My Time in Newfoundland (1957-58)

In 1957, my mother and I moved to Argentia, Newfoundland, where my father was stationed at one of our country's Distant Early Warning (DEW) lines. In those days, the Naval Air Station at Argentia existed solely to support the flight of Super Constellation aircraft that were loaded with sensitive electronic eavesdropping, and radar equipment. Like pregnant ladies wearing top hats, these huge planes had a bulbous belly, and a round, elevated radar antenna on top, in the middle. They were in the air on a twenty‑four hour rotation, and flew the entire northern corridor. Their function was to detect any encroachment to Canada or the Americas from the North.

My father was a Master Chief Storekeeper, in charge of logistical supply for the airmen and planes that flew those missions ‑ no small task that! He had to order everything from the food the men ate, and the clothes they wore, to parts for the aircraft.

I would have to make new friends in a new school at the Naval Air Station in Newfoundland during my junior year. My father sent for us when he found housing off post. We would have to wait until a place on post became available, before moving among the military families. Meanwhile, we lived about fifteen miles from the base, in a place called Dunville. Only the roads on base were paved. It was a dirt road all the way to my house, the only road between Argentia and Saint John's, the capitol.


Leaving the base, we passed Placentia Bay with its quaint houses, some of them on stilts. This area was all a fishing and whaling area. The bay ran the length of the road on our right, to way past my house, fifteen miles distant. On the left of the road was mostly mountain and forested area. Upon reaching my house, there was a small sawmill on the left, up the hill a little way, and my house was across the road, and down the hill about eighty feet, where it leveled off for about a hundred feet,and then dropped to a small lake at the bottom of the hill. We did some fishing for trout in that lake periodically.

On the other side of the lake, and across a small rise of land, was the continuation of Placentia Bay. I used to hike over there from time to time. I've seen whales wash up on the beach and die, pilot whales moving up and down the bay amidst the icebergs. It was a very scenic area, and if you could put up with the loneliness of the spot, it became comfortable.

Our nearest neighbor lived about three miles away (this was not counting the workers at the small sawmill at the top of the hill). The temperature seldom got out of the seventies in summer, and only in the teens in winter. This was a wet cold,
though, and if it were windy, you felt it. The Gulf Stream swings up along Newfoundland in the winter, or it would be colder.

When I enrolled in Arthur L. Bristol High School, it was the first year of its existence on post. Military dependents had been going to Saint John's, the capital, for schooling at Pepperrell Army Base near there. There were only five seniors
that year, and there were eleven juniors.

I was in seventh heaven because I had spent the summer off‑post, with not another teenager to talk with. I had to make up for lost time! All the teenagers, from freshman to senior, totaled less than forty souls, so nobody was ever ostracized from the teen social activities. We formed all kinds of clubs, and joined as many as we could, just to have some socialization.

I joined the teen bowling league at the officers' club and eventually became a team captain. I became a good figure skater on roller skates, and was asked by the military recreation manager to referee afternoon skating sessions at the gymnasium to make sure there was no horsing around. They even gave me a whistle and a black‑and‑white striped shirt.

Two events that took place during my stay in Newfoundland, are clearly linked to the cold war. They stand out in my mind. The first is the launching by the USSR of Sputnik in 1957. That event was the topic of discussion throughout the school and I can tell you that it scared us kids quite a bit to think that the Russians were that far advanced in space technology. We had a rocket club in the school at that time. A kid named Dennis Groggin was the president. He lived and breathed rocketry and built and demonstrated a model rocket for the school. He was sure the U.S. was not far behind in their space endeavors, which proved to be correct.

The second event was Fidel Castro's emergence as a strong reactionary against Batista. Most of us were pro‑Castro at that time, because he didn't show any leanings toward communism, and he promised to rid the island of the dictator, Batista. By the time he had consolidated his power, it was too late for the U.S.
to do anything about him.

To look at an aerial photo of the base at Argentia, it looks rather desolate and barren. For the most part, it was. There were few trees in the populated areas of the post, they had been removed to make room for the airfield, administrative, housing, and recreational areas. In many places the wind, rain, and snow had swept the topsoil from the surface, exposing the underlining rock. That is how it got it's nick‑name of "The Rock." That is what everyone called it and it seemed most apropos.

In the winter, it was unbelievable how the winds cut right through you, stinging any exposed surface. It felt like a cluster of tattoo needles trying to imprint a picture all at once. It is an exposed area right on the edge of the sea. Most foot traffic came to a halt during the coldest of these days. We only ventured out in vehicles, even if it was just to go a short distance.

A friend of mine, Pete Chamberlain, wanted to go camping on a lake we had found. It was early winter, the ice hadn't yet formed on the water and the temperatures weren't too bad. I didn't have a sleeping bag, so my dad got one from recreational services. We hiked in to the lake and inspected its shoreline for a suitable camping site. When we found one, we proceeded to build a lean‑to facing outward toward the lake, and about twenty feet from the shore. We lined the bed area with the softest foliage we could find, spread out our sleeping bags, built a fire, and got out our fishing gear. Before it got dark, we had caught and eaten a couple of trout and exchanged not a few stories of our prowess with the opposite sex (most of that being fabricated on my part).

As dusk settled, we began to see "V" shaped waves forming from time to time out on the lake. I'd brought a pair of binoculars, and was surprised to see that it was beaver swimming that caused this phenomenon. Soon, they moved closer and I didn't need the binoculars. I'd heard that the beaver slapped its tail on the water and dived when they thought danger was near. To test that theory, I threw a stone in the water close to them. Sure enough, they acted to expectation. I'd never seen beaver at work before, nor close‑up. We watched them towing branches from point to point until it was too dark to see anymore. Sleep was late in coming that night. We were warm and comfortable in our sleeping bags and the adventure of being out in the wilderness, lent a tang to our life. The night sounds of the animals lulled us to sleep finally.