By: Frederick G. Hoyt, NCVA First impressions of Arguello could be very negative if you arrived in bad weather on the daily mail train. As you staggered down the road to the distant station out on the long narrow point blasted by a hard cold wind and driving rain, it could seem like land's end for sure, par­ticularly if you had unwisely stowed your pea coat in the sea bag. Or you might be greeted by a dense cold fog (especially in summer) so that the station was invisible from Southern Pacific's Arlight stop. Then you would begin to understand the evil reputation of this graveyard of the Pacific, especially if the giant foghorn shook your shivering timbers with its melancholy blast. If possible it was preferable to come by car via Lompoc. Then the old hands could welcome you aboard by the galley door in the main building as this was somewhat sheltered from the nasty winds. The main entrance faced the foul-tempered "Pacific" Ocean and consequently it was little used except for ceremonial visits. Yet that devilish Arguello disposition could turn an­gelic for weeks at a time, especially in the spring and fall. Then an endless calm sea, beautiful blue skies with scat­tered white clouds, and the rolling oak-covered hills for a background created an idyllic scene. From the barracks roof one had a stunning vista from Point Sal to the north to Point Conception in the south. Except for a few wheeling sea gulls and some sunning seals on the rocks below, there was little evidence of life. It was a maritime paradise with the only visible evidence of man's folly being the rusting hulks of seven flush-deck, four-piper tin cans to the north on Honda Point which gave mute warning to anyone who had the temerity to challenge this sea during foggy weather. The only appropriate back­ground music for such a ravishing panorama would have been the slow movement from a Haydn or Mozart sym­phony. RADIO NAVY NPK APPEARS Radio Navy Point Arguello (call sign NPK) began to function in 1919 as a combination navigational direction finder station (radio compass station) and a "coastal radio traffic station" (whatever that meant). In 1922 the DF operation was relocated to a new site near the eastern boundary of the Point Arguello Lighthouse Reservation (two previous sites had proved unsatisfactory) and the traffic function was terminated. The initial DF equipment was apparently a Model DK which was replaced in 1937 by a Model DP IFDF unit. Station personnel consisted of one chief and four radiomen. Beginning in 1938 Arguello was listed as a Strategic HFDF station with training as its primary role; but it would be years before it would become operational. There followed years of feasibility studies, site selection testing, and extensive correspondence between COMl 1, CNO, and the Coast Guard. All of this finally eventuated in a February 1941 lease from the Sudden Ranch Estate of six acres of land about a mile from the barracks, together with necessary right-of-way for 50 to 99 years at $1000 per year. But haggling and delays continued so that final authorization for HFDF operations at Point Arguello was not granted until 12 December 1941. By 25 August 1942 Arguello (letter "Z" designator) was part of the West Coast Direction Finder Net, transmitting intercepts to Bainbridge via the control teletype circuit. Equipment was a Model DT HFDF unit. Personnel shortages initially forced a three-man, three-section watch with one super­visor-IFDF search, one HFDF operator, and one IFDF operator in the old facility near the barracks which guarded 500 KHZ By December, 12 radiomen were on board so that a four-section watch was instituted. Arguello's value as an HFDF station continued to be questioned and on 30 June 1943 the lease with the Suden den Estate was terminated and no further HFDF operations were to be conducted thereafter. Operations actually ceased on 18 June when the HFDF station at Point Arguello was decommissioned. The next day Naval Radio Station Goleta (just north of Santa Barbara) replaced Arguello on the West Coast Direction Finder Net using the old "Z" letter designator. The IFDF shack and a support facilities were transferred to the Coast Guard. Alter WWlI Point Arguello became part of the Vandenberg Air Force Base for launching missiles from the West Coast. if it appears in the news now, it is for this activity rather than for providing DF bearings. There is also an occasional news story about off-shore oil drill mg projects that have enraged environmentalists. (NOTE: This historical sketch has been drawn PRINCIPALLY from document SRH-297, "US Naval HFDF Station, Point Arguello, California." The original was pre pared by the Naval Security Group (NSG) and placed ii the NSG Repository, Crane, Indiana. It was dated 2 May 1980. The copy utilized here is the property of the U.S. Naval Cryptologic Veterans Association). THE GRAVEYARD OF THE PACIFIC That stretch of rugged Pacific Coast centered on Point Arguello fully earned its designation as the Graveyard of the