(Editor's Note: Utter the words 'National Treasure' and images of the Grand Canyon, redwood forests and Sally Field come to mind. To these must also be added ninety-six-year-old Fauntleroy resident Morey Skaret, whose life not only links us with much of our nation's rich heritage; it shines like a sorely needed beacon of hope, humor and humanity in these uncertain times.
This is the twelfth in a series of articles on Morey Skaret, who has devoted much of his life to public service, including thirty-one years-spanning two wars-in the U.S. Coast Guard.)

"When I went in the Coast Guard during World War II," Morey begins, "I was twenty-eight years old. I came in from the police department. They noticed that I was pretty apt in asking men to do different things-lining them up and keeping them in order.

"I studied and worked my way up to be a chief petty officer. Then, of course, I had a whole squad of men, maybe thirty-five or forty. And I had to direct them in what to do and that kind of thing."
Morey's first Coast Guard assignment was in the North Atlantic on a 'sub chaser,' escorting convoys up around Murmansk and into Russia. But the bulk of his service in World War II was in the South Pacific.

No one on earth, it should be noted at this juncture, is separated by more than 'three degrees' from Morey Skaret. I mention to him that I grew up in a part of Shorewood called Fentonwood, for example, and he's found an instant connection:

"Oh, yeah-Everett Fenton lived two doors from me here. He was a captain in the naval reserve. I was way down in New Guinea one time. My cook and my steward told me, 'We're out of vegetables.' I said, 'There's a supply ship.' It was Everett Fenton's. He was a captain-he packed four stripes.

"I blinked over to him and said, 'Captain Skaret says hello.' He blinked, 'Come alongside.' Gosh, did he give me supplies. Celery-two or three cases of celery. You know, we hadn't even seen celery for a long time. . . ."
When World War II was over, Morey was captain of a transport ship "somewhere over in the Orient" when he got a letter from the Coast Guard. "'We are having some difficulties with Korea,' it said. 'We are holding your record in abeyance. Please stay on station until we have this settled. It should be settled shortly. You might have to go back over there.'

"And, sure enough," Morey says, "they started a war with the Koreans. They called me and I went back and I was in the Korean War for three years and two months. Longer than I was in World War II.

"And, hell, MacArthur charged in there like a bull in a china shop," he recalls, "and chased all of the rebels north of the Yangtze River. It was quite a strange thing: here you just got through fighting that World War II.

"We lost a lot of good men over there," Morey laments. "They took the guys that had experience in World War II, you know. Put them in there as kind of squad leaders and unit leaders and division leaders. And some of them made rank like I did, and had command of a ship."

All told, Morey would serve 31 years in the Coast Guard. "I started as a Boot-the very lowest-and when I retired I was Four Stripes, next to Admiral. My next promotion would be Admiral-that's as high as you can go in the military.

"I was a Captain, but I was too old. When you're sixty years old, the military does what they call 'drumming you out.' Ruffles and drums." Morey vibrates his lips into drumbeats, "brrrrump-ump-bump-bump, brrrrrump-ump-bump-bump," providing the sound effects for the military's grand farewell ceremony.

"You know, it's a sad thing, Charlie," he says, shifting gears, "when guys say, 'How come, Morey, you always got people coming here and writing articles and talking to you. How come?' I say, 'I'll tell you how come. There's very few people that live to be ninety-six. They're all dead! I'm the last of the Mohicans, you know.'"
The talk turns to Morey's father, which leads to another chapter in Morey's Coast Guard career. "My dad did some stone masonry, but mostly carpentry," he says. "He was what they call a millwright, and then he got the job at Elliott Bay Mill. A millwright has to know electricity, plumbing, carpentry and-he has to know four trades. And that's what Dad was. He was the foreman for the Elliott Bay Mill. That was a big mill. They ran three shifts a day, with about 300 workers per shift.

"That's where plywood came to the United States," Morey says: "through Elliott Bay Mill-and through me." Something tells me this is going to be quite a story. I settle in, making sure the recorder is running:

"I went to Mindanao to take something down there, to get troops. I rescued a guy in Mindanao that the Japanese had chased down there. That's about five hundred miles south of Manila, where the capital was.
They hid him, in Mindanao. But before the war was over the Japanese captured him, and put him in the prison camp.

"So I came in there, I was captain on this vessel," Morey remembers. "I had quite a lot of authority and freedom. You had to follow their rules, where they wanted you to go. But how fast you went was up to the captain. They give a captain a lot of responsibility. I didn't mind because I was responsible. I was very sincere about my work.

"I went out on the wing of the bridge, three stories up. And I was sitting there on the starboard wing-that's where the captain always sits, see. Nobody sits in his chair. It's a nice, comfortable chair. And you sit there and you smoke, or you can have a drink-I never drank when I was on duty, of course-but I could go down to my cabin and have a drink if I wanted to. I had a lemon oak-everybody drank it. It was a strong drink.

"So my quartermaster was at the gangway. Nobody comes aboard the ship unless they've got business. So he stands there, a very strict guy. He came up and said, 'Permission to talk to the Cap'n.' And my executive officer was there. He said, 'Oh, captain, there's a man to speak to you. He says he's the head of a government department.'"

Next: Escape from Mindanao