Atlantic Crossings
Life’s First Conflict
By 1936, my father’s three-year assignment with the U.S. Embassy in Havana, Cuba was coming to an end. His tour had extended from the violent Machado dictatorship period to the equally brutal reign of Batista.
Two years earlier on January 6, 1935, our family’s first child, Ian (Jock) Lachlan Edgar, was born in Havana. His christening celebration even enticed his paternal great-grandmother, Mary Dixon, to visit Cuba for the event. Despite her advanced age, she traveled from New Jersey to Havana first by train and then by steamship. Back then, scheduled international airline flights were few and far between.
Four generations at Jock’s christening, Havana September 29, 1935. From left: Olive Edgar, Jock, Mary Dixon, Donald Edgar.
By mid-1936, Dad’s new assignment was with the U.S. Legation at Ciudad Trujillo (now Santo Domingo), the Dominican Republic.
In anticipation of my birth the following year, my parents saw fit to return to the United States. On July 1, 1937 I came into this world in Washington, D.C. with my maternal grandmother, Jennie Taylor Comstock (Gran-C), accompanying Mom. The records indicated I was to be named Donald Dixon Edgar, Jr. , after my father.
On hearing of his son’s birth name, Dad wasn’t pleased. Unknown to Mom, he had a strong aversion to sons being named after their fathers. Soon thereafter, my parents agreed on a different name for me: Antony Taylor (Tony) Edgar.
The photograph in Mom’s new passport included both Jock and me. Though my second name, Antony, appeared on her passport, my birth name, Donald, would remain on my birth certificate for more than two decades. Those two names of record were to create numerous identity conflicts.
Early Traveler
From the very beginning and during most of my college, a great deal of time was spent with my parents as they moved around the world. Our family’s journey over the first two decades of my life was anything but ordinary. The uniqueness of our experiences were, in great part, due to the fact my father was assigned to, and therefore most of our family lived in, a number of troubled areas throughout the world as it was falling into disarray.
A number of the global hotspots Dad was assigned to included: Switzerland and the League of Nations from 1937 to 1940 as the Continent was being attacked by Nazi forces. Following World War II, he served as assistant to the U.S. Secretary of State, James F. Byrnes, at the Paris Peace Conference (France) in 1946. Eventually, Dad was assigned to China and Taiwan from late 1947 through 1949 as Mao Zedong’s Communists were taking over mainland China. Following a brief stint in Rome, Italy (1950-1951) and a two-year Naval War College assignment, he headed for Egypt (1953-1955) where colonial rule was beginning to unravel in the face of the East/West’s “Cold War.” There, following the overthrow of its monarchy (King Farouk), an attempt was made on Nasser’s life and its first president (Naguib) was placed under house arrest for life. By 1956, the Suez Crisis nearly evolved into a nuclear confrontation. During 1956-1957, Dad served in Brazil while the country’s democratic government (President Kubitschek) was being toppled by his military. Likewise, there were other sensitive posts Dad was assigned to during his fascinating career.
During the war, Dad had been involved with the formation of the Central Intelligence Group (the precursor to the CIA) and later served as a CIA section chief.
Atlantic Crossings
Transatlantic commercial airline travel was not available in 1937. Prior to sailing for Europe on August 11, 1937, our family stayed at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York. Dad’s mother, Gran-E, also accompanied our family on the SS Manhattan. In Switzerland our family rented Le Chalet des Ormeaux, a handsome house located in the Pregny hills overlooking the city of Geneva and its magnificent lake just beyond.
Already, war was looming in Europe. By late 1938, the Nazis had perpetrated “Kristallnacht” (the “Night of Broken Glass”) directed specifically against Jews in Germany. The Nazis then blitzkrieged Poland in September, 1939. Almost immediately, Britain and France declared war against Germany. While not directly involved in Europe’s growing conflict, a still-neutral America began to encourage its citizens to leave Europe for safety reasons.
The Nazis had invaded the Netherlands, Belgium and Norway in 1940. Shortly following my sister Heather’s birth (March 25, 1940), the massive British evacuation of Dunkirk where tens of thousands of defeated Allied soldiers from the Continent took place. It wasn’t long before France capitulated to Germany.
Though still a center for banking and espionage, Switzerland remained a “neutral” country. For almost three years we lived in a large, handsome house (Le Chalet des Ormeaux) located in the hills (Pregny) overlooking the city of Geneva, and its magnificent lake just beyond.
Le Chalet des Ormeaux, 1937
While Europe continued to suffer, our family lived, played, and worked in the calm, pleasant surroundings.
Dad, me and Jock in Geneva, 1938
Mom and Dad during a ski trip in Villars, Switzerland, c. January 1940
However, after three years in Europe and the recent birth of sister Heather, it was time for the Edgar family to return to America. By June, 1940, France capitulated to Germany. True to form, Dad remained behind until August, 1940, immediately following the start of Hitler’s air “Battle of Britain.”
As France began to be occupied by the Germans, Italy entered the war on the side of the Axis Powers. Around that time it was decided that Mom, Jock, Heather and I, along with our Swiss-German nurse, Bertie, and the two dogs, Jody and Hansi, all would have to leave Europe.
A story has it that our parents had promised American friends (the John Holts(?) of Connecticut) to bring their two sons home from their Swiss boarding school. Holt was then IBM's General Manager of Europe and would become Jock’s godfather. It seems the two American students did, in fact, accompany the Edgar family on that fateful trip across the Atlantic.
