The Crescent Odyssey: From Ottoman Roots to American Warship Captain - Softcover

Daus, Rudolph Halouk

Softcover

ISBN 10: 149173714X ISBN 13: 9781491737149

Publisher: iUniverse, 2014

Synopsis

When Rudolph Halouk Daus was born in 1933 in Paris, France, to an Ottomon princess and an American Beaux Arts educated entrepreneur with Jewish Rabbinical and French Catholic roots, no one had any idea that in just seven years, the German Army would invade France and uproot his family, sending all of them to fulfill new destinies. Daus shares a fascinating story of his diverse background, his ancestors, and his personal odyssey as he progressed from extraordinary beginnings to a miraculous escape from Nazi-occupied France and finally to an incredible naval career capped with command of two warships. As he details his singular progress across continents, Daus provides an unforgettable glimpse into a circuitous and star-crossed life as he experienced adventures, challenges, and heartbreaking trials as an American Naval Officer and was eventually led into a second career as a law firm manager and a third career as an entrepreneur whose ventures steered him from America to Turkey, Japan, and the Wild East of Central Asia. The Crescent Odyssey shares the fascinating story of a man for all seasons and his unique journey from his Turkey Ottoman soldier's roots to his escapades as an American warship captain and entrepreneur. "The Crescent Odyssey is a superb read and tells the story of the life and diverse background of an American Naval Officer, his shipmates, his family, his ancestors and his life at sea during the Cold War . . . easy to understand for either the experienced sailor or one accustomed to life ashore" - Admiral Frank Kelso, United States Navy (Retired), 44th Chief of Naval Operations

About this title

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The Crescent Odyssey

From Ottoman Roots to American Warship Captain

By Rudolph Halouk Daus

iUniverse LLC

Copyright © 2014 Rudolph Halouk Daus
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3714-9

Contents

Illustrations, ix, 
Tables, xv, 
Preface, xvii, 
Acknowledgments, xix, 
Introduction, xxi, 
Chronology, xxvii, 
In Seas Lathered by Storm, xxxi, 
Prologue, xxxiii, 
Chapter 1 Command of McMorris, 1, 
Chapter 2 The Captain and His Forebearers, 41, 
Chapter 3 The Father, 61, 
Chapter 4 The Mother, 71, 
Chapter 5 The Brother, 87, 
Chapter 6 The Boy, 98, 
Chapter 7 The Dreamer, 119, 
Chapter 8 The Midshipman, 131, 
Chapter 9 The Ensign and the JG, 149, 
Chapter 10 The Aide, 169, 
Chapter 11 The CHENG—at Sea, 175, 
Chapter 12 The LT—Ashore, 194, 
Chapter 13 The XO, 202, 
Chapter 14 The LCDR at Sixth Fleet Staff, 222, 
Chapter 15 The CDR—the Navy AO, 231, 
Chapter 16 The CDR—in SERE, 249, 
Chapter 17 The Captain—Proud, Powerful Parsons, 258, 
Chapter 18 The Captain Leads by Example, 304, 
Chapter 19 The Captain Takes the Philippines, 312, 
Chapter 20 The Captain's Farewell, 319, 
Chapter 21 The Sponsor for New Ships, 332, 
Chapter 22 Setting the Anchor Ashore for Good, 339, 
Chapter 23 The Director of Administration, 346, 
Chapter 24 The Entrepreneur, 402, 
Chapter 25 The Magistrate for the Commonwealth of Virginia, 431, 
Chapter 26 Heredity or Environment?, 439, 
Epilogue, 445, 
Glossary, 457, 
Notes, 469, 
Index, 475, 

CHAPTER 1

COMMAND OF MCMORRIS

My name was Halouk Rodolphe at birth in Paris. I became Rudolph (Rudy) Halouk when my family and I rejoined my father in New York after the occupation of France in World War II, and I started at St. Agnes Elementary School. I was called Mister when I became a Naval Officer. Now you can call me Captain.

Though a memoir is usually linear from birth, this telling starts at age thirty-three. That is because achieving command of a warship had been the ultimate goal of this sailor, and the story of command of the McMorris is central to my odyssey. Every sailor hopes that going down to the sea in ships will lead to the challenges of command.

