by Jeff Porteous

One of the prime movers behind my lifelong interest in submarines was finding and reading Forest Sterling's wonderful "Wake of the Wahoo" as a kid. Its colorful, action-packed cover art first grabbed my attention when I happened upon it at the corner paperback bookstore sometime in the early '60s. I was hooked--and it became a perennial favorite I read and reread several times while growing up. Over the years, I came to admire Mr. Sterling ("Yeo" to his shipmates) as something of a personal hero: not simply for having fought WWII as a submariner aboard one of the "fightin'est" boats of the fleet (reason enough for a little hero worship!), but even more for having written about those exploits so honestly yet colorfully thereafter; you see, I had grown up interested in writing professionally myself. 

Several years ago, out of an admitted desire to express my admiration and thanks to this gentleman, I tried to track down and contact Mr. Sterling using what seemed good information at the time--supplied rather circuitously by the national WWII Subvets organization. The circumstances of this ultimately failed attempt caused me to conclude that Forest had already passed away, and I deeply regretted not having tried to reach him years before when I might have had a better chance of succeeding.

But then, thanks to another Wahoo fan's contact with this website (and my subsequent notification by Paul Crozier) I learned that Forest J. Sterling was indeed alive and well and living in a Navy retirement home in Gulfport, Mississippi--I was thrilled! Of course, I contacted him immediately by mail . . . and have since enjoyed the occasional phone call or correspondence with my newfound 89-year-old friend.

All of this is well and good. But now imagine my excitement at being able to finally spend time with Forest in person! His current publisher, Rick Cline (who brought out "Wake of the Wahoo"'s reissue last fall and is now handling a second printing after selling out the first) and I traveled together to Phoenix at the end of August to briefly attend the national convention of the U.S. Submarine Veterans of World War II--primarily because we knew Forest was also planning to attend.

It turned out the planets were even better aligned than we'd thought: not only was the gathering a wonderful success overall, but even Phoenix's weather cooperated by abandoning its standard Gobi desert routine in favor of a positively balmy 85°--much to the pleasure of its dumbstruck out-of-state visitors. Obviously, Rick and I appreciated attending various convention celebrations and ceremonies, among them the traditional "Tolling of the Boats," wherein the names of all 52 U.S. subs lost during the war are solemnly read aloud, each accompanied by a single lonely tone from a ship's brass bell; a very moving service. At the final evening's banquet, we even met Admiral "Big Al" Konetzni (the very genial current ComSubPac), and of course, plenty of WWII submariners and their relations--including, for instance, Captain Tyree, Bowfin's (the Pearl Harbor Memorial boat) last skipper during the war; plus the nephew of the late "Fearless Freddie" Warder of Seawolf fame, to name just two. 

But for me, nothing could come close to matching the kick I got out of just sitting around chewing the fat with Wahoo's still quick-witted yet unassuming 
yeoman, Forest Sterling himself. We had beers. And we had "bull sessions" . . . not unlike those, I imagine, which occurred in Wahoo's own messroom as described in his book. And, as a wonderful surprise bonus, we were even joined by Dave Veder, Forest's old lookout counterpart from up on Wahoo's shears. The two had spent many an hour back-to-back in those days, sweeping the seas and skies on opposites sides of the boat while harboring a standing 
competition over who could make it down the bridge hatch first when a dive was called. This, of course, lead to the inevitable present day jokes about who would be first to make it to the door of the bar and grill . . . .

Speaking of which, here's a personal highlight: being parked in a barroom booth, fully entranced as "Yeo" held court describing Wahoo's maneuvers during the surface gun action of her famous Third War Patrol--while sketching out the details on a cocktail napkin! For a devotee of submarine lore, it just doesn't get much better than this!

All too soon the convention concluded and Rick and I found ourselves back at the airport seeing Forest safely aboard his plane, watching it roar off, and marveling, as we boarded our own, at how we'd ever managed to rate such a wonderful weekend in the first place. 

Write those letters to your childhood heroes, friends and neighbors; the ultimate rewards may surprise and fulfill you!