Pacific. Its evil reputation among mariners justified the development of navigational aids at Point Arguello and at Point Conception just to the south where the coastline makes a sharp turn eastward. Anyone stationed at Point Arguello could reasonably dream of finding rich wreckage from the YANKEE BLADE washed ashore after a storm since the 1767 ton sidewheel steamer went down at Arguello in 1854 loaded with gold carried aboard at San Francisco by passengers who had struck it rich in the gold fields. But no wreckage ever appeared while I was stationed there in 1941 and 1942. However, impressive wreckage was clearly visible at low tide just a few miles northeast of the station at Point Padernales (also called Honda Point). Easily seen from our galley windows on the nearby rocky point were the sad remnants of seven USN destroyers, now just useless rusting junk, that had run aground on the foggy night of 8 September in 1923. The USN Radio Compass Station at Point Arguello (NPK) was heavily involved in the tragic loss of these seven new flush-deck four-piper tin cans and the subsequent trials. Station oral history (or mythology) made heroes of the radiomen and especially the chief in charge. It was fasci­nating to read the old station log about this worst peace­fime USN disaster which also cost the lives of 23 sailors. No memorial was erected in their honor since the Navy desperately wanted to have the public forget this inexcus­able debacle. An exhibit concerning this catastrophe has been prepared at the Lompoc museum (the old Carnegie library) and several books about the wreck are for sale. The Coast Guard operated the light at Arguello, a radio beacon (which caused serious radio interference), and a powerful diaphone (foghorn). When the fog blotted out the light on a specific offshore marker buoy, the horn was turned on. Since this area is often fogged in, the ground-shaking blast of the foghorn with its two disfinct tones and its precisely timed pattern (which made it identifi­able far out to sea) was often on for hours or even days at a time. The old hands watched new arrivals with ill-concealed pleasure when the horn was first turned on, usually at night. Most spectacular were the flying leaps from top bunks when a sacked-out sailor lit running to escape what he assumed was a Japanese bombardment. Surprisingly we rather quickly became used to the mes­merizing blast. Then when the diaphone was shut off after a lengthy run you were shocked to experience a sudden loss in your life as if an old friend had suddenly disappeared. Often startled sleepers would jump up de­manding to know what had happened. At such times the unearthly stillness would be truly shattering. The Coast Guard complex also housed the tiny Arlight, California, U.S. post office which was open briefly before and after the mail train's daily stop. The pleasant and helpful postmistress was the wife of one of the light keepers. When I later heard that one of the light keepers had been accidentally killed in late November 1941 I hoped that it had not been this friendly lady's husband. Showing visitors around the facility, he had casually waved toward high voltage lines. He was killed instantly when a finger accidentally made contact. Life for the Coast Guardsmen at Arguello was quite relaxed as there was seldom a ship in sight since they stayed well off shore even in good weather. Occasionally there were small fishing vessels up from Santa Barbara. And regularly an old lumber steamer labored past Point Arguello on its run, close in shore. Belching enough smoke to be seen half way to Wahiawa, it obviouslv as­sumed that the enemy would not consider it worth a tor­pedo or even a few shells from a deck gun. But the Nips grew desperate after failing to bag larger prey and sur­faced to sink the lumbering lumber boat with a few cheap shells from its deck gun. There ensued a dramatic chase southward as the lumbering freighter took evasive action like a sea-going turtle, inadvertently laid down a heavy smoke screen as the last RPMs were forced out of her engine, and desperately radioed SSS for help that never came. The sub broke off action after wasting a number of shells that were not even near misses. It made a very dramatic scene from ashore and led to much speculation about the content of the sub's combat report that night back to Kwajalein. This undated incident was not reported by the Lompoc paper (I heard it later from a radioman at Point Arguello) but an attack on the Standard Oil tanker H.M. STOREY on 22 December 1941 made dramatic headlines: TANKER ESCAPES SUB ATTACK OFF POINT AR-AR JAP SUBMARINES HARRY PACIFIC COAST SHIPPING." (Lompoc Record, 26 December 1941). Two miles off shore in broad daylight the tanker out of Los Angeles was attacked by three torpedoes and then by the sub's deck gun. She escaped by a combination of incredibly poor marksmanship and by laying down a smoke screen. Two Lompoc residents reported the event. The Coast Guard also confirmed it but the USN radio