A Final Farewell - Part II

This is the second article in a two-part series on three English brothers' journey to the area to honor their father, Thomas Wright.

Wright and 32 crewmates died aboard the Empire Mica during World War II.

Ron, Brian and Tony Wright thought they'd have plenty of down time during their weeklong stay in Port St. Joe.

They imagined themselves lounging at the beach, waiting patiently for a boat to carry them to the Empire Mica's wreckage.

The brothers arrived in Port St. Joe with few expectations.

They hoped to tour the area, meet people who remembered the Empire Mica's sinking and launch wreaths into the Gulf to honor their father, Thomas Edward Wright, and his 32 fallen shipmates.

They did not expect the warm welcome they received from Gulf and Franklin county residents, who greeted them like old friends.

The events of June 29, 1942 left a lasting impression on the men and women of Port St. Joe and Apalachicola.

As they vividly recalled the Empire Mica's sinking and its aftermath, the brothers hung on every word.

A Glow in the Sky

The night two Port St. Joe youths awakened to a loud blast and glowing sky, a young Apalachicola woman got her first glimpse of war.

Billy Howell and Tom Parker spent the afternoon of June 28, 1942, working at the Port Theatre on Port St. Joe's Reid Avenue.

The lifelong friends had risen through the theatre's ranks to become full-fledged projectionists after an unenviable start scraping chewing gum off the theater's seats.

When the duo departed the Port Theatre, the heat of a sweltering summer evening drove them to the city pier.

Joined by a local boy, nicknamed "Hoot," they took a dip in St. Joseph Bay.

Twenty-three miles away, in Apalachicola, Laurie McLeod (Rivers) reported to her post in the Armory's tower.

An unlikely plane spotter, Rivers could not distinguish one airplane from another, despite her training in enemy aircraft.

She hoped no trouble would befall the city during her watch.

Wet from their swim, Howell and Parker walked to the end of the city pier and set up camp for the night.

At 12:45 a.m. on June 29, 1942, they awakened to a loud blast, which they initially believed came from the nearby paper mill.

On the horizon, they saw an eerie glow, which shone brighter and brighter with the passing minutes.

In Apalachicola, Rivers spotted flames rising from the British tanker, S.S. Empire Mica, from her perch in the tower.

After city residents waged a heroic rescue effort in the Gulf, Rivers remained at the Armory to assist the Red Cross in caring for the Empire Mica's survivors.

As Apalachicola residents awakened to news of the sinking, Howell and Parker aimlessly rode their bicycles around Port St. Joe.

At midday, they stopped at the Standard Oil station on the corner of U.S. 98 and Third Street, and saw a gathering of injured men huddled in the bed of a pick-up truck.

Their clothes were thick with black, heavy oil.

Southern Hospitality

Sixty-six years later, over a shrimp dinner lovingly prepared by Sara Maddox, the brothers listened intently as Howell and Parker described the injured Empire Mica survivors, who'd stopped in Port St. Joe en route to a Panama City hospital.

They enjoyed their visit with the Port St. Joe natives, who shared their personal histories with an openness and candor unusual in new acquaintances.

Since landing in Panama City on June 24, the brothers experienced the true meaning of Southern hospitality.

Dave Maddox and daughter, Charlotte Pierce, met them at their Panama City hotel, and served as gracious hosts throughout their week-long stay in Port St. Joe.

They took them to visit the Empire Mica's 16-ton, 18-foot propeller outside Captain Anderson's Restaurant, and Maddox invited them to his home for dinner and afternoon tea.

The hospitality continued in Apalachicola, where the brothers met Rivers and other locals who shared their stories and best wishes.

Apalachicola

The Apalachicola of Ron Mowatt's memories had captured Tony and Brian's attention during their January visit with the Empire Mica survivor in Portsmouth.

When they arrived in the city, the brothers retraced Mowatt's steps, visiting the Dixie Theatre and the Armory, which echoed with the sounds of the summer recreation program.

Though Thomas Wright never sheltered beneath the Armory's walls, he was never far from his sons' minds.

Recording the building's interior on his video camera, Ron lingered before a young boy enthusiastically beating a drum.

After engaging the boy in conversation, Ron returned to his brothers.

"He is the same age I was when dad died," he said.

