by Larry Berman
Bud advised his pregnant wife to get plenty of rest, eat healthy food, and “don’t worry about anything.” He closed by writing, “Wherever you are, no matter what, I am always with you sweetheart, loving you with all my heart and soul.” Hours later on the same day, Bud wrote again, this time from the mouth of the Yangtze River. “My darling bride, I am terribly lonely for you! I never knew that it could be possible to miss a person so much. It seems like 1000 years since I last held you in my arms.”5
Bud had left clear instructions for Mouza to go with his friend Ed Martin to the U.S. embassy in Shanghai in order to begin the visa application process. The GI bill had already passed Congress, but the embassy insisted that it would not be processing visas for war brides. Bud was determined to find a way of making the bureaucracy responsive. In a December 20, 1945, letter written three days before arriving in Pearl Harbor, Bud confided how difficult it was to be halfway across the ocean, knowing that he would not be seeing his wife for at least four months. “It is very hard to be without you,” wrote Bud. He promised to take care of everything. “When I go to bed each night I kiss your picture and then say a prayer for you and for our baby.”
By December 23, Bud was in Pearl Harbor and about to depart for San Francisco, where he planned on reaching out to everyone and anybody for help. “Everywhere I go I will ask people to help us and maybe someday I can find the right person. I will try very hard. . . . Please try very hard to come to America.”6 In another letter Bud explained, “I have been very busy trying to get you into the U.S. . . . Hurry to me sweetheart.”7
Worried about the health of both Mouza and the baby, Bud sounded as though he was at the breaking point: “I hate the Navy life. I love you and want to be near you . . . I have missed you terribly. Darling, I feel so bad that I have not been able to make you so happy or do very much for you. But I will try harder next time.”8 The big break came in early February 1946, when the Saufley made a stop in New York en route to Charleston for decommissioning. Bud had been planning this day for weeks, securing a day’s leave so that he could catch a train bound for the nation’s capital. In a February 3, 1946, letter to “my darling,” Bud informed Mouza that “all my papers came. I am going to take them to Washington, D.C. right away. It has been a terrible long time for you. I pray that soon you will have visa and everything will be all right.”9
Bud had no contacts in the State Department; in fact, he possessed nothing except a desperate single-minded focus on getting his wife into the States. Arriving at Union Station, he asked the taxi driver to take him to the State Department, which was then located in the old Executive Office Building next to the White House. “I went up the steps and turned right, and the first sign I saw on a door was Assistant Secretary of State for Far Eastern Affairs.” Bud thought that title was close enough and opened the door. The secretary said, ‘What can I do for you?’ I said, ‘I need to see F. Everett Drumright.’ His name was on the nametag.”
The secretary ushered Bud into the office. He was a lieutenant in uniform and mistakenly assumed he was one of many navy messengers who came to the office daily. Here is Bud’s account of what happened next:
He looked at me and said, “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to get my wife liberated from China.”
“Well, tell me about it.”
“Well, I am married to this woman who is a French citizen, and who isn’t able to be admitted.”
“You know, we’ve got a law that we’ve got to obey, and she can’t come in for a couple of years.”
I pointed out to him, and said, “No, that group right over there, the U.S. Congress, passed a law December 28 authorizing the wives of servicemen to come in immediately.”
He said, “We have no information of that.”
I handed him a copy of the New York Times article.
He said, “Lieutenant, I’ll of course be happy to at least check, but if this story is accurate, I guarantee you we’ll put a message in a pouch going out to Shanghai.”10
Less than a week later, Drumright cabled Bud, who was by then back aboard the Saufley: “With reference to our recent conversation, I am happy to notify you that the following telegram dated February 17, 1946 has been received from Consul General Josselyn in Shanghai for transmittal to you. ‘Not necessary to file affidavits. Your wife sailing on Navy transport SS General Scott leaving approximately March 1.’ ”11
As the General Scott pulled away from Shanghai harbor, the band started playing American songs, and the soldiers on board were happy to be going home. Mouza was happy for them, but inside she was torn with regret and sadness. “And so little by little, very, very slowly the ship started moving away from the land and it is getting further and further and further. And suddenly they start to play the song ‘America.’ And of course they try to throw their hats, ‘We’re going home! We’re going home!’ ”12 But for Mouza, Harbin was home and with that came the realization that her father was alone and she might never see him again.