station at Point Arguello was not mentioned. Navy planes came later and dropped depth charges with no perceivable effect on the sub. STATION FACILITIES When I reported to Arguello in early 1941 it was not a very impressive facility. There was the standard small radio compass shack for guarding 500 KHZ and provid­ing hearings to ships on 375 KHZ. There was also some basic equipment for gathering weather data to be transmitted to Point Loma (NPL) every eight hours. Since radio compass hearing service had been discontin­ued before I arrived, there was not much to do except guard the usually deadly silent international distress fre­quency. Further down the point a few more buildings completed the complex: living quarters for the crew (barracks, mess hall, galley, office, dispensary, recreation area, and emergency generator room--all in one building); a duplex for the chief-in-charge and one married radioman; and a few small outlying buildings (fire equipment, paint locker, water softener, salt storage, and a garage. After WWII got under way a six acre plot of land a mile inland was leased from the Sudden Ranch for a HFDF installation. The only associated building was a small one-holer out-house "head". Power, telephone, and leletype lines were run up to the shack underground. A wing was added to the main barracks building for added living space; otherwise there was little change to the sta­tion. The station complement was increased to properly man the new facility up to a high of 15 radiomen plus an officer-in-charge. Communication between major facilities was by a rather primitive hand-cranked telephone with different numbers of "rings" for each building. But between the BX and the radio compass shack there was an old land line with keys and sounders ("clackers") which delighted the radio types. It apparently also spared the chief from When the HFDF building was quickly erected about a mile inland from the original station someone neglected to inform the Army which by then was operating regular patrols along the coast. One night one of these motorized units spotted the flash of light when someone used our outdoor head. They swiftly moved in on this strange fa­cility which was not marked on their detailed maps. The first warning we had was a stern command to open up as we were surrounded. The light from our quickly opened door revealed a sobering sight; a jeep-mounted machine gun and two prone riflemen had us well covered. Fortu­nately they were on "our side" and their trigger fingers were steady. But immediately after their departure I reported the incident to the officer in charge by telephone and implored him to get us placed quickly on the proper Army maps. PERSONNEL When I first reported to Arguello, it was manned by regular navy personnel including one RM1 Fleet Reserv­ist, an RMC (Knudsen), three other RMls, a Pharmacist Mate, a Motor Machinist Mate, and a cook first class. Knudsen was not at all pleased with being sent three in-experienced reservists to replace his regular navy opera­tors except for the marginal Fleet Reservist who occupied the other married quarters with his wife. One RMl had already departed when I came on board, so the station had been short-handed for some time. The other RMls (Nicholas and Fletcher) drove away in sporty Ford V8 convertibles bought with money they had saved during their extended sea duty (scuttlebutt had it that their pay had been supplemented by judicious loans to over-extended shipmates). Nicholas later returned to Ar­guello and Fletcher found himself involved with the Pa­cific HFDF) net. Nolan the cook certainly had light duty with everyone going ashore whenever possible. He and his wife lived in a spartanly-furnished farm house rented from the Sudden Ranch. Located in an isolated valley a few miles from the station . It delighted their shared love of nature as a variety of wildlife literally lived in their front yard. The motor machinist had limited duties maintaining the two station vehicles (pickup and station wagon), the fire fighting equipment, the water supply system, and the emergency generators. His principal duty was operating the large water softening system; necessitated by the incredibly hard local water. The Pharmacist Mate had little call for his professional skills so his main work was assisting the Chief with the mail, records, AND various other clerical duties I regret that I can't recall the name of the first one I knew at Ar­guello, but he was a real credit to both the Navy and the human race. His rnany kindnesses to me and his assis­tance to a callow reservist I can never forget. Chief Knudsen found the reservists generally an undeserved burden which he was forced to bear by an uncar­ing DCO. He was rid of me first, undoubtedly his prime choice for transfer, but in a manner which surely neither of us anticipated. I vividly recall his meeting me at the galley steps when I staggered in from the midwatch with the word that Chief Hoxie would be arriving shortly from Imperial