture was to water the
batteries and for cooking. No showers. We used to hang buckets up for
condensation from water to brush your teeth. The temperature in a
submarine averaged between 110 and 130 degrees all the time. That's
why they called them pig boats. You smelled those boats. When you
went topside the fresh air stunk. You try to maintain no friends if
you can because you lose so many men. Every run you lose 10 to 15
men. First run, second run you have friends. All of a sudden you
don't bother with anybody you just do your job," he says.
His base was moved to Subic Bay in the Philippines. "We were there
about a month or so and they dropped the atomic bomb on Japan. We
loaded our submarine to come from Subic Bay to Japan, drop off
whatever provisions we had to help some of those people," he says.
They were ordered back to San Diego. He called his mother. Because of
the time difference it was the middle of the night and she thought
she dreamed the phone call. The next morning his sister called the
telephone company and verified that he had indeed called from San
Diego.
He was sent to a naval hospital in Virginia. His boat came around and
up the East Coast. He picked it up in Norfolk. "We went to Navy Day
in New York City on Oct. 29. President Harry Truman was there. All
the ships and boats tied up on the East River," he says. His entire
family came down to New York. A cousin who lived in the city threw a
party on his roof for the entire crew.
"My mother and father went home. I decided to go home with them. I
figured that's it. I was home about a month. I went to the movies
with my friends at the Strand Theater. All of a sudden the lights
came on. The shore patrol came in and they announced my name on the
speaker. They put me under arrest for desertion," he recalls.
They were going to have a formal court martial for Torcomian until
they examined his war record. "I had a terrific war record. Everybody
was getting out of the Navy. Instead they sent me to teach school at
Key West, Florida," he says. He had been injured twice during his
duty. One a shell hit him in the head. "It spun my helmet around," he
says. The helmet was compressed and had to be cut off his head.
"On May 3, 1946 they called me in and said you're going to be
discharged," he recalls. On May 6 he was formally discharged and went
home.
He became ill following his discharge and was hospitalized in a naval
hospital in Maine for six months.
"That was the end of my experience with the U.S. Navy," he says.
One of his old commanders worked for International Harvester Co. He
got Torcomian a job as an engineer. He traveled up and down the East
Coast. He met his wife Veronica at an Armenian Christian Youth
Organization meeting in Philadelphia. The Torcomians have three
children: Lynn (Baboujian), Thomas and John and eight grandchildren.
"Submarine sailors had a certain arrogance about them," he recalls.
"We've been around, done a lot of things. It's a pretty tough life
but you could get off anytime. Just tell them you had enough," he
says. "You got through things that are totally unnatural."