In Charleston, Bud was ecstatic. Robinson shipmate J. M. Reid, Jr., who had attended Bud and Mouza’s wedding in Shanghai, wrote, “And as for Mousa [sic]—please be honest and should there be anything that I might be able to do to help her on her arrival, please feel free to say so—because that is the way I would like it. Maybe there is something we could do or someone to see to help speed things up—I would be elated to help in any way.”13
On March 11, 1946, Saralee received a cablegram from Shanghai. “Arriving Seattle March 21st on SS General Scott—Mouza.” Saralee was frantic because the ship was diverted from San Francisco to Seattle. Bud, who was in Charleston with his destroyer, had orchestrated arrangements so that Saralee would meet Mouza in San Francisco, but neglected to tell his wife about these arrangements. “Please notify me what to do,” wrote Saralee. “I can’t possibly be there to meet her but could get the Red Cross or Navy League to meet her. But what then? Do you want her sent east—if so where? Does she have money?”14
The actual voyage was a harrowing experience for Mouza. The ship encountered several typhoons, and she was placed in sick bay, where nurses could provide support. When the ship was diverted to Seattle, several of the well-meaning soldiers on board the General Scott worried how Mouza would fare once she was off the ship. She had no idea where San Francisco was in relation to Seattle but assured the soldiers that they need not be worried because Bud would be there for her. One beneficial aspect of the trip was that Mouza befriended a German woman who had married a marine. She spoke English quite well and tutored Mouza throughout the trip.
Fortunately for Bud, he had received news of the ship’s diversion and arranged for his stepsister Irene and a few family members to greet Mouza. The only problem was that Bud had never told Mouza that he had family in Seattle. Irene was a new stepsister with a different last name than Zumwalt. Mouza did not believe they were family, even suspecting they were the police, until Irene was able to show family photos from Bud’s earlier visit, omitting the photos with Jane.
In a heartfelt letter to Mouza written just a few days before her arrival, Doc Elmo sought to reassure his new daughter-in-law. “We know that you are due to land in America within the next few days and will be met by Irene as the first family contact in this foreign land. Knowing Irene well, we are sure your welcome will be a happy one and that she will initiate the first steps needed to get you on your way to Bud, now on the far east coast. Please accept this letter as a greeting and as our rather long distance manner of saying ‘welcome to these United States.’ We sincerely hope you will find this, your new home, cordial, friendly and happy. We trust that the customs, mannerisms and language, will not prove difficult. We are sure that any of us would feel a bit lonely, going to another country and no doubt at the moment, you too, feel just a bit lonely.”15
The next day, Saralee wrote that Mouza “must feel lost in this strange new country and its likewise people. I should be petrified if I were her.” Saralee wanted her brother to kn
ow that “I do want this marriage to turn out right for you after all your unhappiness.”16
Mouza’s first days in Seattle were spent getting oriented to the customs of her new country.17 She then flew to Charleston, where Bud was stationed for mothballing the Saufley. Mouza’s arrival could not have been timed better. Bud essentially had three months’ shore duty, which enabled him to show Mouza how to do many of the things needed to run a household in preparation for his next extended deployment.18 With the decommissioning of the Saufley complete, Bud’s next orders were sending him to serve as executive officer on the USS Zellars.