Beach with my orders to proceed with him to a strange island in Puget Sound. Neither Bainbridge Island or Kana school meant anything to me, but chief Knudsen generously congratulated me on my very good fortune and explained that he had twice failed in his attempts to make this strange school. The hardships of a naval ca­reer for families struck me later when I heard that he had been sent to sea on a tin can after moving his wife and son out of chiefs quarters. With wartirne expansion many more radiomen were assigned to Arguello, both regulars and reservists. Nicholas had the good fortune to be reassigned there; his fiancee lived in Santa Barbara and he had regular vocal lessons there. None of us ever heard him in concert but his constant practicing demonstrated that he had unusual talents and tremendous volume. Johnny Gross, B. Dunn, Lloyd Stearns ("Sterno"), Hansel Hill ("Hans"), Bill Bullman ("Bullyman") and Al Russell come readily to mind. RMl Simpkins had been mercifully returned to the Fleet Reserve when I came back to Arguello in 1942. "Si" had a bad case of the shakes and found it increas­ingly difficult to operate his beautiful "bug" even though it was propped up with several lead blocks. When I re­lieved him he was often embarrassed to have to ask me to clear his traffic with Point Loma (NPL). To be asked by net control to relieve yourself for a competent operator was obviously extremely disquieting to a veteran USN radioman. I quickly decided to come on watch early and do his transmitting as if it were a routine matter. He seemed quite appreciative. Chief Knudsen was relieved by RMC Colin W. McLean USFR as RINC in December 1941; RMC (later RE) L.L. Nicholson USN relieved him in April 1942; CRE D.A. Chauncey USN in turn relieved him on 1 February 1943 Our station Chiropractor made up a remarkable liberty party with our Indian cook. Doe did the driving and provided professional support for Cookie in the long stagger from station wagon to bunk. When I first saw this apparition I was convinced I was witnessing my first casualty of WWII and that not even massive doses of APC pills could bring Cookie back to consciousness. But Doe reassured us that the prognosis was favorable. Sure enough he was up fixing breakfast next morning. The identities of our motor machinists have escaped me except for Doyle. He lived with his wife in a small trailer just off the station. How they managed without any plumbing or heating facilities boggles the mind. RECREATION On an isolated station there was a critical need for recreation, but there was surprisingly little time for it after standing watches, sleeping, eating, writing letters, studying USN materials for promotion, taking care of cleaning stations, working parties, and washing clothes (in a bucket using a plumber's friend--it worked surprisingly well!) Over the years the station recreation fund had been wisely spent. At the center of the rec room stood a sturdy regulation-size pool table with all the necessary accessories. As the old saying has it, the surest sign of a misspent youth (or, it might be added, extended duty at Arguello) is proficiency at pool. Our inflated pool-egos were always quickly deflated when we got over confident and challenged Sterno. What he could do with a cue and those balls was amazing. It was fun to set up one of the coasties from the nearby lifeboat station and have him issue a challenge to Sterno. It was like the old proverbial taking of candy from babies. Our only compensation was to cover the pool table with plyboard and challenge Sterno to a game of ping pong. The noise from these games interfered with sleep in adjoining bunking areas so reasonable use hours were honored. There was always peace and quiet for reading books and magazines or the weekly issue of the Lompoc Record. There was little national or international news in this paper and most of the local news was about strangers to us. I can't recall that the station or any of its personnel ever got mentioned in it. The recreation equipment included a beautiful 12 gauge Remington shotgun, a 270 Savage Sporter rifle, and fishing gear. There were also tire irons for use in "harvesting" abalones at low tide in nearby rocky coves. Hans was a master at finding these mollusks and insert­ing a tire iron quickly before they could clamp down on the rock. Unless they were properly prepared it was like eating a hunk of gristle. Hans knew the recipe: slice thinly (after cutting at just the right spot to loosen them from the colorful shell), pound between two boards until very thin, coat with batter, and fry quickly. This made for great variety on the mess and more savings at the end of the month. Fishing off the point was great sport but not very pro­ductive for most of us. Simpkins was the most consistent and successful at this but his catch (rock bass is all I can recall) went home with him to married quarter. Local game included dove, quail, and cottontail rabbits. I don't recall that the shotgun ever put any of these