Ernest ‘Alan’ Meyer | O Criptógrafo

por António Sousa Monteiro

Artigo publicado na revista LPAZ | vol.2 de 14 de agosto de 2016 - pode ler aqui

Documento pertencente ao arquivo de António Sousa Monteiro, cedido por Ernest ‘Alan’ Meyer

Ernest “Alan” Meyer esteve assignado à 1391st Army Air Force (AAF) Base Unit – Santa Maria entre 6 de Abril de 1945 e 4 de Abril de 1946. A Base Americana havia iniciado operações no dia 15 de Maio e estava já a receber os militares que a iriam preencher, deixando um contingente mínimo na 1390th AAF Base Unit - Lajes, onde os americanos eram “assistentes técnicos” das forças britânicas. Em Santa Maria, Alan era um soldado com a função de criptógrafo. Codificava e descodificava mensagens militares. Recebeu formação em Chaunute Field, no Illinois, e foi mobilizado para desempenhar funções no 136th AACCS Squadron, da 766th Base Unit da 1391st Army Air Force (AAF) Base Unit – Santa Maria.

Segundo Meyer, o serviço de comunicações na Base de Santa Maria funcionava em duas salas por debaixo da Torre de Controlo, com grades nas janelas e uma porta pesada com uma arma de grande calibre pronta a utilizar, caso alguma pessoa não autorizada tentasse entrar. Trabalhavam em regime H24, fazendo os soldados assignados a este serviço turnos de 6 horas, seguidos de 12 horas de descanso.

No momento em que Alan Meyer chega a Santa Maria, a presença militar americana era já assumida, na sequência do acordo de utilização de 28 de Novembro de 1944, apesar de ainda prevalecer a censura na correspondência e notícias sobre a base entretanto construída. Segundo Meyer, usavam uniforme militar e não tinham relação nenhuma, direta ou indireta, com a Pan American Airways, testa de ferro no acordo entre Portugal e os EUA para a construção do Aeroporto de Santa Maria.

Meyer não esteve, assim, presente no processo de cons-trução que foi cumprido com mão-de-obra civil americana - afeta a empresas americanas com contracto com o Exército Americano - e portuguesa - com vinculo à Pan American. Mas acompanhou o grosso do período plenamente militar da Base de Santa Maria. É desmobilizado em Abril de 1946, pouco antes do acordo de 30 de Maio, primeiro passo para a passagem da base para jurisdição portuguesa e civil, assinalada a 2 de Junho de 1946, a que se seguiu um processo de formação de técnicos portugueses e transferência precária, até 1951, das forças americanas para as Lajes.

Muito jovem, pôde explorar um pouco da ilha. Segundo Meyer,

“Vila do Porto then had unpaved streets. A restaurant on the main street had an Expresso machine (the first one I’d seen). That cafe’s bathroom was a hole in the ground. I bought a fine Swiss self-winding watch as a gift in a shop in Vila do Porto (50 American dollars!). On the day that the war was pronounced over in Europe, I was dispatched to town to buy a number of bottles of champagne for our group - which I did. In the shop, the shopkeeper motioned to me: Hey, check this out!, and proceeded to pour a teaspoon or so of absinthe on the counter. Then he lit it. Poof.”

(...)

“I have lots of memories (...). I did play a kind of practical joke on SMA that ended up being discussed (briefly) in Life magazine at the time. And I did end up sending a message handed to me (probably addressed to our President at the time) by Secretary of State James F. Byrnes when he passed through. And I did fall down a cliff (after swimming) and ended up in the base hospital. Ah, memories. And foolishly, I did accompany a friend in a small, flat bottomed sailboat he’d made, for a sail on the Atlantic. I didn’t know how to swim. Two small paddles, about the size of ping pong paddles. The sail crafted from a mattress cover. We managed to get back to SMA after dark, with blisters. The port was primitive in those days, with buoys out a ways, where the larger vessels tied up.

Ah, memories.

I would like nothing more than to get back to SMA again, to walk across that beautiful little island, and tell you more. But I think the chances of that happening are slim.”

Nas mensagens que pudemos trocar desde Fevereiro de 2012, contou-nos um pouco das suas recordações deste tempo aqui passado. Colocámos algumas questões e solicitámos que nos escrevesse, da sua pena, algumas destas suas histórias. São apresentadas, de seguida, as duas que nos enviou e usamos as respostas à entrevista via e-mail para compor este texto. Enviou-nos também:

- o número especial do Crossroads, de 14 de Agosto de 1945 (que dá início a esta publicação), sendo o canto inferior esquerdo que lhe falta compreendido pela euforia da festa registada nesta foto seguinte;

- um exemplar do Crossroads de 19 de Janeiro de 1946, que inclui uma réplica da partida contada no texto “The Earthqwake Incident”, cuja primeira página apresentamos de seguida; e - um original de “History of Santa Maria”, por T. S .Tegu, documento distribuído aos militares para que compreendessem melhor a ilha e a comunidade onde se encontravam, e que aqui se publica na íntegra.

Depois desta sua participação na Segunda Guerra Mundial, Ernest Meyer prosseguiu uma carreira académica, sendo hoje Professor Emérito da Universidade de Oregon.

Secretary of State James F. Byrnes comes to Santa Maria

by Ernest ‘Alan’ Meyer

Since, during World War II, nonstop air travel from the United States to Europe was generally not possible, the Azores - including Santa Maria - were a common refueling stop, in both directions.