One of the first family members to meet Mouza was Bud’s brother Jim. Still in uniform, Jim hitchhiked from the U.S. Marine Corps base in Cherry Point, North Carolina, to their modest rental in Charleston. When Jim got there, Bud was still on his destroyer and not expected back until dinnertime. Mouza was still quite reluctant to speak English, so whenever Jim asked a question, she would offer a timid da or nyet in reply. The icebreaker came when Mouza offered to make tea. Jim discovered that no one on earth made tea like Mouza, a secret learned from her Russian ancestors.19
Just before the baby was to be born, Mouza flew to Tulare, where she would be under Doc Elmo’s care. On July 14, Bud wrote his “darling Mouzatchka by the time you receive this maybe we will have the baby. I hope so darling. I know everything will be all right.”20 The next day, Doris wrote Bud that “Mouza is fine but also getting very tired which is to be expected. Everything is ready for the event—even to a bathinette [sic] which is being loaned to her by a girl in Officers’ Wives Club. . . . We will let you know when things happen here.”21 Three days later, Elmo joined the choir, writing Bud that “we are glad to be serving Mouza and shall try to see her safe and courageously threw [sic] her delivery. . . . She is a lovely girl and we shall inform you by telegram of the delivery.”22 A week later an impatient Bud wanted to know “when will the baby come, Mouzatchka? How many more days must we wait to know? I am very nervous and very excited . . . I love you so very much. Sometimes it seems that I will die without you. It is very hard to be so far away from you.”23 The next evening, Bud called Mouza to celebrate their nine-month anniversary.24
Elmo was born on July 30, 1946, at a hospital just three blocks from the family’s Sycamore Avenue home. A telegram was sent immediately to Bud, who was now aboard the Zellars: “Mouza presents your son. Seven PM tonight. Nine and Half. All OK. Doris and Dad.” The arrival resulted in an unusual and certainly unique birth certificate: child, Elmo Russell Zumwalt III; father, Elmo Russell Zumwalt, Jr.; delivering physician, Elmo Russell Zumwalt.
In a letter to his brother, Jim noted that “my first impression of him was that he was rather ugly. He had a long funny shaped head, and his cheeks were so fat that it was difficult to see his mouth or chin. This made him look something on the order of a mole. Don’t be alarmed tho [sic] Bud, as his looks have improved remarkably already.”25
Bud had secured a three-day pass to be with Mouza and the baby in Tulare. The delivery was normal and the plan was for Bud to return to duty in Charleston while Mouza rested for the next month in Tulare. Coincidentally, in June of that year, Bud’s brother Jim returned to Tulare, having been discharged from his military obligations. Jim was planning to “live it up” with old high school friends until the beginning of semester at Berkeley. A day after Bud returned to his ship, Mouza became seriously ill, with a fever of 106 degrees. Both Doc Elmo and his medical partner worried that she might not survive, suspecting some type of virus contracted in Shanghai that had been triggered by Elmo’s birth.
Jim volunteered to take over the baby duties, because by this time Doris was showing signs of instability. “Abandoning my carefree life of socializing, I assumed the responsibility. I became adept in preparing formula—altering the mix as Elmo slowly gained weight; washing and sterilizing bottles; laundering, ironing and folding diapers; and pinning diapers on a wiggling body that seemed intent on thwarting my best efforts. At night I kept Elmo in a crib close to my bed.” Jim was baby Elmo’s primary caregiver for several weeks. As Mouza slowly regained her strength, she and Jim would walk the baby stroller along the avenue of the sycamores.
