SHE'S UNDER WAY! This photo of the USS Blakeley was snapped as she steamed out of San Diego in 1945. Albert Bazzel (below) and another special passenger were aboard (click on images to view larger).
I climbed the gangway of the USS J.R.Y. Blakely with some trepidation. The colorful decals proudly displayed on the destroyer escort’s superstructure signified combat successes credited to the crew.
It was 1945, and the war was winding down. Just 18, I was joining the Blakely in San Diego, where she’d recently returned from duty in the South Pacific. It wasn’t easy to fit in with the battle-hardened, war-weary crew. I’d been growing up in the 
safety of the home front, while these men had been where the real action was. My primary role was to relieve some “high-point” veteran who was eligible for discharge.
The only member of the crew I could identify with was “Daisy Mae,” a medium-sized, brown-and-white shaggy-haired pooch. She’d wandered aboard at one of the Pacific islands and had soon become accepted as the ship’s mascot.
Not long after we left San Diego, Daisy Mae began to exhibit the signs of impending motherhood. As the signs became more obvious, sailors of all rank began to put aside other concerns and turned their attention toward her. It wasn’t long before a raffle was organized among the “short-timers” who were expecting early discharges. The pick of Daisy Mae’s litter would go to the man who guessed the day and time closest to when Daisy Mae delivered.
Early one Sunday morning, in a warm spot under a ladder in the engine room, several newborn balls of fur joined our crew. Judging from the excitement, you’d have thought an admiral had come aboard. All hands were interested in Daisy Mae’s engine room birthing quarters.
Weeks later, we’d passed through the Panama Canal and arrived at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. There we said farewell to several happy and medaled veterans. Each carried various mementos and war trophies. But none of their souvenirs was exhibited to waiting family and friends on the dock with more enthusiasm than Daisy Mae’s pups!
Daisy Mae turned out to be a true “glory hound,” and I was happy for her moment in the sun. But looking back on those times, it occurs to me that Daisy Mae’s “peacetime pups” worked better than any man-made therapy on that shipload of returning heroes.
By Albert Bazzel
Turnersville, New Jersey