elu­sive delicacies on our table. I regret to report that an oc­casional sea gull got bagged on the wing (but roast sea gull fortunately never appeared on the menu to vary the chili). That beautiful Savage Sporter was a marvelous rifle. We had to supply our own ammunition for it and when I got to Lompoc's only hardware, all that was left was what the clerk called elephant ammunition (Winchester superspeed, 170 grains, boat tail, soft point). They cer­tainly supplied an impressive bang and a heavy kick when fired. But I didn't understand what the clerk meant about this cartridge being too heavy a load until I went hunting with it. Bobcats were an elusive target that seldom came out during the day. I spotted it in broad daylight busily en­gaged in pouncing on mice on a hillside some 150 yards away. Kneeling for steadiness, I calculated the distance, aimed for his chest, and slowly squeezed off a round. An impressive explosion and then a great cloud of dust and rocks marked the former residence of Mr. Bobcat. He had apparently escaped to harass mice another day. Bemoan­ing my poor shooting, I slowly walked up the hill to in­spect the damage I had done to the landscape. It was quickly evident that Senor Bobcat had departed Arguello permanently. Then I understood what "elephant load" and "soft point" meant. There were bits of bobcat scat­tered around over the bushes. The only respectable piece I could find to forestall skeptical scoffing from shipmates was his stubby tail. After that I looked at those rounds many times and thought of their effect on Nipponese invaders. There was endless speculation about Japanese commando-style raids along the Pacific Coast and I had bought that ammo with the secondary purpose of adding firepower to the station's limited GI arsenal. What a close range shot in the chest of a human being would do was sobering to think about when I recalled the fate of Mr. Bobcat. That round of course was a dumdum bullet, outlawed by international law as "inhumane" in warfare. I then understood the reason for the law. Later in the South Pacific I saw groups of combat-veteran Marines altering GI ammo in a puzzling manner. With fine jewelers' saw blades they cut off the tip of bullets and then made two intersecting cuts down the bullet. My naive comments about the legality of such alterations was met with definite hostility. When I shifted to safer ground and suggested that it would interfere with their vaunted accuracy as sharpshooters, their prompt response was obscene ridicule. Even a clumsy swabbie, they declared couldn't miss a Japanese at 30 feet with one of those rounds! I again meditated on that Arguello bobcat and was thankful that those Gyrenes were on my side. Coyotes were quite abundant and a challenge to any hunter. I finally spotted one in daylight busily pursuing a rabbit close by in a ravine. Slowly raising the rifle, I slid off the safety; but that did it as the slight click alerted Wile E. Coyote and he was off at top speed with a beautiful display of open-field evasive running that would have earned him a full-ride football scholarship at USC. I emptied the five rounds in the magazine, but they were all near misses, throwing up impressive jets of dirt and rock. After each shot he would reverse course dramatically as I jammed home another round. I had a pretty good story when I got back to the station, but Don Coyote must have had a much more dramatic tale when he got home and cleared the dirt out of his eyes. One evening while on duty at the HFDF shack I heard a pack of coyotes nearby fighting over a cow that had died that day Taking down the shack's sole protection from rnarauding commandos (a venerable 1903 Springfield 30 caliber rifle), I sneaked out to restore order on Uncle Sam's property. The intramural squabble ceased as I got close and several coyotes melted into the bushes. Stand­ing quietly as darkness rapidly increased, I patiently waited for one Of those sly dogs to return for another round of juicy rare Hereford steak. When it was too dark to see the sights I thought I detected two eyes below a pair of ears watching me cautiously from between some bushes. Simply pointing the barrel at where his chest should have been, I squeezed off a round of Uncle Sam's ammo. There was a satisfying explosion, a pleasing ma­cho recoil, and a low moan from the bushes. The bullet had made a neat hole through Not-So-Wily Coyote from stem to stern. When the midwatch relief arrived I loaded him on the back of the pick-up and took him back to the barracks for display. Rather quickly his presence became objectionable so over the side he went into the ocean. Having seen enough old army movies I fully expected to have to give an official account of the missing GI round and pay for it. Apparently the 0-in-C had not seen the proper movies so I escaped those impositions. The coyote pack was not impressed by my night-fighting skills as they soon returned to their interrupted banquet. The next day there was little left but