By late August, Mouza had regained some of her strength, but Jim needed to be back on campus for the start of classes. Jim would not leave Mouza and the new baby with Doris, whose drinking and temper tantrums were already wreaking havoc in the once tranquil Zumwalt home. Doris had banned Saralee from the Sycamore home, and Jim “was almost completely cut off from dad.”26 Elmo sided with his wife, making things difficult for the siblings. Bud would soon be referring to Doris as the “wicked stepmother.”27
Bud’s new quarters in Charleston were not yet ready, so some type of arrangement needed to be made. Jim drove Mouza and baby Elmo to Dos Palos, placing them in the care of Saralee for the final two weeks of Mouza’s recovery.28 Saying good-bye to Elmo was traumatic for Jim. “Having been his sole parent during his first month of life, I regarded him more than just a nephew and Godson. He had become ‘my baby’ and for him I felt an affinity that few uncles have ever known.”29 Elmo felt the same way. A day prior to his own death in 1987, Elmo dictated a note to his Uncle Jim and Aunt Gretli, “who between them, nurtured me at birth and in terminal circumstances, with love and appreciation for their lifelong support.”30
Mouza and Elmo then flew to Charleston, where they would have only a brief time together before Bud deployed. When Bud left Mouza for the first time in Shanghai, his new bride was pregnant. This time he was leaving her with a new baby in a new country with few friends. Moreover, he worried incessantly about a relapse of the mysterious infection. In the first two years of their marriage, they would move twelve times. “We always lived in furnished places. Mouza had one suitcase for the baby’s things. I put the baby carriage on the ship when we moved. She’d fly with two suitcases, one for her things, and we’d rent a place wherever the ship had been ordered, and we’d pull a drawer out of the chest of drawers for the baby to sleep in, and that’s the way we lived for two years.”31
While at sea, Bud received a series of letters from Jim observing that “Mouza seems very lonely.” Jim asked, “What are your plans? Are you getting out of the navy or not? Dad is very worried as he fears that you will experience serious financial difficulties if you get out. . . . Whatever you do, make Mouza happy, Bud. If you can do that you shall be successful from now on.”32 Several months later, Jim wrote, “I feel terribly sorry for Mouza as her letters sound lonely again.”33
All of this led Bud to again give serious thought to leaving the navy and pursuing his dream of a career in medicine. “I found myself longing to go to medical school and follow in the footsteps of my parents and perhaps enter into my father’s medical firm.”34 Bud had been accepted by the University of California Medical School, but Doc Elmo was still pushing Bud hard toward a career in the navy. Former Robinson shipmate J. M. Reid, Jr., had recently visited Elmo and Doris in Tulare. In a letter to Bud about his “unsettled future,” he explained that Doc Elmo “still felt your best bet was the Navy. That if you took a fling at law or medicine that you might find it rather tough financially with the wife and baby, while going to school. Also, that you could be retired at age of 41 with a fair pension. Altho’ I know how you feel I am rather inclined to agree with him in certain respects, especially at the present time. . . . I know how tough it is being away from Mousa [sic] and the boy, but if you could get shore duty for a time and could wait until things straighten out, I really feel that you would be far better off.”35
Service aboard the Zellars was the most difficult in Bud’s naval career. “We were in the midst of Secretary of Defense Louis Johnson’s economy era when supplies and spare parts were so badly curtailed that it was extremely difficult to keep the ships operating.”36 Navy personnel were being released as a cost-saving measure, and there was a great gap in experience at all levels. Ships would often steam for eight hours and then drift or anchor so that people
on board could sleep. Bud’s skipper on the Zellars was his former instructor at the academy, Commander L. S. Kintberger, who let him run the ship, so Bud was able to gain valuable experience in readiness, maintenance, and personnel, but his thoughts were on exploring new career opportunities.37 Just prior to a lengthy deployment in the Mediterranean, Bud submitted his letter of resignation to Captain Kintberger, who wisely kept it in his desk drawer for several weeks.
One intriguing possibility for Bud was the Honour School of Modern History at Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar. In August 1946, Bud learned that a special selection board of officers had deemed him qualified to compete for a Rhodes Scholarship. He was ordered to appear before both state and district committees and to complete the application forthwith.38 By September 1946, Naval Academy Superintendent Vice Admiral Aubrey W. Fitch nominated Bud for the prestigious scholarship.39 Writing his application aboard the Zellars, Bud addressed the need for “international cooperation, and amity must be based on understanding.” In his statement of intellectual interests, the candidate emphasized “my experience in South America, Malaya, and with a cross-section of troubled China have convinced me that the well-prepared American can do more for the pursuit of peace by a life’s work in international affairs than in any other field of endeavor.”40
Captain Kintberger’s letter of support for the Rhodes Scholarship lauded Bud’s leadership on the Zellars during the period of demobilization. “His task has been the difficult one of maintaining a maximum of organization, training and material readiness during the period of demobilization. His performance has been far above the average for his experience. His personnel policies have been wisely and impartially carried out; morale has improved; an esprit-de-corps has been developed. In my estimation he has a full measure of the ‘qualities of manhood, truth, courage, devotion to duty, sympathy for and protection of the weak, kindliness, unselfishness and fellowship.’ The candidate’s academic and war record indicate to me that he has promise of outstanding achievement in later life.”