For that reason, many notables passed through these islands. (I remember being notified that the plane carrying a popular new American male singer was about to land. All of the GIs who could leave their posts were on hand as the plane taxied in, and its rear door opened. And into the doorway appeared a young Frank Sinatra, who stood there and proceeded to sing popular songs, a cappella, for a half hour or so. He was much appreciated.)

The highest ranking government official I encountered on Santa Maria was Secretary of State James F. Byrnes. (Byrnes has been a Supreme Court Justice, but had resigned, after Roosevelt had died, to become Secretary of State for President Harry S. Truman.)

I should detour briefly here and explain the layout of the two connecting code rooms we had at Santa Maria. (These rooms would have been located under the old control tower, which still exists, and on the southeast side of the building - away from the landing field.) A small window, shoulder high, was our connection from the ‘outer’ room to the airport waiting room. It was also connected to the waiting area by a heavy, bolted door - kept locked at all times. On the back of that door was attached a large gun. It was understood that the gun was to be used to prevent unauthorized individuals from obtaining access to either that outer room, or to a second, inner code room, accessed by another door in that room.

Both officers and enlisted personnel were employed in our code room. How many? I don’t remember - perhaps half a dozen. On that day in 1945, word was received that a plane carrying the Secretary of State would be arriving (let’s say at 1 PM) , that he would have at least one coded message to send, and that we should be ready for him.

The officer in charge that day decided that everyone - except me - should go to an early lunch, so that they’d all be back in time for the Secretary of State.

I was by myself in the outer code room. (The Secretary of State’s plane was not supposed to arrive for at least another hour, but, perhaps due to unexpected tail winds, it had landed.) Looking up, in our window to the outside world I saw the heads and shoulders of two men: One was a high-ranking Army officer who I immediately concluded was the base commander. Standing next to him, in mufti, was a middle-aged man with an owlish face I recognized as James F. Byrnes.

I faced them, at attention, motionless. The Base Commander, in a low voice, nodding toward the door to his left, said: “Open the door, soldier.” I continued to face them, at attention, motionless. What to do? Open the door? Were they authorized? Should I grab the gun on the door for protection? Should I demand their ID?

By now the Base Commander was irked. Now, through gritted teeth, and less pleasantly and more loudly, he said: “OPEN THE DOOR, SOLDIER.”

At that moment, I chickened out. I opened the door, and Secretary of State Byrnes marched in: first, to our outer room, then right on into our inner sanctum. There he promptly found a place to sit down, pulled out a fountain pen and paper, and proceeded to write a message, addressed to President Truman, that he wanted coded and sent. He handed it to me.

I, still the only code clerk around, was happy to oblige. By the time my job was about completed, the rest of the staff had started to return from the mess hall.

I was never admonished for letting the Secretary of State into our code room; I suspect the (absent) officer in charge that day was too embarrassed to consider what I’d done.

The Earthquake Incident

by Ernest ‘Alan’ Meyer

Our code room on Santa Maria Island also served as a message center for uncoded messages. Such teletype messages arrived next door, were printed out, then passed through a slot in the wall to us. The messages - often world news events -were put in a basket in our room, picked up by a fellow from the base newspaper (‘The Crossroads’), and included in the base daily mimeographed newspaper.

Now, late in 1945, the war in Europe was over. Everyone relaxed, the pressure was off, a stream of GIs started passing through on their way home, and there was time to perform housekeeping measures on the island.

A large supply of dynamite had been brought ashore, and used, in the creation of the airstrip on the rocky island. It was discovered that, after the strip had been created, a goodly supply of dynamite was left over, and was being stored. (I don’t know the details, but I believe that old dynamite is hazardous.)

The base newspaper at the time announced that 116 tons - 5,000 boxes - of dynamite had been discovered and was scheduled to be destroyed. It was decided that a large amount of the dynamite would be exploded at the same time each day, for several weeks. Personnel were not to be alarmed by earth tremors caused by these explosions.

The daily explosions were quite noticeable: the island shook, and the bars in our code room windows rattled. Every day it felt to me like a earthquake. And every day, I received the teletype news through the code room wall, and passed it on to the fellow from the base paper.

On a quiet day, it occurred to me that the earth movements did indeed resemble earthquakes, and that I might write a news story about it. So I wrote the following story on teletype paper, and dropped it into the box with the incoming news for the local paper:

LONDON: Officials of the famed Greenwich Observatory reported unusual earth tremors occurring regularly for the past few days. The observatory head explained that slight shocks probably originated under the ocean off Portugal and that the seismograph had recorded numerous tremors of short duration. He added that earthquakes are known to occur in cycles, but that cycles of such short duration are classified “very unusual phenomena.”

I’ve saved a copy of the base newspaper (The Crossroads) dated 19 January 1946. At the bottom of the first page, preceded by the headline “HOW LITTLE THEY KNOW’, was repeated the above message.

A fellow in our group, Pfc. Sam Primack, sent a letter (which was printed) to Life Magazine describing the tremors, the dynamite, and the Greenwich announcement. (His letter concludes: “ We hope that (this) will fully explain to the learned scientists at Greenwich and to the readers of LIFE the unusual recordings of the seismograph in London.) I’ve saved a copy of his letter printed in Life, but I do not have the date of issue of the magazine - it was in all likelihood early 1946.

Not a very earth-shaking story, but there it is. I’ve often wondered if the people at Greenwich were ever aware of this, or were ever asked to explain it.