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FLYNN (Continued from page 13)
I PI
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In "The Son of Captain Blood," Sean (below) stars in a
sequel to the film that rocketed Errol (above) to fame.
in
Sean is bitter about his father whom he won't dis
cuss but who keeps slipping into his thoughts and con
versation nevertheless. "If anyone brings up his name,
I'U just get up and walk away!" he told me. "That's all
people want to hear what Errol did. How should I know?
He sired me, that's all. He left Mother a year after I was
born, and although he won visitation rights, he hardly
ever exercised them."
The ghost of his father even drove Sean out of Holly
wood. "Some old drunk invariably would walk up and tell
me what a wonderful guy Dad was. What did I care?"
Sean does admit that his father knew how to get the most
out of life, and he would like to do as well.
HE also HAS inherited his father's lust for adventure.
In 1958, when Fidel Castro still looked like a friend
of the United States, Sean and a pal decided to take part
in the Cuban revolution. The teen-aged boys bought two
guns and a small sailboat and planned to head for Cuba.
"But my friend was drafted, and I was left with two
rifles," he recalled. That was the end of that adventure.
Sean never had many close friends, and he didn't want
many. One of the few is actor George Hamilton, who got
him into pictures when he suggested that Sean be hired
for a few days' work in "Where the Boys Are."
"I got $10 for playing a bit part. I figured that was
a pretty good way to make a living," he says. "Son of
Captain Blood" followed; and since then, he also has co
starred in a Berlin-made film with Jose Ferrer and a
still-unreleased Italian picture.
At this point, Sean doesn't really know what he wants
out of life. He keeps insisting that his career comes second
and that he only wants to make enough money to bum
around the world at his convenience, to keep himself in
girl friends and food, and to buy that sloop and a Maserati
sports car. In short, he wants no responsibility but seeks
to get the most out of life with no strings attached.
Yet the seriousness that keeps creeping into his con
versations, particularly when he discusses his career
plans, belies this indifference. I think there are three con
tradictory images that plague Sean: what the public ex
pects of him, what he thinks he expects of himself, and
what he really hopes to become.
The third seems to he the most encouraging, for it gives
promise that he may outgrow his past and present to be
come a responsible person, off screen and on even though
Sean himself isn't ready to admit such aims as yet.
Pass the Ammunition
(Continued from page 2)
very short time, that's exactly what we were doing.
Many of our men were from small towns where they had
taken part in "bucket brigades" to put out fires or to sand- '
bag a river bank against flood waters. So while the bombs
rained down, the crew of the New Orleans formed a hu
man supply line to pass the antiaircraft ammunition, a
shell at a time, up from storage to the gu i crews.
I walked along the line of men, encouraging them and
praying with them and for them. I felt the excitement and
determination, too, and I knew at this moment that a man
could be a Christian and still fight to resist those who
would take away his freedoms. As these thoughts swept
over me, I was standing beside a small, sweating seaman
who was grunting with exertion, his legs buckling as he
passed the heavy shells up the line. Impulsively, I clapped
him on the shoulder and shouted: "Praise the Lord and
pass the ammunition!"
For the rest of that tragic morning as the Japs pulled
away, then came bick in a second wave the men of the
New Orleans shouted, "Praise the Lord and pass the am
munition!" as they fed shells to our gun crews.
They never faltered, even in our worst moment when
a 500-pound bomb screeched out of the sky and landed
with a thunderous splash just 50 yards away from our
bow and even closer to a tanker loaded with gasoline.
But miraculously, the bomb didn't go off.
Before the second wave of Japanese planes disappeared,
we had the satisfaction of seeing our shells passed pain
fully up our human chain destroy two enemy planes.
Almost a year later, we steamed into Pearl Harbor again
for repairs after fighting several major engagements. It
was then I learned that Frank Loesser had written a song
about my impulsive words on that Pearl Harbor day
and that it had become a sort of national battle cry.
I'll never forget when we limped into a West Coast port
several years later and I heard the men singing, "Praise
the Lord and Pass the Ammunition," as they unloaded our
arsenal. We no longer needed the ammunition to fire at an
enemy, and I pray we will never need it again. But I'm sure
of one thing: If the United States ever is attacked again,
our people will exhibit the same courage I saw displayed
so magnificently on the New Orleans 22 years ago.
14
Family Wkly, Drcrmtwr 1, 1M