Downtown, at Delores' Sweet Shoppe, the brothers joined a congregation of Apalachicola natives eager to share their memories.

Rivers, arriving with her husband, Lee R. "Pal" Rivers, recalled her poor performance as a plane spotter.

"I didn't know one airplane from another," she said. "By the time I got to looking for it, it was gone. If it had been an enemy, we would've been in trouble."

Shop owner Delores Roux had been summoned by Sunshine Gibson to the Armory the day of the rescue, and helped fetch coffee for the men.

Cathy Buzzett, who arrived with husband Harry Buzzett, shared her connection with the Empire Mica story.

 Her father, Gene Austin, had given the survivors items from his store, Austin's Department Store, located in the two buildings now occupied by Delores' Sweet Shoppe and Blue.

"He had a lot of things at the store, like stockings and lipstick, that you couldn't get at the time," recalled Buzzett. "He let them pick out a few small things."

J.V. Gander, arriving with wife, Jean, described the Empire Mica's sinking as Apalachicola's "first touch of the war."

Rivers agreed. "It brought it home to us, didn't it?" she said. "Right in our backyard."

During the survivors' stay in Apalachicola, Rivers and other young Apalachicola women performed for them at a USO show in the Armory.

She described the community's embrace of the survivors as an instance of Apalachicola's generous spirit.

"The people in this town - and they're still like that - when anything happens, everybody gets together."

Not the Captain

The Wright brothers recognized Harry Buzzett, a retired Army Colonel, from a documentary on the Empire Mica filmed in the 1980s.

Buzzett recounted his 1947 encounter in Berlin with a man claiming to be the U-67's captain.

The man, who identified himself as a former German prisoner of war, spoke perfect English. He told Buzzett he'd helmed a U-boat in the upper Gulf.

Buzzett, who thought the German was "putting (him) on," tested his knowledge by asking him to locate Apalachicola on a nearby globe.

"He spun that globe around and said, 'Right there,'" Buzzett concluded, dramatically.

Tony, who'd researched the fate of the U-67 captain, Gunther Muller-Stockheim, gently told Buzzett the man could not have been who he said he was.

Muller-Stockheim, nicknamed "Alligator," had been killed four years earlier, on July 16, 1943, when a dive-bomber from the Carrier USS Core surprised the U-67 in the mid-Atlantic.

Three of the five-man bridge watch survived, and were taken prisoner by the USS McCormick.

Though Buzzett's acquaintance may have been one of the survivors, he assuredly was not the captain who sunk the Empire Mica.

"Maybe he would've liked to be the captain," Tony said, diplomatically.

"Wartime's a Horrible Thing"

Any resentment the Wright brothers once felt toward Muller-Stockheim and the German people faded years ago.

Only their hatred of war remains.

"I don't believe in war. I think a German life, an English life, anybody's life is priceless," said Ron.

"The propaganda at the time was ‘Hate Germans, hate Germans,' and as children you tended to. Until I was 15, 16 I perhaps did feel that way, because I'd lost my dad, but then I befriended a German prisoner of war."

Horst Fester, who was 5 years older than Ron, had been a prisoner of war at a camp just outside the Stoughton Air Base.

Released in 1958, Fester, like many former German prisoners of war, chose to remain in England rather than return to East Berlin, which suffered under Soviet control during the Cold War.

Ron now has many German friends and speaks the language fluently.

He visits Germany and Austria each year to ride motorcycles through the countryside.

Like his brothers, Ron holds no grudge against the U-67's captain, Muller-Stockheim, whom he believes was merely fulfilling orders by sinking the Empire Mica.

"I've always had no animosity for the captain of the ship. He was doing his job," said Ron.

"If my father had been quicker, and got his guns out quicker, he might've shot his ship, and it would've been in reverse.

"Those families in Germany went through the same anguish and suffering that we did. Wartime's a horrible thing."

Blessing the Wreaths

In Apalachicola, Tony did not forget the promise he made to Mowatt.

To those gathered at Delores', he spoke of Mowatt's dalliance with a young woman named Alva, and their failed attempt to reunite in Tallahassee.

Rivers immediately recognized the name, exclaiming, "I know her - blonde, pretty Alva Roberts!"

Roux recalled her maiden name, Burch, and others recalled Roberts' husband. None, however, could confirm her whereabouts.

