Dreamer of Dune by Brian Herbert Read Free Book Online Page B

paternal grandmother’s given name.
    In July 1942, unable to wait any longer, Frank enlisted in the U.S. Navy. He gave the recruiting officer a letter of recommendation from the Supervisor of Shipbuilding at Los Angeles Shipbuilding & Drydock, a retired U.S. Navy officer.
    During his physical examination for the Navy, the doctor kept looking out the window at another doctor and two pretty nurses who were waiting in a convertible, with golf clubs visible. Anxious to join them, the doctor rushed Dad through.
    Frank Herbert was assigned to the huge Norfolk Naval Shipyard in Portsmouth, Virginia, where he served as a Photographer Second Class V-6 in the U.S. Naval Reserve. His mother, Babe, was extremely worried about him, and spent many nights crying.
    In boot camp, Dad first encountered The Bluejackets’ Manual . One of the entries, on swimming, went like this: “Breathing may be accomplished by swimming with the head out of water.” Another entry, under the section on ships: “Q: What is the part (of the ship) known as midships? A: The middle part.” And this one: “It is most important that all appliances for securing water-tightness be kept in an efficient condition.” The foolishness of such passages in this bureaucratically produced manual later became the inspiration for his short story “By The Book” (1966).
    He also picked up a number of mottoes on the base:
    â€œIf you can pick it up, pick it up; if you can’t pick it up, paint it; if it moves, salute it.”
    Or: “Keep your mouth shut, your bowels open, and never volunteer.”
    And: “Fire at will.” This one particularly amused him, because he considered it unfair to treat anyone named Will in this manner.
    Despite his rating as a photographer, he did more office work than anything else, and increased his typing speed. This skill would prove beneficial to him in journalism and in his creative writing career.
    He also became quite a poker player in the service, which provided him with an additional source of income. Most of his money was sent home to San Pedro for his wife and baby.
    One of the fellows in Dad’s outfit was going steady with a girl back home. The young man didn’t drink, gamble or carouse. He sent money back to his girl, and she was supposed to bank it for their future marriage. One day he received a “Dear John” letter from her, and she requested the return of her picture. My father, ever impish, came up with a method of retaliation for his buddy. He collected fifty or sixty pictures of girlfriends from the guys in the outfit, and then dictated a letter to her, from the jilted man:
    I was disappointed to receive your letter. I’m all broken up by it. There is only one problem. I can’t remember which girl you are. From this stack of pictures will you please pick out the one of you and send the rest back? Money for return postage is enclosed.
    In the winter of 1942, Dad received his own “Dear John” letter from Flora, in which she told him she wanted a divorce. Devastated, he was brought to tears, and felt frustrated at having to deal with the situation from three thousand miles away. One night while on bivouac, with his mind on personal problems, he tripped over a tent tie-down and fell, hitting his head. A soft, lumpy blood clot developed on top of his skull, and he was warned by the doctor not to hit that spot again, at risk of his life—and to let the clot dissolve.
    With the assistance of his uncle Ken Rowntree, he was given an early honorable discharge from the service in March 1943, less than eight months after enlisting. * He caught a military transport home to the West Coast. With a bandage on his head, he returned home to San Pedro, but discovered that Flora had disappeared, taking the baby with her.
    Driving north to Bandon, Oregon, he visited the home of Flora’s mother. In tears, he said to her, “All I want is my family back.