It was 1966. Ten years out of the Naval Academy and thirty-three years old with three young sons, the Lieutenant Commander (LCDR) had completed a tour as Executive Officer of a guided missile destroyer, USS Buchanan (DDG-14), home-ported in San Diego. The LCDR stepped up to read his orders aloud to the ship's assembled officers, crew, Squadron Commander, guests, and families, on board McMorris in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. He turned to his predecessor, saluted, and said, "I relieve you, sir." He turned to his Squadron Commander. "I report for duty as commanding officer, USS McMorris, sir."

The Commodore responded, "Very well!"

The new Captain then turned to the microphone. It is usual for a new Captain to make some remarks at length, relevant platitudes—again at length—to thank the previous Captain for turning over a fine ship, et cetera, et cetera. Instead, in his hubris, the new Captain said, "Fair winds and following seas to you, Commander. All orders currently in effect will remain in effect until changed by me. Executive Officer, take charge!"

Without hesitation, the Executive Officer responded, "Aye, aye, sir!" and saluted. The Captain returned the salute and went to kiss his wife and three sons, sitting in the first row.

The Executive Officer, also an Academy graduate, two years the Captain's junior, had a slight frame, sandy hair, and intelligent, sensitive eyes. The Captain felt that together, he and his Number One would do well by the good ship McMorris. The Captain was right. The XO was a great ship handler with a terrific touch. He applied that same touch in handling the crew, eleven officers, and a complement of 157 Bluejackets.

The first underway was from Bravo Pier at Pearl Harbor, nestled between a pair of destroyers fore and aft. That bright summer morning, the XO came to the Captain's cabin and reported that the Special Sea and Anchor Detail was set and they were ready to go. A tug was standing by off the stern.

"Thank you, XO," the Captain said. "Have the Officer of the Deck call me when we are ready to get underway."

"Aye, aye, sir!" the XO said, and left the cabin.

The Officer of the Deck (OOD) soon called. "Ready to get underway, Captain. Main engines are ready to answer all bells."

"Very well," the Captain responded, and proceeded to the bridge.

"Captain's on the bridge," announced the Bridge Messenger.

The Captain went to the starboard wing, looked over the side, and called the OOD front and center. "You are not ready to get under way. Your lines are still doubled up," he said quietly, and left the bridge.

The OOD called a few minutes later. "Captain, the ship is ready to get underway. Main engines ready to answer all bells. All lines are singled up."

"Very well," the Captain said, and returned to the bridge.

"Captain's on the bridge," announced the Messenger once more.

"Take in one, three, four, five, and six," the Captain said. "Main control stand by to answer all bells." He strode to the starboard wing and looked over the side. His sharp crew understood the meaning. All lines, except for the number 2 line, were already loosed and almost on deck. The line handlers formed up in single lines and stood tall.

"Right full rudder, ahead one third," he ordered. As the ship strained forward on the number 2 line, the stern swung out. As the stern cleared the outboard of two destroyers astern, he ordered in quick succession, "All stop, rudder amidships, take in two. All engines back two-thirds."

As the ship got sternway, number 2 line slacked, and the line handlers took it aboard smartly.

What a ship! It was like squeezing toothpaste out of a tube. In the stream away from the pier, the ship turned to head fair and moved out to sea at two-thirds speed. What a crew! Sharp and responsive. They stood tall. They appeared proud that their Captain could handle their ship in a most seamanlike manner without depending on tugs. They would get along, this Captain and crew.

They got to know each other as they headed for Midway Island and the North Pacific on a highly classified surveillance operation. Prior to arriving at Midway to take on fuel, he Captain studied the Sailing Directions. The current in the channel ran seven to ten knots and changed direction as it ricocheted off the coral on either side of the entrance passage. Arriving at Midway, the Captain took the conn—his first mooring of McMorris—then ordered eighteen knots and entered the channel. He adjusted course to compensate for the shifting set of the current opposing the ship. As they entered the basin, the opposing current slacked off and the ship surged quickly to eighteen knots.

"Left standard rudder. Engines ahead two-thirds," he ordered.

McMorris came left and slowed. The basin was smaller than he'd expected. He looked for the assigned pier. "XO, where is our berth?" he asked.

"Right there! We're going by it," responded the XO as the ship passed it by at ten knots.

