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The USS Triton was a submarine during World War II. Ellsworth Lines, of Joplin, was on it when it went missing in 1943. Courtesy photo

The USS Triton was a submarine during World War II. Ellsworth Lines, of Joplin, was on it when it went missing in 1943. Courtesy photo

The story of Jess Claude Lines’ long trip to California in search of information about his missing son has become an important part of their family history, said Nancy Lines.

She is the daughter of Jess’ son, Richard.

The story began with a telegram the family received in 1943, indicating that Jess’ son, known as Ellsworth, was missing at sea after the disappearance of the USS Triton, a U.S. Navy submarine on which Ellsworth was serving.

The day after her grandfather received the telegram in 1943, “Jess stuffed clothes into his cardboard suitcase, filled his red Scotch-plaid thermos with hot coffee and set out on the drive to California,” she said, cobbling together the story of the journey through letters and conversations with her father and other family members over the years.

Jess left Joplin in his 1939 Ford, alone, his wife having died years earlier; the remaining family members stayed behind in Southwest Missouri.

On Route 66, headed west, topping out at 15 mph, he was almost immediately pulled over by a highway patrolman, Nancy said. The officer asked Jess if something was wrong with his car, due to the fact that he’d been driving well below the posted 35 mph speed limit. In answer, Jess handed him the U.S. Navy telegram. The patrolman took the time to read it.

“The Navy Department deeply regrets to inform you that your son Walter Ellsworth Lines, motor machinists mate second class US Navy, is missing following action in the performance of his duty and in the service of his country. The department appreciates your great anxiety but details not now available and delay in receipt thereof must necessarily be expected. To prevent possible aid to our enemies, please do not divulge the name of his ship.”

“Where are you going, sir?” the patrolman asked Jess.

“I’m going to California,” Jess answered, “to see about my son.”

Another son, Richard, had already survived a World War II shipwreck in the Aleutians that claimed 14 other sailors; Jess hoped Ellsworth might have survived, too. Perhaps he had been rescued by a U.S. or allied ship. Perhaps he had been rescued by the Japanese and was a prisoner of war, but still alive.

The patrolman nodded, handed the telegram back to Jess, and sent him on his way. He even wished Jess good luck on his journey.

“They took mercy on him,” Robert Isaacs, Jess’ grandson, said of the police officers.

Jess spent his nights at various motor inns sitting alongside the Mother Road, usually selecting those with adjoining diners or restaurants. He religiously avoided motels with room rates exceeding $5 a night, Nancy said. Most days, he drove eight or nine hours before stopping for the night; he was in bed by 7 p.m. He would be up the next morning, sitting behind the wheel, at the crack of dawn.

“He stopped only when absolutely necessary,” Nancy said.

For most of his life, Jess had driven only short distances, usually the mile or so between his house and The Joplin Globe, where he worked, both located on Fourth street. When driving in Joplin, he rarely exceeded 10 mph, said Isaacs. Crossing the flat swaths of land in Oklahoma, New Mexico and Arizona on the two-lane road, Jess was treating these busy highways like a small Joplin side street.

Nancy said her grandfather found the honking cars and trucks bunched up behind him “annoying,” and many of these angry drivers would pull up beside him, their windows rolled down, yelling “Get off the road” — or something far less polite — to him.

“Each time, Jess responded with a wave of his hand,” Nancy said, “not an apology for his clogging up traffic but an acknowledgement that he understood their frustration.”

On more than half-a-dozen occasions, between Joplin and San Diego, Jess was pulled over by the police for driving too slow. Each time, Jess handed the officer the telegram. Each time, they’d react the same way, “with stunned silence,” followed by sympathy, Nancy said.

During one such traffic stop after Jess had crossed into California, the police officer read the telegram and offered Jess lunch at a roadside café. Over sandwiches, he asked Jess what he intended to do once he reached the naval Base San Diego, his destination.

“Don’t know yet,” Jesse answered in his typical Missouri drawl.

With a war on, the officer warned Jess, they don’t just let anyone onto the base.

“I’ve got my telegram,” Jess said, patting his shirt pocket where he kept it. “They’ll let me in.”

On the morning of his 10th day, Jess Claude Lines entered the outskirts of San Diego. It was here where he would face the most important part of his quest.

“Looking back on it you’ve just got to admire anybody who would latch on to a quest like this,” Isaacs said. “It’d be a bit like going after the Holy Grail. But he was determined to see it through to the end.”

Kevin McClintock is features editor for The Joplin Globe.

Tired, grungy and hungry, Jess Claude Lines sat down at the kitchen table, just off his shift at the nearby Joplin Globe where he worked as a …

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