Saying goodbye to Uncle Buddy

Leonard Marvin (Buddy) Kempf was my father’s older brother (Eight years older) and he passed away May 27, 2005, almost 4 years after my father died. He was seventy-nine. He was cremated and he was later interred at Arlington National Cemetery (in the Columbarium) that October. Buddy was the last surviving member of my father’s generation outliving his younger brother and older sister (Doris).

After World War II was over, he went to college on the GI Bill and became a safety engineer. Uncle Buddy had moved away from our hometown in 1955 (before I was born in 1958) and I only knew him and his family from sporadic visits he made to my grandparents in Jeffersonville, Indiana. I remember Buddy as an articulate and well-educated speaker that as a you child I found to be somewhat of a bore. (I was the second youngest of all the grandchildren, only Buddy’s daughter Lydia was younger.) He was a safety engineer and he was a contributor to may safety devices we all take for granted now including motorcycle helmets and seat belts in your car. I admit, even now, safety is a dry subject to talk about.

My uncle served in the Navy during World War II in 1944 & 1945 as a submarine sonar operator aboard the USS Picuda (SS-382) a Balao class diesel-electric submarine in the Pacific theater. The Picuda completed six war patrols during the war and received six battle stars for World War II service. And I only learned of this when I found out that he was to be interred at Arlington in the fall after his death. Since then I was able to read some letters he had written about his experiences during the war and his description of patrolling off the Japan and China coasts.

My last interaction with my uncle was in 2001 when I took him to the airport after my father’s funeral. I do regret that I could have done more to communicate with him and learn more about him while he was alive. I think that is one lesson I have learned as I age, if you want to be with or interact with someone, just do it. You may not get the opportunity later on.

When we learned that Buddy was being interred in Arlington, my brother Richard and I coordinated with our cousins (four of Buddy’s five children), to attend the funeral. It also worked out that my son Kevin and his Wife Stephanie, who lived in Boston could also make the trip to Arlington to pay final respects. Richard and I drove from our homes in Tennessee to Middleton, Virginia where we spent the night and then we met up with the rest of the family at the Arlington welcome center. Arlington lays to rest 27 to 30 veterans each weekday with full military honors. I was impressed, but unsurprised with the efficiency of their process and proud of the level of respect every veteran is afforded there. There are four reception areas in the lower level and they cycle four families and hour, (one family, per room, per hour) through the funeral process all day long. It is a practiced and well-orchestrated process. During this reception and information session, we learned that uncle Buddy was a member of the U.S. Submarine Veterans of World War II. When any WWII submariner is interred in Arlington, they have representatives at the funeral. We met two of these gentlemen, and they were a treasure trove of information on what life was like in these ships during the war. It did cause me to stop and wonder how that will be addressed once there are no members that are able to be there, it was a somber thought.

I’m going to go into a bit of a history lesson here as I believe it is appropriate and it gave me a better background to understand the hardships our submariners endured. These veteran sailors there were telling us about what their life was like on board and it was absolutely fascinating. One topic that is always mentioned is food. These subs had fuel and stores to allow for them to cruise for 8 to 10 weeks without resupply. That came at quite a cost with both food variety and quality though. Fresh foods like salad, vegetables, dairy and fruit were exhausted buy the third or fourth day away from port as their capability to store such items was very limited. This meant that for 7 to 9 weeks, they ate nothing but canned and reconstituted dry goods. I can see where that got old fast knowing my experience with army rations when in a war zone. We had access to additional supplies, they had only what they left port with in the ship.

That brings up another item that I learned, how and where they stored all those canned and dried goods. Space is at a premium on submarines and I never understood how they could possibly store all the food on board. I mean the space was so limited that the sailors had to hot rack. (When you got out of your bunk, someone else got in it to sleep.) no space was wasted. The answer to the storage issue was fairly simple, they stacked all the food stores on the floor. At least one layer on every flat surface and in some areas, like the forward torpedo room, more than one layer. They literally walked on their chow. Spaces not needed immediately, like one of the shower areas in the torpedo room were also filled along with every nook and cranny that could possibly accommodate food was filled and these stores lashed down to secure them. I’ll also take a moment to remind you that this ship was tight quarters to begin with. I was able to tour the USS Pampanito (SS-383) which was the next ship in the Balao class and very similar to the USS Picuda. The ship is a little over 300 feet long and less than 30 feet wide on the exterior and much smaller dimensions inside.

The mess for instance, had seating for about 20 people and was about the size of a small bedroom. The 1st person seated was the last person out as when others sat down, the was no room to move. The galley kitchen was about the size of a bathroom in your house. Zero wasted space. Another consideration was that fresh water was limited, so the showers were infrequent. I can’t imagine that things smelled fresh in these tight quarters. I can see where duty on deck as a spotter was valued just to be outside in fresh air, regardless of how dreadfully boring it had to be just staring at the open sea. Thus, ends the short history lesson.

Back to the reception/assembly area for our family. Our funeral coordinator was very good about keeping us informed on the schedule and how the funeral would proceed. We then went outside and assembled into a small convoy to the memorial site near the Columbarium interment location. It was a sweltering 95 degrees and a beautify cloudless afternoon, not a great day for me to be standing in the sun in a navy-blue suit but I managed. The honor guard was just as perfect in their execution as you would expect at Arlington, and I barely held my emotions in check during the flag fold, Taps and the rifle salute. To this day, Taps is the most mournful song I can think of and brings to me an overwhelming feeling of emotion that I can barely describe. The ceremony concluded with a short walk to the actual columbarium location where Buddy’s ashes were laid to rest.

Later that evening, the family met for a celebration dinner for Buddy at the Fort Myers Officer’s Club, one of Buddy’s favorite places to dine. I was a wonderful time with several stories of Buddy and our remembrances of him.  After the dinner, my brother and I said our goodbyes and headed back to our motel in Middleton and the end of a quite long but incredible day.