Though he had fulfilled his obligation to Mowatt, Wright wished he had more to report.

 "As far as he knows, she's still in Tallahassee," he said.

Though the brothers spent much of their Apalachicola trip taking photographs and forming observations to share with Mowatt, they'd hoped to accomplish one bit of family business.

In the back of their rented PT Cruiser, they carried the two wreaths they'd planned to launch at sea on the anniversary of the sinking.

They'd hoped to have the wreaths blessed before their Sunday morning departure.

Thomas Wright had been raised to honor the church, and reserved a place for faith in life's most important rituals.

"Dad's generation would not have gotten married without it being in a church. We were baptized in the Methodist church, and if anybody died, they had somebody from the church there," said Tony.

"We weren't a big religious family, but because you were of the Christian faith, you wanted your faith to be a part of the important things that happened."

Following the sinking, Trinity Episcopal Church had given a memorial service for the deceased Empire Mica crewmates.

The brothers hoped to have the wreaths blessed by a member of Trinity's clergy. Kaye Wheeler, Trinity's retired deacon, was more than happy to oblige.

Opening the church on a Friday afternoon, Wheeler led the brothers in a prayer for the departed.

She sprinkled the wreaths with holy water, blessed each of the brothers and bid them God's peace.

A Single Star

As Port St. Joe slept, the Wright brothers ventured out of their Port Inn rooms and walked to the city pier.

On the place where Howell and Parker stood 66 years earlier, Ron, Tony and Brian held a vigil for their father.

Wanting to be near the water on the anniversary of the Empire Mica's sinking, the brothers ventured out past midnight on Sunday, June 29.

A single star shone in the sky, appearing to them like a message from their departed father.

"There was a star, which more or less pointed out," recalled Brian. "No other star, just that one. We just thought, 'Well that could be dad.'"

"I've Just Been to the Funeral"

At 10 a.m. that morning, Ron and Tony boarded the boat, Thief of Time, with captain Herman Jones and wife, Pam.

The boat's name, an ironic play on the state's scorn for civilians who recover offshore wreckage, reflects the Jones' passion for SCUBA diving.

During the brothers' stay in Port St. Joe, they viewed Herman Jones' collection of Empire Mica artifacts, which includes several portholes, a flare gun, wall mounted lamp, two telephones, plaques and other finds.

Jones restored many of the brass objects to nearly pristine condition, using a process he learned from the late Herman Dean, a local band director who once played clarinet in John Phillips Sousa's band.

In a show of generosity rare for an avid collector, Jones gave each brother an Empire Mica artifact - a twisted porthole, porthole fragment and an engine part.

The portholes held a particular fascination for the brothers.

Mowatt had shared a tragic story of a "jolly little man" who'd gotten stuck in a porthole while attempting to escape from the Empire Mica. Realizing the futility of his attempt, the man had begged his shipmates to shoot him.

"You can relate to that now," said Ron. "You can see what a horrible thing that would've been."

Herman Jones planned to take the brothers to the exact site of the wreckage, located 25 miles due south of Cape San Blas.

But bad weather cut the trip short, and Ron released the wreaths only a mile from shore.

Though the boat trip did not go exactly as planned - Brian, fearing seasickness, had stayed behind - the brothers were grateful for the opportunity to release the wreaths into the Gulf.

As children, they never attended a funeral service for their father, whose remains were never uncovered from the wreckage.

In releasing the wreaths, the brothers bid their father a final farewell and discovered a newfound sense of closure.

"We feel as though we've united mother and father together now, and as a family, we've completed a chapter," said Ron. "That's perhaps the sadness that's gone 66 years later."

The trip proved especially healing for Brian. Only three years old at the time of his father's death, Brian had endured much in his 69 years.

The death of his wife forced him to raise son, Brian, Jr., alone, and the early loss of his father hovered over him like a cloud.

 When Ron first proposed the idea of the trip, he questioned the sense in his going.

"I thought, 'What's the use,'" said Brian at the end of his stay. "But I'm glad I went. It's like I've just been to the funeral, on my part."

Though his father had been taken early, Brian felt his presence in Port St. Joe.

He knew what advice Thomas Wright would give his loving sons.

"My dad would want me to just carry on and make the best of my life - and my brothers."