The first leg out of Europe was by train from Switzerland in early June, 1940. The trip took us southwesterly across France to Saint-Jean-de-Luz just north of the Spanish border. It seems the five of us paused there for a period of time before heading north to Bordeaux where we boarded the American “SS Washington” bound for New York via Lisbon, Portugal and then Galway, Ireland to its destination, New York.
First Light
I had turned three when my very first childhood memory (life’s “first light”) flashed before me. For just a brief moment as we boarded the SS Washington, I recall nurse, Bertie, carrying me up the gangplank and onto the huge ship.
S.S. Washington, with wartime markings, 1940. (photo courtesy of opensfhistory.org)
By the time we left Europe, Jock and I were bilingual (English and French) and would continue speaking French, on and off, for several more years among ourselves, our parents and Bertie. Over the years Heather loved to tell her own transatlantic story. At five months old, as she tells it, her “home” onboard the Washington was in the cabin’s bathtub, safe from falling out of bed, or being harmed tossed about by the heavy seas.
While personally I do not recall any moments during the ocean trip, a number of events that did take place at sea are well worth recounting.
Fate Was Smiling
The 705 foot 24,000 ton ship was one of America’s finest and fastest ocean liners ever launched. At that time the Washington had been designated a refugee ship and was on its next-to-last return trip from Europe. The ship had two lighted, large American flags prominently displayed on each side of its hull indicating its neutrality in the rapidly-expanding European war. The flags were meant to discourage any chance of the ship being attacked by Axis submarines then plying the Atlantic.
Having departed Portugal and being some 180 miles off its coast, in the early morning hours of June 11th, unexpectedly the Washington received an urgent order via blinker message conveyed through the pre-sunrise gloom. An order “STOP SHIP” was received from a surfaced unidentified submarine. Suddenly, it became clear there was a deadly sea wolf prowling somewhere out in the darkness seeking prey. Then a second flashed “HEAVE TO SHIP” order was followed by the order, “TORPEDO THE SHIP.”
One can only speculate that many of those on board the Washington must have conjured up horrific recollections of the RMS Lusitania sinking by a German U-Boat only 25 years earlier.
Our captain was given ten minutes to prepare for the expected attack. General alarm was sounded throughout the ship. All watertight doors were locked as radio silence was initiated. All passengers, more than a thousand, were awakened and loaded quickly into lifeboats. Confusion and anxiety reigned among the passengers.
Lifeboat of the S.S. Washington being loaded during the event.
Given my mother’s steely resolve, she instructed Bertie to take charge of us three children. We four were loaded into a lifeboat before being lowered to the sea. During this extended crisis, Mom volunteered to help other passengers throughout the ship to get into lifeboats as quickly as possible.
Meanwhile, the captain continued to flash his Morse Code communication to the submarine: “AMERICAN SHIP” and: “WASHINGTON AMERICAN, WASHINGTON, WASHINGTON AMERICAN.” There followed an ominous silence from the submarine thereby extending the incident into an eternity of high anxiety. After an hour of terror among the passengers, the submarine suddenly responded: “THOUGHT YOU WERE ANOTHER SHIP. PLEASE GO ON. GO ON.” Cautiously our ship resumed its original course and speed. At 6:30 a.m. all of the passengers were permitted to leave the lifeboats that had been hanging over the ship’s side. All lifeboats were returned to their davits.
Less than an hour later as the sun was rising, another unidentified submarine surfaced and came into view. It was several miles off our ship’s port beam. Not wanting to endure a further high-risk stand-off, our captain wasted little time in making an immediate decision. Without hesitation he changed the ship’s course heading it directly into the then rising sun and at full speed (21 knots). The surfaced submarine was left dead astern unable to pursue and attack the faster ship. There had been no exchange of messages between the second submarine and the Washington.
The SS Washington’s last stopover before returning home was in Galway, Ireland there to pick up a large contingent, including many Americans, seeking to flee the rapidly expanding European conflict. The overburdened ship, now with almost 1,800 refugees aboard (including some 700 children) arrived in New York on June 21, 1940, to a huge hero’s welcome. In time, the captain, along with his entire crew and a number of passengers, were awarded special medals for their unusual bravery under the very trying conditions they had experienced.
Photo upon our arrival in New York City. From a June 21, 1940 newspaper.. From left: Bertie, Heather, Jock, Mom, me.
Escape From Europe
Later that year it was determined that my father, still in Geneva, should return to Washington D.C. France had already capitulated to Germany. By late that year, in the Pacific Theatre, American intelligence was able to decipher that Japan’s military forces had determined to confront the United States. Global chaos was brewing.
By August, Dad made a decision to drive himself overnight from Geneva heading south through France staying ahead of the advancing Nazi forces and then through northern Spain to Portugal, both neutral countries. There he would connect with a newly introduced Pan American Clipper flying boat with the capacity of 22 passengers. This trans-Atlantic, heavier-than-air, passenger service had been established by Pan American Airways in June of 1939.
As Dad drove his car to the flying boat base in Lisbon, he noted that, in their great haste to depart, many wealthy European refugees had willingly abandoned their expensive cars (Mercedes-Benzes, Rolls Royces, etc.) along the quay not far from the Clipper. In similar fashion, my father likewise must have left his car on the quay -- with the keys still in the ignition.
Pan Am Boeing 314 Clipper Flying Boat (Photo: Library of Congress)
