Every sport-minded Navy officer in Honolulu knew about “Chug-Chug” Williams. For three years the star of the Navy submarine base team, he was a big, wide-shouldered outfielder, who batted lefthanded, whaled the ball at a .350 clip in the cleanup spot. Last year, he helped his team win the island championship. When the team was all set to leave for San Diego to compete for the Navy championship, Chug-Chug refused to go. A chief petty officer got suspicious. Two days later, Chug-Chug surrendered. He admitted he was Seaman First Class Louis B. Williams, sought for three years as a deserter.
Seaman Williams had volunteered for submarine duty. In 1944 he made one patrol out of Oahu in the U.S.S. Sargo, then was beached as “temperamentally unqualified.” Said he of sub duty: “I just couldn’t learn the machinery.”
Seaman Williams was hazy about what happened next. He never reported back to the submarine base for duty, but he never left it, either.
He wandered around idly, fell into chow lines for his meals, slept in one barracks after another. “One day I saw some men throwing a baseball around,” he said, “so I joined them because I always liked to play ball. After a while, I was on the baseball team.”
As Chug-Chug, the cleanup man, Williams stayed in full public view while skirting the intricate web of Navy bureaucracy. He never drew a paycheck. He made enough money for shaving gear and an occasional movie by setting up pins in the bowling alley. Sometimes, he gave a helping hand to a buddy who worked in a supply center across from the base stacking goods.
A court-martial reduced the charge against 25-year-old Sailor Williams from desertion to unauthorized absence, on the testimony of Navy doctors that he suffered from “psychiatric amnesia.” Then they sentenced him to three years in prison, remitted the sentence, gave him a bad-conduct discharge, and packed him off to San Francisco’s Treasure Island to await final action. There last week he learned that Secretary of the Navy Francis Matthews had set aside the court’s sentence. The Navy ushered Williams back into civilian life.
He was a little bewildered but happy. “All I live for is baseball,” said Chug-Chug Williams.
More Must-Reads from TIME
- Introducing the 2024 TIME100 Next
- Sabrina Carpenter Has Waited Her Whole Life for This
- What Lies Ahead for the Middle East
- Why It's So Hard to Quit Vaping
- Jeremy Strong on Taking a Risk With a New Film About Trump
- Our Guide to Voting in the 2024 Election
- The 10 Races That Will Determine Control of the Senate
- Column: How My Shame Became My Strength
Contact us at letters@time.com