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If it's true what the old proverb says, that "character is forged on the anvil of adversity," then our former governor James Burrows (Jim) Edwards certainly went out of his way to acquire for himself an extra measure of adverse experiences. By all accounts the young man who would eventually garner more prestigious honors than just about anyone in our state's history was too young in 1944 to be drafted -- and exempt for being underweight.

Ordinary Seaman Edwards, quartermaster on the S.S. George Washington, was the first title for the man who'd later win acclaim as James B. Edwards, D.M.D. (1955 - present); Senator James B. Edwards of the S.C. legislature (1972-1975); Governor James B. Edwards (1975-1979); Secretary of Energy, Reagan Administration James B. Edwards (1981-1982); President James B. Edwards of the Medical University of South Carolina (1982-1999); and most recently, namesake for the James B. Edwards College of Dental Medicine (2010), James B. Edwards School, and James B. Edwards Park of Mount Pleasant.

Jim, his schoolteacher parents and his siblings moved to Mount Pleasant in 1938 from Saint Andrews parish, Charleston. Coincidentally, Jim became good friends with Arthur Ravenel, later state senator and congressman Ravenel. These two men had much interaction in forming the Republican party in Charleston in the 1960s.

The most memorable moment of his adolescent years here in Hungryneck, as he proudly recalls it, was the meeting of his future bride at the corner of Venning and Simmons Streets when she was 12 years old and he was 13. Ann Darlington, he remembers, was a cute little blue-eyed blonde with a turned-up nose, and all business, with her school-crossing guard's sash. Ann's father was a Yale-educated engineer associated with building the hydro-electric plant at Pinopolis, and the family lived on the harbor in the Old Village next door to the present Edwards home. Ann's mother suffered from a severe cardiac disorder, and in those days of no air-conditioning the harbor breezes aided her comfort. Edwards recalls graduating from Moultrie High School in 1944, the first class to go all four years there. He and his best friend, Ashley Utsey, were "chomping at the bit" to do their part in the war. Ashley's father was the overseer for the vast Guggenheim estate that stretched from Daniel Island to Cainhoy. Years later, Jim Edwards would serve on the Guggenheim Foundation board of directors when Daniel Island was sold to private developers.

The son of dedicated teachers, young Jim dutifully followed his parents' wishes that he go to the College of Charleston and get his degree before enlisting in the military. However, just a semester into his degree, the man who would set the world on fire academically a few years later withdrew, failing. By his admission he had no interest then in studying; he just wanted to do his part. Yet, getting in the service underage and five pounds underweight was no snap. Try as he might, he could not gain the weight to get him to the minimal 130 pounds.

Back in 1944, security was tight at Fort Moultrie, but not so tight as to preclude an eager young man from volunteering to serve his country in the motor pool. So, almost within sight of his boyhood home, Edwards began serving his country. Soon the service, pressed for able-bodied men, had him onboard navy tugboat L78 towing targets for the 155 mm guns of the 263rd Coastal Artillery to have live-fire target practice. It was adventurous, but Jim Edwards wanted blue water and convoy duty.

Friend Ashley Utsey had little problem with the recruiters, but Jim Edwards ate a dozen bananas and strapped lead weights to the inside of his legs beneath his trousers -- not realizing that he'd have to undress to be weighed. The astonished corpsman said, "Son, I guess if you want to get in that badly, I'll waiver you." So, it was on to Merchant Marine Boot Camp at St. Petersburg, Florida for the two boys from Mount Pleasant.

By 1944 the U.S. and her allies had lost 177 ships sunk by German submarines in the South Atlantic. Nearly 500 ships total had been sunk off the coast from Nova Scotia to the Gulf of Mexico. The Merchant Marines had the highest percentage casualty rate of any branch until the Marines surpassed them at Okinawa. There were no inessential lessons taught at St. Petersburg boot camp in 1944. Everything a seaman needed to know -- hawsers, lifeboat drill, how to man a 50-caliber machine gun or a 20 mm cannon, as well as the eternal jobs of the sailor -- how to swab decks and chip and paint.

No one can ever say that Jim Edwards didn't work his way from ground up -- his first job on a Liverpool-bound hospital ship, the USAHS Dogwood, was scrubbing pots and pans in the galley. He says that to this day he's still the best pot and pan scrubber anywhere around. The Dogwood brought the wounded from the European theater back to the States. Jim relates that he was profoundly touched by what he saw on those Atlantic crossings. Young men barely older than himself were missing legs, arms, eyes--one had been run over and crushed from the waist down by a German panzer tank. This was March of 1945, nine months after D-Day.

Thanks in part to the vigilance of the U.S. Navy's antisubmarine patrols, there were few German craft still active in the North Atlantic by 1944. Admiral Middleton Read, U.S.N., a Pocotaligo native, commanded the Atlantic fleet; however, he never gained the fame of the Pacific fleet commanders since the British had already severely crippled Hitler's fleet by the time the U.S. joined the war. By late 1944 convoy duty had become almost routine with just a few calls to General Quarters on any given crossing.