"Okay," the Captain said calmly. "All engines stop, half-full rudder."

The ship made for the next pier smartly and moored. The Harbor Master ran over from the first pier and hollered, "You're at the wrong pier, Captain."

"No, we're not. Your hoses are at the wrong pier. We are refueling at this pump. Fill her up," the Captain responded.

And so it went. Full up, they got underway and headed for their operation, or op, area. The Special Operations (SPECOPS) went without accident. McMorris did her duty well. On the way home, the second Midway fueling stop was smoother.

The Captain and his family were assigned quarters at Barber's Point, the patrol squadron base. What an idyllic setting, two blocks from the Pacific beaches at the seaward end of the Pearl Harbor channel. The commute to and from the ship was by boat, the best commute ever. The Captain's gig, a motor whaleboat, would pick him up in the morning at 0700, with hot tea, newspapers, and the message board. They returned in the evening just in time to pack up a barbeque set to have dinner with the family on the beach. The Captain felt life could not get better than this.

There were ups and downs, of course. The valleys matched the peaks. The weather in the North Pacific was unpredictable. Meteorological forecasts were rudimentary and unreliable. An Aerographer was assigned to McMorris because of her classified priority mission. He would come to the bridge and present the Captain with wet, still smelly facsimile transmission sheets depicting the weather maps for the operating area. Those who have experienced the acrid smell of mimeograph will never forget it.

On one occasion, the Aerographer was confused by two lows and fronts that seemed to depict two equal-force typhoons. Even more confusing were the erratic tracks painted on two prior traces. When bad weather was expected, a trace was run every half hour. It appeared two typhoons were moving northeast approximately 150 nautical miles apart. McMorris could not remain on station. The storms would pass, one to the northwest and the other to the south.

The Captain said, "Run off four more traces and return. We will decide which way to go in two hours."

The Aerographer left the bridge, obviously concerned. He had no recommendation to make. After two hours the plots were still confusing. He had never seen anything like them during his training courses and his three and a half years in uniform. Nor did his two years at a liberal-arts college help solve the dilemma.

He returned to the bridge. The Captain studied the traces. Ten minutes passed. The Aerographer fidgeted. The Captain gave him his six traces and said, "Thank you."

The Captain turned to the Officer of the Deck and ordered, "Come to course 225 and flank speed!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" the OOD said. He turned to the Helmsman and ordered, "Left standard rudder, steady on course 225. All engines ahead flank."

The Helmsman repeated, "Rudder is left standard, coming to course 225, sir."

The Lee Helm repeated, "All engines ahead flank, sir," and added a few seconds later, "All engines answer ahead flank, sir."

The ship leaned into the turn and surged ahead. The Helmsman reported they were steady on new course 225.

McMorris was powered by four Fairbanks Morse diesel engines as large as railroad train engines. Normally, two were on line for steady steaming. An hour earlier, in anticipation of full power, the two standby engines were warmed up and brought on line.

Course 225 was intended to thread the needle between the two typhoons bearing down on the ship. If the storms followed historic tracks, the ship would remain the minimum amount of time in their dangerous semicircles. The course would also, with a bit of luck, take advantage of a confused sea caused by two storms 150 miles apart.

The sky darkened, the barometer glass fell, the wind increased to a steady sixty knots, and the swells began to rise to over twenty feet. For eighteen hours the ship tossed and swirled, rolled side to side thirty-five to forty degrees, pitched up and down, riding up to the crest of each wave and diving into the valley, the horizon obscured. In time the sea became increasingly confused as crossing swells from the two storms met. The mixed sea promised a safe passage. As fuel tanks were drained, sea water was taken on as ballast. No one was allowed on deck. The ship was secured for heavy-weather seas by the well-trained crew. Not too soon thereafter, the wind abated. The salt spray lessened, and the main deck was no longer awash. The ship reached the safe semicircle of the northern storm; and within the next few hours, the southern storm moved on to the southeast. The crew was allowed to come on deck and found clear skies and billowing white clouds. With a clamp down fore and aft, McMorris was again shipshape and Bristol fashion.

The Aerographer came up with the latest trace of the storms. "Captain," he asked, "how did you know it would be safe to go between the two storms instead of beating directly south?"