skin, bones and hooves. Hans also found the Arguello coyotes to be madden­ingly elusive. Whenever he got near them with the rifle they went into their disappearing act. Then when he for­got the gun they greeted him with yips and yowls and playful frolics. But he finally managed to gain a measure of revenge for their insolence by bagging two of them. Their tails adorned the radio antenna of his sporty Ford V8. When the GI ammo reached a certain critical age the 0-in-C formally surveyed it out of government service and we were permitted to use it for improving our questionable sharpshooter skills. It was great fun for the crew but hell for all sea gulls, cormorants and seals within sight of the Point. In all honesty, however I can't recall any permanent damage inflicted on any of these crea­tures. Unexpected and truly innovative recreation was provided when a badger was spotted near the HFDF shack. As he dug after a ground squirrel, Hans proposed that we in turn dig out Mr. Badger. Grabbing a shovel from the pick-up, Hans fell to like he was digging a foxhole on Iwo Jima. We worked in relays, but we never got closer than flying badger hind feet kicking sand in our faces. That was undoubtedly all to the good since cornered badgers have a well deserved reputation for unadulterated meanness. There were many beaches in the area but most of them were rocky and treacherous, so swimming was not advis­able. The water was usually bitterly cold and in the sum­mer heavy fog commonly blanketed the area discourag­ing sunbathing. For a station located in the middle of a vast cattle ranch, horseback riding would seem an obvious sport; but I never saw a horse there. To the bitter disappointment of us western movie fans all the local cowboys rode nothing more exciting than a pick-up without any of the expected uniform of chaps, Stetsons or six-shooters. We were too small and isolated to warrant visiting USO troupes or movies. On one memorable occasion Ray Bol­ger brought up a company from Hollywood and put on a great show in the Coast Guard boathouse. Nimble Bolger ~ opened the show dramatically by faking a nasty tumble. "Tripping" over the rails used to haul the lifeboats out of the water, he landed in a tangled heap in front of an ob­viously frightened commanding officer. After moaning loudly for a few moments Bolger leaped up with a big smile and the great show was under way. A statement in the brief official history of Point Argue-llo (SRH-297) is puzzling. In a 21 May 1941 letter from CNO (OP-20G) to BUSHIPS, the Point Arguello site then under consideration for a new HFDF station was declared to be "very isolated and desolate" and "undesirable as regards living facilities, recreation and morale." These criticisms obviously were never given "" great weight by those who made the decision to build on this site. "Isolated" seems a fair term; but "desolate" docs not for country that is rugged but quite scenic. Ingenuity did create adequate recreation, particularly if you liked to read, hunt, fish, or shoot pool. Personally I never thought that morale was anything but good to excellent at Arguello. LIBERTY TOWNS Located about 50 miles north of Santa Barbara on State Highway 1 (turn off 101 at Bueliton) rural Lompoc had a population of only 3379 according to the 1940 census, but this grew dramatically during WWII. When I first saw it in early 1941 it was a sleepy farming town servic­ing extensive cattle country and spectacular fields of flowers grown for seed which led to its claim as the flower seed capital of the world. The only major industry was the mining and processing of extensive deposits of diatomaceous earth. A significant percentage of the workers in the flower seed industry were of Japanese ancestry which caused major complications after Pearl Harbor. The Lompoc Record covered developments in considerable detail. Some one hundred Japanese were classified as "enemy aliens" (non-US citizens) and were forced to obey a dusk to dawn curfew, and to register with the police. 25 of these were eventually arrested by the local police and FBI agents (most of them were prominent in the Japanese colony and two were active as merchants in Lompoc) and later a local Japanese minister was arrested and removed from the area. On 1 May 1942 the newspaper announced "Jap Evacuation Completed Here. More than 100 moved by Army." Prior to this "a large share of the local Japa­nese population left voluntarily," going to the relocation center established at the Tulare County Fairgrounds. Apparently these were US citizens. Only two Japanese-American families returned to Lompoc after WWII. It would be interesting to know the complete details of this unfortunate development. How many were engaged in farming? What happened to their lands and the property of all of them? What was the total number in all categories? How many were returned to Japan at their own request? What was the war record of these and of those who were interned in the USA? Were any of them involved in espionage