The only hostile action Edwards personally witnessed during the war occurred as his ship, the George Washington, was on the Wesser River leaving Bremerhaven when in the distance off their bow, the U.S. Army transport ship Edmund B. Alexander hit a mine and its passengers, most nurses headed for Port Said, had to be evacuated to Edwards' ship. By that time, Edwards was 3rd Mate and enjoying some of the privileges of rank at sea. He spent quite a bit of time on the bridge of these ships acquainting himself with navigation and ship operations.

By his calculation, Jim made 11 round trips, 22 crossings of the Atlantic, and he hasn't had any desire to take a luxury cruise since. He shipped out on a number of ships, one of which was the USAHS Dogwood, a converted Liberty ship. He sailed on the George Washington for several voyages to Bremerhaven and Le Harve.

Shortly after the war's end, Edwards helped ferry German and Italian prisoners back to their homeland for repatriation. There were huge P.O.W. installations located in Charleston and Berkeley counties, and a large one near Florence. The return voyages brought the victorious American troops home -- often to ticker tape parades in New York City where even the Andrews sisters would ride a boat out to greet the returning heroes as they entered the harbor amidst tugboats sending spumes of water in the air.

As the Merchant Marine ships ferried the P.O.W.s to Germany, the prisoners had to do menial chores such as chipping and painting at sea under the supervision of the Merchant Mariners and the Armed Guard. Jim struck up conversations with a number of these soon-to-be-liberated prisoners. He recalls a conversation: "You know, we Germans are superior fighters to you Americans. We outfought you every time. When we shot down a plane or crippled a tank, there were always five more to take its place. That's why we didn't whip you." Those words helped form a part of Jim Edwards' political outlook -- that America must always maintain a strong military industrial complex and a strong national defense.

After the war, Jim's ship was overseas loading army vehicles aboard the George Washington. He heard a voice that sounded familiar. An American army captain curtly yelled up, "Hey, you "so-and so's," don't bang up my jeep!" Jim looked down over the deck and hailed, "Who's that hollering about a jeep!" "What d- - - difference does it make to you who I am!" came the reply. "Steve Darlington, is that you?" retorted Edwards. It was his future brother-in-law, Ann's brother and fellow Mount Pleasant native. They had quite a reunion. The decorated Army infantry officer and the merchant marine loaded the jeep onboard and headed into town to celebrate.

Post-war found the College of Charleston full of veterans -- all dedicated scholars pursuing an education with all the maturity that only wartime can give a young male. Arthur Ravenel, Jr., Jim Edwards, and Biemann Othersen were just a few of the names we recall from those times. Edwards pursued a double major of chemistry and biology and he remembers fondly the excellent professors he had -- Askew, Clements, Cook, Donahue, Jennings, and Toal.

To make ends meet since the Merchant Marines did not get the G.I. Bill, Edwards sought part-time work as a licensed relief officer on ships entering Charleston harbor. One summer he shipped out on a cargo ship to Rouen carrying coal under the Marshall Plan. When the ship docked, the French stevedores went on strike and so did the rail and truck lines. American ships, American coal, all delivered free to France -- and there was no one to off-load! That summer Jim had a grand tour of the countryside including a Bastille Day in Paris. He barely made it back to school by September!

Edwards made more spending money by serving as officer of the watch at night on merchant ships docked at the port. Law required that a licensed officer be on duty at all times. Since the crew enjoyed liberty in the evenings, there was always a slot for Jim to go aboard and study in the captain's quarters until 0700 hours the following morning when he'd drive back to the College. Even though it was the officer's cabin that he occupied, the ship's electricity was switched off at night thereby forcing him to do his studying by candlelight.

The most unusual part-time job Jim Edwards ever had was during the summers of 1947 and '48. He heard that Santee-Cooper planned to replace its earthen dam with rip-rap and that the granite stones were to be ferried from Columbia to Pinopolis using landing craft as barges. Jim, Ashley Utsey, and some friends had the necessary experience to operate these flat-bottomed, shallow-draft craft.

The pay was 10-cents a ton plus $35 a trip -- good money for those days. A barge could carry 260 tons of rock and Jim says that they tried to make three trips a week. The river with its lakes made for about a hundred miles of navigation. Their plan was to load before dawn near the quarry and wait for the Lake Murray dam to release water downstream from its hydroelectric facility. That tide of water floated the heavy landing craft over shoals near Cayce. An old-timer with a moonshine still below Columbia would flag down Edwards and the barge would tie up at a stump. The old man sold them his "White Lightning" corn whiskey for $2 a quart. That homemade liquor and the fish they "borrowed" from local traps made the downriver voyages pleasant. The hairy part of the voyage was the low-rail trestle near Rimini when the river was high. Of course, there were no markers, buoys, or lights on the river then.

Sixty years have passed and the ordinary seaman-turned oral surgeon-turned elder statesman of South Carolina still savors the out-of-doors and getting together with his very active family.

"We've had a wonderful time," remarks Ann Edwards as she and Jim pause to reflect.

(Dr. Thomas B. Horton is a history teacher at Porter-Gaud School. He lives in the Old Village of Mount Pleasant).