George Evanick, QM1, 1952-1956

A Recollection of George Evanick from Ted Hobson

George Evanick comes to mind whenever I pass a certain farmhouse that overlooks Highway 101 in central California. And I pass that way often, as this is my regular route when driving south from San Francisco. Interstate 5 in the Valley would be much faster, but I prefer 101 because there are so many places of personal significance to me along the way. Most acquired their significance when ROCHESTER was undergoing major overhauls at the Bay Area’s Mare Island and Hunter’s Point Naval Shipyards. This was early 1950s and Highway 101 my way south when a 72-hr liberty enabled spending at least part of a weekend at home in Ventura, near Los Angeles. (Interstate 5 was then still many years in the future.) At that time 101 included the Main Street of every town along the way--Gonzales, Soledad, King City, Paso Robles and Atascadero, just to name a few. Most of these towns have been bypassed since 101 became a freeway, but in the 1950s all were part of the experience.

The link to George developed during my return to ROCHESTER following a weekend at home in 1953. I had left Ventura about 8 Sunday night and about 6 hours later came to a sputtering stop along a deserted stretch of road between Salinas and Gilroy. My car had overheated after losing water from around faulty freeze-plugs, a chronic problem until then kept under control with routine use of liquid solder. But there was no liquid solder on hand this night, and prospects of obtaining a supply were remote. Water from an irrigation ditch got me started again, but I knew it would run out within a few miles. So I was relieved to come upon a farmhouse a short way down the road, and pulled in to park alongside a barn. The house was completely dark (unsurprising, as it was about 2AM), so I could only leave a note on the dashboard and hope for a kindly farmer with perhaps a family member in the service. Once back on the road, I put out my thumb and was picked up by the first car that came along. A succession of similarly successful pick-ups took me to Vallejo, where I boarded the Mare Island ferry and was on ROCHESTER with 15 minutes to spare before the 8 AM muster.

This is where George became involved. When I gave the guys in N Division a brief recounting of my ordeal, George volunteered to drive me to the farmhouse for my car. I hadn’t mentioned the distance involved, only that it was “south of Oakland”, and while I knew precisely how far it was (75 miles south of Oakland), I figured it wise to remain vague about the details. So the drive I took with George and his wife JoAnne late that afternoon was much longer than either of them had anticipated, and their patience with me was close to expiring when the farmhouse and my car finally came into view. George never let me forget that I owed him one after that episode--and he was absolutely right!