activities? Scholarly research on such topics is virtually impossible now because all key records are still sealed. The reasons for this cover-up and when they will be opened (if ever) is a closed issue. Lompoc’s major historical claim to fame is nearby Lompoc Mission (La Purisima Concepcion), founded in 1787 as one of the chain of Franciscan missions and military presidios that stretched from San Diego to Sonoma. It is the best restored of all those missions thanks to the work of hundreds of CCC (Civilian Con­servation Corps) men between .1934 and 1941. This California State Historical Park is well worth a leisurely visit. Sunset Magazine calls it "one of those special places in America where history becomes a physical sen­sation." Lompoc would never rate as a great liberty town but it did supply the essentials for the radio station and its personnel. There was a srnall bowling alley, a couple of saloon/pool halls, no decent restaurant that I can recall, and a few miscellaneous stores. There was a small Carnegie public library (it now houses an impressive museum). We could read their magazines and newspapers but I don't remember that we were allowed to check out books. There was an arrange­ment with the Santa Barbara public library which sent us a varied collection of books once a month on the daily SP mail train. There were only a few books in each box so the addicted readers soon ran out of books, re-read some, or read books that they would not normally have touched. I recall being forced to read Sigmund Freud's interpertation of Dreams and a heavy volume on geopolitics. All I can remember from Freud was a firm conclusion that all dreams had bad interpretations, that I should immedi­ately cease dreaming, or that at least I should never again relate any of my dreams, and that psychiatrists should be carelully avoided. Since most of us did not have cars, the usual way to town was with the cook on his weekly expedition in the station's "station wagon" to lay in supplies. There were routine stops at a grocery store, a bakery, sometimes a hardware (our source of ammo and fishing supplies), and a feed store, Smileys for eggs. The Smileys have been retained in my memory all these years because they were always so friendly and congenial. In the same category was an ex-USN pharmacist mate who owned Miller's, the local drug store. There was usually time to do some personal shopping or get a haircut. On the return trip we had to fill up water bottles at a roadside spring. It was operated on the honor system so Cookie just put the proper coins in a container after fill­ing up. It was good drinking water, especially compared to that from the station well which was virtually undrink­able because of its hardness and foul taste. Some supplies were brought in by train and dropped off at Arlight close to the station at an SP siding. A few track workers lived there in converted box cars with ob­viously barely minimal facilities. The impression one got was of a section of Tobacco Road moved westward. Other supplies and equipment had to be picked up at the nearest functioning railroad station at Surf about ten miles north. Only later did I realize that a visit to the depot at Surf (which served the Lompoc area) was a time warp back into the past when railroads were the key transpor­tation system in the United States. Inside the depot the big pot-bellied, coal-burning stove fought off the chilly winds blowing in from the adjacent beach, and the con­stant clatter of the telegraph sounders created the atmos­phere of a movie set for Tom Edison's youth as a railroad telegraph operator. There were occasional liberty parties to Lompoc using the USN station wagon. I have forgotten the rules, but such trips were infrequent and someone had to be desig­nated as the official non-drinking driver for the return trip. Those 20 miles of narrow, winding road were a challenge, especially at night. About half way to the sta­tion a locked gate barred entrance to the Sudden Ranch. So functional liberty required two sets of keys. A little theater operated spasmodically with poor sound and no air conditioning. The latter was particularly no­ticeable when the CCC boys came to town and jammed the cinema. We soon learned what nights they had town liberty and stayed away from Lompoc's only cultural attraction. The CCC was doing a noble enterprise in restor­ing the old mission, but the water supply was obviously not yet adequate to provide regular showers, feet wash­ing, or laundry. Some browsing at the local library revealed that Lom­poc had a fascinating history. But first off, its name must be pronounced correctly: Lom-Poke. The natives were sensitive on this matter and would correct you for a careless "Pock". The original residents of the area where a town was begun in 1374 were Chumash Indians (the local museum has a fine collection of their artifacts and exhibits depict­ing their culture). Vast Spanish and Mexican land grants were developed into cattle ranches during the 18th