"Nothing in life is certain," explained the Captain. "Southwest seemed the quickest way to get out of the dangerous quadrants of the two storms. Any other course would have kept the ship in the most dangerous quadrant of the southern storm longer."

The Aerographer understood and was satisfied. He'd heard it from the Captain and the Captain was always right.

There were other stormy patrols. None were quite as challenging as the twin typhoons. Winter in the northern Pacific defied the abilities of the best navigators. The constant overcast precluded celestial navigation. The Loran fixes were inaccurate in northern latitudes. NAVSAT satellite navigation did help pinpoint the ship on the face of the globe, but it was new to the fleet. Normally, only aircraft carriers and submarines would get the best equipment, but McMorris and other SPECOPS ships were able to get the equipment because of those important Special Ops and their need for precise navigation.

Each day underway brought new pleasures, a new symphony of sound, a deeper cohesion between a man and a ship. McMorris is mine, thought he Captain. The feeling was delicious. The tactile touch was almost erotic.

* * *

McMorris and sister ships were required to rendezvous at predetermined latitudes and longitudes to affect a physical handoff of documents and operational responsibility. Regardless of weather, a whaleboat would be launched to transfer op orders, communication key cards for secure top-secret communication, and to provide a face-to-face briefing by the outgoing Ops Officer.

As luck would have it, two days of storms and their attendant overcast, coupled with the breakdown of the NAVSAT equipment, left McMorris dependent on LORAN fixes of more than ninety square miles and dead reckoning. The relieving ship arrived at the appointed time and place. McMorris was nowhere to be found.

"Car 54, where are you?" called the jocular Captain of the relief destroyer escort over the secure tactical voice circuit.

McMorris responded, "We are here, where are you?"

"Don't kid the kidders, McMorris. We see that your NAVSAT is CASREP [listed in a casualty report]. The weather has been ugly for days. You got no celestial fixes. LORAN is useless up here. Don't tell me you're not lost!" The Captain was correct on all counts.

The two ships tried everything possible to locate each other. They shut down all electronic emissions and in turn radiated search radars, fire control radars, and active sonar. They listened for each other's emissions to no avail. Finally, after three hours of failed effort and getting short on fuel, McMorris suggested they both proceed to Midway to refuel and affect the turnover there.

"Agreed! Do you want to send the message to ALCON [command authorities]?" responded the relief.

ALCON included the SPECOPS controlling authorities, including Commander in Chief Pacific Fleet, Chief of Naval Operations, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, highest intelligence entities, God, and Country.

"Thank you, but it is past time of SWOP. You now have operational control. You send the message," responded McMorris's Captain.

The relieving Captain, a Naval Academy graduate, was four years McMorris's Captain's senior. He was a no-nonsense, burly outspoken professional who called it as he saw it. He could have correctly reported, "McMorris is lost in the North Pacific. Proceeding Midway for fuel and turnover." He did not send that message. Rather, he transmitted, "Unable to affect transfer due weather. Proceeding Midway, etc." A truly professional officer and gentleman, he saw no need to embarrass McMorris and her Captain. He did not lie, but he did not tell the whole truth. He understood the code of the Band of Brothers and shipmates-in-arms.

* * *

Another homecoming gave the crew time for family and friends. For the Captain, one-on-one time with his sons was most important and fun. Sports and chores he happily did for his wife provided the opportunity. His oldest, nine years old, had developed a good pitching arm. Playing catch gave the "old man," then thirty-three, a very sore mitt hand. One evening, the son rifled his fast ball. His father could not handle it. The ball flew up and shattered his glasses, and glass peppered in his left eye. Glasses were made of glass in those days. An emergency run to Tripler Army Hospital proved fortuitous. The emergency-room doctor was a young intern in his second-year residency in eye surgery, quite fortunately. Treatment was excellent. The following day the eye still felt like it was full of sand. The injured ship Captain asked the Army Captain surgeon when he would get out.

Amused, the doctor responded, "When the swelling goes down, we can see if we got all the glass out, and more importantly, we can decide whether or not you need a corneal transplant."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Crescent Odyssey by Rudolph Halouk Daus. Copyright © 2014 Rudolph Halouk Daus. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse LLC.
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Edition details

• Publisher: iUniverse
• Publication date: 2014
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 149173714X
• ISBN 13: 9781491737149
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 518