World War II Veteran Stanley Dykovitz Reflects On A Life On The Sea

In 1942, when he was just 20 years old, Stanley Dykovitz received notice that he would soon be drafted by the U.S. Army to serve in World War II if he didn’t enlist in the military. He was working in New Jersey at the time, and attending a night class in Newark. He told his professor, who had a suggestion that would end up changing the course of Dykovitz’s life.

“He said, ‘Why don’t you join the Seabees?’ He told me it was part of the U.S. Navy, and it would be a good spot for me because I’d learn a trade and see the world. And I said, OK.”

Dykovitz followed his professor’s advice, and on October 31, 1942, was sworn in, along with a 1,000 other young men in New York City, as a member of the Navy. It would be a while before Dykovitz and his battalion were shipped off U.S. soil, when they arrived on Guam until right after the U.S. seized control of the island — a U.S. territory — in 1944.

Dykovitz shared the story while seated in an easy chair in the living room of his home on North Bishop Avenue in Southampton. Sunlight streamed through the windows of the red exterior Cape Cod that he has lived in since 1956, after building it with his own hands, calling on the skills he acquired during three years serving with the Navy in World War II as part of the Seabees, the construction arm of the Navy responsible for building the infrastructure of U.S. military locations around the world.

On a crisp and bright fall day last week, Dykovitz spoke about his memories from his three years serving in the Navy, his time spent traveling the U.S. by train and plane — from his original home in East Marion, on the North Fork, to stops in Virginia, Mississippi, California and even Kodiak, Alaska — before arriving in Guam, where he was stationed during the time the U.S. dropped atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Dykovitz remembers certain moments and details from those three years with remarkable clarity, considering he is now 99 years old, and will celebrate his 100th birthday on Christmas Eve. He remembers a stopover in Hawaii, on the way to Guam, where he and members of his battalion bought pineapple juice, and remembers taking turns, during the long week-plus at sea after that, standing on the bow of the ship keeping a lookout for Japanese submarine periscopes.

“I remember thinking, if I see a periscope, what the hell am I supposed to do?” he said with a laugh, acknowledging it was likely just busy work to stave off boredom at sea.

Dykovitz’s remembrances, from the comical and mundane to the more poignant, are absorbing and feel particularly meaningful considering that, in the not too distant future, stories straight from the mouths of World War II veterans will be a thing of the past.

Fellow Southampton resident and World War II veteran John I. Holden died on October 13, at the age of 100 — the pair were grand marshals of the Southampton Fourth of July parade together several years ago. Dykovitz is one of the few remaining World War II veterans in the area, giving him a special kind of veneration during Veterans Day.

Enlisting in the Navy meant that Dykovitz did not see combat action, but evidence of the devastating ripple effects of the war was all around him. His battalion went ashore on Guam after the Marines had secured the island, and he vividly remembers the scene upon arrival.

“The whole island was completely wiped out,” he said. Part of his battalion’s duties included attending to the Japanese prisoners of war, and Dykovitz recalled how, when they would take them outside for exercise, the sound of American planes flying overhead would send them into a panic.

Many of Dykovitz’s stories are lighthearted on the surface, but are also reminders that the men sent to fight in the war were not far removed from their teenage years, with some still in them.

He recalled that the palm trees on Guam would be bent down, laden with coconuts, and the men would shimmy up the trunks, rifles in hand, and cut the coconuts down. They would then use their bayonets to try and pry them open and drink the juice, a diversion that came to an end when the commanding officer took back their guns — because too many of them had inadvertently hurt themselves trying to hack into the coconuts with the bayonets.

Access to free tropical fruit aside, life in the Navy during World War II had its drawbacks as well. Dykovitz recalled that many of the men onboard were seasick during the long trip to Guam, where they slept in hammocks strung four high in tight quarters.

It wasn’t an issue for Dykovitz, whose upbringing on eastern Long Island seemed to provide him with enough familiarity with being out on the water to avoid that miserable fate. But he recalled that for the men who were on a boat for the first time in their lives, it was not an easy adjustment.

“They were so sick they’d refuse to leave the bunk, and were puking,” he said. “Finally, someone would get the fire hose and spray the poor guys and chase them out.”

The specific kind of bonding that takes place in a military setting meant three years was enough time for Dykovitz to make a lifelong friend. He said he “hit it off” with fellow officer Russell Berry, who hailed from New Britain, Connecticut. Of the 1,000 men in their battalion, Russell and Dykovitz were in the minority who hailed from the East Coast. Most of the men were from the interior U.S. or the West Coast. Dykovitz and Russell stayed close after the war, with Dykovitz serving as his best man, and as the godfather of his son. They remained friends until Berry’s death, which Dykovitz estimated was probably 30 years ago by now.

Dykovitz applied for and was granted early release in 1945, after his father died and his mother was left home alone. Three years and nine days, the exact length of his service, is a number that Dykovitz has locked firmly in his memory. He’s been carrying proof of it for more than 70 years as well. He paused his reminiscing to reach into his pocket for his wallet, pulling out his laminated discharge card. “Certificate of Satisfactory Service” it reads across the top, in dark blue script, above the words, in larger, bold print, “United States Navy,” with the Navy emblem in the top right corner. “This is the certify that Stanley James Dykovitz has served and satisfactorily completed a period of training and service on active duty in the United States Navy, World War II.” It is signed by a certifying officer, and bears Dykovitz’s thumbprint on the back.

The time he spent in the Navy set the stage for the rest of Dykovitz’s life. Five years after completing his service, he married his wife, Hazel Snyder. His cousin had introduced them, and Dykovitz said he recalled taking her on dates to White Castle, where you could buy a hamburger for a dime, and a movie ticket cost a quarter. They had a son, also named Stanley — who was by his father’s side as he spoke last week — and were married for 53 years before Hazel’s death in 2003.

Life on the open water proved to be Dykovitz’s destiny. After the service, he embarked on a career as a commercial fisherman, for many years operating his lobster boat, the Hazel E., out of Hampton Bays or Montauk. He worked into his 70s, although when his wife retired from her job as a secretary in the Tuckahoe School District, they would spend the winter months of January, February and March in Sebastian, Florida.

More than 70 years later, Dykovitz said he appreciates how serving in the Navy broadened his horizons.

“If I hadn’t joined the Navy, I wouldn’t have ended up seeing the world,” he said. “I probably would’ve ended up back in East Marion being a farmer, which I hated.”

He admitted, with a tinge of regret, that he does not recall the name of the professor who encouraged him to join the Seabees, or even what kind of class he was taking at that time.

“I’ve always wanted to thank him,” Dykovitz said. “And let him know how much I appreciated that he told me to join the Navy.”