and 19th centuries. Lompoc was incorporated in 1883 as a "dry" or temperance town. It grew slowly until boom times arrived in 1941 Of course WWII quickly and dramatically altered this quiet little isolated country town as thousands flocked to the Lompoc area when a gigantic armored training facil­ity was developed into Camp Cooke. Rooms and trailers were crowded, a USO was opened, a new bowling alley was built, and a bus terminal sprang up almost overnight. It you wanted out of Arguello on liberty there were two spectacular escape routes. One was by highway from Lompoc to Santa Barbara through beautiful oak covered rolling hills. The impressive bonus on this route was the chance to eat at a fabled truck stop in Bueliton, Pea Soup Andersen's Restaurant. Here one small fee got you all you could eat of their justly famed split pea soup and a variety of bread. The current record for the highest num­ber of bowls of soup consumed at one sitting was promi­nently displayed for your encouragement. Now it is a famous tourist stop of impressive size. Fortunately the quality of the food is still high even though the price has gone up. Or you could grab the daily mail train at Arlight near the radio station. The ride along the Pacific Coast to Santa Barbara on the WWI-vintage train, with lots of stops along the way, covered some of the most spectacu­lar scenery anywhere. You could also make connections for Ventura and Los Angeles. Santa Barbara was a lovely town with all the desirable amenities. From a moderate room in the 'Y" you had a choice of fine dining (some great Mexican restaurants and a superb Swedish smorgasbord) and reasonable en­tertainment. The old Mission is world famous and the public library is a gem. INSPECTIONS Weekly inspections were generally treated quite casu­ally at this small isolated station where surprise inspec­tions were largely prevented by the locked gate some ten miles away. But annual inspections by the 11th ND DCO were a major event compounded of stress and careful preparation. I recall staying up most of the night painting the head before one such inspection. The white enamel was too thick and no paint thinner was available so it had to be applied in little dabs rather than being brushed on. I felt like Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel; but no one in the inspecting party noticed my work of art. The obligatory fire drill for the big inspection found us all well drilled except for one radioman who was a cause for concern because of his pattern of over-reacting and panicking under pressure. Unfortunately he was assigned to the chemical fire extinguisher cart with responsibility for turning the valve to mix acid with alkali and thus create a powerful liquid stream. Repeatedly he was warned to only "simulate" turning the wheel ("Make be­lieve, Mac"; just go through the motions until ordered to really turn it. You get it?”) At the sound of the fire alarm bell we all dashed off to the indicated location of the simulated fire in the paint locker. The hose was deployed, the nozzle 'manned, and Mac supposedly went through the designated motions. But he lost contact with the game and really turned the valve. As the foamy liquid inundated the innocent paint locker, an apoplectic C ordered us to haul the cart out on the point until the irreversible reaction had spent itself As the inspection proceeded, Mac was honored by being ordered to hold the nozzle as the beautiful spray arched out over the Pacific. It seemed to take an eternity to empty that big tank. One inspection Party stopped in front of the salt house and inquired about its contents and function. When asked to have it opened for inspection. the 0-in-C fortunately could not locate the proper key. Sure it contained lots of salt for the water softening operation but also hanging in it were the carcasses of three freshly "harvested" deer. Fresh tender venison made a delightful addition to the menu and a great change from chili. It produced remark­able reductions in our mess bills. Unfortunately, Arguello failed the ultimate big inspec­tion and was retired from active duty before WWII had ended. I don't question the wisdom of the Big Brass in making this decision, but I do regret it personally. If small, remote Navy radio stations can have personality and character, Arguello certainly qualified. She could be mean and nasty and then you hated her passionately; but then there were long days of idyllic beauty when the per­vasive calm and peace of this isolated bit of rugged coast made it impossible to believe that men were killing each other throughout that "Pacific" Ocean. Perhaps it is only the nostalgia of 50 years, but I miss old Radio Navy Point Arguello. She is a "Silent Key" station now--but not for­gotten. To paraphrase a famous statement made by Dan­iel Webster in 1819 before the Supreme Court in refer­ence to Dartmouth College, his alma mater, Arguello may have been a small radio station but there are those who grudgingly learned to love her. -